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 4
From Chapter 12:
When Milo finally opened his eyes (they'd been closed all this time, something he'd remember to try again in the future) he looked down to see Grey's face covered in a beaming smile and rivers of cum that poured out of the corners of his mouth and down from his nose. Milo sank to his knees so the two boys were more or less on a level and started to mop up the streams of cum with his tongue. His mouth moved closer and closer to Grey's until their lips lightly brushed together. Grey sighed. Milo's heart skipped a beat. The lips gently met again and this time they didn't move apart. There was no frantic duelling of tongues, no frenzied grabbing of faces, no desperate and overwhelming urgency. No, there were none of those things, instead there was a surge of whole-body tingling and an inward acceptance that this was something that they both wanted more than they could begin to understand or explain. It was like magic.
Chapter 13:
There was no magic for Dan as his thumbs moved rapidly over the screen of his smartphone, frantically sending yet another message - actually the same message - and desperately hoping that this time he'd get a response.
Call me. As soon as.
How many times was that -- nine? Ten? Fuck M, where were you? What were you doing?
It was bad enough that M hadn't put in an appearance before Dan had set off for his date, and way worse now that he wasn't picking up or responding to any messages. Dan could feel the tears gathering, again, in the corners of his eyes but he was determined not to give in to them. But it was hard not to, not when every atom in his body just wanted him to curl up into a ball and cry, or better yet, turn back the clock to any time before the last few painfully embarrassing hours.
She said he wasn't to stress about it, that she'd heard that it happened to lots of boys (never before with her, naturally), that, of course, she wouldn't tell anyone (only Melissa, who was her best friend after all, and best friends tell each other everything). Aagh! Dan lost his battle with the tears.
Things had started pretty well, despite M's no-show. Yes, he'd lost count of the number of different combinations of cargo shorts, polos and hoodies he'd tried before frustration had driven him to ask his mum, who had assured him that, yes, the tan, pale blue and darker blue combo suited him and that, yes, he looked good and, yes, she was sure that Christy would think so too. True, he could have done without the door-step kiss on the cheek (he was sixteen, not six, and who knew who might be watching?) and he could happily have murdered his dad for ruffling his oh-so-carefully-sculpted hair as he was being dropped off at the restaurant (the parting gift of the large note helped make him feel less homicidal).
He knew he was early but there was no way he had wanted to be delayed and run the risk of leaving Christy alone and waiting around for him outside the restaurant, and that first half hour hadn't seemed too bad. In fact, it had passed more or less painlessly as he was greeted by several people he knew from school, mainly former soccer team-mates and their dates, and a couple of guys from his karate dojo, Josh and Dev, who even asked him to join them. No, the first thirty minutes pretty much flew by. By the end of the second half hour, however, he was getting positively twitchy. Fashionably late' was one thing, even keeping him dangling and heightening the sense of anticipation was, he supposed, probably acceptable (he was new to this dating game, remember), but still being a no-show more than ninety minutes after the agreed meeting time was not remotely amusing. He tried messaging of course, but the replies he got were less than reassuring: She was running late (tell him something he didn't already know); she'd be there soon (define soon' exactly); wasting time replying to his texts was making her even later (What the f...?!).
And what about the table reservation? There was no way they'd hold it this long.
So eventually she had turned up, and she did look amazing. She'd had something done to her hair (highlights?), her make-up was subtle but immaculate (she looked like a model) and the initial blue, which had changed to pink, had become a breath-stopping shade of turquoise (actually, rather than the colour, it was the halter-top micro-dress that revealed a lot more than he could have hoped for that came close to giving him a heart attack). It looked like it had been worth the wait after all. She was all over him, couldn't apologise enough for taking so long to get ready (but didn't he think the end-result was worth it?), drowning him with hugs and kisses (on both cheeks and the lips), reaching for his hand as they entered the restaurant and smiling and showing him off to all the people she knew once inside (everyone there, it seemed).
