Deryk: Be Careful What You Wish For……

The Past

As an only child, with neither the guidance or example of older siblings, nor the responsibility for younger ones, you learn to be self-reliant and to enjoy your own company a lot of the time. Some kids create a fantasy friend with whom they can share “being alone”. It’s all perfectly normal. Or so they say.

In my case, I had a fantasy younger brother and his name was Deryk. However, he was no daytime playmate; I only ever conjured him up at night. But in my imaginings, he was always getting into scrapes of one kind or another, from which I had to rescue him. Once, I recall, he was stuck up a tree and too frightened to climb down; another time, while messing about by the river’s edge, he fell in and I had to wade in and fish him out! These rescues, although superficially innocuous in nature at first, were always curiously tactile; I would have to carry him, hold him, soothe him and make him better. And more often than not, I would need to take his clothes off in order to do it!

Deryk was physically everything I wanted to be at that age but wasn’t. I had curly, ginger hair and brown eyes; he had wavy black hair and deep blue eyes. I had pale, freckled skin; his was soft and tanned. Unlike me, he also had a wide mouth with well-pronounced lips…..in fact, he was really “cute” and ironically, years later, my first love affair would be with an 18-year old just like that. But that’s another tale.

As I grew older, Deryk kept reappearing – always at night – but the scrapes from which I had to rescue him became more and more physical, occasionally even violent. Deryk’s wounds were usually around his groin or thighs, so that I had to take his trousers off, exposing his soft flesh and his white underwear, which I usually had to remove in order to dress his wounds.

In reality, of course, I still hadn’t discovered what sexual arousal was. I had caught furtive glimpses of some of the other boys in the gym changing room and in the showers, most of them better developed than me, but I was painfully self-conscious and shy at that age, so these exposures of Deryk’s most private parts were not understood. In one scenario, he had been dragged by his arms, backwards across the gravel playground by some school bullies, tearing his trousers half-off and leaving bruised and bleeding scars over his buttocks. In private, I would delicately turn him over and remove his already ripped trousers and underpants, to reveal his soft, round and bleeding backside, which I would carefully wash and dab dry – before kissing him better!

By the time I had discovered the miracle of erections and what happened when you played with them, my adventures with Deryk had taken on a new dimension and the final act in his frequent rescues usually involved a naughtiness I already knew to be high in the catalogue of grave sins.

But time moves on and Deryk eventually drifted away. I grew up and discovered the untold wonders of gay sex and at last I understood what my fantasies had all been about. However, I still missed not having Deryk around and I always wished that I had had a real younger brother. But then they do say, “Be careful what you wish for….”

The Present

In the heart of London’s Soho, there is a particular gay bar I often walk past. From the street, you can see the guys sitting at the tables, some quietly on their own, some in heated, happy chatter with friends, and I always imagined it to be a great place for people-watching, as well as for “making new friends”. Up to now, of course, I had no reason to go inside, as I was perfectly happy in my relationship. Or so I thought. More recently, however, in the spring my 12-year relationship had come to an end and I was alone again. It was now winter and having more-or-less got over the trauma of being dumped 8 months earlier, I was today feeling in a good mood and I was passing that same bar.

It was early evening but already it was dark and from the street I could see that it wasn’t very busy. Most people hadn’t finished work yet and there were just a handful of guys in there, most of them sitting alone. The softly lit interior looked friendly and inviting. So I went in.

Not having the confidence to join any of the solitary guys at their tables, I took a stool towards one end of the bar. The barman was rather nice. He was very young but had a round, friendly face; he had a shock of dark blond hair and pale blue eyes, which smiled at me from behind the bar as he came over and said,

“What can I get you?”

I smiled back and thought, “Well, you for a start!” He was tall and slim and he wore a crisp white pilot shirt with short sleeves that showed-off his well-developed biceps. His skin was soft, slightly tanned, and I figured that, being blond, he probably also used the tanning beds at the gym. Either that or he had just come back from holiday in Mykonos! He also wore tight black trousers but because he also wore a small waiter’s apron, I was deprived of the view of his package.

