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THIERRY

Posted by: SoloTouchArchive Author: admin Posted on: 18 Aug 2001 1 comments
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by Andrew He was nearly three years older than me; his mother was french and his English father worked at the UK embassy in Paris, but he had been brought up in England and sent to an expensive public school, which in England means a fee-paying, private boarding school catering for boys aged between 13 and 18. He used to fly back to Paris for his school holidays, which seemed exotic (like his name) to the rest of us boys, who usually caught a train from the railway station to our homes, often hundreds of miles away. The culture of an English public school will seem peculiar (I almost wrote "queer") if you have attended a co-educational day school. Before arriving, new and frightened at the school, you have probably been given a "pep" talk by the headteacher of your preparatory school about sex. Prep schools are about "preparing" you for your public school, so one of their duties is to tell you that because boys grow into young men by the time they are 16 and are driven by something called hormones, a single sex environment without girls creates tensions which sometimes display themselves by older pupils falling in love with the younger ones. Nothing was ever said in these talks about masturbation and, having been masturbating since I was virtually out of nappies, I knew that the practice was more-or-less a closed book to the other 13 year-olds who listened, trying to suppress their giggles, while the headteacher talked about sex in my next school. However the upshot was that every new boy was made to think warily of the behaviour of the older boys, who - at 18 - looked and sounded like grown-ups to us younger kids. It was not long after my arrival at my public school that there took place the experimental activities I related in the true stories published on June & July 7th 01 on this site. The excitement which I felt when I first grasped Steve's enormous, rigid and about-to-cum cock in the dark under the bedclothes is something I will never forget, but that was "experimentation" because he was the same age as me and there was nothing "romantic" about the feelings between us, which were purely sexual. His spectacular ejaculations had to be seen to be believed ! When I became aware of the feelings of older boys towards myself, these were completely different : they were romantic, not overtly sexual, and might best be described with hindsight as "puppy love". For all that, the feelings were strong and in many ways "pure" and it seemed only natural to feel an interest in someone who expressed such a strong interest in oneself. Up to the age of 15 several boys fancied that they were in love with me, and several of my older friends during the course of their school careers fancied that they were in love with younger boys. This never happened to me because I was convinced that I was going to be "straight" but I did find it difficult to know how to behave towards those who looked intently at me with big solemn eyes. I was, I think, quite good-looking and I felt emotionally responsive towards those who seemed fond of me. But the one who set me the most problems - and who really excited me - was Thierry. In the macho world of boys cooped up in a boarding school for thirteen weeks at a time amongst other boys, and with a rigid set of rules and expectations of behaviour for daily life, Thierry was a kind of God. He was not specially clever, but he was a brilliant games player and later went on to play football for one of England's most prestigious London clubs. He did not have big solemn eyes, they were blue and twinkling, he had a lovely smile and he was good-tempered and conversational; but the most remarkable things about him were his vitality, and the fact that he was prepared to break all the rules - both written and unwritten. Also he just oozed sexuality ! Was it because nature had given me a longer cock than average that he once made his way into the communal bathroom where I was taking a bath after a game of tennis ? And how did he know I would be there on my own ? HIS communal bath-house was in a different building and boys from different "houses" did not visit each other's facilities. Maybe he hoped I would be taking a shower but it was in a small, tub-shaped bath that he found me. I turned over onto my tummy so that he could not see my swelling erection and he talked for what seemed hours as the water got colder and colder. I did not dare to sit up to turn on more hot or get out of the bath. Eventually other boys came into the bath-house and I seized a moment to stand up and grab my towel to cover my nakedness (and my erection!) before he could get a good look at me, but the truth is that I should love to have had a good look at *him*, only in private. He had a wonderful body and - unlike me and most of my friends (though not Steve) - was obviously prepared to use it. I badly wanted to know what it was between his legs that drove him on to be so different, so vigorous and so sexy. After the scene in the bath-house he began chasing me more intently. He had failed his exams and his parents had told him that he must leave school at the end of the Autumn term because they did not wish to pay for him to continue without results. Once he followed me all the way to a distant swimming pool and even got on the same bus but without sitting next to me. Also he met me on the way back to my boarding "house" after an evening tutorial with a teacher. I enjoyed the interest he took in me and talking with him very much and when he put his arms round me and