But the smile soon faded when, much as he had predicted, their reservation had been forfeited over an hour before and there was no chance of another table that evening (what could they expect on a Saturday?) He'd thought things were sorted when Josh and Dev stepped up and offered to share their table but, no, that wasn't acceptable (this was a date for two, not a foursome, or didn't he want to spend time with just her?) The restaurant suggested take-out, would that be okay? (well yes, if that was the best he could do). Great. Better than nothing.
The park wasn't far from the restaurant -- the park where M had come out to him three years before (why was he thinking about M?) - so, twenty minutes later, they were sitting on the steps of the fairy-lit bandstand enjoying two cheese burger specials and fries with salted caramel brownies for dessert, washed down with carbonated spring water. Finally, Dan felt himself begin to relax, the stresses of the last couple of hours beginning to fade away. He was enjoying the food (he'd been too nervous to eat earlier when his mum had brought him up a snack), he was sitting with his very first date - an amazingly pretty girl with breath-stopping breasts which he tried hard not to keep staring at (eat your heart out Beth Harper) and, best of all, they seemed to have got back onto the same comfortable wave-length they'd quickly established at the party. They talked about some of the same things as before but also shared family stuff (her parents were divorced and she had two brothers), favourite acts (The Weekend they could agree on but BTS, really?), best food (the burgers were great and you couldn't beat a good Tex Mex).
Things got a bit uncomfortable when she started asking about the Roberts stuff but she soon got the message that he didn't want to talk about it and backed off. He did, though, take the opportunity to explain that the whole abuse episode had taken a whole lot of getting past during which time the last thing on his mind was dating and that tonight was (here he looked embarrassed) his first time. Her response to that had been a shocker, when she told him how surprised she'd been when he'd asked her out because she'd always assumed he was gay.
"What! But ... but ..." He had no further words.
"You're always with Milo, like surgically joined, and everyone knows that he's gay. So naturally I just thought ..."
Dan didn't let her complete the sentence.
"You've got it all wrong. Milo and me, we're friends, best friends, always have been, ever since we were four years old. I'm not gay. I like girls! That's why I'm here with you." Dan was almost shouting by the time he'd finished. There were so many thoughts and feelings suddenly ricocheting around inside him, it was like having a malfunctioning pinball machine in his head. How could she think he and Milo were together? Did other people think it too? Did he look gay? Did he act gay? (His mum would not be happy to know he was asking himself such negative and stereotypically homophobic questions.) And what about M, how could he defend him without straight up lying? M totally wasn't ready to be out to the whole school. Dan didn't want to think what effect it would have on M if he became the subject of gossip or, probably more likely, the target of bullying and abuse. If lying was what it would take to keep M safe, then lying it would have to be. Fuck! This wasn't how he had imagined his first ever date would pan out, denying he was gay and having to defend his gay best friend against the same, but in his case true, accusation.
"I don't know where you got that idea about Milo but ..." This was another sentence that didn't get to the end.
"I don't want to talk about Milo. Do you?" Dan shook his head. Christy was gently smiling. "I'm here with you, it's just the two of us and it's pretty dark." Dan looked around. He nodded. "So there must be better things we can do than talk about other people, especially people who aren't here. I can definitely think of some." Christy's voice had become lower and more sultry and she had been inching forward as she spoke and she was now close enough to have the fingers of one hand playing through the hair at the back of his head and the other hand resting lightly on his knee. "Kissing would be nice."
She leaned forward and brushed his lips with hers. There was a taste -- sweet? Fruity? He wasn't sure. He needed another close encounter to make up his mind. The lips lingered and he felt pressure. A tingly feeling travelled up his spine. He responded to the pressure by applying some of his own, at the same time putting one hand on the smooth, bare skin between her shoulder blades and pulling their upper bodies closer together. He could feel her applying similar pressure to the back of his head, and also feel her breasts pressing against his chest. His spine tingled again. Fucking A! He was making out, properly making out. Fuck-ing A! The tip of her tongue travelled across his lips, first left to right and then back the other way before retreating back into her mouth. Dan's lips buzzed, he wanted hers to feel equally good and so he copied. He felt her lips part, inviting him in. At first his tongue didn't automatically accept the invitation and had to be prompted. Why the reluctance? Probably just beginner's nerves, after all he'd never done this before. He felt the hand that she'd placed on his knee begin to move, stroking up and down his thigh, brushing the bottom edge of his shorts then retreating again. He reciprocated by drawing circles with his fingers on her bare back, wider and wider, gradually exploring the whole of the exposed area.
