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Greg Ch. 02

By: ryanuk1971



Following the events after rugby nothing happened for days. Greg and I only crossed paths during French, our one shared subject. Practice came and it was Rattle -- in a fouler, the sod! The showers came and went. Rattle waited on, still in a mood. Greg didn't look at me and I was certainly not going to him (and risk a hard -- no way).

Still nothing for a week -- I was getting to be a wreck -- I had to say something. I had to know how Greg felt. What was it all about? Was he gay, was I? Was it just something all lads had to go through? 

Phillips (nick name Hitler, need I say more) took the following practice (i.e. two weeks after the eventful shower. Frost, though not lingering, had made the pitch rock hard. Still we were made to practice, until Carter gashed his leg from knee to ankle. Practice was called off. It was only three o'clock and I thought this was my opportunity to catch Greg after the showers and sort this thing out.

But no...I had to collect my things and Carter's, and then take the stupid fat slob of an idiot to the school infirmary. Well he was, and he'd ruined my chance to get to Greg. Matron took control of Carter and I trudged off home dejected and with the cloud of a French dissertation to start and finish that night.

My Dad had died six months previous (when I turned 18) of a heart attack; Mum was out working. I went to my room and instead of wanking off as I would have done up to two weeks previous (I was too emotionally cranked up) I got out of my Rugby things and lay on my bed in my jock and started the French -- fucking boring.

I heard mum come back in and shouted down "I'm in my room; I'll be down for dinner."

Usually this stops her coming into my room, but this time I heard footsteps on the stairs and Greg's fetching tenor calls out "It's only me -- want you to help me out with this French shit."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, it was too late to get dressed, too late to do anything! Best to brazen it out, after all it was my bedroom and I didn't have a hard or anything. Greg came into my room -- he'd been there before as previously we had on a few seldom occasions worked on the French homework together. Not since the shower episode though and my mind was racing -- keep concentrating. 

"Bloody hell Greg, I thought it was Mum." I told him to grab the other bed and that I had started but got nowhere. He took off his coat -- he had showered and changed and looked a million dollars! Do not get a boner. He had on this T-shirt 'Looking for Mr Benson' -- to keep my dick down I asked him what the band was -- I'd never heard of them. 

He then opened up as if I had asked him to tell me his life story. His dad had died around the same time as mine (coincidently when he just turned 18). His dad had a motorbike accident and had gone under a lorry -- instantaneous. This much someone else had already told me. Greg, who up to this had also lived with his mum, had to clear out his flat as his parents had separated. In the flat his dad had left a letter for him and a letter for his brother, each sealed. Is his dad George Smiley? In the letter Greg learned that his dad had rented a lock up (but in a false name) and he wanted Greg to have all the stuff -- the key was in the envelope. Greg took and read the second envelope (his brother Rob's), which didn't mention the lock up but had a key to the flat and that Rob could have it -- it was rented and the rent was coming to him through the will. The flat is the one we now live in -- Rob never got the letter but was offered and turned down the flat.

So what about the T-shirt? Greg went to the garage and was fucked out his mind. Everything was packed neatly away it was books, pictures, leathers and other clothes including the T-shirt. Electrical gear, Bang and Olufsen; Greg was in 7th heaven this was his scene. He never told anyone of the lock up or of the envelope scenario. He moved into the flat and went back to the lock up to get the stuff and put it up in the flat and it was then the bomb exploded. The pictures were four foot black and white Tom of Finland prints amongst others. This was expensive and classy shit. The books were gay fiction the clothes were more than bikers' leathers they were gay scene. The names meant nothing to Greg but the pictures and books were unmistakable and his dad had wanted him to have this -- he knew then! Greg had spent the last five months reading and learning all this new stuff. 

This was blowing my mind and still didn't know what this had to do with the T-shirt. I made some quip about no wonder he was having trouble with French! He just went on, "There's more."

Amongst the pictures and things there were some photos of your dad. My dad and Greg's were acquaintances in their youth. I mentioned this and Greg asked me if I was man enough to see them.