kissed me for the first time on that stroll back to my house, it didn't feel wrong at all ! After all, I had had that talk from the headteacher of my prep school about older boys falling in love with younger ones, and though at that age my good looks had a somewhat feminine appearance, I never had any doubt about my "maleness". On his very last day at school, not long before Christmas, I was asleep in my dormitory when I awoke to discover a hand pushing under the bedclothes and resting lightly on my chest. HIS hand ! My excitement was enormous, but so was my sense of danger. What would my mates say of me if I allowed him to "do" me - me, who prided himself on never having been "done" by anyone else, though I had masturbated Steve on several earlier occasions and was to do so again - see my June story. As Thierry's fingers edged their way down to my waist and were only inches from my hard-on, I placed my hand over his and stopped him. I wish now that I had whispered to him to take off all his clothes and jump into bed with me, for that way I would have got to have found out what swung between his legs. I really did want to feel him, but I didn't think of it at the time. When he realised that I would not let his probing hand reach my cock he said "Lets go for a walk!" - even though it was nearing midnight and there were five degrees of frost outside. He had brought with him a small bottle of rum (another exotic and forbidden touch) and his breath smelt of it as he knelt on the floor by my bed, whispering in my ear. I had no hesitation in agreeing and we slipped quietly downstairs to the changing rooms where I hunted for some clothing to disguise my raging hard-on. (In my confusion I never looked to see if he had one too �) Quickly I found some bathing trunks belonging to another boy, but to my dismay they were much too small and fitted very tightly over my crotch and I was forced to compress my stiff prick under the garment so that it lay flat against my tummy. It was not the best way to feel comfortable ! We left by a door which was out of bounds but could be unlocked from the inside and walked out into the silent road. The street lights shone on the frosted pavements as we made our way towards the nearby park and he took several swigs of rum before passing the bottle to me to try. It tasted good - and I was enormously excited. When we got to the park we sat on a bench made white by the frost and talked about the holidays to come and what he hoped to do with his life after leaving school. It was an emotional moment for him, leaving school and spending his last hours with me in this way and I think that my resolve in not letting him "do" me in my bed had made him decide not to try again. Anyway it was COLD and my dick was absurdly compressed in those over-tight swimming trunks. When eventually we returned to my house, he kissed me goodbye and told me with great sincerity that he felt that he really loved me. And I believed him. But I knew that we would meet again because he was playing one last football match for the school in London against a school there the next day and I had fortunately arranged to stay with a friend in London so that we could go to the match and cheer our school on. I got back, frozen, to my cold bed in the dormitory and spent a restless few hours of near-sleep before we had to get up, get showered and washed and present ourselves in the refectory for the last breakfast of term. Then it was time to take the train to London with my pal, Peter. I remember that we won that match and that Thierry made an amazing run from near our goal-line to the other end of the pitch and that half-way down he lost one of his boots in a tackle. He continued at speed with one boot on and the other way back up the pitch. When the players trooped off to the changing rooms at the end of the game I felt that a chapter - an important chapter - of my life had come to an end and Peter and I were just turning to go back to his home when we were hailed from behind. Thierry had not yet changed and was dripping with perspiration but had left his team briefly to say he had seen me on the touchline and would I come to his hotel at about 6.30 pm that evening as he was flying to Paris the next day ? Would I ! I hurriedly asked where it was and then rejoined Peter. It was about 4.00 pm and the winter sky was already darkening. I looked up the nearest Tube station to his hotel, explained to Peter's mum that I had met a friend who was leaving London the next day and set off. When I got to the hotel he was there, waiting for me in the foyer and as we went up the broad, carpeted steps of the luxurious hotel each step was an anticipation of the excitement to cum. If we had not been in public I would have grasped his hand. When we reached his room he locked the door behind us, took me in his arms and embraced me, pressing his firm, athletic body against mine. Over his shoulder I could see his bed, neatly made up and his suitcases open but mainly packed. I felt shy as his hand gently touched the bulge in my trousers but this was what I had come for and it was not long before we were undressing and jumping into bed. Oh God - at last ! We kept our shorts on and there was a moment of hesitation as to which side of the bed each of us would lie on, but when there is such an urge, these things are quickly settled. He put his arms round me and kissed me again and again, then placed his hands on my chest and traced a cross from one hard nipple to the other and then down from the middle towards my pelvis. I responded by touching the elastic of his shorts and running my finger along the inside of the band. Soon we had each kicked our shorts down to the end to the