Flight of Fancy

by It's Only Me from Across the Sea

This story may contain 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 1999 by "It's Only Me from Across the Sea". If you copy the story, please leave the credits, and my web address of http:/members.xoom.com/storyshelf present, and also the email address of its_onlyme@iomfats.org. I'd love to receive feedback.

"Dublin"

"Dublin, Mum?"

"We're going to Dublin for the weekend."

"So what's in Dublin?"

"We'll find out when we get there."

"Why are we going to Dublin, Mum?"

"Something to do with frequent flyer miles. Dad is there on business on Friday, and we're going with him."

So we got packed. Nothing much to pack, really. Just some casual clothes and some smart stuff for the hotel in case we decided to eat in the restaurant. It wasn't often we got away as a family. In fact in all my seventeen years we had had about three weekends away. I was kind of looking forward to it. Especially as I could probably get away with being served in the bars, and find out what real Irish Guinness tasted like.

"Tony, have you packed your camera?" Mum was always checking!

"Yep. Flashgun, too, Mum."

"Enough clean underwear?"

"How much is 'enough'?"

"One more pair than there are days away," she called up the stairs. "In case of, er, well, in case."

Oh ye gods. She thinks I'm still a little kid. I was obviously about to have an accident and need a change of knickers! No way. "Mum!"

"Well, you never know," she finished, a little lamely.

"I'm not a little kid anymore, you know."

"I know. I just sometimes wish you were, Tony. I just sometimes wish you were."

Friday, bright and early there we were, at the long term carpark at Heathrow, the whole Tulley family, together for once, and going on a trip. Well, not exactly together - Dad was flying business class, and we were on the roofrack. Sorry - economy!

The bus took us round the perimeter road, and through the tunnel to Terminal 1. Dad headed off to the bureau de change to get Irish Punds for the weekend, and we checked in at the Aer Lingus desk, before going to the departure lounge.

It's an odd walk to the Irish gates at Heathrow. Through the domestic departure gate, through the scanners, up to the Irish lounge, along the tube-like walkways to the gates, and then take a seat. On those weird green seats. We got there finally, though, and I grabbed a seat by the window at the gate, looking out at the apron, and at the runway, and at the A 321 Airbus that was about to load us onto it for the trip across the Irish Sea. As I looked out, trying to look cool, and not to seem excited about the prospect of flying, my view was blocked by a kid with a shell suit, carrying a rucksack.

I didn't pay him much heed. Not until he'd walked away, when I caught sight of him properly. Almost skinny, but about my age. The striking thing was his hair. You know you sometimes can't decide whether hair is bleached, or whether it's natural? His was almost spiky, and straw blond. Close cropped. No, that wasn't right. Short, but not cropped. About and inch and a half long on the top. It just gave a cropped effect.

I decided it must be natural when I saw how the short hairs on the back of his neck were straw blond as well, even the wispy bits where it grew softer at the base of his neck.

I took my gaze away. Almost reluctantly. There was something that drew me back to him. I wasn't really sure what it was. Or rather I was sure what it was. I just hadn't ever admitted to myself what it was.

Only I was starting to think of it now. Clearly. Very clearly.

I was seeing this other guy, and I was finding him so attractive I was nearly hyperventilating. I hadn't realised how closely I'd been studying him. Not until he turned and looked directly into my face. Into my eyes.

I looked away as soon as his made contact with mine. I was staring.

I have no idea why it was important to look away. I mean this was a chance encounter in an airport. It wasn't as if anyone was going to rush up to me and say "Are you gay, Tony Tulley? You seem to be looking at me more than is 'healthy' for a normal guy." I was always scared of that. I mean I knew I liked looking at guys more than at girls, but gay? Nope. Not me.

But here I was, sitting in those green fabric rock hard seats at gate 84, waiting for the flight to be called for boarding, and I was staring at this other guy as though I wanted to impress an image of him for ever on my retina.

