That Summer

"Thank you. That was something special."

"It was special for me too. I've never done that before."

"Really? I know that you're a little new to all this but I didn't have you down as a complete virgin. That's so sweet."

"Please..."

"What?"

"Don't laugh at me."

"My dear boy, the last thing I'm doing is laughing at you. I am proud and honoured to be your first blow job. Now, come here and kiss me." He pulled me further into him and, for a while, we were lost in kissing. Naturally his hand returned to my thigh and, moments later, he was stroking me again.

As we cuddled together I thought over what I had done. Growing up, at school and at college, queers had been figures of fun or figures of fear. Even looking at another guy in the changing rooms made you suspect, and to admit to any thoughts in that direction was an open invitation to be bullied and derided, hated and loathed.

And yet going down on Sandy had felt natural and there had been nothing dirty or obscene about it. Indeed, although, obviously, I hadn't actually come, I'd got a massive buzz from making him do so and, given half a chance, I was ready to do it again. What is more, curled up in Sandy's arms having a right old snog also felt right. Nothing I had ever done with any girl from school or college had felt anything half as good.

Did that make me a queer? Right then I wasn't sure. Maybe it was just the night, the atmosphere, the everything. Maybe this was just one of those things, one of those crazy things. What I did know was that tucked into Sandy's arms with his fingers playing sweet music on my prick was pretty close to heaven.

However, crucially, I was in no danger of coming. Sandy's fingers on my prick, while keeping me as hard as rock, were not moving hard or fast enough to do more than keep me ticking over. What's more, given his obvious experience, he knew this. He was keeping me simmering and, although it was delicious and tantalising it was also driving me crazy. In the end I couldn't take it anymore.

"Please, Sandy, what you're doing..."

"Mmmm?"

"It's a bit..."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No! No, please..."

"I think I will anyway. My hand is getting tired."

"Sandy!"

"I think you're forgetting who's supposed to be the slave around here," he replied with a chuckle. "You're the one supposed to be giving me a good time, not the other way around."

"Yes, master," I replied my voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Don't be so cheeky. I fancy a dance. Come along."

He stood up, took me by the hand and led me towards the dance floor. Despite the debauchery going on all around me I couldn't help but be embarrassed by the completely obvious tent sticking out in front of me.

My mother, god bless her, had been of a generation where learning to dance was an important social skill and her flat refusal to believe that times had changed meant that she had forced me to attend Madame d'Ellegance's Ecole de Dance as a teenager. Now, for the first time, those lessons were coming in handy, albeit that I had been taught to lead, not follow. The crooner was going strong with the bum clutchers so, at Sandy's insistence, I draped my arms around his neck, he clutched my bum and we swayed off across the dance floor.

Of course, with my arms raised so too was my costume, what there was of it, and the only thing protecting my bum from the gaze of one and all was Sandy's hands clutching it. Not that anyone cared. I certainly didn't. Sandy was a superb dancer and Madame d'Ellegance - or Mavis Dewsbury as she was called outside the dance studio - would have been proud of how we glided around the dance floor. I buried my head in Sandy's shoulder and let him lead the way.

And there, on the dance floor, everything seemed to just slip away. Dancing with Sandy was so perfect that I forgot about the bizarre circumstances, I forgot about being all but naked, I forgot the orgy that was going on around us. With Sandy's arms around me I felt safe, cherished, and, like Eliza Doolittle, I could have danced all night.

However, that was not to be. The crooner finished his set to be replaced by a disco and neither Sandy nor myself were in the mood for that. He led me off the dance floor and, at first I thought we were going back to our table but, when we got there, he grabbed his clutch bag and led me on, towards the door of the tent. There he grabbed a blanket from a pile, presumably left there forexactly that purpose, and ready at last, he led me out, into the night.

The sky was clear and there was enough of a moon to see by as we made our way across the formal lawns looking for somewhere to settle. We weren't the only couple taking some air but the gardens were big enough for each to find some privacy. It was a little cool so Sandy put the blanket around my shoulders and that kept the chill off. At first we walked hand in hand across well-tended lawns and formally laid out gardens but, beyond that, was a wooded area overlooking a small lake and that's where he took the blanket from me and laid it on the ground.