I thought for a moment and then spotted some Smirnoff Ice on the bottom shelf of the glass-fronted fridge behind the bar, so I said I’d have one of those. My tactical suggestion proved successful, as he had to turn around and bend over to get one. I watched as he bent over and his black trousers stretched across his gorgeous, round backside. In the spot-lighting above the bar, I could see the tantalizing outline of his briefs through his trousers and my stomach did a little somersault. The moment seemed to freeze in time, as I traced my fingers along the line of his underwear; over his cheeks, around his buttocks and into the dark cleft of his……

“There you are!” he said, “Do you want a glass?”

Shaken from my reverie, I declined and I was just about to pay him when I was conscious of the presence of a figure wearing dark blue jeans and a black leather jacket taking the stool to my left beside me. “Hello,” the figure said, chirpily. “Mind if I join you?”

Well, you don’t say no, do you! So I replied, “Be my guest.” It’s just one of those expressions but I immediately realized that I had effectively offered him a drink, because he then said,

“Thanks. I’ll have a Tuborg lager.” But then he added, “But let me get these, as it’s a special occasion.”

Slightly puzzled, I turned on my stool to get a better look at him. He was in his late 20’s and medium build; although he was sitting down by now, I guessed he was about my height, maybe a bit taller. He had wavy black hair, cut in an old-fashioned college style with a parting and it seemed to flop forward over his forehead, rather boyishly. He had luxuriantly strokable eye-brows and deep-set “come-to-bed” eyes, which were a rich dark blue. His face was ever-so-slightly craggy but otherwise his skin was smooth and had a natural tanned look. He had also carefully cultivated a “shadow-beard”, like a 5 o’clock shadow but very dark, very short and very shaped. It made him look like a rather sexy lothario.

As he settled on the bar-stool, his dark blue jeans stretched tightly over his thighs and, glancing down, my eyes traced the stitched seam of the V-shape between them, to his round and well-packed crotch. I noticed that two buttons of his flies were fashionably undone and through the little gap, I caught a tantalizing glimpse of white. My heart raced.

Quickly raising my gaze, I asked, “So, what’s the special occasion?”

He took a swig of his lager and put the bottle down.

“A reunion of course!” he replied, smiling softly at me. He had a lovely crooked smile. “I’ve been watching you walk past outside and wondered when you would come in. It’s been a long time, Mark. It’s nice to see you.”

He obviously knew my name and I had the strangest sensation that I knew him; even that I had once had some feelings for him but I couldn’t quite place him. And because I couldn’t remember him, I was slightly embarrassed and uncomfortable.

I apologised,

“I’m sorry but you seem to have the advantage over me. Where did we meet?”

He turned and looked deep into my eyes. “Actually, it’s more a case of when,” he said cryptically. Somehow, those beautiful deep blue eyes seemed to melt-away the embarrassment within me and I just gazed back at him, still confused.

“I’d have thought, after all the escapades we had years ago, you’d remember me,” he said, taking another swig from his beer nonchalantly. Still gazing deep into my eyes, he raised his eyebrows, as if in expectation of something.

“I’m hurt!” he finally said, “Do you really not remember me?”

Then, as I still sat there with a blank but puzzled look on my face, he smiled and said, “I’m Deryk. I’m your brother.”

As his words hit me the ghosts of my childhood came howling into the forefront of my brain; the hairs on the back of my neck shot up and I went hot and cold all over.

“What!” was all I could utter.

Then, as I tried to gather my wits, I added, “Come on – you’re playing games with me. I don’t have a brother. Who ARE you?”

“I told you,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I’m Deryk. Why don’t you just stop asking questions and suspend your disbelief?” He blinked and leaned towards me, gently placing his hand on top of mine on the bar. I felt a powerful jolt of warmth and electricity pass through my arm, filling my whole body and sending tingles up and down my back. I still didn’t understand but in that moment, that sensation, I knew deep down that, whoever this guy was, I had loved him.

