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Subject: Last of the Line Chapter 80 Last of the Line by badboi666 =============================================================================== If sex with boys isn’t your thing, go away. If, as is much more likely, you’ve come to this site precisely to get your rocks off reading about sex with 14-year-olds then make yourself comfortable – you’re in the right place. NOTE to the reader: “Peter Brown” aka badboi666 is, as you might guess, not in the first flush of youth: indeed he is well into the you’ll-die-if-you-get-this-fucking-thing age cohort. It has been his habit in all his stories published here to be two or three chapters ahead of publication. If he gets a nasty cough and a temperature he will post all outstanding chapters together with a synopsis of what is still to come. Then, if he snuffs it, you can at least have some idea of what befell Dab in the end. A bit like Edwin Dro Don’t leave, however, without doing this: Donate to Nifty – these buggers may do it for love but they still have to eat. fty/donate.html =============================================================================== Chapter 80 I was still only 17 when David was killed, and I had another year to endure at school. James had known about David for ages – known about my love for him, I mean – and was as supportive as he knew how to be. Alas, this wasn’t very much. Our relationship was curiously more distant as I had become older: he was never hostile or censorious, but he was never a source of comfort or consolation either. I had no-one with whom I could mourn – our relationship had been taboo. I was often in despair, and came close on one occasion to marching into the nearest army recruiting place and lying about my age. I don’t know what stopped me, but it didn’t happen. Instead I went back to school and tried to behave as normally as I could. Two of my contemporaries – I was a prefect by then – saw that I was deeply unhappy, and one evening a week or so after term started I blurted it all out over a few beers we’d sneaked in. “You poor bastard”, said Keith, “I knew you spent a lot of time together before he left, but I hadn’t realised you were an item.” Wally, who hadn’t been aware of how close David and I had been, but whose brother had been killed before Dunkirk, put his arms round me and held me while I wept. To their credit neither of them breathed a word of my grief, and they remained friends for many years until inevitably we gradually lost touch. I owe them a great debt. My last year at school, while bleak emotionally, was at least successful academically. I got a place at Cambridge to read English, and was given the option of deferring it until the end of the War or going up in October 1941. I consulted James who strongly advised deferring it. “You’ll get much more out of life at Cambridge in peace-time, whenever that is, than you will with the knowledge that you’ve got to go off and fight when your exams are over. Besides if the War goes badly you may get hauled out half-way through and then you really are stuck. If this business lasts four years like the last one you’ll still be only 22 or so.” As that was my own thinking it was good to have it reinforced. “Once you’ve told the college you’re deferring they’ll tell the War Office and you’ll be called up sharpish. If you wait for that you’ll have no choice how you serve. Have you thought about that?” I hadn’t, but I knew instantly what I would choose. I wanted to survive the War, but if I didn’t I wanted to die as David had done – flying. I told James I wanted to join the RAF. James, then 55, was working God knows how may hours a day in some Whitehall job, said that I should give him 48 hours. “Why?” “Strings I can pull, Bertie. You don’t mind, do you?” I shook my head, “not if they can get me into the RAF quickly.” They did. I was given a name and James told me to report to an office in Croydon. I went the next day and the upshot was that Pilot Officer Cunliffe B.A. joined a squadron in Bomber Command in July 1942, still not 20. ***** As you can tell, I did survive. But of the War I shall not be writing here. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ That was unexpected, to say the least. We seemed to be a family who found our love as adolescents, and I thanked my lucky stars that Fate had been kinder to me that she had to poor Bertie. I began to wonder how and when my grandfather Arthur would come along, and indeed when Bertie would succeed to the earldom. I knew that Bertie’s countess had been a d’Abernon, but had she married an earl, or a courtesy viscount? I hoped Bertie would get there quickly. At dinner that evening Jack was full of news about his discoveries. Inverthrum, it appeared, had a very acidic soil, and that meant that certain things just wouldn’t grow. He was in the middle of looking into fruit crops to see whether anything which might be commercially useful would grow there. “Mrs McCallum said that there were always fruit grown there, but with the climate change what grew there when she was a child won’t necessarily be the best things now.” His excitement was infectious, and Billy asked him how far he’d got. “Most berries do well. Apples are OK. As far as vegetables are concerned radishes seem to be the best, but I’ve no idea whether there’s a market for them – after all, you don’t need that many – it’s not like potatoes, though they’re good