"Bloody hell Greg you're doing my brain in -- It's been six months, I've got photos of my dad, give them to me, keep them yourself, do what you like with them."

I was letting off at Glen again; all because I didn't want to be the first to admit that I wanted him. Then Greg gave me the photos of my dad and his on the motorbike together. Apart from the helmets neither had a stitch on. My dad was sitting on the back holding on tight to this bloke's prominently engorged dick. Both were grinning and obviously enjoying it. The more I looked, and I just couldn't take my eyes from the photo, the more became obvious. Greg sheepishly told me that the bloke was his dad but said nothing more. In another I saw that Greg's dad definitely had a finger up my dad's arse and through his arse up his dick by the look of his face! (I didn't know then who took the photos.)

"Fuck Greg -- I can't handle this! I'm going for a shower -- I haven't had one since practice."

I left for the shower leaving the photos and Greg on his bed. I had nearly finished showering when Greg came in; he had obviously been upset. I got out and he grabbed me, hugged me and kissed me. This I had done before but never with a guy. This was fantastic -- I was out of control. My dick went straight up. Greg felt it, his hand went down and he whispered -- "Ryan, I want to share all this with you, forever".

I held him so tight I thought I was going to kill him. Then Greg quietly went down on his knees and took my dick in his mouth. More of his exquisite learning came out. My arse sphincter went into spasm. He licked the front of my dick and then lapped my head. I just stood there thinking how come I get so lucky and watching via the shower mirror. He pulled down on my balls as his teeth gently nipped my shaft to the head. At one time I thought his tongue was actually going to go down inside my dick. He sucked the head purple. He pulled down so my dick looked (and felt) a foot long. He rimmed it, he licked it, he sucked it, and he lapped it. He held it so gently at times and then so hard I nearly cried out in pain. Then just as he was wrapping his tongue round the head, his teeth gently holding my rim I began to buck. My head was going to explode, this time for no reason all; I really wanted him to be sucking it when I came. 

My arse cheeks clenched, I pushed out my dick into Greg's face, and I yelled some expletive as I rammed my organ fuck knows where. A fortnight's pure white and creamy cum filled Greg to overflowing; it was dribbling down his chin as his mouth came up to meet mine. We kissed and half of it came into my mouth. This was the first time I had tasted my own come. Seems weird to think of that now -- I had tasted my own blood, cuts etc. I had even tasted the metallic taste of my own urine, can't remember now just how but I had, but never my own spunk. Now we had mouths full of it we had our faces covered in it.

Greg took his clothes off -- they were damp from hugging me anyway. He was rock hard his prick stuck out, slim, long and with the most beautiful head I have ever seen. I worshiped him. I ran my hands down over his nipples and wanted him so badly. He told me to lie on the bathroom floor -- this is it, this was the moment! Then Greg asked me where the shaving stuff was. Too far gone for fear I watched in sheer disbelief as he proceeded to wet shave my shaft and balls! While he did he explained the meaning of Mr Benson. Greg didn't want to get into this scene but this is what they did and for him it felt great. It certainly made him look great. After he shaved my front (leaving my bush thankfully) he asked me to turn over and completed the job by shaving my arse crack, while I felt the carpet fibres stick into my hard shaft. He was so gentle I thought he must have done this loads of times, not so he did it to himself every Friday that was all. (Now Friday is always shave night)

Finished he lay on my back. His dick was rock hard against my arse cheeks and he held my sides tight as his face came next to mine. The door went this time it was Mum.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, for bloody hell's sake, why now? I grabbed a towel and wrapped it tight round me, holding my dick tight to my body, told Greg to get in the shower and went down, from the stairs I explained that I had just had a shower and now Greg was having his. 

Mum made dinner and suggested Greg stay to get the work done. Greg counter-suggested we take it round to his flat if that was OK. Fine all round -- Had to get this shit arse-work done somehow. 

Greg's flat is for part 3.

Greg Ch. 03



As two 18 year olds Greg and I had begun our road to discovery!