And he kept pacing up and down, first on one side of the row of seats, then on the other, then in the middle. And I knew I wanted to talk to him. Not just talk, either. I knew it wasn't just talk, coz I was sitting there with this very tight feeling in my underwear. A very tight feeling indeed. No, not gay.

My gaze travelled back to where he was. But he wasn't.

Where was he?

Had I lost him?

No. As I swivelled to see behind me, there he was, carrying his rucksack, just walking up between the seats. I looked away. It would be too much, I supposed, for him to be sitting in the same row.

The flight was called. Premier Class first. Dad went through the gate and vanished along with the rest of the business travellers. Then roof-rack class. Mum and I were somewhere near the front of the rank and file travellers, and got on board reasonably soon. Don't people block the aisle and fiddle about for ages with the overhead lockers?

We were seated for ages and this vision still hadn't seemed to get on board. I was craning my neck to see if he was coming down the aisle.

Suddenly I saw him.

I had every excuse to look now. A small, handsome face, freckled, but attractively. Short sleeved T-shirt, and tanned arms, yet with a hint of a red headed person's colouring, too. He walked unconcerned down the aisle, and brushed my elbow with his fingers, accidentally on his part, purposely on mine, as he passed my seat.

Oh the joy of not having the window seat today!

And he sat about three rows behind us.

Out of sight.

But not out of mind.

It isn't a long flight to Dublin. After we had pushed back and driven round Heathrow for simply ages, watched that inane safety drill, and waited for take off, the actual flight time was only about 45 minutes. Then, when we landed in Dublin we had that weird time when all the idiots stand up and queue for ages to get through the aircraft door before the jetty has even docked with the plane.

As the queue of idiots started to move I got up and got Mum's and my bags from the overhead lockers. And as I turned round, he was standing behind me.

Boy did I feel all shivery at the thought. There was just something about him. Something so physical. I had never met him, never spoken a word to him, never heard his voice. I was just attracted to him. Not gay?

And it scared me. Lust. It scared me. I'd never felt it before.

I had to talk to him. Just had to. But I couldn't see how. And I could feel him lean against me as I let Mum out of the seat row into the aisle. Could almost feel his breath on my right ear.

I half turned, and met his eyes again, full on. Locked gaze for a moment, a fleeting moment, and then forced them to the floor. Now or never. "Travelling alone?" Damn what an obvious question to ask. I felt so stupid.

"Yeah." Wow, he spoke to me. I felt all weak at the knees. Dark blue eyes. Almost black. I couldn't place his accent, but it wasn't Irish. It had a kind of burr to it.

"On holiday?"

"Kind of."

And we started to move forward, out of the plane. I honestly couldn't see how to get the conversation going at all. Especially as Mum was rushing me onwards to find Dad. I mean, he was miles ahead of us by now, probably at baggage reclaim. At least we'd checked all our bags in under his ticket, so they all had "Premier Class, Priority" tags on them.

Of course, they hadn't even started to come through by the time we got to the baggage hall, but they'd come through fast enough, I reckoned. There was no sign of him in the hall. I that small rucksack must have been his only baggage. I supposed he had been met by someone, and that was the last I would ever see of him. Damn.

Heck, even if I saw him again, I had no idea how I would get to know him, or, well, or anything. All I knew was that he left me feeling breathless. And he had something about him that made me just want to look at him.

We had all our bags. Dad had them on a trolley, and we went out through the Blue Channel - EU nationals or something, it said, and into the tiny Arrivals area.

And I looked for him. I wish I had a name to call him by. He looked like a 'Jimmy'. Dunno why. So I looked for him. For Jimmy.

Nowhere. And we were heading for the cab rank. Nowhere. He must have been met. Or gone already.

No queue for the cabs. "There's hardly ever a queue here," Dad said. He comes to Dublin quite often. And we headed into town. The idea was to drop him off first, and then Mum and I would check into the hotel, mooch around for the day, and then meet up with him for dinner.