The tingly feeling in his spine had become tiny fire-crackers that were spreading up into his head and down into his legs. Blood was on the move too, rushing to his groin, intent on swelling his dick as quickly as possible, and it wasn't long before he was aware of having the most monumental boner ever and wishing he'd thought to wear a jock (it was a shame M still had #2) to keep it under control. He tried edging his butt backwards in the hope of keeping this new development to himself. What would Christy think of him if she knew? She'd think he couldn't control himself and was only interested in one thing, and that was bound to mean an uncomfortable and embarrassing end to his first ever date. Well, he was soon to be proved right about that but for a very different reason.
This might be Dan's introduction to dating and he might be a complete novice when it came to making out but he knew he must be doing something right when he heard Christy begin to quietly moan, causing his lips to fizz and buzz even more. Then the hand that had been holding the back of his head was suddenly no longer there. He soon realised that Christy had moved it to the button at the back of her neck that was holding together the two straps of the halter top of her dress. With one expert movement the button was undone and the straps were relieved of their role of supporting her breasts. Christy broke the kiss and whispered into Dan's ear.
"I like you D, I like you a lot. Do you like me? You can touch me if you want to."
Did he want to? Fuck! If ever there was a no-brainer, that was it. This was the moment when months, years of pent up fantasy and yearning (not to mention gallons of teenage cum) were about to be rewarded and turned into reality. He eased the top half of his body away from hers just far enough to allow him room to peel away the two strips of fabric that still covered her breasts. He couldn't see what he was doing but his imagination was providing a 3-D, technicolour vision of what was happening.
"Give me your hands," Christy whispered. Dan did as he was told. He felt his wrists being held and his hands guided into the narrow gap between their two bodies. His fingertips crackled with anticipation. His breathing became shallower and faster. Oh fuck, was this really about to happen? Yes, yes it was. After what seemed like half an age, but was barely more than three or four seconds, Dan felt his fingers make their very first contact with the firm, pliant mounds of a girl's breasts, and not just any breasts and not just any girl -- they were Christy's breasts and they felt unbelievable. They were soft and smooth and flawless. He was mesmerised. There were stars flashing inside his head.
"You're allowed to move your hands."
So he did, first gently massaging and then beginning to roam, one moving clockwise and the other anti. The skin under his circling fingertips was so warm, so responsive. It gently shivered under his touch. This was a-ma-zing. Then the fingers of his right hand made contact with one of the great objects of straight teenage boys' fantasies - a nipple. It instantly stood to attention. The feeling of causing such a response was indescribable. His left hand immediately moved to find the other one. It responded in the same way. Oh wow! Oh fuck! Oh ... Even his mind was lost for words.
"Hmm. That's nice. They like being stroked."
With 95% of his attention focussed on this mind-blowing tactile experience it was a while before Dan realised that his weren't the only hands that were on a journey of exploration. Christy's hands were travelling up his thighs like before, but now they were up inside his cargo shorts -- and they weren't dawdling. He could feel them, like a military pincer movement, determinedly heading directly for the boner he'd been embarrassed about just a few minutes before. Now that embarrassment had turned to breath-holding expectation. They were closing in on their target, almost at the piping around the leg openings of his boxer-briefs. (Thank fuck he'd opened a brand new pack.)
"Can I?" The question was murmured, sounding almost like a sigh. He nodded. He knew his heart-rate had suddenly shot up, he could feel the blood pumping inside his head. The fingers moved again, under the piping now and close, so close to his rigid, throbbing, never-before-so-excited dick. Just a minute, what rigid, throbbing dick? What? Where, just seconds before, there had been the hardest hard-on in the whole history of hard-ons, was now no hard-on at all. The inquisitive fingers had reached their goal to find that the cupboard (metaphorically speaking) was bare -- no boner, no hard-on, no stiffness, just a short length of limp, lifeless, flaccid flesh.