When we got to Greg's flat (see previous - chapter 2), loaded up with a rucksack of French textbooks, guides and novels, Greg showed me to a fire escape. The building was an old Victorian warehouse and Greg had the whole of the top floor of three. I was to lead the way up (I don't think Greg wanted me to have the thought of being led as a lamb to the slaughter). The white paint was crumbling off and the whole scene was not what my furtive imagination had promised. As we got to the front door Greg leaned forward to unlock it and pressed a button on his key fob whereupon the lights lit inside the flat. It is clichéd to say that my jaw dropped but there it was - I was dumbstruck. I think Greg must have tapped my rucksack or something because I dropped it and my parka and walked in wearing white Calvin Klein T shirt and black jogging pants to a sight that now mirrored my attire.

The flat (which is now legally mine for tax reasons but we share our lives in it) was pure but not brilliant white with black furnishings. The impression was stunning. There was just one room (it later transpired that at one end there is a 'pseudo wall' which hides the entrances to a toilet/shower/bathroom and a utility room). The room was divided into three areas; the living, four settees laid out in a square with a table at each corner and a coffee table centrally; the bed, central to the space and below a glazed atrium fitted with black electric blinds (the bed is rectangular but set in a circular dais which can electrically rotate albeit very slowly); and the kitchen area with granite tops and white gloss finished units (black accessories and steel utensils).

Around the room was low level furniture displaying an eclectic mix of the erotic and exotic. Wardrobes formed the 'pseudo-wall', which is why it works so brilliantly in hiding the rooms behind it. Suddenly, after my brain has relaxed sufficiently to take it all in I can hear Greg saying 'coffee?'

'Whatever' I reply and it is only then that I realise the whole flat works because of the artwork; the half life-size plates of Tom of Finland's work and others that Greg has been telling me about. I walk around drooling over them; my mouth must still be embarrassingly wide open. I am sure my hand was half way between my dick and the art works; I just wanted to feel them, stroke them, and adore them. The whole flat seemed to be a shrine to these icons and I wanted to be a part of this worship. Taking my time and letting each fill me with desire I eventually came to the opposite end of the flat to the 'pseudo-wall'. There were just three pieces, all three black and white and in a kind of soft airbrush effect; the first was a picture of Greg's Dad on a similar bike to the one in the photo. 

The bike was at an angle and again he had a raging hard but this time only a helmet on the seat behind him. The centre was of an almost nude biker (Stephan) sporting leather cap and boots cock and ball strap with weights attached and holding a leather whip (or that's what it looked like to me), whilst not upright the hard-on looked pretty damn strong -- I could almost see it throbbing. I was hard and surely oozing with all this eye candy -- I just wanted to wank off in front of them, but this was Greg's flat. If I can only get over how stunned I was by all this, in my new mates flat, it is nothing to the next picture! This was a bloke in the same pose as the first, i.e. on a turned bike and fucking hell it was my Dad! With a boner and grin, he held his crash helmet on the bars but hid nothing. 

Should I be ashamed, embarrassed, or what? At this point I felt a hot coffee being pressed into my hand a palm gently soothing the inside of my left thigh from the back. Greg had changed into a black silk kimono type top and stood empathising with me. I was now going through what he had done previously. He made sure I had seen his dad and Stephan and was whispering that he thought they knew that we would follow them; he mentioned that my mum knew too but as they had all been married, had their families, moved on, they had all somehow accepted it and lived with it until last year.

The picture was just so real but not an image of my dad I had ever seen or prepared myself to see. Eventually I wanted to touch his hard and stroke the picture but could not bring myself to do it in front of Greg. Neither did I want to break down and appear 'limp wristed'.