When we had been kissing earlier we had been sat on the bench and, even allowing for the somewhat relaxed nature of the party, we had been in public. Now, in the deep shadow of the woods, and lying side by side on the blanket, we had no such constraints. In no time my belt was undone and my tunic was no more. Sandy's robes were slightly more complex but, once removed, they acted as covers to snuggle under.

Moreover, although we had already kissed and cuddled, that had done nothing to prepare me for the sheer bliss of naked flesh upon flesh. As we kissed our bodies entwined and, inevitably, what started with simply pushing my penis against him ended up with me all but dry humping him. Any qualms I might have had earlier about being queer were swept aside by the sheer intensity of my need to feel every inch of my body touch every inch of his.

And then his hands, his hands that had been wandering all over me, reached my bum and I felt his finger pushing against my sphincter. It was as if a bolt of lightning shot through me. He pushed again and I felt it again.

"Like that, do you?"

"God, yes! It's the best."

"Well, if you liked that you're going to love this."

He broke from the embrace and reached for his grab bag. There was a moment or two of fumbling and then he returned and, this time, as he reached for my backside, I could feel that his fingers were all slippery. This time, when he pushed against my sphincter his well lubricated finger slid in easily.

"Oh, Jesus! Yes! Please! Deeper!"

Sandy was effectively fucking me with his finger. I had never in my life dreamed that anything could feel so good. All the schoolyard queer jokes had been based on a fear of anal sex but, now I was faced with the real thing, I wanted more. There seemed to be a live wire which shot straight from my arse to my prick and then on to the pleasure centres in my brain. The only problem was that his finger wasn't long enough. Much as I urged him to go deeper he was constrained by having to reach around me and that meant that he couldn't get his forefinger deeper than the first knuckle.

Of course, the fact that he had brought lubricant with him, indeed, the fact that he was lubricating my arse, implied that I wasn't the only one who wanted more. Right from the moment I had accepted Sandy's invitation to sit with him this was where the whole evening had been heading. If I'd wanted to say 'no' then that would have been the point. Although I wasn't completely sure I wanted to say 'yes' it was now the only option left, and the only option I really wanted.

It was time to push the last dregs of my reluctance to one side.

"Sandy, are you... are you going to fuck me?"

"That's the general idea."

"You know I've never... I've never done anything like this before. I don't know if..."

"Have I done anything to hurt you so far?"

"No, no, of course not."

"Then trust me and, you never know, you might just enjoy it. But, first of all, let's get you nice and ready. OK?"

Sandy had me lie down on my front and, then, lying beside me, he used first one, and then two fingers sliding sensuously in and out to open me up and fully lubricate my backside. All the while he was kissing my shoulders and whispering sweet nothings in my ear. In response I began to push back against his fingers. The more he did it the more I relaxed and the more I wanted it.

"You like that, don't you?"

"Oh, yes please."

"But it's not just my fingers you want, is it?"

I hardly dare answer. Part of me wanted more, part of me didn't.

"Well?" Sandy emphasised his question by pushing his fingers deeper inside me. "Tell me what you want."

"I want... I want your prick inside me."

"And what's the magic word?"

"Please, Sandy, please fuck me. Please, I want it so much."

"How can I refuse one who asks so sweetly." He removed his fingers from my backside, knelt between my outstretched legs and leant over me. He lifted my hips until I was kneeling and then, as he spread my buttocks with one hand, with the other he guided his prick so that it was pushing against my entrance. His fingers had slipped in easily but this was broader, blunter, larger. I had a sudden burst of panic Would he fit? Would I be able to do this? Would it hurt? He must have sensed my nerves because he stopped pushing and just rested tip of his prick against my sphincter.

"You're doing fine. OK? Now, see if you can relax a bit, that makes it better," and, with that, he pushed once more and the tip of his prick was inside me.

Nothing I had ever felt before compared to this. I felt stretched to the limit but, for all that, I wanted more. Did it hurt? Well, maybe, just a bit, but that was the chilli spice that flavoured this exotic meal and it wouldn't have been as half as good without it. It certainly didn't stop me wanting him to impale me, take me, master me. He pushed again and, this time, went deeper, maybe an inch or so inside me. Slowly he rocked his hips and I rocked with him and, bit by bit, as our hips swayed together, he slipped deeper and deeper inside me. I felt full, so full, full to bursting but I still wanted more. I started to push back, welcoming him into me until, finally, he was buried to the hilt.

