The Ffitch Nortons Ch. 03 Chapter 3
Dive into Chapter 3 of “The Ffitch Nortons,” where passion ignites and boundaries are pushed. Join the characters on their steamy journey of love and desire, as secrets unfold and connections deepen. Don’t miss the tantalizing twists that will leave you wanting more!
The Holiday: Part 1
I was awoken by John who burst into the bedroom noisily. I sat up with a start, disorientated, blinking in the light as John threw open the curtains allowing in the morning sun.
“Come on sexy. Rise and shine………….Oh! I see part of you has already risen,” he said with a wicked smile.
I followed his gaze and with a pang of shock heightened by mild panic I realised that, as I’d sat up suddenly, having been so rudely dragged from my slumber, my duvet had fallen away and my proud, morning erection was standing to attention, front and centre. I was acutely aware in the clarity of vision that ‘fight or flight’ panic brings that this wasn’t a case of being ‘piss proud’, the erection caused by an urgent need to pee. This erection was a result of the incredibly vivid, erotic dreams that I had been having. This split second appeared in my minds eye as a feature length technicolour movie. And then, with equal aural clarity, the voice of my sub-consciousness blurted out that it hadn’t all been a dream and that’s why your mate greeted you as ‘sexy’. I defaulted to my floundering fish impersonation. Opening and closing my mouth, gulping in air, trying to speak, trying to swallow and looking from John to my cock and back to John. I grabbed for the duvet and missed. How can you miss a duvet? Grab a handful and pull for God’s sake. I had missed because John had stood on the end of the duvet as he advanced towards me.
John said, “You remember don’t you Georgie? Oh yes. It happened alright Georgie and you loved it. I loved it. We loved it. It was fantastic.”
With that he dropped his dressing gown revealing his beautiful, straining dick pointing accusingly, straight at me. I noticed that his dick was glistening, shining in the warm rays of sunshine flooding the room. Had John already lubricated his cock? Was he going to fuck me now? Was he going to take my virgin arsehole here in my own bedroom? These questions were left hanging in the fog of my confused consciousness as John placed his hands on my thighs, bent at the waist and swallowed my cock whole, stopping only when his nose bumped up against my pelvic bone. He withdrew until his mouth surrounded my cockhead where he paused to suck it as hard as he could. I tried to raise my hips to meet him but John held me down by my thighs. He released my cock with a pop. The noise people make sometimes when sucking a lollipop.
“Right. Come on,” he said. “We’ve got a holiday to smash. We’ve got plenty of time for this. All week in fact. Let’s get going.”
“What are we doing for breakfast?” I asked lamely. Even as I said it I realised how bloody stupid it sounded. My best friend had just sucked my cock, again, albeit briefly and had just told me how he was planned to ravish me on holiday. Perhaps I was thinking of sausages or something. Something Freudian. Or maybe the base instinct of survival over ruled my insistent cock. In short I was bloody starving.
John replied, laughing “I’m obviously a great cock sucker. I suck your cock and seduce you into the joyous world of man sex and all you can think about is breakfast! You know how to make a boy feel good Georgie. I’m fine for breakfast. Your Mum and Dad just filled me up with a James & Maddi, full English special. You slept through it I’m afraid.”
“Oh right. Sorry John. I didn’t mean anything by that. You’re a great cock sucker. I think. Better than Hazel Harrison anyway. I’ll grab something at the airport.”
John simply grinned and shook his head at me as I made my way to the shower. “You are priceless Georgie. Truly priceless.”
As I entered the bathroom all I could think of was bacon and eggs and the fact that I couldn’t smell bacon or eggs. Or even toast. But then my soapy hands found my erection and all of a sudden I knew I would survive. At least until we hit Maccy D’s at the airport.
The next thirty minutes were pandemonium. John and I were rushing around, getting showered, getting dressed, checking suitcases, passports, money, passports, tickets, passports and shouting reassuring words to my Mum and Dad who were now up and about. Dad was giving us a lift to the airport and Mum was being more efficient than Airport Security and Border Agency Staff. Hence the repeated, luggage, ticket and passport checks! I was amazed that she didn’t demand to see boarding cards before allowing us to leave the house! To be fair, her baby boy was going abroad, away from home, with a group of lads outside of all parental control for the very first time. Mum didn’t become emotionally soppy, weepy or overly huggy as we left. I did notice that she hugged John just as much as me and seemed to be whispering into his ear. How embarrassing. Probably telling him to look after me, to keep an eye on me and to keep me out of trouble. I’d never live it down. John obviously said something cheeky to her because as I looked back to give what I hoped was a nonchalant wave I’m sure I saw Mum smack Johns bottom.
We were running slightly late when no sooner had Dad put his seatbelt on and assured us that he would make up the time on the motorway than he muttered “Shit.” He unbuckled and jumped out of the car shouting “Sorry boys. I’ll only be a minute. I need the loo.” He probably didn’t hear the expletives from the car as he dashed back to the house.
It was a forty five minute drive to the airport and it was the longest three quarters of an hour I’d ever endured. I was silently re-running the events of last night through my head including the knowledge that my Mum and Dad had seen Johns erection bulging through his Speedo’s. Dad insisted on a running commentary giving us what seemed to be a blow by blow account of his youthful adventures. I sat scarlet faced in the back. Everything Dad said and every reply from John seemed to be heavily laden with innuendo. Or was I just being paranoid? Finally, Dad queried my unusual silence. I passed it off as the result of a hangover and an empty stomach as my own Mum and Dad had seen fit to generously feed the house guest but couldn’t prepare a single tasty morsel for their own offspring. At this outburst Dad and John exchanged glances and burst into thigh slapping laughter. I retreated further into my sexually confused inner turmoil. I had so many things to ask John. I had so many things to learn about myself, and my sexuality. And I knew we wouldn’t get a chance to discuss any of it on a rowdy holiday with four other lads. Privacy would be at a premium. So little did I know!
We arrived at the airport just in time to prevent my Dad embarrassing me even further. He had walked so far down his memory lane I swear he was about to tell us of his and Mums’ first time. I couldn’t understand what had come over him. He was almost gushing in a girly way. We piled out of the car and rumbled into the departure lounge, the wheels on our suitcases bouncing and trundling along behind us. No sooner had we burst in to departures we were greeted by catcalls and whistles from our four amigos, sitting on their luggage near to the check in desks. My God, did they look rough? They looked like four guys who had been drinking all night, rolled in at 5 a.m. and had a couple of hours sleep before trucking up at the airport. This, as it turned out, was exactly what they had done! I immediately started to worry about my holiday medical insurance. After a round of back slapping, man hugs, high fives, low fives and knuckle touching the banter and piss taking began.