So we found ourselves pulling up eventually outside a hotel that looked not unlike a great grey battleship. Dad had said it would look odd. The Doyle Montrose.

Mum checked us in. Actually it wasn't too bad at all. It was rather nice. And right opposite the University. Well, almost. The rooms were fine. Mum and dad were on the fourth, and I was somewhere below them on the third. Smallish rooms, but bigger than my room at home, and with an ensuite bathroom. The last hotel I'd been in was when I was about five, and the bathroom was down the landing from the room. Horrid when you're scared of the dark and need a pee in the night.

Mum was fussing about in my room. Unpacking and stuff. I was busy finding all the extra channels on the TV!

"Right, Tony," she said, finally. "What do you want to do today?"

"I dunno."

"It's going to be a bit of a blank day, I think. Maybe we could wander over to the University and have a look round?" Was she hinting, I wondered? That I should work harder or something? Parents always seem to have strange motives!

"Yeah, OK."

"You don't sound too keen?"

"Might as well have a look," I wasn't keen, but a mother's wish is my command!

It was OK. Nice campus, pleasant buildings, a few people wandering about. It was a sunny day, warm, shirtsleeves weather. And I was all happy. We sat on a bench for a while, and I dozed off. Can't have been for more than a few moments, though, but I woke with a crick in my neck.

You know the pain, waking up from having your chin on your chest, neck tilted sideways? Yeah. Ouch!

It was someone sitting down on the bench that woke me. Now look, if you're expecting that fairy-tale stuff, and were imagining that it would be the kid for the plane, then think again! First these things don't happen in real life, and second it was a girl.

"You were miles away." She was laughing at me. "Completely out of it!"

"Nghhh" I was always clear with my diction when awakened from a sleep! "I mean, er, was I?"

"He was, rather," Ah that must be Mum. Still here then!

"Er? I am here you know!" Why do mothers always talk for you?

"I'm Siobhan, by the way!"

She was pretty. Definitely pretty. That 'hint of red' hair, worn long, and the complexion to go with it. And a voice that tinkled like a river running over pebbles, with a soft lilt to it.

"Tony." I liked her instinctively. "this is my Mum."

We did the usual, 'pleased to meet you, and I'm pleased to meet you' stuff. Well, Mum and Siobhan did!

"Are you looking round in case you want to come here?"

"Pretty well, I guess. It seems a nice place."

"How old are you?" She was certainly direct!

"Just turned seventeen. How about you?"

"About the same! I've shaken my Dad off. He had the same idea."

"Do you like the look of the place?"

"Pretty much. Do you fancy finding a can of coke?"

"OK. Mum?"

"No, I'll see you back at the hotel. Have you got the plastic thingy that lets you into the room?" She had that 'He's found a girlfriend' look on her face. She had no idea how wrong she was. Siobhan was pretty, granted. She was very lovely. But I wasn't interested in her. Not in that way, at least.

So we went, Siobhan and I, to find the eating and drinking place. A sign 'Refectory'. We followed it. And as we went into the double doors, then it happened. Then the fairy tale bit came true. Then I saw him. Sitting at a Formica topped table, rucksack beside him on a chair, can of Sprite in front of him.

I had to do it. I headed straight from the till to his table. "Mind if I sit down? Er, we sit down?"

"Nope."

"We 'met' on the plane?"

"Well, almost." His eyes were downcast, and he looked tired.

"I'm Tony, this is Siobhan. We, er, met outside." I was gabbling like an idiot. I had no idea what I had in mind. I just knew that no-one else mattered.

"Charlie."

"Hi Charlie," Siobhan giggled, and held out her hand. He took it, almost absently.

I held mine out, too. I hardly dared, but I held it out. Charlie took it, and I felt that electric feeling - more than when we has brushed in the plane. No, I never mentioned that earlier. I almost hadn't recognised it, not then. I think he felt it, too. His eyes met mine. That dark blue. I looked this time. I looked into his eyes. For too long. And he looked back into mine.

