FRIENDS REUNITED by Sebastian Wallace
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Find me on Facebook! Or e-mail me: sebastian_wallace@yahoo.co.uk
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Finding myself with half an hour to spare a few weeks ago, I signed up to one of those social networking sites to see if I could track down anyone interesting who I went to school with. Finding my old school was pretty straightforward; finding anyone interesting was more difficult. After scrolling through pages of names of people I wouldn't have even given the time of day to when we'd been at school together, one name jumped out at me: that of Simon Forester.
Simon and I had been in the same yeargroup of our boarding school and had been quite friendly for while. We'd never been best mates or anything – Simon had always seemed rather too reserved and peripheral to form deep friendships – but we'd had similar senses of humour and had enjoyed one another's company.
He'd always been too smart and sincere to be drawn to the trappings of popularity, and I'd respected his reluctance to fit in to the accepted norm while lacking the courage to do likewise myself.
As my mouse hovered over Simon's name, I thought back to the night our brief friendship had ended.
We'd taken to creeping into each other's rooms after lights out and would pull the duvet over us as we sat on the bed together, chatting into the small hours. It wasn't uncommon for lads at my boarding school to bunk up together after lights out; the rooms were so cold and the pyjamas so flimsy that it seemed natural to share each other's warmth. Our housemaster discouraged such bed sharing, but generally turned a blind eye to it. After all, everyone needs a hug once in a while, especially boys who were so far from home.
Despite the bed sharing, sexual encounters between boys in the boarding house were extremely rare. It was accepted that lads would discretely wank together and that their hands would sometimes happen to find each other's cocks, but anything beyond that was likely to cause scandalised gossip throughout the school and the perpetrators would be widely ridiculed.
I remember that when I was in the third form, one of the fifth form lads was caught sucking the head boy's cock in one of the cleaner's cupboards. The head boy's authority over us never recovered and the fifth former chose to leave the school at the end of the year.
Simon and I were therefore well aware of the possible consequences when, one night in his room, we had allowed a bout of playful wrestling under his duvet to develop into something far more serious.
It had happened so quickly. One minute we had been trying to grab each other's cocks through our pyjama flies, giggling at the silliness of what we were doing; the next we had both developed erections and had started masturbating each other, marvelling at the different sizes and shapes of each other's organs.
Simon had told me how big my cock had felt and I had enjoyed the sensation of his, smaller and thinner than mine, throbbing in my fist. Our rhythm, which was slow and uncertain at first, gradually increased as we became accustomed to handling each other's organs and adapted our techniques to suit each other.
As our hands became steadily faster, Simon's bed frame started creaking to the same rhythm and our elbows made low thumping noises against the underside of his duvet. I was aware that other boys might hear us, but Simon's hand felt far too good as it as it slid up and down my cock for me to suggest we stop.
Within minutes, our hands had been frantically tugging each other's foreskins back and forth as fast as we could. We were both groaning with pleasure and gasping breathlessly into each other's faces.
Then suddenly, before I was really aware of what was going on, Simon had yanked my pyjama bottoms down and had started hungrily sucking at my cock beneath his duvet. I'd grabbed his head and had roughly face-fucked him, too consumed by the pleasure of receiving my first blow job to consider that we might get caught. He'd gagged and spluttered but I'd managed to get almost my entire length – a good seven inches even at that age – into him. Soon my balls were whacking against his chin and my pubic bush was tickling his nose.
His technique was quite inept but his eagerness more than made up for that. Just having his mouth around my cock, sliding it across his warm, wet tongue and feeling his throat massaging my ripe bell-end, was more exquisite than I could have imagined.
As my orgasm neared, Simon had withdrawn his mouth and had pulled his own pyjama bottoms down.
He'd gasped, "Do me, Seb. I really want it..."
In the heat of the moment, I'd misunderstood what he meant by `do me', and had grabbed him, rolled him onto his front and mounted him from behind.
He'd cried out, "No!" but my cock was already between his firm, round cheeks, searching for the tight hole that nestled in the lightly hairy cleft between them.
He'd grunted when I'd found it and had pressed my cock head into him; and then he'd let out a sigh as his bowels had accepted the intrusion and my full length, slick and slippery from his mouth, slid into his rear.
I'd wrapped my arms around his chest and had started fucking his backside as quickly as I could. The duvet fell to the floor and the air of the room felt cold on the exposed cheeks of my arse, but I didn't care. I felt a sexual urgency that I'd never before experienced: I was sweating and panting and my cock felt impossibly large with its excitement of being inside him.
Simon grunted, "Oh god!" as my rapidly thrusting hips made a rhythmic slapping sound against his pert buttocks. He'd struggled to open his legs wider and to push his arse upwards towards me so that he could better accommodate the hammering of my cock.
