Drew

by Charles Lacey

Chapter 1

When Dad said we were going on a narrow-boat holiday, I groaned internally. I mean, boring or what? I knew what would happen. It would be Mum and Dad and me, plus Uncle Pete (Dad's brother), Auntie Millie and their two boys Luke and Jack. Luke was a year older than me, Jack a year younger.

So we were to start from somewhere unpronounceable in Wales and sail very, very slowly down the canal to somewhere in England where we would turn around and sail very, very slowly back again.

And it would be "Drew, could you just..." and "Drew, would you see to..." There would be three cabins, one shared by Mum and Dad, one by Uncle Pete and Auntie Millie, and one by Luke, Jack and me. And I'd have to put up with Luke's constant bragging about the girls he'd kissed and more (most of which I suspect was in his overheated imagination) and Jack's constant yattering about football. Neither of which was of any interest to me.

I'd worked out a couple of years earlier that I was gay. I wasn't out or anything, I'd have gone through hell at school if I had been, and I was dead careful where I looked in the showers and changing room at school. But I was developing a good eye for a nice looking lad.

Come to that, I didn't reckon I was that bad looking myself. Tallish, like my Dad, but stick-thin. Looking at myself... well, O.K., admiring myself in the full length mirror in the bathroom, I didn't dislike what I saw. Chest and shoulders rather narrow, slim hips, long elegant legs, rather a narrow face which I hoped would fill out in a year or two, soft brown eyes. My skin was still boy-soft, just the slightest fuzz of hair on the shins, plus a neat little tuft between my legs. I reckoned my dick was O. K. too. Having very little body fat always makes the genitals look a bit bigger, and mine weren't anything to be ashamed of. About four inches fully erect, still with quite a bit of overhanging foreskin, a few wrinkles, and a tidy scrotum getting towards man size, hanging lower on one side than the other. I'd arranged a couple of mirrors once so as to give me a good view of my arse, and if it had been someone else's I'd have fancied it like anything.

So ... I was up for it. But how to get it? I was thirteen and a half, and it wouldn't be too difficult to find someone who fancied me, but the law being the law, most guys would run a mile rather than get involved with an under-age boy. O. K., I realise there has to be a law to protect little boys and girls from predators, but for a mature thirteen-nearly-fourteen-year-old who was gagging for it? Somewhere in one of Dad's books this character says that 'the Law is a Ass and a Idiot'. However, it was the law, and there was nothing I could do about it except hope for some good luck.

Well, being on that bloody boat was even worse than I had expected. The cabin was so small that we were almost in the same bed, and the toilet was tiny and in almost continuous use. I couldn't even have a crap without someone thumping on the door and telling me to hurry up. So there I was, hadn't had a wank for four days (FOUR days, I ask you!) and almost constantly hiding a hard-on in the baggiest jogging bottoms I could find.

Came the point that we were to travel over the Aqueduct. Seemed this was a really famous place, so many metres high, over a big valley (I admit the view was pretty good) and then preparing to go through the tunnel. We tied up at a mooring near this tunnel for lunch, and I said, can I go for a walk? I'd seen this tunnel, it was dead dark and I reckoned I might get a hundred metres into it and get a bit of self-administered release into the water.

So I got out of the boat and then I saw this drop-dead-gorgeous boy. About my age, no taller than me but really neat and compactly built. Fair hair, blue eyes, the works. And wearing tightish shorts that showed a shapely arse and a nice little package the other side as well as lovely legs. Well, this boy looked at me, then looked away abruptly. Then I saw his eyes swivel back again. Oho, I thought, here's someone interested. So I stretched my arms up, then down, pretended to adjust my pants so as to pull them tight over my arse, had a quick scratch of my own package and wandered into the tunnel.