Now that we were fully conjoined he reached down and took me by the hips. His hands were there to guide, not hold, but they made it clear who was in control. Now that he was deep inside me the true fucking could begin.

Even so, it was so not what I was expecting. I had thought that he would pound into me like some sort of jack hammer. Instead he was slow and sensuous. He was taking his time, letting us both savour every inch of pleasure as he slid back and forth. He would withdraw, almost to the edge, and then slide back in again, allowing us both to relish the exquisite nuances as flesh slid against flesh.

And, with each stroke it became easier. He was still huge within me, I was still as full as ever, but the hornier I got, the more I seemed to open up and welcome him.

Gradually he pushed harder, faster, deeper. The hands on my hips gripped firmer, pulling me back onto him. The sensuality was being overlaid by a sense of urgency. I could feel him climbing that last slope, reaching for the peak, pushing, pushing, pushing... The strokes became shorter, more urgent as if, each time, he were trying to reach a little further, to dig a little deeper.

Until, with a deep, animal grunt, he slammed his prick into me as hard as he could as he climaxed and I felt him pump his seed deep, deep inside me.

And then he was spent. Together we fell forward so that I was once again prone on my stomach, this time with him lying on top of me and with his prick still buried inside me and, for a while, we just lay there. He was drained, exhausted and I, lying beneath him, felt replete. I hadn't come but that didn't matter. There was a wonderful inner glow from feeling him still within me, feeling him relaxing, feeling his pleasure and knowing it had come from me.

"Thank you. That was special, very special," he gasped once he had recovered enough breath to speak. His prick, now flaccid, slipped out of my backside and he rolled off me.

"No, I should thank you," I replied and I meant it. I was truly grateful for the way he had made me feel.

"Why should you feel the need to thank me?" he asked as he gathered me into his arms.

"For making my first time special."

"Well, it was special for both of us. Now, let's get you sorted out."

He cradled me into the crook of his left arm as he reached down and, once again, started to stroke my prick but, this time, there was a sense of purpose about it.

"So, no regrets?"

"Uh huh. None at all."

"Didn't think so. I knew from the moment I saw you that I just had to end up screwing you. You looked so sweet and pretty, standing there all shy and embarrassed but, I knew, that there was a randy little sod lurking just underneath the surface. And, now that I've fucked you once, I want to fuck you again and again and again. Would you like that? Would you like me to fuck you again? Would you?" Relentlessly his fingers pumped my prick, I could feel the sperm boiling within me, I could feel myself being carried unstoppably towards my climax. I couldn't do anything to stop it. Sandy was in control, Sandy was making me come, Sandy was making it happen...

"Oh! My! God!"

He didn't miss a beat but pumped and pumped as the sperm erupted from me. Never, ever, had an orgasm felt this good. Never, ever, had an orgasm felt this special.

"Enough! Enough!" I gasped as, drained and depleted, I collapsed in a heap onto his chest. I was shaking with emotion, overcome by the sheer intensity of it all. Sandy held me close and stroked my hair, cuddling me as he might a child.

"All OK?" he asked once I had calmed down a bit.

"Perfect. Thank you."

I wanted, and I'm sure we both wanted, just to lie there holding each other but it wasn't that long before the sticky mess all over our chests started to get a bit much.

"I need to get cleaned up. Have you got anything?"

"We're out in the middle of nowhere. We could use your slave costume but you look so sweet wearing it I'd prefer not." Sandy sat up and looked around. "We could go for a dip in the lake."

I sat up as well. The lake was purely ornamental but there was a short jetty poking maybe five or six feet out into it.

"Last one in's a sissy!" I leapt up and ran down to the lake, along the jetty and jumped. The water, while not freezing, was cold enough to be a shock to the system. When I sorted myself out I found I was standing in water that came to around my waist. Judging by the squishy feeling under my feet the bottom was all muddy. I looked up at the jetty to see Sandy standing on the end of it looking down.

"Sissy! Sissy!" I taunted.