I knew at that moment that I wanted to be with him for ever. To do anything he asked, to be whoever he wanted. I knew. But did he feel the same?

How could he?

How could anyone feel the same?

Didn't I say earlier that I wasn't gay?

But Charlie. Oh his eyes, his face, his hair, his arms! I was getting lost.

"May I have my hand back, please?" He was smiling at me, just a kind smile.

"Er, yes... Of course... Sorry" Damn I was confused. It was as though time didn't exist for me.

"It's OK!" He was still smiling. "No, really, it's OK."

Siobhan was talking. "Are you having a look round as well?"

"Yep."

"You didn't get 'stuck' with parents, though, did you?" I could still speak. A miracle.

"Well, no. But I wasn't met at the airport like I was meant to be, either. Had to make my own way here. Took most of my money." Charlie looked downcast again.

"Who was meeting you?" Siobhan looked concerned.

"Someone I knew at school in England."

"What happened? Did you get on a different flight or something?" I was babbling again.

"No. They just didn't meet me after all. I should have checked by email, I suppose. But I just thought.... thought I meant something still, meant enough to matter. Obviously I don't." He was near to tears.

"Was she very special?" Siobhan asked him gently.

"Very special. Loved me. Wanted to be with me for ever. And when I got to the hall of residence I found a note. 'Sorry, Charlie,' it said. 'It can't go on. I've found someone else.' All the way to fucking Ireland to be sent away with a note."

I wanted to hug him. But Siobhan was speaking. That hall you mentioned?

"(sniffle) Yes?"

"It's a male hall, right?"

"Yes."

"Oh." She looked perplexed. "Then your friend.... "

"Isn't my friend anymore."

"Oh." She was still sitting a little open mouthed. "That's..."

"Not what you meant, right?" He was looking at her through wet eyes. They glinted unnaturally bright. "You meant... Oh shit..." And tears started to run down his cheeks as he lost control. No sound, no sobbing, just tears.

I found I'd done something before my brain connected. Probably just as well I didn't get my brain involved. I'd moved round to be beside him, kneeling by his chair, and I'd put my arms around him. And I was holding him as close to me as a red plastic metal framed refectory chair would let me. "I don't know what to say, Charlie. I don't know how to help you. But I'll try my best."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I just, er, well, need to, somehow. This sounds absurd! Me, I mean. I sound absurd." I was so close to him. The feelings I'd had before were all but gone. He was in trouble, and needed help. And I knew it would come better from another guy. However nice Siobhan seemed, she wouldn't be any help. I just knew it.

"Tony?" Siobhan was touching me on the shoulder. "Tony, he's, er, his friend was..."

"Shh, Siobhan. I know."

"But, you're holding him and he's..."

"He's someone who needs help. Now shh. Coz it isn't helpful." I wondered, even then, if it was the influence of the church in Ireland. Yes, while I was holding him, I wondered.

She wasn't having any of it. "Tony, he's gay."

"Ok, I'm gay." Finally he was sobbing. "I'm gay. (sob) I came over to find (sob) my boyfriend, and (sob) he's dumped me. (sob) I've used up all (sob) my money. I've run (sob) away from home to find him, and I don't know what to do (sniffle). Yeah, I'm gay. And I love him. Loved him. I hate him." And his eyes blazed with, well, not actually hate. Despair.

I was still holding him. And stroking his hair. "Siobhan, either shut up or go away! This isn't the time to be..."

"I'm going. He's gay Tony."

"Well, it isn't contagious!" I never had a great deal of patience at the best of times, but this was getting ridiculous. "He's nice, he's in trouble, and I'm staying with him. He needs help. Not disgust, not pity, but help."

I looked up to see the back of Siobhan going out through the doors. "Come on Charlie. Fresh air is what we need, and to get away from here."

"But..."

"Fresh air." I was determined. I wasn't even concerned about how I'd felt for him in the airport, on the plane. I just wanted to help him. Show him that someone cared about him.

"Tony? Your name is Tony?"