Well, that tunnel was seriously dark. All I could see was a greenish egg-shaped light the far end, where the daylight, filtered through trees, came through the arch and was reflected in the water. I set off, holding the hand-rail, going slowly enough to let my new – I hoped – friend catch up. The towpath was really narrow, which I thought might be helpful. Well, he came along, keeping a little way behind me. So I kept walking, slowly, and he stayed just behind me. After a bit I thought, well, this is getting nowhere, maybe I'd stop and lean on the handrail a bit, so that he'd have had to push past me and that might at least give us the chance of a quick feel, one way or the other. Remember, I was sure he was interested, and he hadn't seen me close to so perhaps in the dark tunnel he wouldn't have known I was underage.

What I hadn't reckoned with was the rotten uprights holding up the handrail. Inevitable, I suppose, in that damp atmosphere. But the bloody thing gave way, and left me frantically scrabbling for a foothold. No go. The pathway was wet stone, and my trainers had about as much grip as a cat's paws on a polished floor. Over I went, straight into the water.

Well, I reckon I must have given a bit of a shout as I went over, and the splash echoed all around the tunnel. That water was bloody cold. It was a bit smelly, too, close up. Fortunately I could swim, so I kept up by treading water.

The lad who had been following me called out, "Are you alright?" To which I replied, "No, I'm in the bloody water, please come and help me out."

Well, he came over as quick as possible, and knelt on the edge, grabbed my wrists (he had lovely soft warm hands) and tried to pull me out by the arms. That nearly got him into the water on top of me. Next, he tried sitting on the edge and pulling. That was no better. In the end he did what we should have done to start with, he towed me along to where the handrail uprights were still sound, braced himself against one of them and up I came, sopping wet of course.

Then he said, "I live just along here, would you like to come and dry off? My parents are out for the afternoon." I thought, your luck's in now, Drew lad. So we squelched along to his house, which was not that far. We went in the back way and he said, "I've got some things you can borrow while you dry off." He gave me a towel and told me to start getting dry, then he went upstairs and came back with a pair of jogging bottoms and a fleece. By then I had my T-shirt off and was drying my top half. He couldn't take his eyes off me. So I put on the fleece and turned sideways on to him while I took off my soaked pants. Of course I made sure he got a glimpse of my arse as well as my dick. I could see his package filling up in front while he watched, so I took my time drying off.

Well, eventually I thought, this has gone on long enough. I put on his jogging bottoms and pulled them up tight so that he got another eyeful, then smiled and said, "Well, what do I do now? Oh, and by the way, my name's Drew." "Mine's Desmond, he said, and what do you want to do?"

Oh, well, I thought, no point in hanging about, so I just said, "This," went over to him put my hands on his shoulders and and kissed him on the lips. Well, that took him aback a bit but he soon responded and before long we were snogging away. He was lovely. He must have cleaned his teeth not long before because he tasted slightly pepperminty. His hands soon slid down my back and started fondling my arse. I responded by sliding my hands up his chest and tweaking his tits. It didn't take long until we were both starkers except that I kept my – well, his – fleece on. He was lovely stripped. Not heavily muscled, but with nice clearly defined abs and pecs. Pretty smooth, too, just a sprinkling of soft fuzz on his shins. And he had a lovely arse, hairless and nicely shaped.

His dick wasn't enormous, in fact probably slightly smaller than the dildo which I keep hidden behind some books in my bedroom (some time I'll tell you how I got that) but it was straining up. I nearly came when I saw it, but managed to hold back. Until, that is, he took my dick in his mouth and starting tongueing under the foreskin. (It must have been slightly cheesy after four days without a shower, but he didn't seem to mind.) Well, that did it for me. After four days of abstinence I squirted a fair amount of jizz round his tonsils. Then I took him in hand. Well, a few gentle strokes and he was on the edge, so I stopped and smiled at him. I kept edging him, but after the third or fourth time I got it wrong, and that was the end of that fleece. So we laughed, and snogged a bit more, and then he got me a clean T-shirt, we dressed and sat down. He brought in a Coke and some biscuits, and we chatted for a bit.

