Chris and Nigel
Book 2, Chapter 12 - Clothespegs
By It's Only Me from Across the Sea
This story contains explicit descriptions of sexual acts between the characters in it. Although the characters are teenagers who may be below the age of consent in the country or state where this is read, nothing written here should be taken as approval of, or encouragement for, sexual liaisons between people where such liaisons are either illegal, or objectionable for moral reasons. Although this story does not include safe sex practices, it is everyone's own responsibility to themselves and to each other to engage only in PROTECTED SEX. It is a story. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Nothing represented here is based on any fact known to the author.
The story is copyright 2001 by "It's Only Me from Across the Sea". If you copy the story, please leave the credits, and the web address of http://iomfats.org present, and also the email address of its_onlyme@iomfats.org. I'd love to receive feedback.
"Hilarious?" He sounded intrigued.
"Not straight away." I was going to savour the next minutes. Well, not minutes. It was late, later than I'd expected. Lucky for Jill and Gavin that they hadn't come back with us. Lucky for us, too. Or I'd never have had the chance to kiss him by the recreation ground. Never have discovered I could make him squeal by biting his neck. I was going to have some more of that.
"Just make love to me, Chris, please."
"I will, my love. Very soon. When we get upstairs." I'd called him 'my love' again. It still gave me a warm, tingly feeling to call him that.
I found I was following him upstairs. I hadn't noticed even what he'd been wearing when we went into town. Except that his trousers unbuckled at the waist. I found he was wearing denim. Wondered somehow why I'd not noticed. Faded jeans, faded denim top. The top was short. Tough looking. Made Nigel tough looking. Well, it would have without his floppy soft, bright silver gold hair. That was it. The quicksilver giggle that was golden on him. It came from the hair. The image of liquid gold came from his hair.
Only it wasn't his hair I was looking at, that was just the thoughts whizzing round my mind. I was following the tightest pair of jeans I'd seen. No wonder I'd found it hard to goose him at the tree! They cupped him bum perfectly. Awesome. Tempting and beautiful. "That suits you."
"What does?"
"Denim."
"God, I was wondering if you'd like it! And now you tell me just as you're about to take it off."
"Well, I only just noticed." The effect was superb. Blond head on top of faded blue. Brightest blue eyes, so bright they were a contrast. "Makes you look really tough. But sort of sweet, too."
"Sweet!" He almost snorted the word out. "I'll give you 'sweet' soon. Only just noticed indeed. I've been wearing this all the time we've been out. You watched me put it on."
I had watched, come to think of it. I'd watched him struggle into the jeans. Only they'd just registered as tight jeans, nothing special. Now it looked special. "I've noticed now, my love. My Gran would say 'better late than never'! You look gorgeous." What was I saying? Me, a boy, clothes conscious? Did that mean I was gay? I chuckled inside my head. Mind you, I remembered I'd wanted to dress to impress him, too.
He giggled. "To heck with your Gran! I'm glad you like it. I chose it for you."
His bedroom curtains were still drawn. Luckily we'd remembered to douse the candles when we went downstairs to eat. I think I got the thought from my Mum. She was always nervous of leaving candles burning in a room with no-one in it. I wanted the candles back. "Where are the matches?"
"S'OK, I'll light them. I'm glad you like the candles. I wanted it to be all romantic and stuff. Only I'm not that good at romantic."
"Oh yes you are." I thought back to that first night. Hesitant, stumbling, fumbling, yet urgent, too. "You're romantic. You won me, fair and square. Took my heart out of my chest, kissed it, and put it back still beating."
"Idiot!" He'd finished the candles, even the one that refused and took ages to light. He had to use a third match for that one. "Eww! I just got an image of open heart surgery! Gross." He was looking into my eyes. I was impaled on his blue gaze. "I love your eyes, Chris. They look into mine and you can see all of me. I can feel you looking into my mind. You reach in, somehow, and see all that I'm thinking, and you make me feel whole. I never knew it could be like this." He paused, smiling softly, maybe waiting for a response, maybe just waiting for his thoughts. "I think I say that a lot, don't I?"
I nodded, smiling. No need for words.