as well. I’m going kilis escort to write something for Hester and she’ll be able to pick out the things we should concentrate on.” “You’ll be able to fill her in on sun and shade and so on, I assume?” I said. “Oh yes, that’s all in the notes I made. The big unknown is the climate, but that’s the same for every grower.” I asked Jack something which had been worrying away at the back of my mind. “Inverthrum’s only an acre and a half. Is it worth growing anything on so small an estate?” He looked up. “Of course it’s worth growing, Dab, but whether it’s worth growing to sell isn’t my job. You should talk to Hester and Mr Dunstable about that.” Jack was growing up fast: six months ago he’d never have had the confidence to make that reply. “Tomorrow afternoon, Jack, I shall do just that, and you will come with me. You talk to Hester in the morning.” He got his own back slightly by telling me that in that case he had work to do that evening, and as soon as we’d finished eating he shot off back to Hester’s hide and his books. Billy was greatly amused. “He’s really got his teeth into this, hasn’t he. I hope it all works out for him.” ***** The meeting with Dunstable and Hester the following afternoon was fascinating. Jack had prepared a folder for each of us with his report and, as an appendix, his thoughts about which things we should plant. The bottom line was that the amount we could grow was too small to be useful to a wholesaler, but that if we could find outlets locally we could market our produce as “home grown” or something similar. In other words a niche market. Dunstable and I said nothing while we read the three or four pages. He looked at me when he’d finished to see whether I wanted to ask anything. I didn’t: I wanted to hear what he thought. “I agree about the quantity being too small, but I’m not sure in which direction to go. The idea of selling direct to local hotels and restaurants is worth exploring, but even if you have two or three crops at a time, and maybe winter and summer ones, you’ll still only be dealing in half a dozen items.” He turned to me. “Have you thought of buying more land up there? Is there adjoining acreage which could be used to get us up to a worthwhile commercial size – say 20 acres?” I had no idea. “Even if there were, and we could buy it, would it be a sensible investment before we find out how good the soil is? Why not go with Jack’s recommendation, and if we find the right mix of crops, and they do well, we could look to expand in a few years?” Jack looked pleased, as did Hester. “I would support that,” she said, “and what Jack’s written has my full backing. The soil analysis and the crops he recommends are all sensible. The only unknown is climate, and you’ll only discover that by trial and error.” We agreed that the ground would be cleared without delay and that Jack and Hester would choose the right varieties of half a dozen different fruit and vegetables suitable for planting at the right time in the next year. Hester said that the right time for planting most things was autumn, so getting the ground cleared was something which should be started as soon as possible. It was now 12 July. To cut a long story short Jack and I went back to Inverthrum a few days later, armed with enough clothes and so on for a fortnight. Dunstable had arranged for the hire of a rotavator and I’d zipped Hamish to let him know that he was needed for work. He’d zipped back very quickly. “Great. Cant wait.” While Jack was rotavating I went to see the Gunns to make the arrangement with Hamish formal. “I’ll pay him a fair wage for what he’s doing,” I told them, “but he’ll need to stay in the house as Jack will want him for most of daylight.” They were happy with that, and Hamish had already pronounced himself delighted at such a prospect. “Jack’ll work you hard though, Hamish,” I said, “and you’ll maybe be too tired for anything by bedtime.” Hamish’s look was a joy to see. Hamish didn’t seem to think that the onset of bedtime would pose any insuperable problem to his stamina. “Quite a man now,” said his proud mother as she put some clothes in a little case, “How long will he be staying?” I said I didn’t know. “Jack’s in charge, Mrs Gunn, but we’re planning on being here for a fortnight.” “Och, that’s fine. I’ll make sure the school knows that he’s coming back.” ***** The three of us quickly settled into a routine. Jack and Hamish did the manual labour, slowly clearing out roots and stones – seemingly never-ending – while I did everything else. As well as providing food and drink and tidying up I went off in the electro to talk to local businesses who I thought might be interested in buying from us in a year’s time. I soon found that there was more to this side of things than I had thought, as shops didn’t want to know, being already supplied with stuff. I very quickly found that had I presented them with samples of our produce they might have been interested, so I modified my patter. I found three or four hotels, all within an hour’s drive, who showed interest, but that was it. Of more importance were my discoveries about who owned the neighbouring land. Inverthrum turned out to have an interesting past (all this I learned in a fascinating morning in the library in Dornoch, the county town). In the eighteenth century the surrounding land had been confiscated by the Crown after the failed Jacobite kıbrıs escort Rising of 1745, and decades later it had