A Year to Remember, Chapter Three - Sex Stories

A Year to Remember, Chapter Three

... face. His eyes seeing right into my soul. The feather flutters again, deep inside my subconscious. There. I was right. He winks at me, this time I can see it, clearly. “There, I knew you could do it.” He grins. Letting me see that he has never had to sit long in the dentist’s chair. Unlike me! “Fuck off, Simon.'” I say, curtly, but with no malice in my voice and flash teeth at him and he does. He disappears into the black void. I follow him up and once clear of the ladder, I can see that there's a trap door, which Simon slams shut, allowing us to walk over the hole without fear of dropping through. The back of the trap door is even carpeted to match the rest of the floor, with a small inset brass ring so you can lift it up again, when you need to escape...I am stunned. “Wow!” I survey Simon's kingdom, with an awestruck, open mouth. The room is cavernous. It must be the entire footprint of the house but with sloping walls and ceiling. He even has a double bed, the lucky bastard, immaculately made with plain, grey linen. Loads of cupboards and chests of drawers, all built into the walls. There is nothing on the floor, no debris of teenage boy fallout. It is like a hotel room, with a door at one corner of the room. “What do you think?' Simon is by my side, grinning like a half-wit. Obviously enjoying my bedroom envy. “It's amazing, amazing! What's in there?” I ask, pointing to the door. “Have a look, nosey-parker.” Another wink, how camp was that? What is he on? I ignore it ...

... and walk over to the door. I peek inside and find to a bathroom, with a shower, toilet and basin. “Fucking amazing!” Eloquent as ever. “I know. I'm pretty lucky.” He is, he really is. I would kill for this in my house. Kill for it! Who needs a little sister anyway? “So how come you got all this?” I turn a full circle with my arms out, like a teenage estate agent on one of those shitty, daytime, property shows on the TV. Oh my God, what am I doing? I drop my hands into my pockets to effect a chav-lad slouch. “Well, my mum and dad got fed up listening to me wanking every night in the room next to theirs.” Again, that stony face. I stand still, agog. My pulse suddenly raises by a few beats. “Huh?” I manage to stumble out of my mouth - a noise anyway. “You heard, Adam. I'm a noisy wanker.” “Okay,” I say, hesitantly. Inside my little, hormonal brain, something whirs and clicks. Did he really just say that? “What?” he says, looking straight at me. “That's the real reason is it, Simon? Your parents just said to you that they couldn't stand listening to you beating your horny, teenage meat every night. So here you go, have this palace in the attic. Did they?” Sarcasm runs in our family. “Pretty much, yep.” He turns and flops down on the end of the enormous bed. Feet on the ground, he stretches and puts his arms behind his head. The fabric of his joggers pulls taught against the front of his thighs and the hem of his white tee shirt rides up, just enough to reveal an inch of his belly. ...