I felt suddenly claustrophobic. I had to get some space; some perspective, if only for a minute, so I said I had to go to the men’s room. I just hoped he wouldn’t get the wrong idea and follow me! Fortunately, he didn’t. Instead, raising his beer in gesture, he just said,

“I’m not going anywhere.”

In the men’s room, I frantically washed my hands of the sweat pouring from them and I splashed cold water on my face. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, saying out loud, “Who the hell is this guy? And how in blazes does he know about Deryk; I’ve never told anyone?”

There was a sound behind me as one of the toilet cubicle doors opened and two camp young guys came out together, smirking and giggling. They both caught my reflection in the mirror and one of them said, “Maybe it’s about time you did then, darling!” And they both disappeared back out to the bar, holding hands and giggling.

When I got back to the bar, there was no sign of him. I stood there lost for a moment, my hand on my forehead, looking at the stools where we had been sitting; where I had been sitting. I glanced around the bar, which was now getting busier. The two camp young things in the men’s room were at one of the tables, looking at me, still giggling at one another.

The nice barman called across to me, “You alright there, mate?”

Taking a deep breath, I said, “What happened to the guy I was talking to just now? Did he leave?”

“What guy?” the barman replied.

“The guy that came and sat next to me,” I continued, “Look, there’s his drink!” True enough, there was a nearly finished bottle of Tuborg Lager on the bar close to my Smirnoff Ice, also nearly all gone.

“I don’t remember any guy, sorry,” the barman apologised, and then, biting his lip and frowning, he said “And anyway, you bought the drinks. You sure you’re OK? Do you want me to call someone for you?”

I remember briefly thinking that the barman was being particularly nice and caring, under the circumstances, but I wasn’t really best placed to appreciate his consideration. I just gathered myself, took a deep breath, made my excuses and left.

It had all been a bit like a scene from that old 1960’s Bette Davis film “Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte”. Had I been hallucinating? Was I going mad? Or was someone playing tricks on me, trying to make me think I was? Little did I know, later that night, I would find out!

It was nearly midnight by the time I got off the train and was in my car on the way home. The winter night was cold but dry and there was a clear star-filled sky, promising a frost by dawn. My route from the railway station passes by some playing fields and there’s a small pavilion with a dubious-looking public lavatory set under the trees a few yards off the road. It’s one of the few left open late at night but I’ve never risked going in there, day or night. “Never mess on your own doorstep,” so they say.

But tonight, as I drove by, there he was again. I was sure it WAS him; same dark jeans, same black leather jacket, dark hair, flopped forward. He was standing under the trees, near the toilet and his distinctive outline was illuminated by the brilliant light of a winter full moon.

At the same moment that I saw him, he moved towards the entrance of the toilet to go inside. I don’t know why I did it but instantly I took the next right turn, followed by a rapidly-executed 3-point turn and came back out onto the main road opposite the toilets. I stopped the car. Across the road, I could see the entrance and I sat there for a few minutes, wondering how he had turned up here, of all places, and wondering whether or not I should go inside after him. I kept telling myself he would come out any moment but as I sat there pondering, my heart fell into my stomach as I saw two hooded youths appear out of nowhere through the trees and disappear inside the entrance. At this time of night, they could only be looking to cause trouble.

Without a second thought, I got out of the car and slipped quickly across the road, and up the path to the toilet entrance. As I approached, I could hear the sound of scuffling and my instincts told me what was already taking place inside. Dangerous though it was, I just couldn’t stand by and let this happen. “Boldness and confidence,” I told myself, “that’s the best strategy.” So taking a deep breath and pulling myself up to my maximum height, I walked into the lavatory.