Rather gingerly Sandy sat on the end of the jetty before sliding off to stand next to me.

"Jesus it's cold!" I splashed him. "Stop that you impetuous child."

"Stop calling me child or I'll splash you again."

"So, what should I call you, slave?"

I moved closer and put my arms around his waist, pulling us together.

"You can call me whatever you want as long as you call me."

And there, standing waist deep in the cold water, we kissed and kissed and kissed.

However, it was far too cold to linger. We'd splashed enough to clean ourselves off so we clambered out and returned to the blanket.

"God, I'm freezing. Whose bright idea was it to go skinny dipping."

"That would be yours. Now come here and cuddle. That will soon warm us up.

We used my slave costume to dry off the worst of the water and then lay on the blanket cuddled together under Sandy's robes. The skinny dipping had acted as a cold shower so neither of us were particularly amorous and, apart from the occasional kiss, we just chatted.

"So," asked Sandy after a while, "at the risk of resorting to cliché, what's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?"

"Well, you're here so it can't be completely bad."

"Ah, but I'm the man your mum warned you about. A bad, bad man who seduces sweet little boys and turns them into queers."

"I don't believe you're like that at all."

"No, of course I'm not but that still doesn't answer my question: what are you doing here."

"Getting my Equity card."

"You what!" Sandy burst out laughing. "And how is acting as a rent boy supposed to get you your Equity card."

"Andy, Andy Ferguson told me that if I did this for him then he'd get me one."

"My dear boy, all Andy Ferguson will get you is a dose of the clap. How on earth did you get involved with him?"

So I told Sandy the story and he just listened, shaking his head from time to time at my naivety.

"Andy Ferguson is a... procurer. If you want something a little bit dodgy, some hash, some charlie, a girl, a boy for that matter, Andy Ferguson is the person you go to. He's here tonight because, well, who else can round up this many rent boys at the drop of a hat. What's more, pound to a penny says that half the guests are chopping out the lines in there. He is not, repeat not, someone you ought to be involved with. Anyway, why do you want an Equity card."

And so I told him all about my hopes and dreams of becoming an actor. I won't say he laughed but you could tell he had heard it all before. I was, in his eyes, yet another star struck kid who hadn't got a clue.

And he was so easy to talk to. In fact, cuddled together, we talked and talked and talked. It turned out he worked in production - 'strictly backroom, darling, but that's where the real work is done. All those prima donnas out on the film sets, simply insufferable and, when it came to the actors...' It turned out that he knew everyone and was, more importantly, friends with everyone.

"Could you get me an Equity card?"

"What, so you can work as an extra?"

"That's what I want."

"No, it isn't. It's what you think you want. Trust me, I've been in this game long enough to know those who have it and those who don't and, to put it bluntly, you don't. Aw, have I hurt you? Believe me, if you want to get on in film then the best friends you'll have are the ones that tell you the truth even when it hurts, no, especially when it hurts."

It still wasn't what I wanted to hear and he could tell I didn't like it so he pulled me further into his arms and, for a while, we just held each other, huddled together under the trees.

The next thing I knew the sun was well up and someone was shaking my shoulder.

"Come on, you'll miss the bus!"

I rolled over. One of the other slaves was standing over us. I looked at Sandy, still sleeping soundly.

"Never mind him. Come on!"

I slipped out from under Sandy's robe, grabbed my costume, and, still naked, followed the other slave back to the tent. We went straight through to the kitchen area where most of the slaves were already dressed. I found my clothes and put them on.

"Here you go, Johnny boy, one pony as agreed." Andy Ferguson was handing out envelopes full of cash.

I glanced in the envelope and there were two tens and a five.

"You didn't seem to have too many problems. All that coyness before we started soon disappeared." He put his arm around my shoulders. "Last I saw you were out on the dance floor while Sandy gave you a good old feel up. I do hope he tipped well. Add that to the pony I've just handed over and you can't complain, can you?"

"I suppose not, Mr Ferguson."

"You suppose not? Don't tell me you're having doubts again. From what I saw, you fitted in just fine. Talking of which, I've got another similar gig I'd like you to work on. A bit more personal this time, a bit more one-on-one. I think I can stretch to fifty on that one."

"A similar gig?"

"Well, the same sort of thing."