Instead I turned to Greg and kissed him hard, opened my mouth and made us one. It was Greg's flat but I led him to the bed and collapsed beside him. It was now I noticed the view of the stars, which only served to emphasise the starkness of the flat. It was like being in the open air. Greg lay back with his head down over the edge of the dais and I continued my act of worship by anointing his now rock hard member with my spit. I couldn't take my eyes from it. At last it was mine for the taking. The shaft was so smooth and slender, like a porcelain mock-up. The head crowned it like a ripe plum full of juice and ripe for the picking. I licked it, I slurped at it, I drooled over it and stroked it so gently as it seemed to bob in mid air a fraction above the downy hair that traced up to his navel. He really was that beautiful, my Adonis, remember all this on a rugby player with muscles so tight I felt I could get my fingers behind them. His patch was wet not moist as I finally worked down to his shaved balls and fondled his arse crack as Greg had done so lovingly to me in the changing rooms. I gently rolled one ball in my mouth and round my tongue, cupping the alternate in my fingers loving the freshly shaved feel. I felt Greg's hand on my head as he his dick went rigid. I moved up to lick up his shaft and bob over his mushroom as he began to jerk. 'Ryaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!!!!!' I must have taken half an hour worshiping his dick by the time his dick went berserk and into overdrive, spewing cum in my hair, up his chest, the last few drops landing in his pubes. I just continued licking around his shaft, sucking cum out of the hair as Greg rubbed it into mine.

My head was lying on Greg's thigh when he started to rub the last of his cum and my spit into his abs, he opened his knees and was it my imagination but seemed to raise his arse at the same time. It took seconds for me to get out of my T and jogging pants, and return to his spread knees. As I put one hand on each, my dick was against his clean, shaved and pulsating arse. His balls were lying so clean above, that the sight meant I was nearly shooting my load whilst holding on to my dick, which was well dripping with pre. This time Greg just whispered 'go for it Ryan'!

I didn't know anything about angles or what resistance to expect (in fact Greg had been using dildos for months). But as his arse and my dick were so wet I just seemed to slide between his buns. However, Greg stopped me and quickly lubed his arse and began to stroke lube onto my dick. I told him to stop as just a few seconds of this would make me cum. He just kissed me, licked the side of my face and neck and lay back down with his knees open as before. I looked and worshiped a pink orifice below tight clean shaven balls and a smooth (hard again) shaft pointing past a now deep red mushroom though his spread knees, up past a smooth chest to Greg's smiling god-like face. I had to push my dick down hard to rub it against puckered hole. I slid my hand down his shaft, over his balls and round his arse as I gently pushed my dick head through. Fuck it was like nothing I had imagined. Not that I had ever thought of being here until two weeks ago. His arse seemed to suck me in! It took me by surprise and I pulled out again. As I pushed back in the feeling was so intense I just wanted it time and time again so I just teased his pucker with my dick head in and out -- was I going to blow!

I managed to squeak out to Greg that I was going to cum and he said to fill him. I didn't know whether he meant with me or my cum but soon after I had lost control. At first I slid slowly into a warm, dark, inviting place, so good, but then...I ploughed into him and started bucking. Because of the angle it seemed a bit painful to me but this only heightened the sex. Bloody hell I was cumming. My arse ached with the pull of it and my whole body seemed to be forcing it out of me. My head went back. My dick pushed forward and I laid into Greg literally filling his hole. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! I grabbed hard onto Greg's arse cheeks and pushed in as far as I could and forced every bit of cum my body could muster (second time in a few hours) into Greg! Cum, cum, cum, cum, cum! I could feel it backing up around my shaft. Fuck this was animal instinct at work. Greg could just manage 'fuck Ryan', I think I'd hurt him but he certainly wasn't complaining -- beginner's prerogative!

My dick ached, my arse ached, my heart ached and my head was spinning. Greg manoeuvred me round to be in his arms and we just lay there looking through at the stars and knowing this was it -- not speaking a word! Eventually I went soft inside Greg and shortly after that I was asleep.

We kept our relationship secret from school friends until the end of the term (year) -- I left the rugby team -- pressure of schoolwork for finals excuse. We then all parted ways by which time Greg and I had been living together for six months. The following day to the above I went home and mum just asked how I had got on at 'the flat' (her words) -- she knew that the inevitable had happened.

No regrets and I had been free to make my own way! 'I'd got arse at last!' (Not her words!)