The Tree House

Posted by: Author: Age: 15 then 64 now Posted on: 0 comments
0 likes 891 views Category: Male-Male Tags:

Follows on from 'With Pete'

 

Tez and I were walking to school one day, nattering about the Boys' Club or some such mundane subject. As we approached the bottom of the steep hill, we noticed just ahead of us a small figure dawdling along trailing a satchel along the ground. As we drew abreast of him, I saw that it was Martin, whom Peter fancied. Martin was also a Club member, so Tez also knew him by sight.



'Come on, get a move on, you little wank,' Tez chided good-naturedly.



'You big wank!' Martin responded.



The banter continued.



'You don't know what it means.' Tez countered.



'Yes I do,' said Martin, vehemently. He made a hollow fist and jerked it up and down in mid-air. 'It's when you do this and spunk comes.'



'You can't get spunk', Tez taunted.



'I know, but I can get the feeling.' Replied Martin triumphantly, his eyes brightening wickedly.



'Dirty little sod', I laughed, making a mental note. Since Peter's comment, I'd taken more notice of Martin and I fully understood how Pete felt. Martin brushed the blond hair out of his eyes in his own characteristic manner. I melted and went weak at the knees. Martin, I learned from Fr. Tony, lived in a first floor flat with his mum, a sister and a couple of chows, on route between my house and the Catholic Church. Martin had recently stopped going to Sunday Mass. At 15, I had lost none of that deviousness that had been instrumental in making contact with Colin all those years earlier. I offered, via the Club, to befriend Martin and soon took to calling for him on a Sunday to take him to Mass. He moaned and complained a bit about this, not being overly religious or energetic, but I suppose he was glad to have someone take an interest in him. I soon became very fond of him, but he became the cause of a contretemps between our priest, Fr. Tony, and me, which I hasten to add, was entirely my fault.



It was the weekend of the Bishop's visit, and I had said that I would help Fr. Tony with the preparations on the Saturday. However, I bumped into Martin and his pal John - also a Club member. Martin had told me previously of their secret tree camp located in some nearby public wooded gardens. The two boys were headed there when I met them. I was anxious to see this camp, as I suspected it might well be a venue for, let us say, boyhood delights. We reached the gardens and John scrabbled around at the base of a tree in some earth and dead leaves. He soon unearthed a coil of rope with a small but quite thick piece of wood tied to one end. Using the wood as a weight, the lads swung the rope over the lowest branch of the tree. This branch could never be reached without the rope, so any passing youngsters who fancied a bit of tree climbing would have left this one alone as being too difficult. We all hauled ourselves up, and climbed higher and higher, dragging the rope up behind us. Thick foliage covered the tree house so it was completely obscured from below. It was the sort of hideaway den that only boys would know about. It was great! The structure had been assembled from planks and joists of wood, and although nailed together quite securely, there were areas in need of repair. On a subsequent visit, I was able to help with some repairs - even if I did drop a hammer head onto the road beneath! It was waterproof - almost - on account of a tarpaulin that covered much of the roof. A piece of old carpet covered the floor and the interior was generously strewn with comics and old cushions. There may have been a candle at one end, although I cannot be absolutely sure. There was just enough room for all three of us to lie down fairly comfortably. John lay next to the opening that served as a window; I lay next to him in the middle, with Martin to my left, nearest the entrance. I stretched my arm out and cradled Martin's head. It was fairly murky, but not so dim that we couldn't see. My earlier suspicion about what the boys got up to in the tree house was soon confirmed, as almost as soon as he lay down, John undid his trousers, and, slipping them and his underpants down to his knees, began masturbating. I lost no time and slipped my hand up Martin's brief khaki shorts as I gave him a peck on the cheek. He was not too keen on the kissing part as he began singing:



'Who's that kissing on my cheek?' to the tune of Barnacle Bill, The Sailor. As I had my back to John when I kissed Martin, John could not have seen. I suppose my body language had betrayed the fact that I didn't really want John to see the kiss. Martin's little song was, I believe, to mildly warn me off. He only tolerated it on account of the thrill my right hand was giving him. I took my hand out of his shorts, undid his zip, and began to wank him properly.



'Just a minute,' he said, and undid the clip at the top of his shorts. Raising his bottom off the floor, he slid his shorts and pants down. As he did this, I cupped a bum cheek in each hand and gave them a squeeze.



'Mmmm, ...that's lovely', Martin moaned appreciatively. He lay back, thrusting his erection forward. I quickened my pace and Martin sighed in enjoyment. He invited John to have a look, as my hand and Martin's cock became just a blur.



I was now also extremely aroused and undid my own trousers. I guided Martin's hand down to my crotch, and he held my penis. He rubbed it for a few strokes, then said,



'We don't want you shooting all over the place.'



Both boys were neatly circumcised, and as I took Martin nearer his inevitable climax, he writhed in ecstasy. I never thought he could be so sexy, as he lay there with his pants around his ankles and his top pushed up to his armpits. As he 'got the feeling' - as he had described it to Tez and me - he arched his back, sighed loudly and thrust vigorously into my hand. When I look back on that session in the tree house, I wish I had cast caution to the wind and sucked him off. I suppose John's presence prevented that.



Needless to say, I had totally lost track of time and that meant I had forgotten the Bishop's visit and my commitment to help Fr Tony as well. I finally arrived at the Church by about 4.20pm, about three hours late! When Fr Tony heard my reasons for the delay, he was not impressed!

Comments

0 comments -

You must be logged in to post wall comments or like a story. Please login or signup (free).

Other Stories You May Enjoy

Author

avatar SoloTouchArchive 37052 stories submitted 2687 techniques submitted
Current Rating:
5.0
Suggest Tags (Keywords) Separate each tag with a comma.
Tags must be approved.

Search Stories

Alternative Search



Submit Your Story

Signup Now to submit your stories, techniques, comment on others' submissions, chat, post to the forum and more...FREE.



Submit Story

Popular Story Tags

Toys and Products

Dating and Cams



Friends of Solotouch

Friends of SoloTouch