I didn’t need to pretend to look shocked or surprised because the sight that greeted me sent a chill down my back. In a heap on the tiled floor, pinned up against the opposite wall beside the urinals was Deryk; and over him stood the two hooded yobs. One of them was booting Deryk in the groin, while the other one was kicking him in the chest. There were red stains on the wall behind and there was blood pouring from Deryk’s nose. He was clutching at himself, trying to shield himself from the rain of blows.

Making myself sound as threatening as possible, I bellowed across the room in as deep and loud a voice as I could,

“Oi!” I shouted, “That’s enough! Leave him alone!”

The two louts paused momentarily in their vicious onslaught and then everything seemed to happen in a flash. The one nearest to me suddenly came at me with a look of defiant hatred in his face and a knife in his hand. Normally, sheer terror and common-sense on my part would have made me run for it but I guess that if common sense had been in charge that night, I wouldn’t have been in there in the first place! As it was, the fact that years ago I had studied basic Aikido self-defense must have come flooding back to help me, because as the youth lunged towards me, I reached forward with one hand to grab the outside of his wrist, while my other arm came up to block his other arm and deflect his line of attack. At the same time, my second hand took his knife arm and pressed down and swung to one side. Before he knew what was happening to him, he was sailing through the air, into a tumble-turn onto the hard floor. He hit the floor with a “crump” and my leading hand was still holding his wrist in a lock. I took the knife off him and threw it across the floor under the cubicle partitions. It went skittering across the tiles, out of reach.

I sensed his mate coming at me from behind but before I had time to turn to face him, he had grabbed my arms from behind, waiting for his friend to get up, I guess. Unfortunately, his friend was still winded and shaken, so I had time to twist my whole body around, forcing the youth to release one hand, while my other came around into position to grab his wrist. Now facing him but outside him, I was able to use my other arm to push his elbow up and over, while twisting his wrist around. He yelled in pain as he went down on his knees with a crunch and, as I moved behind him, I pulled his arm around behind his back, his wrist still in a lock. I pushed him face down on top of his friend, who was just about get up.

“I said, that’s enough!” I shouted at them both, “Why don’t you two just piss off, before one of you gets hurt!”

My heart was hammering in my chest and, quite honestly, I felt a bit sick! But Deryk was standing up by this point and presenting even more of an opposition, so both youths just scrambled to their feet and made a run for it out the doorway and into the night.

“That was cool,” said Deryk, letting out a sigh of relief, “Thanks for rescuing me.”

He was clutching his thigh and there was blood coming from his mouth or his nose; it was difficult to tell which. His jeans were stained too and there was blood on the hand clutching his leg.

“Are you OK?” I said, “Do you need a doctor?”

He just shook his head but, obviously still in some pain, he stepped uncertainly towards me, his eyes filling-up with tears. He fell against me and as I put my arms around him in an embrace, he buried his face in my neck and groaned, “Just take me home.”

I helped him to the car, praying that those youths wouldn’t come back for a second attack. When he was settled in the car, I asked him, “I never thought; but did they steal anything?” “Hmm, yeah,” he sighed, “My phone and my wallet.”

As I drove him back to my place, there was a little nagging voice in the back of my head, which was saying, “Interesting; and convenient. No evidence of who this guy really is,” and I felt immediately guilty for being so suspicious.

Once inside my apartment, I led him to the bedroom and sat him on the bed. He grimaced as I lifted his arms to remove his leather jacket. He had on a white “X-Men” T-shirt that literally had boot-marks on it. I undid the laces on his own black boots and pulled them off his feet. He was just sitting, slumped on the edge of the bed, still clutching his thigh.

“I’m going to have to have those jeans off you,” I said, trying to make a joke of it, and he looked down at me and smiled a sort of pained smile of resignation; as if to say, “It figures – but you won’t get a fight from me!”

I raised his legs onto the bed and he lay back with a groan. Releasing the heavy bronze buckle of his belt, I undid the top button of his jeans, as my heart raced. “Just like Deryk,” I thought, “getting into scrapes, as always!”