"I was so scared of you, you know. I had to be near you, though you never noticed me. I had to be where I could see you. I was never bright enough to get into the same sets as you, so I had to make do with breaks and lunchtimes. When PSE started this year and we were in the same group I was in heaven."
"Scared of me?" I was stroking his hair off his forehead and away from his eyes.
"Scared. No, terrified. I was worried about telling you how I felt about you. Scared in case you'd make my life hell. I wanted to tell you ever since I first knew. Only you could have hated me. Or told everyone, or hit me, or anything. Could have done what they did to Andy before you waded in and I had to wade in after you. In France I nearly passed out when you agreed to kiss me. I knew it was just a kissing lesson. I knew nothing would come, could come of it. Until I felt you in my arms, that is. Then something else happened. I felt you give me something, felt you move towards me. But Chris, I was still scared. Until the next night I was still scared."
I kissed his lips softly. "Not half as scared as I was." It wasn't a scared sort of conversation. We'd gained huge strength from each other in the short time out love had taken to bud and blossom. "You taught me love. And I love you, Nigel. And I have something in mind to show you how much."
"You said 'hilarious' earlier." His eyes were shining brightly.
"Ah yes! I do have something in mind... Soon enough! First I want to do something else. And I'm going to undress you. Slowly. Well, except for getting you out of those jeans, which are so tight I have no idea how to get them off." I had something very clearly in mind, too. Ever since the tree and his neck.
I started with the jacket. It was unbuttoned already. No sane fashion slave wears it buttoned up. I decided to be very slow, and very formal, to tease him rotten. I took it off, first from the right arm, then the left, and folded it neatly.
"You can't!"
"Can't what?" My innocent voice.
"Can't fold everything as you take it off! We'll be here all night!"
"Well, we've got all night!"
"Sod. I need you now, not in ten hours time!" And he tried to rip his shirt off.
"No chance. I'm going to undress you. Just relax and anticipate it!" I took his hands away from his shirt, then eased it over his head. As I did so I kissed each of his nipples. He shuddered.
"Please, Chris? Please hurry!"
"Are your jeans getting too tight?"
"Have a look for yourself. In Braille, not with your eyes!"
I did. I moved my hands down to his jeans, stroking his naked chest, tracing his muscles as I did so. There was definitely the start of a six pack under my fingers. I traced my fingers down the outside of his zip and found, compressed by the tension of the fabric, a definite bulge, and heard a definite gasp as I ran my fingers over it.
Over it, and down his legs to his trainers. They weren't tied up. They never were. I couldn't handle unlaced shoes on my own feet. I hated the floppy feeling they gave me. I took his leg like you see on TV vet programmes, and lifted it to take his footgear off, one then the other. I left his socks on to help with the jeans. And I put the trainers neatly by the chair where the jacket was resting neatly and tidily. I was enjoying keeping him in suspense. Just enough suspense. I was trying to work out how to get his jeans off without disturbing his underwear.
"I want you, Chris. I love you. This is unbearable."
"It is, isn't it." I was quiet, gentle. Trying not to betray how excited I was. I wanted to do something for him that would drive him crazy. He'd shown me how earlier. "Just a little longer. Jeans next, then socks."
Mind you, the jeans were going to be tough. I unbuckled the belt and pinged the waistband open. That part was easy enough. I'd had my hand deep inside there earlier on. It wasn't that part that was going to be difficult, it was the legs. The cloth was so tight there, and wasn't relieved by a zipper.
I eased the fabric down, more like peeled it down, after I'd lower the zipper and released his bulge from the outer fabric cage and let it spring freer inside his underwear. I wasn't going to touch him there just yet. It was tempting, though. My face was so close to the top of his thighs. I carried on peeling. I was finding going slow and being annoyingly tidy as trying as he was. He was being very patient, too. I could see how much he needed my body against his. I needed it, too. As urgently as he did.
Out of the jeans. He lifted his feet for me to pull the jeans over each in turn. I folded them, too, putting them on the chair before attending to his socks, again slowly, and one at a time, and each onto the chair.
Then, with just his underpants left, I stood in front of him and slowly, gently, gently enough to tease him more, started to remove my own clothes, just as deliberately, and just as neatly. It was like a formal striptease. A garment at a time, and done with deliberation. I wanted him to be bursting with anticipation before I finally took of his last item of clothing, and I was going to take it off after I was naked myself.