What the fuck. Oh no, this couldn't be happening, not to him, not now, not ...
"Is there something wrong? I thought you liked me."
Christy's fingers, like his own, were no longer moving. For a few seconds he could feel hers lightly touching his dormant penis (it definitely didn't feel like a dick any more) and then pull away, back down below his boxer-briefs, to come to rest on his bare knees. His own hands jumped back from massaging those two rigid nipples (obviously something was capable of getting hard) as if they'd been electrocuted.
"I do, Christy, I do. I like you a lot. I ... I don't know what's wrong. I was rock hard just now. I can't ..."
He didn't get to finish (in more senses than one). There was a catch in his voice. He felt as if he was about to cry. Please no, not on top of losing his boner. He'd rather die.
It was then that she started saying how she'd heard about it happening to other boys and he really shouldn't stress about it and maybe it wold be okay with the next girl and ...
But Dan wasn't really listening, wasn't thinking, was barely functioning at all on any conscious level, he just wanted, needed, to get out of there, be gone, be anywhere else in the world. He jumped up and away from Christy, glanced down at her upturned face, managed some sort of mumbled apology, and fled. How he got home he would never be able to remember, nor what he said to his mum as he burst through into the kitchen (whatever it was earned him a very sharp rebuke), nor even how long he lay on his bed, reliving the events of the evening and repeatedly messaging M.
In the early hours of Sunday morning he was still trying to make sense of it -- still with no answer from M. There he had been, on his first date, with a lovely girl, making out, feeling her fantastic tits, heart beating like a marching band, her fingers inches away from his hard-as-concrete dick, balls making jizz like crazy, minutes away (probably) from being jerked-off, on his first date. And then, then nothing, certainly no boner, just the standard platitudes - that it happened to some boys sometimes (of course he knew that, but he wasn't `some boys'); that he wasn't to get stressed (easy for her to say, it wasn't her dick that had failed him); that next time it would be okay (next time, who was she kidding?) And the look on her face when he'd glanced down before running off -- Pity? Disappointment? Frustration? Annoyance? All of the above, and why not?
Aaaagh! It wasn't fair. He would never live it down. He'd never be able to show his face in school again, not after she's told Melissa who'd tell Jamal, who'd tell Dods, who'd tell Grey, who'd tell ... Grey! Fucking Grey! He and M were going to do the shaving thing after school on Friday, ready for the swimming competition. Grey would be the reason M didn't turn up before the date. Grey'll be why he hasn't replied to any messages. The competition is over and now he's getting it on with Grey! They're two Cum Brothers together. They're painting each other with cum. They're spending the night having unbelievable sex, while he, Dan, is having one of the worst experiences of his life. Where was the fairness in that? M was his best friend, his brother, his rock and anchor.
Thoughts of tits, of boners, of cum had the inevitable effect down below and at first Dan tried to ignore it, but then he realised that his body was trying to tell him something really, really important - that he wasn't to worry because everything was still working perfectly normally, that his blood still knew where his dick was and what it was for and that he knew exactly how to prove it. More or less on auto-pilot he peeled down his shorts. His boxer-briefs quickly followed, pulled down so urgently that there was no thought given to pulling the waist-band out and over his dick so it sprang back, smacking his lower tummy and sending out droplets of pre-cum. Fuck! There was no doubt that he was ready to prove he was a normal, fully-functioning sixteen-year-old boy.
What's the world record for the fastest ever cum? No idea, but Dan must have cum close to at least equalling it. It seemed like only seconds elapsed between grabbing his rigid 6+ inches and shooting four or five urgent bullets of cum. And the beautiful body that beamed into his head at the exact moment of climax wasn't Christy's, it wasn't even Beth Harper's, it was ...
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