been parcelled out among various members of the nobility to whom George IV owed favours. There had been a house where Inverthrum now stood, but it had been knocked down and the present house built in the 1820s. The original house was the only building within miles on that side of Lairg, but most of George IV’s favourites had wanted shooting estates, so the extensive moors had been divided into two, leaving Inverthrum with a tiny acreage, as it still was. Searches in the library revealed who my neighbours were, and I filed the details away in case we decided to try to expand. I was keen not to let the two of them work too long. Eight or nine hours was enough, despite what I’d said to Hamish’s parents. They both needed a Day One treat, so I made a phone call. At the end of the first day Hamish was feeling the strain, so – ignoring his protests that he could go on much longer – I led him into the house and into a bath. He was alarmed at not going into the big room, but I assured him that he would be sharing with Jack and me once work was finished. “But what you need now is a long soak in a hot bath, and there isn’t a bath in there.” “Just showers,” he said with a grin as he stripped. I heard Jack coming up the stairs so I went out to collar him. “Jack’s in the bath, and he needs to relax. Do you want to wait, or will you shower.” “I think I’ll leave him to it. There’s plenty of time, after all. Come and talk to me while I shower.” Two minutes later there he was, naked and gorgeous under the shower. I never ceased to be amazed at the change in him since Dodo had abandoned him that night. Three years had made a huge difference, and not just to his body. His confidence had soared, and Hester was responsible for much of that. “What have you done today?” I asked. He laughed. “I’ve discovered that you’ve got a house built in the stoniest field there’s ever been.” “how has Hamish done?” I asked quietly, “will he do?” Jack looked at me. “Of course he’ll do, Dab. He’s aching like hell because he’s never worked as hard in his life, and he’ll ache even worse tomorrow morning, but you won’t hear a squeak from him. He’s tough as old boots, that one, but he hasn’t worked that out yet. He will, by the time your garden’s done.” Quite the philosopher, I thought. There was something new to discover about Jack every day. “Thanks,” I said, “we’re eating out tonight. Give me ten minutes with him, OK?” He nodded. I went back to where Hamish was still luxuriating in the bath and sat on the stool. “Jack’s pleased,” I said. He smiled. “It’s been good, working with him. He doesn’t say a lot, but … I don’t know, I feel … worthwhile, I suppose.” “Don’t you feel worthwhile any other time?” He said nothing for a while. I suddenly realised that we were in a very special moment, so I kept my mouth shut. “Dab,” he began, “can I talk to you?” I nodded, not wishing to say anything which might break his concentration. “When you and Billy first came here and we … did things it was as though a door opened. I felt I could be myself, just me and two complete strangers who didn’t know me, didn’t know my Mum and Dad, didn’t know Lairg and all its nosiness. Do you know what I mean?” I nodded again, “it must be hard being queer in a village. How long have you known?” “I told you Donal and I messed about wanking together. I was 11 when he showed me and we did it a lot until he moved two years later. All we ever did was wank each other, and it was only after he left that I started kicking myself for not going further.” “Was he keen to go further?” “No idea, Dab, but one of us ought to have had the balls to try.” “What did you do?” “Apart from kick myself, you mean? What could I do. I was 13, I live in a village miles from anywhere where everybody knows me and anything gets back to my parents. Even if I’d lived in a big city I still wouldn’t have known how to – I don’t know, find other boys, I suppose.” “Was that what you wanted – to find other boys?” He nodded. “Then you and Billy showed up. It was like a miracle. I looked into the bath where a newly-risen miracle was visible under the surface. “I see you’re feeling frisky. Jack’s having a shower and I think it might be a nice idea if you two workers had a reward. But before you leap out let me ask you this. You’ve messed about with three older guys now – Jack, Billy and me. Does that help you to decide where your interests lie?” He laughed. “I’ve guessed I was queer since Donal went away and I saw how much I missed what we did. I only guessed, mind you. What you and the other two have done is take away the guessing. I know now.” “And are you happy with that – with telling yourself you’re queer?” He thought a moment. “Yes, I think so. I wouldn’t want anyone else to know though – you won’t tell them, Dab?” and he looked panic-stricken. “Of course not, idiot. You’ll tell people when you’re ready, and in a small place like this that might not be easy.” “Too fucking right,” he said with feeling. “Come on then, let’s go where there’s no need to pretend.” He stood up, his cock proud. “Yeah, why not.” Jack was in bed waiting for us. “What kept you?” “Dab and I have been talking, and Dab’s been gazing at my sexy body while I was in the bath.” It was true, but I felt it unnecessary for him to have said it. kırıkkale escort “And now it’s time for more than just gazing,” I said, stripping quickly and getting into bed with them. “Has he earned a reward?” I asked Jack. “Oh, I