The candles were flickering a little, and he looked golden in the light. The flickering made shadows appear and disappear on his face as he stood there, looking at me, looking up and down. I moved behind him. "Stand still a little longer, my love. I want this to be so good for you."
"And for you, Chris, or I don't want it."
"I promise." My voice and his were both quiet, a sort of anticipation in the air. I slipped to the side of the bed and made sure what I needed was easily to hand on the bedside table, and moved silently back to stand behind him. Gently I reached in front and took the waistband of his pants and eased it forward and then down, not touching where he was so excited. That was for later. As they dropped from my hands to the floor he stepped out of them, and half turned to face me.
It was time.
"You're mine, Nigel. I'm going to show you just how much you're mine." And I reached forward, took him by the shoulders, and led him to lie on the bed with me.
And then I forced my mouth under his chin and bit his neck, scraping my teeth over the smooth flesh.
"Eeeehhh!"
It worked like it had by the recreation ground. He was squealing and pushing himself close to me. Face to face, he was pressing hard against me, and was helpless at the same time. Arms and legs wrapped round me as he struggled to get even closer. I bit and scraped again.
"Eeeehhhh!"
He gripped me closer, one leg over the top of me, pulling himself onto me, skin against skin, his hardness fighting with mine. I felt I was going to burst with the electricity that was flowing between us. I reached to the bedside table and managed to fill my right hand with the pool of lube I'd squeezed there from the tube earlier, and transferred it to between his legs. And without stopping bi8t his neck again, gripping his windpipe and forced my fingers inside him. Forced inside with love, not any other way.
"Eeeeeeeehhhhhhhh! Ooooooooorrrrrghhhhh! Oooooooooooooohh!"
He was helpless, writhing, gripping me with his arms and legs, squealing, almost yelling, forcing his body into mine, pushing himself against me, rubbing his hardness into me, squealing, forcing, opening his neck to be bitten again and again, opening his legs to let me inside him with my hand, begging me between squeals to fuck him. Begging breathlessly as he fought for breath between the bites and the probing of my fingers, pushing, forcing inside him, reaching deep into his soul, reaching to push, prod his prostate, giving him fire and ice deep inside himself, forcing gouts of clear liquid from his hardness and making us slip on each other as we almost wrestled to bring him to ecstasy.
Bite. Squeal. Push inside. Squeal. Bite. "Fuck me, Chris, fuck me now, please fuck me now!"
"Soon!" I meant it. I could hardly stop myself already. "Soon, Nigel. So special." I bite-scraped him again, and got a huge squeal. And I flung him onto his back, on the bed, stood up and pulled his legs up and towards me, replacing my finger with what I'd wanted there all along. Lifting his legs as I stood on the floor, with him on his back, lifting him higher off the bed to force myself into him, my erect weapon pointing upwards, forcing itself against the downward facing prostate deep inside him. Every thrust pushed me hard into the gland. Every thrust made him leak onto his belly. Every thrust made him cry out, not in pain, but in ecstasy.
"Fuck me! Fuck meeeeeeeeee! Harder, God, fuck me harder! Fuck meeeeeeeeee!"
Oh I fucked him. Not gentle. Legs held high at the ankles, hips fiercely jolting into him, slamming into him, making him scream, getting hot, wet, sweating with the effort of holding him high and fucking him so hard. No breath to talk, but ears to hear him.
Still yelling at me "Fuck meeeeeeee! Oh God, Chris fuck me harder. Harder!"
I didn't mean to. I meant to hold off. I meant to wait, to hold off for my other plan. "Aaaaaaaarggghhhhhh!" It took me totally by surprise. I found I was firing into him as I came harder than I ever came before. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaarghhhhhhhhh!" Again and again I fired into him, fired as I couldn't stop myself from jerking myself into him, couldn't wait, couldn't make him cum first, though that hadn't been my plan either.
I collapsed onto the bed, falling out of him, gasping, panting, trying and failing to catch my breath, still tingling, still almost pulsing as I felt still in the throes of orgasm. I still had my plan, but it would have to wait until I'd recovered.
