The Real Journey - Part Four

After we had spent most of the afternoon at the Flying School, we went to the local shopping centre to pick up some things up for supper. His specialty was really good chicken curry, so we also stopped off at the Indian Bazaar for some spices and stuff.

His house wasn’t what I expected. It was an old ramshackle thing nestled between two decent looking places. There was an old car around the corner that looked like it had been standing on blocks for some time. The grass was long, and the garden in a general state of disrepair. Along the one side of house, there was a completely new section that had been built. The ‘studio’. Apparently he had built it himself, and while it was well built, it wasn’t quite finished. This was a common theme inside the house too. All these little projects that had been started and somewhere between 30% and 60% complete.

The kitchen units had doors, but no handles. The tops were still loose, and the tiles in the ‘new’ scullery area were obviously from three or four different batches, nothing quite matching properly. There were dirty dishes all over.

I helped peel and chop onions and garlic to prepare for the meal, which turned out absolutely amazing. We sat in the lounge and watched some TV while we ate. He asked about my family, friends and things like that. I was always a bit of a chatterbox, so probably did most of the talking.

After dinner, he showed me around the place. It was kinda weirdly set out. There was a small bedroom that was off the lounge which was being redone for his son. I never knew at this point that he had a son. He had rescued and subsequently adopted Richard when he was eighteen months old. The boy was being physically abused by his prostitute mother. He spent six months in hospital while they attended to his multiple fractures in his arms. Richard was with some friends of Trev’s for the night. He was three years old.

Richard - now a grown man and a drug addict - assures me that nothing sexual ever happened with his father. But more about him in later posts.

Then there was the spare room, which was where I was to sleep. A bathroom which was apparently out of commission as he was busy doing some plumbing work – a lie I figured out later. Then of course, the main bedroom.

To get to the bedroom, you had to walk almost through the en-suite bathroom, which was also not completed. The bath itself – which doubled as a shower – was huge, and sunk into the bathroom floor like a rudimentary Jacuzzi. I guess that was the plan, but it wasn’t executed very well. There was a large mirror on the opposite side, along with the basin and a large stone vanity top which was incomplete.

A shower was suggested before we could settle in the lounge to watch some videos. Of course, the other bathroom being out of commission, I had to use the main bedroom shower. Which had no door of course. Never being ashamed of my body, I stripped and showered. He walked in and out pretending to carry this and that, bringing me a towel and stuff.

At some point, he commented jokingly that I probably scared off the other boys with my cock as it really looked bigger than his. I laughed, taking it as boy banter, something which went on in the hostel showers as a matter of course. And it wasn’t the first time I had received a size comment anyway.

I had left my bag on his bed, and after I showered, I went into the room to change.

I guess it all started there. Before I dressed, he joked again about my size, and said he would love to see how big it got when I was hard. I made some excuse about not getting hard easily, and then said I was embarrassed because I really thought the way it curved off slightly to the one side was a serious by product of heinous wanking.

He had an answer for everything, and before I knew it, here I was sitting on the edge of some strange guy’s bed, wanking with Vaseline along side him. I was bigger than he was, so I felt better, and he was more bent than me. It was a revelation for me. I suddenly had enormous pride in my cock, felt normal for the first time, and although I was uncomfortable with him being naked and watching so intently as I stroked, I was turned on by my own body and happily came just before he did.

We cleaned up, and after that there was a lot of silence. There so much stuff buzzing around in my head. Gay, or homosexuality wasn’t a concept I even knew about. But I felt strangely comfortable being naked in front of him. We watched some or other video, still in the nude, and eventually I excused myself and went to my own room to sleep. I closed the door, and soon found myself rock hard as I replayed the evening’s events. I wanked and came again quite quickly, and drifted off to sleep.

I had to be back early the next morning, so early Sunday was uneventful.

I had just turned thirteen.

The Real Journey - Part Three

Trevor fetched me from the hostel early on Saturday morning. The drive to the airport wasn’t far. The school was in a small town, and had a surprisingly busy little airport. Busy in that there were a lot of owner-pilots and student pilots pushing planes around, carrying out pre-flights or listening intently to an instructor. I was in heaven. My father and his father were in aviation. It was in my blood. I wanted to become a fighter pilot. I wanted to soar up where the sky breathes, above the clouds where it is always a sunny day, or starry night….

The Cessna he had booked was a cute little red 172. It was my first time in a light aircraft. I had been in passenger jets, even flown a real Airbus and Boeing simulator, but never in something small. Yes, I was nervous, but above all, I was exhilarated.

After the pre-flight, we taxied out to Runway zero eight, and the old 172 rattled to life and trundled gently towards heaven. As the wheels lifted gently off the tarmac, I suddenly felt that meaning had come to my life. We flew about twenty minutes to where the flatlands met the mountains. There is a beautiful man made lake high in the hills, which we flew over, skimming the sails of lazy yachts and bored sailors. My little camera swallowed up film after film.

Perhaps it was the excitement, perhaps the low steep turns catching my inner ear off guard, perhaps the Welsh rarebit for breakfast, but soon I was puking my lungs out into a small brown bag. I was embarrassed, but we laughed at the suddenness of it all.

Once nice and level again, I took the controls, and did some lazy turns here and there, easing the nausea.

All too soon, the flight was over and the little red Cessna was ticking with warmth on the apron. We went to the flight school where Trevor seemed to know everyone. I was introduced all around, and met who was to be my future flying instructor, Big Bob. Trev bragged about how good a pilot I was already. It was cool. I felt good. I felt important talking to these pilots and pilots to be. It was as if I had walked into the Top Gun movie set. It was a good day so far.

More plans had fallen into place.