Undoing the remaining buttons of his jeans, I carefully pulled them, a bit at a time, down over his hips. He lifted himself up as I did so, moaning in pain. He was wearing plain white Cin2 briefs and his soft thighs were covered with black hairs. There was a stab-wound on the inside of his left thigh, close to the seam of his underpants and there was dried and matted blood on his hairy skin and on the white of his briefs. I pulled off his jeans and he just lay there.

Fetching a bowl of warm water, clean cloths and antiseptic, I put them down beside the bed and then carefully sat him up to remove his T-shirt. Good as gold, he let me lift his arms through the sleeves and simply groaned as he slumped back on the bed. His well-developed chest and torso, like his thighs, were covered in soft black hairs but his tanned skin has blotched and bruised already, from the heavy booting he had suffered. As I examined his body for more wounds, my fingers ran softly over his skin, soothing him, healing him. He was watching me intently, his deep-set eyes now sad and tired but with a look of longing within them.

“You know what you have to do,” he said softly, as my hands momentarily rested on the waist of his white but blood-stained briefs.

He raised his hips from the bed, as I gently removed his underpants, to reveal a thick mat of black hair surrounding his perfectly-formed and beautiful cock and balls.

As I gently bathed his wound with warm water and antiseptic, life seemed to regenerate his sleeping manhood; his balls began to churn in their soft sack and his uncut tool began to swell before my eyes. As I dabbed his leg dry and applied a large plaster over his wound, I had to place my hand against his semi-tumescent organ and balls, to keep them out of the way. As I did so, an electric current seemed to course through my fingers, up my arm and into my body, as if my whole being was filling with some life-force. His organ swelled in my hand and I was transfixed, as he lay on the bed before me, moaning in a mixture of agony and ecstasy.

Climbing onto the bed beside him, I lay alongside him, cradling him in one arm while my other hand gently worked his now engorged tool. He let out a deep sigh as my fingers pulled his foreskin back to reveal the sensitive swollen tip of his penis. Letting out a gasp and a whimper, the first pre-cum oozed from the tip of his manhood and as I massaged the slippery fluid around and around just the tip of his organ, he began writhing and moaning frantically, his legs flexing and unflexing and his breathing coming in short, sharp gasps. Then, arching his back and letting out a mournful cry, as he writhed about in the cradle of my arms, his organ fired a powerful jet of creamy white cum high across his furry chest, hitting himself on the chin. Then another great jet shot out and over his shoulder, hitting the pillow; and another, this time in a great arc, hitting himself in the centre of his chest; and yet another, and another……. His furry chest became streaked with white jism, as he collapsed in a great gasp of relief and fell instantly asleep.

Cleaning him up, I took off my own clothes and curled-up beside him, pulling the duvet over us both. As I lay there in the moonlight from the window, feeling his warm body and his gentle breathing, I pondered the events of the last few hours. Was this really Deryk, MY Deryk? How could it be? I fell asleep.

Suddenly I was awake and aware of movement. It was Deryk, and he was sitting astride me. Against the icy blue moonlight from the window, all I could see was his silhouette but he seemed to be well recovered all of a sudden. He loomed over me.

“Now; this is where it gets different,” he growled, ominously.

My heart was pounding in my chest and all the warmth I had felt for him was gone. In its place was fear – sheer terror. God, what had I done? I knew nothing about him but some “cock-and-bull” story that no-one else would have believed and yet I had brought him into my home.

He leaned forward and grabbed my arms, pinning them above my head, he then added, menacingly,

“I’m gonna fuck your brains out!”

He was strong; very strong. I was helpless as I lay on my back, with him astride my legs, my hands manacled together in the grip of one hand around my wrists. In the moonlight, and against his silhouette framed by the window, all I could see was the terrifying whites of his eyes – and the pink flesh of his erect tool. It seemed bigger than I remembered it, much bigger.

With his free hand he began to flip me over, to take me from behind I guess, but I was slippery with the sweat of anxiety pouring from my body and I twisted back to face him.