"Please put your fingers inside me, Chris. I need to cum. Please." Nigel was gripping his cock and starting to rub it hard.
I managed. I was almost helpless, but I managed. Inside, he was hot and slippery. I forced my fingers, two of them, into him just before his buttocks clamped down on my hand, gripping it hard as he tensed, arched his back and fired streams of cum onto his belly. I wanted to lick him clean, needed to taste him, but I was shattered by the effort I'd just made. We collapsed together, in a sticky heap, smelling of boy, and fresh semen.
Breathless.
Spent.
Not finished, but spent.
Too hot to hold each other, too breathless to hold each other, just gasping, lying in a heap of arms, legs and rumpled bedding.
There was always rumpled bedding.
I was so out of breath. I hadn't meant to cum. I wanted to do so much more.
But we had all night. And a lot of the next day, if his parents didn't get home too early, that was.
"Wow!"
He could speak! After all that he could speak! I couldn't. Not yet. "Uuurghh," I managed. He'd have to wait until I got control of my voice.
"Chris, that was amazing... "
"Pluurgghhh." Not very promising, that. Try again. In a sec!
"Can't you speak?" Sometimes he was a master of the obvious.
"Yeah." Oooh I made it! "I mean no! Gimme a minute."
"Wasn't hilarious, though. But so intense!" He was breathing hard still. Just better able to speak than me.
"Not done that yet." I could manage short sentences! "Later!"
He reached over to kiss me. Only couldn't manage it and fell back onto the bed. "I'm buggered!" He giggled. "Oh yes, so I am! Totally buggered!" And he collapsed in a fit of giggles.
So did I. "Daft sod!" I was in fits. "Oh," I was trying to laugh this bit out, "I said 'sod'!"
"Yeah?"
"That means you're buggered, too!"
"Doesn't!"
"Does! Like Sodom and Gomorrah. Sod, get it?" I nudged him in the ribs. "Get it? Sod. Buggered!"
"Idiot!"
"I'm not!" I was getting my breath back. I dug him in the ribs. "I didn't mean to do that."
"I should hope not. Your fingers are bony stuck in my ribs!"
"Not that. I meant to poke you in the ribs."
"What then?" He looked so lovely lying there in the candlelight. Hair plastered to his head with sweat, eyes smiling, lips parted, even his teeth with candlelight flickering on them.
"I didn't mean to cum! I'd planned to go right to the edge for you and then stop and do something different."
"Glad you did, though. Loads of time yet."
"Yeah." I snuggled into him deeper and found my eyes starting to fade in that glow that comes just after heavy sex. Well that I'd discovered comes after it. Weird dreamlets flashed into my head. Odd ones; dreams that couldn't be remembered; blurred dreams run at double speed. I felt so safe there, on his bed, half in and half out of his arms. Perfectly at peace, odd dreams or not. Skin against skin, I just dozed, right on the edge of sleep, never quite falling asleep, never quite waking. It seemed like the longest time.
I came to as Nigel stirred. He must've finished untangling himself from me and gone to the loo. It wasn't as he stirred, so much, but as he came back into the room. He was almost soundless, but still brought me back to the surface. "Sleepyhead! I thought you were gone for the night. You were even snoring."
"I don't snore. Do I?"
"Little soft ones, yes. I like them."
"What's the time?" I don't know why I asked, really. I just wanted to get my bearings I think.
"About midnight. That's why I thought you were going to sleep the night through." He was looking at me.
"You're looking at me." It felt comfy. Dreamy.
"Well, I can if I want to. You are very lovely to look at. I like the way your hair's all messed up, and the way your face looks in the candlelight. I like watching your chest rise and fall when you're breathing. I like the way your legs look. All strong, but not musclebound. And in daylight I adore the way the light catches the soft down you have on them. All sparkly when the sun catches it. In this light you look sleek and smooth." His voice tailed off as though he was watching something fade into the distance
"I like all the same things about you, too. And to be touched and held by your arms. I love having your arms around me. You make me feel safe." I suddenly felt silly about what I knew was about to come out of my mouth. "I look at you, sometimes, watching to see your chest rise and fall when you're breathing, just to make sure you're still alive." I felt myself blush, though I was sure he couldn't see it in the dimmed lights.