I knew this was wrong – that I shouldn't be using another boy for sex, and especially not like this – but the extreme pleasure I was feeling made it impossible to stop myself.
I reached beneath Simon for his cock and found it throbbing stiffly against the mattress. As soon as I touched it, he'd started gasping and a stream of hot had liquid squirted out from its swollen head. There seemed to be so much of it and the flow of it seemed to be so continuous that I'd briefly wondered if he was peeing, but its sticky viscosity made it clear that it was, in fact, an extremely copious deposit of his semen.
My own balls had begun emptying themselves almost immediately and I'd pumped my own climax into his rectum. Even after I'd come, I had an urge to continue to fuck him and it must have taken me half a minute or so for the thrusting of my spent cock in and out of his sloppy innards to finally slow to a stop.
We'd lain for a moment with our bodies still connected in a way that – twenty minutes earlier – neither of us would have dreamt of, while we recovered our breath and the sweat on our skin rapidly cooled down in the chill of the room.
And then, as I'd slowly opened my eyes – I hadn't even been aware that they'd been closed – I saw that someone was shining a torch on us.
"You dirty little bumboys," said the voice of Paul Adams, one of the prefects, from behind the torch. We must have been so immersed in what we'd been doing that we hadn't heard him open the door of the room.
Needless to say, the following day the whole school had known about what Simon and I had done.
I had laughed the prefect's story off as an exaggeration, claiming that the two of us had just been wanking and had cum while we'd been rubbing our bodies together. I was a pretty popular guy and well respected in the class and on the sportsfield, so most guys bought my story. The news quickly dissipated and people lost interest, but I was careful to give Simon a wide berth from then on. We nodded our acknowledgements when passing in corridors, but never had again had a proper conversation and certainly never visited one another's bedroom.
Since leaving school, I'd often wondered how Simon was and had hoped that our brief sexual encounter – which almost certainly represented the first time for both of us – and its aftermath had not had any lasting effect on him.
I knew he probably harboured a lot of resentment towards me after the way I had treated him, but was interested to find out how he was doing. So, putting my guilt and reservations aside, I dropped him a brief e-mail saying hello.
It would not have surprised me if Simon hadn't replied or if he had written back with a curt and angry response. However, the next day the e-mail waiting in my inbox from him was headed "OMG! Sebastian Wallace!!" and the contents expressed his delight to have been contacted by me.
It turned out he was working as a musician in London, living with girl called Christina in a flat in Croydon, and they were looking forward to birth of their first child. His references to our school days were all heartily positive and no mention was made, of course, to the night which had caused us to drift apart.
I replied that I am married, have a young daughter and am working as a GP in Leeds. I politely mentioned that we should meet up sometime, as seems to be customary in exchanges of this type, but didn't expect that we ever would.
Yet his almost immediate reply readily took me up on the offer. He said that he had a couple of hours work to do in a studio in Manchester and would love to visit me in Leeds afterwards.
I mentioned his visit to my wife Melissa, but she finds entertaining tiresome – especially when it involves friends of mine – and so she'd said that that Simon's visit should coincide with a night when she and our daughter stay over with her parents.
The plan was formed, then, that Simon would come over to mine for a meal in the early evening and would set off back to London afterwards. I wasn't sure how we'd get on after so many years, but I was sort of pleased that it would be just the two of us as having Melissa around would have added an extra complication to the evening that I didn't need.
We hit it off pretty well, though, considering how little we still had in common and how few shared memories of school we had to talk about.
Simon had grown up pretty nicely. He was tall, like me, and had developed a solid chest and a thick set of muscles on what had been quite a weedy body when he'd been at school. His hair was short and had been lightened a little and he wore small narrow glasses which looked good on his angular face.
We chatted over the meal I'd made about his career in the music industry and I was impressed at how many well-known names he'd worked with over the years.
At half past nine, I realised that we'd been enjoying each other's company too much to have noticed how late it was for him to be setting off back to London.
He laughed, "Yeah, it's like when we used to chat until all hours in each other's beds."
I blushed and looked down.
He said, "Well, I'd better go, I guess. It's been a lot of fun, though, Seb. You haven't changed a bit, mate..."
I smiled and suggested, "Look, we could open a bottle of whisky and you could stay over in the guest room. The bed's made up and you'd be more than welcome..."
He grinned. "Make it gin and you've got yourself a deal."
I nodded.
We went into the living room and I poured us both a large drink. We sat back and let the conversation run wherever the mood took it, enjoying each other's senses of humours like we had twenty years earlier.
By about half past one, most of the gin had been finished off and the two of us were nicely merry.
After I'd laughed loudly about some cutting observation Simon had made about one of the teachers at school, Simon asked, "Why did we lose contact, you and me? We should have been mates all these years..."
I felt myself sober up slightly by the surprise of his question, and said, "I suppose it was because of what happened that night in your room."