"Yeah, I'm Tony."

"You don't mind that I'm..."

"Gay?"

"Gay."

"Why should I mind? Charlie, I'm... Oh this isn't the time."

"You?"

"I don't know. I, er, Charlie, this isn't the time."

"You, too?" He was insistent. "I felt your touch. Your eyes. They're, er, gentle. You are?"

"Charlie, I don't know. I haven't, er, have never, er. I don't have a girlfriend. Look this isn't important right now. You are important right now. You've used up your money. Where will you stay?"

"I was going to stay in his room." He looked tearful again. "It was to be a sort of honeymoon. We hadn't ever, er, we'd talked and cuddled, and stuff, but hadn't ever, well, you know..." He was mumbling. "I'm still a virgin."

"I don't need to know that." I looked at his eyes, and raised his chin to see them better. "I don't need to know it."

"I wanted to tell you. Needed to."

"Listen, I think I can solve the sleeping part. We're stopping just over the road in the hotel, and I've got a room to myself. There is one problem, though."

"Your parents?"

"There are two problems, then. My parents, and the bed. It's, er a double."

"Ah. I see."

"Well, I'm not trying to pick you up, or anything. I would have at Heathrow, though. I, er, well, I, oh this isn't the time either!" I was, what's the phrase, 'covered in confusion'.

"I wouldn't have let you at Heathrow! Look, the bed isn't a problem. I can doss down on the floor. Your folks might be, though."

"I can handle them. Or I think I can." I was smiling at him as we walked slowly to the Stillorgan Road. The incongruity of the name was striking me as we walked there. Me, walking with the boy who had caught my eyes at Heathrow, who had made me catch my breath! Almost hand in hand with him. "I don't mind sharing the bed with you. I'm really not trying anything. I don't even know what to do. I wasn't planning on trying anything on."

"It's OK, Tony. Somehow I know you aren't. I think I like you. A lot. I'm not sure, er, that I liked the guy I came to see. I think I loved him, but you're different."

We walked in silence, crossed the road, and walked down to the Montrose. The foyer was full of luggage from a coach tour. Oregon Illinois, it said on the address labels. They were using the only lift that worked to get the bags up to the rooms. We took the stairs to the third, and I let Charlie into my room. The I picked up the phone, and dialled Mum's room. She answered."

"Mum?"

"Oh, good, you're back. Now I want to..."

"Mum!"

"What?"

"Can you come down a minute, please? I need your help. I've a friend who needs some help."

"Ok."

I must admit, I felt a bit nervous as we waited for her to come down. I hadn't worked out what to tell her about Charlie. But we needed her permission for him to stay. After all, it might cost more for someone else to share. Or she might not approve. Or anything.

Knock. "Tony?"

I let her in. "This is Charlie."

"Hello Charlie. Didn't I see you on the flight over?"

"I expect so," he said, shaking her hand.

"So, Tony. What's the matter?"

"Well, Mum, Charlie has a bit of a problem. He came over to meet a friend. And the friend has told him that he isn't welcome. He's nowhere to stay, and no money, and I was hoping, well I offered him, that he could share with me tonight."

"Where do you live, Charlie? Do your parents know what's happened?"

"They don't know. I didn't tell them where I was going. We live in Walton on Thames, in Surrey."

"Will they be worried?"

"I didn't think."

"Right, Charlie. Pick up that phone and call them. Not a long call, and I want to talk to them after you. You can stay the night, if Tony doesn't mind sharing the bed, that is. But ONLY if they agree and I can talk to them."

I saw tears start down Charlie's face again. Then he did an unexpected thing. He hugged her. "Thank you."

We didn't listen, Mum, nor I, while he was on the phone. Then she had a word with them. "Right," she said, when she came off the phone. "They aren't happy about where you are, but they're happy that you're safe. You're our guest. I don't know you, but I'm going to trust you. Let me down and there'll be hell to pay."

"I wish my Mum were more like you, Mrs Tulley," he said, simply. "I won't let you down."