"I thought I was the only one who did that!" He was smiling at me, and he kissed the tip of my nose. "I get so scared that this is a dream. I sometimes think it can't be real, and you'll turn into a dead body, or a bird and fly away, or anything weird." He kissed me again. "Then I remind myself that it is real, and that you're real, and that I'm living my dream to the full. Properly. With the boy I love. With you, Chris. And that I have the rest of my life to spend with you. And I wonder what I did to get so lucky." It wasn't a time to interrupt and say anything in reply, though he was silent for a while. "Chris, it isn't the sex. I mean that's awesome and everything, but it isn't the sex. It's you, being with you. I know I've explained before, or I think I have, but it's simply being with you that matters."
I hadn't any words to add. I tightened my arms around him, and snuggled in even tighter, if that was possible.
"When I fell in love with you, Chrissy... "
"'Chrissy'?"
"Don't you like it?"
No-one had ever got away with calling me that before. No-one. Not ever. But I did like it. "Well, only in private, OK? And not always and stuff. But yes. Yes, I do. Only I've never let anyone call me Chrissy before, and I'm never going to let anyone else do it."
"Well, then, when I fell in love with you Chrissy, all I wanted to do was to be with you, to be able to put an arm round your shoulders, maybe even to sneak a peck on your cheek. I wanted to be approved of. Wanted you to like me, to spend time with me, to be a real friend. I was elevenish. I mean I wasn't into sex or anything. I wanted a friend to play with. And yes, I did want to look after you, too, because you weren't exactly good at games and stuff, were you?"
"Still aren't much good. I make a great spectator, though." Nigel could say the unthinkable to me. I was a dork at games, it's true, but he was the only person I'd ever admit it to. Other than my parents, that is. Until Nigel it had mattered, being lousy at games. Until Nigel. Because I used to get teased about it, too. Only that didn't matter any more. A thought struck me. "Now I know why you never ever teased me. I mean all the others, the other sporty ones, they used to tease me, and make me feel useless. But you never did. I know we weren't exactly in each other's company, but you never teased me."
"I half wanted to, you know."
"Explain?"
"It would have meant you'd notice me. Even if I was being mean to you. I half wanted you to notice me badly enough to tease you. Only... "
"Only?"
"Only I couldn't bring myself to do anything to hurt you. Even with words. Because you were so beautiful, and so unapproachable, too. Because I was falling deeper and deeper in love with you. I suppose because I had no idea how to talk to you, too."
"I think we met at the right time."
"What, two years wasted? You're joking aren't you?"
"They weren't wasted. We met at the right time. You got brave enough and forced your way into my life at the right time. I wouldn't have been able to understand before. I don't think I would. And we'd have missed each other."
"You're probably right. Mind you, I wish we'd had each other before." He sighed against me, snuggling into me, now.
"I do, too." I sighed. "I do, too."
We stayed, just chatting quietly, in each other's arms, candles flickering, room all warm. Silly stuff was what we talked about. And plans for the future. We were both going to earn our fortunes in 'the city', whatever that was. And have a smallholding with sheep and pigs and be self sufficient. And adopt kids. Couldn't decide on boys or girls. Our wedding would be family and friends only, we decided. Mind you we couldn't agree who would wear the wedding dress and carry the bouquet. Wasn't serious stuff at all. All comfy stuff, happy to be in each other's company, happy just to exist together. It was fabulous to be naked, carefree and holding each other all scrumpled together on his bed, well our bed now. With the house empty except for the two of us it was almost as though the whole place was ours, just ours.
"Don't know about you, but I need something to drink," Nigel said after a while.
I did. I realised I was extremely thirsty. And we headed for the kitchen and the fridge and for whatever fizz was in there. "I'm hungry, too, " I told him while he was staring into the fridge.
"You're always hungry!"
"So're you!"
"There's a load of cheddar. Cheese on toast?" He didn't wait for an answer. Four slices of Sainsbury's best white under the grill, cheese cut to go on them, ketchup out and two glasses of milk poured in one smooth movement.
"You've done that before!"