He shrugged. "I don't understand why that made any difference. We both enjoyed it. I never understood why you avoided me after that."
"I dunno. I didn't want people to talk, I guess."
"The fact you never spoke to me made it look more weird, to be honest. We should have just gone on like we had nothing to hide."
I felt uncomfortable by his directness. I said, hesitantly, "I sort of felt... well... guilty, I suppose..."
He smiled. "Yeah, I figured you did. But you should have talked to me about it."
I shook my head. "Come on, Simon. You were the last person I'd have talked to. After what I'd done to you..."
He looked confused. "What you'd done to me? What had you done that was so bad?"
"The way I used you for sex. Just turned you over and... well... used you..."
He blurted out laughing which surprised me further. "When you said you felt guilty, I thought you meant you were screwed up about the fact we done something gay together. If you felt guilty about how you treated me... well, I dunno if you noticed but I came buckets! It took three days for the wet patch on my mattress to dry out!"
I smiled weakly at him. "Yeah, but it was so... I dunno... passionless. I just humped you like a dog would."
He grinned. "Your technique could have shown a little more sophistication, I have to grant you that. But we were just two lads experimenting. There were bound to have been a few rough edges."
I shook my head. "You deserved better. You were my friend. I used you like a piece of meat. How could I have looked you in the eye straight after that?"
He smiled and nodded. "I hold no grudges, Seb. Like I said, I really enjoyed it. It was painful at first, but... well, to be honest, it felt so good that it made me a lot more sexually curious than I probably would have been otherwise..."
"That wasn't your only time with another guy, then?"
He hesitated, and then said, tentatively, "Well... not exactly. What about you?"
I smiled. "Not exactly."
"So I guess you've perfected your techniques since then?" he asked with a smirk.
I grinned. "Maybe I could still benefit from a little more practice."
He nodded, still smirking, and finished off the last of the gin in his glass.
"Okay," he said after he'd put the empty glass back on the coffee table. "Let's relive that night again, but tell me how you wish things had gone between us."
I chuckled. I was growing to like his frankness.
"Okay. First off, we should have been naked."
He nodded. "The pyjamas had a certain innocent charm, in retrospect, but I'd go along with that."
"We should have kissed."
He smiled. "Yeah, I agree. At the time I'd have probably gagged – you know how it was, lads were told they didn't do that kind of thing together – but now I'd say kissing is pretty essential."
I nodded. "We should have explored each other's bodies with our hands –"
"And mouths," he interjected.
"I should have licked around your nipples, caressed your back and your arse..."
He grinned and I thought I saw the bulge in his trousers grow a little larger.
Gaining in confidence, I went on, "I regret that I didn't suck your cock. It was selfish of me to ignore it."
He shrugged. "Yeah, it would have been nice, but what you did instead more than made up for it..."
At the risk of shocking him, I put in: "I should have given your arse a good rimming. Nice and deep."
He looked surprised but pleasantly so. "Yeah? My, we have been busy since school, Dr Wallace, haven't we?"
I grinned. "Would you agree, though?"
He nodded, repositioning his legs to allow his bulge to develop even further. "Very much so. As long as I could return the favour..."
I ventured: "And I should have let you fuck me. We should have taken it in turns."
He smiled. "Oh, absolutely. I'd be right behind you that one..."
I picked up the remains of the bottle of gin and walked over to refill his glass. The length of his cock now formed an unmistakable rod beneath the straining material of his trousers.
As the liquid sloshed into the glass, I muttered, "If only we could have a second chance..."
He looked up at me, glancing at the obvious mound my own erection was making in my trousers, and nodded. "Well, you know what they say: it's never too late..."
I sat down on the sofa next to him and we smiled at one another. I liked the way that a few lines were beginning to form around his pale brown eyes; he looked so much more handsome in maturity than he had as a youth.
He leaned forwards towards me and our lips met in a kiss. His tongue probed deeply into my mouth and mine wrestled with it, allowing him dominance with only gentle resistance.
I wrapped my arms around his back and felt its broadness and strength beneath his shirt. One of my hands travelled down his spine to his arse, round and muscular, and I gently caressed it through the tight seat of his trousers.
He combed his fingers through my hair as our mouths continued to devour each other. His tongue was strong and insistent and his breath was hot and tasted of alcohol.
He reached behind himself and grabbed my hand from his arse. He pulled my arm around to his crotch and pressed my hand onto the bulge which had formed there. His cock felt large and thick beneath the thin material of his trousers and it throbbed with excitement between my fingers. He'd clearly grown up a lot since I'd last touched it and had developed into an extremely well-endowed man.
I stopped him and pulled back.
Smiling, I said, "This time we're going to do it properly, Simon."
And I stood up, pulling him out of his chair and towards the bedroom.
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Find me on Facebook! Or e-mail me: sebastian_wallace@yahoo.co.uk
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