“Oh No,” I said defiantly, “If I’m going to be raped, I’m going to see the man who does it.”

“Please yourself,” he said, gruffly, “It’s all the same to me,” and he yanked my legs up in front of him and over my chest. The dark form of his face then appeared between my legs, as he pressed against the back of my thighs, my feet over his shoulders. He had released my hands but now his hands were behind my knees and the sheer weight and strength of him on top of me still had me pinned to the bed and I thought, “Don’t fight him; it’ll only make it worse; just give-in to him.”

I felt the wetness of his now massive organ pressing against my hole, barely a moment before he plunged into me and let out a deep growling sigh as his weapon burst into my insides in one, long deep thrust. I yelled out in pain, as I felt the massiveness of his organ crash through my internal barriers.

In an instant, he pulled out of me and I let out a gasp, as he plunged yet again into my body, penetrating like a dagger through my innards. Again he withdrew, ploughing back into me as, thrust after thrust, he rammed himself against my thighs and I felt the weight of his heavy balls wacking my backside with each thrust.

I was sweating profusely and, though frightened of him and his sudden strength and violence, I found it disturbingly exciting. There was no way I could get an erection but I was becoming aroused and I could feel my prostate hardening against his repeated ramming and ramming into me. My head became a whirl of confusion, delirium, arousal, and my vision blurred as I thrashed my head from side to side.

“I told you I would fuck your brains out!” I heard him growl,

“Now; you asked for this,” and he held me there under his body, his organ momentarily withdrawn from my aching insides, and I could feel him shaking with the tension built-up in his body.

A sound erupted deep from his insides, like no sound I had heard before, as he finally plunged his manhood all the way deep into the inner reaches of my being. My insides, though battered and numbed, seemed to be able to feel every ridge, every shape of his massiveness against my prostate, as he came into me; great jets of warmth seemed to fill my insides as, almost in slow motion, I felt his organ swell with each great squirt of life-fluid injected into me.

I was in a state of delirium. I flung my arms around his taught, strong body to feel the ridges of his muscular, hairy back, as I desperately wanted to come as well. It was all too much; my orgasm rose from inside, swirling in my balls, collecting, mixing, churning until, with an aching resignation, my juices flowed in one long continuous gush onto my soft belly, still trapped beneath his weight. I cried out in a mixture of pain and relief as wave after wave of shattering orgasm seemed to envelope my whole being and my cum ran down the sides of my body.

Suddenly, it was daylight. I was laying on the bed with the duvet over me and the morning sun was entering the room. I rolled over and looked at the clock. 7.25. There was no sign of him beside me. I sat up and looked around. His clothes were gone; he was gone.

I ached all over, as if I had been run over by a bus. My insides throbbed and my backside felt as though some huge dildo had been rammed into me repeatedly. Who was he? Where was he? Surely I couldn’t have imagined it all?

That was on the Tuesday morning. On Thursday, I picked up the local paper as usual and saw the lead story on the front page. There was a picture of two badly bruised and battered youths and the leader read,

“Night-Fiend attacks Innocent Youths”

I stood mesmerized as I read how these two young men, walking home from a late night out with other friends, had been passing the old disused pavilion on Station Road at 3.00am in the morning when they had been set-upon by an unknown attacker from the woods. Without any reason, they said, this “vicious fiend” had single-handedly and with super-human strength, beaten them to the ground, ripped their clothes and stolen their money and credit cards, before disappearing mysteriously into the woods. A Police spokesman was quoted as saying,

“This is a disturbing case. A search of the area revealed a blood-stained knife discarded in the toilets although the boys deny that any knives were involved in the fight. The blood and finger-prints on the knife did not match either of the yopung men involved but clearly someone else was injured in this vicious incident. If anyone knows anything about anyone sustaining an unexplained injury on Monday night, please would they contact……..”

Should I have contacted the Police? What would you have done?

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