bed (all of this under the covers) and the delicious moment, so much anticipated had arrived ! He put his fist round my throbbing dick, gently pulled my foreskin down and stroked the swollen glans. I think he was surprised to find it all slippery with pre-cum for when I put my own hand on his rigid pole I found that it was dry. But it was magnificent - wonderfully stiff and thick. We wanted to see each other so we rolled the bed clothes back and there it was in all its glory ! I suppose it was only about 5 inches in length but it had the best-looking head I had ever seen. He was not cut but his foreskin was shorter than mine and the size of his erection meant that the skin peeled back naturally and was held in place by the pronounced ridge at the base of his helmet. And this helmet was quite something - really blunt and massively broad, whereas mine was slimmer and more pointed. I put my hand round it and as I did so he did a surprising thing : he leaned back and put both his hands behind his head so that his arms were akimbo on the pillows. It was an invitation for me to play with him unfettered by any attention he might want to pay to my cock and I needed no second invitation. The skin beneath that superb helmet moved with a silky ease and I gently moved my hand up and down on his thick rod. My rhythm must have been wrong for him for he brought one of his hands from behind his head and closed it over the hand I had wrapped round his cock and urged it to faster action. I therefore increased the pace of my stroking and as I did so he again put his hand behind his head. I looked up into his face : his eyes were closed and he was smiling in utter bliss. "So this is what it has all been about" I thought, "he just loves being "done" ! He did indeed. His breathing came faster but he made no sound, no moans and suddenly I felt his whole body quiver, that superb dick lifted a little as if it had a mind of its own and he thrust his hips up towards my arm while I continued to jack him. Then there shot from the great helmet head a jet of spunk which landed on his chest, followed by another which was even longer, then another three or four spurts of diminishing volume and length. I was entranced ! I kept my hand on his rod while I rolled over to give him a kiss on the lips, then took my hand off his deflating tool and rubbed his cum all over his chest and tummy. During all of this his arms remained on the pillow and he wore that ecstatic smile ! I thought naturally that he would now want to jerk me off but I had two further discoveries to make. Firstly, such had been my excitement in seeing Thierry's wonderful body and orgasm that I felt "satisfied" even though I had not cum. And - even more surprisingly - Thierry now said that he went "flat" after an orgasm and just wanted to lie there, happy and exhausted. As I needed to get back for an evening meal with Peter and his parents, I had to leave - and a sorrowful but satisfied parting it was. I only saw him once again, four or five years later, when he was famous as a football player, was married and had two very young children. He was with his wife and he said to me with that wicked, seductive grin of his that the main thing in life was to make a woman love you. And I'm sure his wife did just that ! However my story is not finished and I do not know to this day whether I should be ashamed of it or not. I had been out of my bed for much of the previous night and was feeling tired, but there had been some intense excitement during the last twenty four hours and I had not actually had an orgasm. So when Peter and I went to bed at about 11.00 o'clock in his narrow basement bedroom, with an extra bed for me placed opposite his, we were soon talking about his girlfriend and about sex in general, though I told him nothing about my late afternoon experiences. One thing led to another and our hands touched on the floor between our beds. Soon I was in his bed and making the "sign of the cross" on him which had so excited me when Thierry had done it to me six hours earlier. I asked him not to "do" me but I loved the touch of his hand on my cock and my own hand was soon stroking his dick, which was smaller than Thierry's and softer. I couldn't tell whether he was circumcised or not because his glans was fully exposed but there was a fold of skin under the head. Once again, no pre-cum (though I was dripping with it) and as I urgently stroked him, so, as he approached his climax, he groaned and said "Cumming,cumming,cumming,cumming, CUM" and with that last excited cry he rolled his body towards mine, trapping my hand which was wrapped round his swollen cock. With the flesh of our tummies pressed so tightly together that I could not continue to stroke him, I felt his slippery cum spread warmly over us both as he relaxed from ejaculating his load. This was the last of my surprises for that action-filled day : when I masturbate I like to continue stroking until the spasms are spent, whereas he wanted to stop as soon as he fired his first shot. The next day I went back home for the Christmas holidays, savouring these two very different experiences and it was nearly two years before I had my last sexual encounter with another male. That "final fling" (which really happened) you can read about on this website for July 7th but the above, sadly, is fiction. I wish heartily that it had all really happened like that. If you have enjoyed this story and would like to e-mail me your comments on any aspect of it, please don't hold back. Also, I would like very much to share in your recollections of early boy- and man-sex and to discover what happened to you afterwards . I'll try to get back to you as soon as possible.