"I think we might have a talk later, to see if I can help with what went wrong."

"If you like. But there isn't much to tell."

"Right now I'm going to call Dad, Tony, and work out what we're going to do for supper. Why don't you both grab some lunch. It's kind of late, but there's probably something down in the bar area. There's a sort of sandwich area there."

"Mrs Tulley?"

"Yes, Charlie?"

"Thank you."

"Don't keep thanking me." Mum was laughing. "You're going to have to get used to being my guest."

"Well, it's nice of you. Really nice."

And she'd gone, out of the door.

"I don't know what to say, Tony."

"Don't say anything, then. Are you hungry?"

"First he tells me not to say anything, then he asks me if I'm hungry!"

"Charlie, I, er... I'm, er... I. Oh dammit, I can't!"

"I couldn't, either, at first." While he was talking to me, he'd come to stand in front of me, was looking at me. In the eyes. "Take a deep breath, breathe out, look me in the eyes, and just say it."

"I think I'm gay, Charlie."

"That wasn't so bad? Was it?" He was holding my hands. "It's only me, Tony. The boy you hardly know. It's only me."

"I said it."

"You said it."

"I did. I said it!" I was giggling. "I said it!"

Charlie has his arms around me. Like when I was holding him in the refectory. And he was stroking my hair. "It's OK, now. It gets easier."

"But I don't want to tell anyone else."

"You don't need to. Just the people you want to. In your own time. Or no-one. Whatever you want."

"I don't know that this is the right time, Charlie."

"For what?"

"I was wondering, hoping, would you mind if, er would you..." But he had.

Kissed me. Gently. Brushing my lips with his. Holding my face between the tips of his fingers. "Yes, Tony. I'll kiss you. Not because you ask me, but because I want to. I realised something today. I didn't love him. My 'friend' that I came over to see. It wasn't love. It was something else. No-one's ever offered me, well the kindness, the care that you have showed me. Tony, I'm falling for you. No listen. Not for your hair, but I love blond hair. Not for your blue eyes. Not for your smile. But for you. Even if you are beautiful."

"I fell for you at Heathrow. I couldn't take my eyes off you. Yes, I know that wasn't love. But I knew I wanted to get to know you." And I leant forward and put my lips on his again. And locked lips with him, feeling his tongue find its way into my mouth, find my tongue. And we pressed together. Locked, and urgent, pressing so hard together. So excited, I was grinding my erect cock against him through my clothes, finding the bulge where he was as excited as I was. Breathless.

"Charlie? I don't want to get this wrong, Charlie."

"I don't either. I just want to kiss and hold you, Tony. Maybe more later. But now I want to hold you, cuddle you. Be cuddled."

"Let's get some food. I want to get to know you. To find out who you are. To tell you about me. I think I love you Charlie. I think we need to talk. Quite a lot."

So I picked up the key, and that bit of paper with the room number on it that said 'This is your passport - you will be asked for it when you charge things to your room' and went to the lift and the lobby.

There wasn't a huge amount left on display. Cheese and ham sandwiches. It was enough for us. Those plus a couple of cans of coke each. And took them back to the room. By the time we'd eaten them we'd learnt quite a bit about each other.

Charlie and I lived pretty close together. He was in Walton on Thames. I lived in Chertsey. Our backgrounds were pretty similar. We were the same age, give or take. He went to school in Hampton, to the grammar school. I went to the Salesian in Chertsey. Both good schools. And we'd both been attracted to boys since we'd been attracted to anyone.

Charlie told me about the friend he'd come to visit. Oddly, his name was Jim. And I'd named Charlie 'Jimmy'. Jim hadn't been too nice to Charlie. But Charlie had loved him. Or thought he had. Except that Jim had been older, old enough to be at university. And had let him down with a 'Dear Charlie' note.

"I did love him, Tony. I really loved him. I wanted to spend my life with him. I thought the world of him."