"Practised chef, that's me. I'm appearing on Masterchef with that awful Grosman guy - it's my signature dish. 'Fromage on toast à la Cropper avec sauce de tomates', and a damned great glass of lait as well.
"You're a total nutter, Nigel Cropper. Hey, put an apron on, I haven't finished with that body of yours. You are not going to singe that beautiful cock on the grillpan or get hot cheese on the tip!"
"Too late for that!"
"You haven't?" I looked aghast. I couldn't imagine burning my dick!
"Nope. I've finished cooking it! The cheese on toast, not my dick." He put two bits on a plate for me and the other two for him. "Ketchup?"
I ketchupped. "What's the French for toast?"
"No idea. Why?"
"Not much of a signature dish if it's half in English half in French!" It tasted like it was the best food in the world. Ice cold milk and hot, tangy, toasted cheese. I ate so fast I dripped ketchup onto my lap. I hadn't noticed, and I got up to rinse my hands at the sink to get the grease off when I'd finished.
"Are you bleeding?" Nigel was suddenly very concerned. I hadn't the slightest idea what he was talking about. Nothing was sore or anything. I turned to him looking perplexed. He was pointing. "There, at the top of your cock."
It looked like blood, too. I dipped a finger in, experimentally. Licked it. "Ketchup."
"Phew. I wondered how you'd have hurt that bit. I want to use that again in a minute or two, too." I made to wash it off. "No, leave it! I'll lick it off later. Sausage and tomato ketchup, with meatballs to follow. Yum!"
"I'll give you 'sausage'!"
"Hope so! I'm going to wash it, though. Feels sticky." As I said it I wondered how the heck I could tell! We were coated in crisp, dry, peeling off fruits of Nigel's earlier crashing orgasm, the one I'd pile driven him to, the one I hadn't intended us to have. I also noticed the sausage beginning to stir.
"I see it likes the idea of a wash!" Nigel's eyes were bright and his grin was ear-wide.
"It likes the idea of something else, too. I mean I like the idea of something else, too. Come and help me wash?" I got upstairs in a flash. Plate and glass on the table still. I got into the bathroom and ran a basin of warm water and started to work up a lather with the soap. I still liked the idea of total cleanliness, whether or not I'd licked my finger earlier. Hands came from behind me and I felt Nigel up close, already rock hard, his stiffness nestling between my buttocks. Not intruding, just obvious and present.
He took the soap over and soaped my front and between my legs. He paid particular attention to my balls. I wriggled and squirmed, but I wasn't going to try to escape, it felt just too good. "If you stand in the bath I can rinse you with this," he said, picking up the shower thing and running the taps.
The warm water was lovely. I stood as he directed the fine spray all over my belly, and aimed it between my legs, washing me clean. Then he played the spray over the tip of my cock, pulling back the foreskin to tickle the head with it. Awesome. He turned the water off and started to put his head near my cock, nuzzling it.
"I have something else in mind. Er, if you like," I murmured. I really didn't want him to stop just then, but I wanted to carry out my plan, too.
"Better be quick, then." And he handed me a towel, and watched me dry myself. "Come on," he said, when I was nearly dry. "I can't wait any more." And he grabbed me and led me back by the hand to his room, our room. As we got in he turned and took hold of me and kissed me deeply. "Can we make love all night? I don't want tonight to end."
A deeper kiss was his answer. And my hands pulling him to me, running up and down his spine, feeling his body with my fingers and feeling him pressing against me. I adored that feeling. The total closeness, the caring for him, and the feel of his ribs as my hands ran over them, his muscles, the knobbles of his spine. I loved the physical warmth in my arms, and the strength I felt in his body. I stroked him, all over his back, felt the incurve of his lower back, and then where his buttocks turned outwards, two round, firm yet soft, wonderfully smooth cheeks. They were so good to hold. I pulled him closer to me, pulled him into me, forced my tongue into his mouth against the pressure from his own. I was in heaven, just standing there, holding my sweet boy In my arms.
Eventually, after long minutes, we parted a little. "That was lovely," he breathed, So gentle and so strong, too."
"Mmm." I think I was managing to make sounds. "I love holding you. I never held anyone so strong, so powerful, in my arms before you. No-one. I've died and gone to heaven."