think so. Shouldn’t you ask him what he would like? You’re the boss, after all.” I turned to Hamish, lying on his back between us. “What would you like right now that you didn’t know how to ask Donal?” He giggled. “Everything,” he whispered. “OK, but in what order?” I whispered back. He turned and looked into my eyes. “I want you to fuck me, Dab,” and he turned and looked Jack in the eyes, “and I want you to fuck me after.” Jack chuckled. “Working up to it, I see. Very wise. Dab says we’re eating out tonight, so why don’t you keep my fuck until later. That’ll keep you all edgy while we eat. Where are we going, Dab?” “China jally-something,” I said. This was met with peals of laughter. “You mean Tigh-na-dealachadh.” “Yes,” I said, “that’s what I mean, but I haven’t worked out how to say it.” Hamish looked at me very seriously. “You’ve taught me so much, Dab, you and Billy – and Jack – ” (this added after a jab in the ribs from behind me) ” – so it’s only right if you let me teach you – both – something. Say after me ‘china’.” “that’s the easy bit,” I said, “it’s the other bit I can’t do.” “Instead of making a ‘j’ sound make one like you’re doing ‘d’ then ‘y’, like ‘dew’ but not ‘joo’.” I made a manful attempt – several, in fact, but Hamish wasn’t satisfied. It took two or three minutes of his saying it and then me copying it before he nodded. He then turned to Jack whose grin very swiftly was wiped from his face. The grin left my face when Jack mastered the pronunciation of his first exposure to Gaelic in less than 30 seconds. “Anyway,” I said lamely, “that’s where we’re eating.” Hamish said that our choice was agreeable, adding that Ruairidh’s son was in his class at school. “You don’t fancy him?” “God no, Stewart’s about 13 stone. He must be fed on all the leftovers.” It was time for our pre-dinner aperitif. We were due at Tigh-na-dealachadh (there!) in an hour, so I reckoned I had 40 minutes to devote to Hamish’s pleasure – and mine too. I went down to attend to his arse as I knew it would be unprepared after a hot bath. Hamish wriggled happily and his hands reached down to my head. “I love what you do down there, Dab, I wish it would go on for ever.” Freshly washed arse crack is a blank canvas, and one upon which I loved to create new sensations. My tongue ranged along its length, and when it was as far back as it could go, and arse crack had wholly disappeared Hamish took his hands from my head and put them under his hips, hoisting the area of interest off the bed invitingly. “He seems keen, Dab,” said Jack, watching developments closely. “Why don’t you do nice things up at your end?” I said, “let’s say nothing below his navel.” Hamish wriggled even more happily. Jack leant over to kiss him, and Hamish’s hands abandoned his hips and drew Jack’s head closer. I licked his balls and took them one at a time into my mouth. Then I ran my tongue along the underside of his cock, hard against his belly, precum leaking from his foreskin. As this was a good two inches below his navel it was in my territory, and I licked it up. As soon as I’d done so I drew his foreskin back and another big drop leaked out, this time straight onto my tongue. Suddenly something told me that Hamish needed me in him, needed to feel a cock hot and urgent in him, needed to be made mine. I didn’t waste time on getting him wet with my tongue, nor stretching him with my fingers – my need was suddenly as great as his. I reached for the grease and two fingers were in him. “Aaah! yes, Dab, fuck me, fuck me now,” and my cock was in him. Hard, all the way, moans of pleasure from the boy, suddenly an animal on heat, demanding fulfilment, begging to be taken up to the skies, his lips no longer fastened to Jack’s, Jack leaning back startled at the change, yes Dab, yes yes, I need it I need you and aaah! a stream of cum shoots out of him up up up beyond his nipples and another … another … oh fuck Dab that’s so … yes yes … And although I had intended to fuck him slowly and tenderly his body, screaming as it was with ecstasy, delivered the urgent demand that I fuck him as hard and as fast as I knew how, and my balls over-rode my brain and delivered what he needed – as big a volume of spunk as he’d ever had as far in as I’d ever got before. “Oh Dab,” he sighed, “I love you.” It took me a second or two. I bent forward over him, my cock still inside him. “No you don’t,” I whispered, “you loved being fucked by me, and I loved fucking you. But you don’t love me. We all say that, especially after a fuck as wonderful as that one. You know who I feel sorry for?” “Who?” he breathed. “Donal.” That set him off, as I’d hoped it would – anything to get ‘I love you’ out of his mind. A huge roar of laughter dislodged me and an arseful of spunk followed my cock out onto the sheets. “Can I have that please, Dab?” “Of course you can, Jack, and you might like to see he’s all nice too.” When, ten minutes later, Hamish’s arse was as new, and my cock clean as well, Jack moved back up the bed. “I’m going to last a lot longer, Hamish, so you’ve still got something to look forward to.” “Yum yum.” =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 81 as Jack makes good on his promise, and further work takes place in the gardens. Drop me a line at net – that is after you’ve dropped a few quid. ===============================================================================

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