"It doesn't matter, now." I looked him in the eyes, and took his hand in mine. "I don't know if it's right or wrong, but I know I want to be with you. Not just today."

"I don't think I believe in love at first sight?" Charlie's eyes were locked on mine. It was certainly more of a question than a statement. "It isn't real, surely?"

"I don't know. I think it's real. I mean, I saw you at Heathrow, and I just knew I had to meet you. I couldn't think of a way to talk to you. And when I did, you were miles away anyway. I know why, now."

"Yeah. That wasn't real." His eyes clouded as he spoke.

"At Heathrow I wanted to rip your clothes of and make love to you at the boarding gate!"

"No!"

"Except I don't know how!"

He was laughing at me, but his mouth was hanging open at the same time. Hard to do. "You mean in front of all those people? Wow!"

"Not just those people. In front of Mum and Dad as well! Charlie I've never admitted I'm gay, even to myself."

"You have, you know. You said it to me, earlier. But you may not be gay."

"Er?"

"Someone said to me once, that I might not be gay. That I oughtn't to use a label like gay. Nor straight for that matter. That labels stick to you. Stick even when you want to take them off. That I shouldn't take a label in case I just needed to be Charlie. Not gay, not straight. Just Charlie. Who today happens to love you, Tony. And I think I always will." And he kissed me. Just gently. Somehow he seemed so much older, so much wiser. And so beautiful.

We spent the rest of the afternoon doing nothing sexual. I don't know about Charlie, but I wasn't even aroused. I felt comfy. A weight lifted from my mind. Someone to be Tony with. We hugged, we cuddled. Sometimes we kissed. There wasn't any urgency about it, no rush, no hurry. Just two lost souls getting to know each other.

The bedside phone rang, shrilling it's not across the bed where we were holding each other. "Hello?"

"Tony, we're all going out to get something to eat. Nothing special. Dad's found a place that's got good food, and doesn't need Charlie to dress up. It doesn't look as though he has much with him!"

"Ok Mum."

"Ten minutes in the foyer?"

"Ok Mum."

I turned to Charlie. "We're going out to eat."

"Your parents are lovely. They don't know me, and they're just taking me on trust."

"Yeah, well they're like that. We get on well, too. Mum said ten minutes. I reckon she'll be down in twenty, but we have to be there in ten!"

The evening was a bit of a blur. Dad asked Charlie a load of questions. Charlie answered him. I know they talked about tickets and stuff. Charlie had a one way ticket. All I really remember was that dad spent a while on his mobile talking to Charlie's parents. So did Charlie. He didn't look all that happy at times. I guess he'd been given a quiet roasting! The upshot was that he would stay with us for the weekend, and that we'd pick up his return ticket at the airline sales desk.

"Are you boys really OK about sharing the bed? The hotel's chock full."

"It's a big enough bed, Dad. I don't mind if Charlie doesn't."

"No, really, Mr Tulley, Tony offered and I don't mind at all."

I have no idea how we kept straight faces while we were answering that

"Well," Dad said, "as long as you are both OK with it." And the subject was closed.

Finally we got back to the hotel. "Dad and I are going to the bar for a while," Mum said. Why don't you both go an watch some TV?

"Tony?" We'd reached the room.

"Mmm?"

"I don't want you to misunderstand me?"

"Go on?"

"I want to make love to you, Tony."

"How should I misunderstand? I told you what I wanted to do at Heathrow, after all."

"Yeah, but this is special, kind of."

"What do you mean?""

"Tony, I never did this before. Not with Jim. Not with anyone. Never. I want to make love to you. Give myself to you."

"I'm a little scared, Charlie. It seems so important. But I want you, too."

We locked the door, and put the chain on. And he took me in his arms, and held me tight and kissed me. "There's time to stop. There's always time to stop." And he kissed me again. "Just tell me, Tony, if you want to stop."