"Not yet. Or if you have then I'm there too. Feels pretty real to me." He never seemed ever to stop grinning when we were together. "Didn't you mention you had something in mind?"
I hadn't forgotten. I'd just been wondering how to do it. "Are you game for an experiment?"
"What, like getting you to teach me to kiss?"
"OK, you're game." I started to describe what I wanted to do.
"Both at the same time?" He looked
"Yep. Both at the same time."
"How?"
"That's just it, I'm not sure. I mean I don't know how to aim, or anything. And will we be able to stay hard for it?"
"I can stay hard if I'm touching you, Chris."
I was rock hard. Him too. We lay down on the bed. "Lube?"
"Can't reach it."
I could, so I managed. Just. We were lying in the classic sixty nine position, and I couldn't keep my hands off him. I slid my hand between his legs, and he spread them to let me. No need for lube. He was beautifully slippery. I knew I needed it and passed him the tube. Oh the feeling as I eased my legs apart for him, and as he slid his fingers down the middle of my sack and teased towards my opening. I felt his finger find the spot and ease inside me. Cool from the lube, hot from his blood. I gasped. I always gasped when he did that. "That's wonderful. I could stay here all night, just like this."
"No chance. I want to have a go at this!"
"OK, slide down." We each slid down. Further away from and closer to the target. The more we slid the more I wondered if it was possible.
When we got head to toe with each other I wriggled my leg between his; that was the easy part. "Ready?"
"It's not possible."
"I reckon it is. Listen, we need to wriggle, and aim by touch."
"I can't point in that direction."
"Well, if it works, just think what it'll feel like!"
"Yeah, right." He didn't sound convinced.
I managed, though. I took hold of my rock hard cock and pushed it down. I was aiming for totally down, hard but down. I got my aim right. "See, I can do it."
"OK. I'll try." He did. "Damn that feels difficult. You sure you want to do this?"
"Not getting this far and giving up. Come on, now or never."
He hit the spot. Two dicks aimed at two openings, and no real ability to move. "Try sort of squatting?"
A little fumble.
A pressure.
And a yielding.
He was in. I was in.
Well, being in was one thing. Feeling good was another. "Shit, Chris, I can't do this."
"Not sure I can either." I had one of his feet in my face, the other at the back of my neck. He wasn't much different with mine. "How the heck do we fuck?"
"Knees bend! Just like PE!"
He did. Then I did. Nothing happened. "Together you idiot!"
"Yes, my master," he giggled.
Then we got it. Bent, stretched, bent, stretched, bent, stretched. It was intense. Being filled while having a huge pressure on a straining cock, straining to get back upright instead of pointing downwards.
"What d'ya think?" I was curious about whether he was enjoying it.
"Bloody awful!" He was trying to control his laughter. "I mean it's interesting, but it sucks! Christopher Jenkins you can be a total twat at times! This is not fun!"
"So you want to stop then?" His laughter was contagious. I was about to vanish into giggles.
"Too bloody right I want to stop!"
"You only had to say." I was giggling something rotten. One final stretch, further than before and I popped out of him, felt him come out of me. Followed by a slap as my dick strained hard, found itself free and hit my belly with the momentum of its journey.
"Satisfied now?"
"That we did it, yes. Do I want to do it again? No. Was it fun? Not a lot." And I collapsed. "Just like a pair of fucking clothespegs! I said it might be hilarious."
That was it. I was hugging his legs and he was hugging mine. Two young cocks hooked together, facing each other, and two boys in fits of laughter, almost collapsing as we held each other. "You are a complete idiot, Chrissy, a complete idiot."
"I know. Isn't that one of the things you love about me?"
"Yeah. Now if you've quite finished being a prat, come and kiss me. We've got all night."
Well, in case you doubt this, it is possible to do that. It's outside my own experience, so I asked two of my friends to check the logistics. OK, some of you are laughing your heads off right now, but I don't care. I wanted to do the research personally, but I had to delegate it. I asked a couple of other friends a year or so ago if it was possible. They just giggled at me and said I was daft. Politely, but firmly, they told me I was daft. Daft I may be, but my more adventurous friends have proved it can be done. They were sceptical at first, too. But, with care, clothespegs can be done.
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