Then I thought, Hell's teeth, what am I going to tell Mum? She'd see that I wasn't wearing the clothes I'd gone out in. "Don't worry," said Desmond, "tell her the truth, that you fell in and I pulled you out and lent you some clothes. If you like, you can drop them off when you come back and I'll have your own things clean and dry ready to pick up."

So I thanked him and we had a final snog before I made my way back along the tunnel. Thinking about Desmond, I nearly stopped for a wank in the middle, but I guessed the Olds would be getting worried about me so I kept going. Predictably, Mum was in a right tizz, and I got a dirty look from Dad. Luke kept questioning me, clearly thinking I'd met a girl and fucked her. I think he was just the teeniest bit jealous. Little did he know.

Anyway, it was back to "Drew, can you just..." and "Drew, will you help with..." and the rest of that stuff. We sailed on down to some little place, just three houses and a pub, and turned round and started back. Guess who got the short straw when it came to working the locks.

Then disaster struck. I'd told Mum and Dad that I'd fallen in, and a kind stranger had helped me out of the water and lent me some clothes. Then they wanted to go to his house to meet him! And thank him in person! Well, that certainly didn't suit my romantic plans. And if they found out we'd had a bit of fun along the way the shit would really hit the fan. What the fuck do I do now? I thought. Well, at least I had plenty of time to think out a plan. Because not only did I not want the Olds having anything to do with Desmond, I certainly didn't want him getting into any trouble on my account. On the other hand, I certainly did want to have some time to spend with him on our own. Overnight would have been ideal, but I'd settle for a couple of hours.

Eventually I come up with a plan. We were going to moor about a mile upstream from where Desmond lived (just on the far side of the tunnel), and I said I wanted some exercise, and could I be dropped off a mile or so downstream, and walk up. Well that worked, thanks be to whoever arranges these things. I had Desmond's clothes nicely folded in a plastic bag, and set off.

Well, it was into the house and up the stairs, shedding clothes on the way. Fortunately his parents were out and not expected back for a couple of hours. He had a lovely soft bed, and we were onto it. Wowzers, was he a good lover or what? We played around for a while, then he decided he wanted to be topped. So we lubed up my dick and his arse, his ankles came up near my ears and in I went. I have to be honest at this point and say that I'd never done it to another bloke, and it was quite an experience. There's an initial resistance as you go in, then it's all soft and yielding. Desmond had more experience than me (I think that was because he went to a boarding school; from what he told me there was a pretty fair amount of fun going on there!), and he had an incredible trick of squeezing his muscles inside so as to give his top (me, in this case) an extra thrill. That did it. I had the most intense orgasm I'd ever experienced and squirted massively inside him.

I reckoned his dick, even fully engorged, was no bigger than my dildo, so I suggested we change positions. So I lay on my back with my ankles over his shoulders, and in he went. He was well lubed up, so there was no trouble going in. It was a little bit painful at first, but once he was in it was lovely. He started nice and slow, gradually speeding up and going deeper. I hear there's a gland inside the male which is stimulated by anal intercourse. He certainly stimulated mine. Before long I was hard as a rock again, and straining for release. Then his hand came down to my dick. That did it. Two or three strokes, and I came again, and made a right mess on his hand as well as both of our bellies. That did it for him, and I swear I felt his come spurting up inside me.

So we lay in his bed recovering from our efforts, until a passing narrow-boat hooted and reminded me that I needed to get back to ours. So we had a final snog, just for the fun of it, and I got dressed and made my way back through the tunnel. I got a hard look from Mum, followed by an even harder look from Dad. It was then that I realised I was still wearing Desmond's clothes. Luke was really snotty with me after that, he was convinced I'd been with a girl. Little did he know I'd done much better than that.

But as for Desmond's clothes... well, the only possible thing to do was going to be to come back next year and return them...