"I don't want to. I don't want to stop." I was kissing back between sentences, holding him to me, My fingers were running through his hair, hands running up and down his spine, tongue tangled with his, trying to reach his tonsils, breathing through my ears, trying to work out how to undress someone else, feeling almost for the first time alive as I held him. And I found he was undressing me, my shirt over my head, my trousers unclipped and unzipped, my trainers off. We were both naked. Vulnerable and naked.

He was beautiful. Not muscular, but muscled. Well defined legs, long muscles, not sprinter's but well conditioned. Slim, but powerful arms, broad shoulders and a subtle six pack, and below his navel - an 'inny' I noticed - a fountain of soft, blond hair as a backdrop to his cock, standing so tall and proud, foreskin just pulling back as the tip, all pink and glowing, strained to escape. "You're as beautiful as I imagined you would be, Charlie. More beautiful. I almost don't dare touch you."

But I dared. His breath, soft in my ears, gasped as I touched just the shaft of his cock. It was like velvet clad steel. Silky soft, yet bar hard at the same time. Burnished, yet pliant. As I moved the skin down the shaft his cockhead was revealed. I studied it. Pink, weeping clear precum at the tip, rounded, not a huge head, not small, with a defined ridge, soft, yet defined, and an arrow of skin beneath the slit, connecting the head to the skin. And the foreskin, so tight, such a different colour and texture inside and out, now pulled back it covered most of the shaft. I couldn't help myself. I kissed the very tip, and Charlie gasped again.

"Oh Tony, it's wonderful. No-one's ever..."

"Shh, I know. I haven't either."

I wanted to hurry, and wanted to prolong the moment at the same time. We had all night. I so didn't want to cum, and needed to cum at the same time. Needed to so badly. I moved and kissed him. "I still don't know what to do."

"Nor do I," he said. "But what we're doing feels right. It does, doesn't it?"

"Mmm." I was licking his cock again. Kneeling in front of him, I started to put the tip into my mouth, just the tip, and then moved my mouth backwards and forwards like I imagined fucking would be, gripping the shaft at the same time, and fucking him with my mouth while wanking him with my hand, with my free hand holding his right buttock, gripping, stroking, moving, pulling, sucking him.

"I'm... Going... I'm... Oh! Oh Tony!"

My mouth had suddenly filled with first his cock, then he came so hard into my mouth that he nearly knocked me over with blast after blast of his virgin seed. And I swallowed it, or all that I could. Because it seemed so right to do it. And the I kissed him. As soon as his breathing would allow. And showed him what he tasted like. Showed him how much I loved him as he pulled me onto the bed and I felt his lips touch my cock.

Touch me where no-one has ever touched me before, and pull my foreskin back and lick me, and pull and push me and I looked down and saw his hair, and his nose, and his eyes smiling at me. And I knew I was in heaven. It was slow at first. A gentle, spreading warmth, a glow, almost. Not like wanking myself at all. Insistent, definite. Painstaking, deep strokes on the shaft, his mouth now making a vacuum, now pushing, now rubbing the head with the roof, now the tongue. And it built, and I learnt how to feed the sensations back to him by stroking his hair and by tensing my muscles. And the feeling grew from the base of my cock, there between my cheeks, all the way to my waist and knees, grew so that I felt I was floating off the bed, grew so strong that I came, ten, there, without warning, came into his mouth, came with such a feeling as I never had before.

And he moved up and kissed me in return. And I learnt what I tasted like. And it was the same as Charlie, yet different.

It was almost in unison that we spoke. "I love you." Or we tried to say it. But it didn't matter. And we struggled to get into the bed we'd been on, and lay there with our arms around each other. Glowing. Had we each lost our virginity then? Who knows. But we were in love. And happy. And tired. And wanting more! Much more. But not just then, as we dozed into oblivion, murmuring to each other of our love.

We support Ukraine — Мы поддерживаем Украину — Ми підтримуємо Україну

We support Ukraine — Мы поддерживаем Украину — Ми підтримуємо Україну

Iomfats.org

Flight of Fancy

by It's Only Me from Across the Sea