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The Mentor of Barrenmoor Ridge

The Mentor of Barrenmoore Ridge

Happy New Year
I’m just putting this note up to wish my readers a Happy New Year and to share with you (exclusively) the cover of my next novel, ‘The Mentor of Barrenmoor Ridge’ which is due out in January 2018.

If you would like to read this new novel for free, please send me an email with ‘Barrenmoor’ in the subject heading. Send me an email here:
I’ve not set up a newsletter email list yet, I’d rather talk to my readers on a more personal level, so please feel free to drop me a line. I’m happy to send advanced digital copies of the book (mobi or PDF) to the first 10 readers to contact me. The book is due for release in January 2018, so if you are one of the 10, you can expect a copy before the end of that month.

Here’s the cover and back blurb to get you started. Happy New Year!

The Mentor of Barrenmoor Ridge
The Mentor of Barrenmoor Ridge

It takes a brave man to climb a mountain, but it takes a braver lad to show him the way.

Following the death of his lover, mountaineer John Hamilton lives an isolated existence high on wild Fellborough peak. When he rescues 19-year-old Gary Taylor from the mountain, John can’t accept that the boy may be the answer to his heartache. Gary is seventeen years his junior, confused, and being pursued by criminals. As Gary helps John through his grief, so the older man mentors the lad through his coming out. Both paths lead to the same destination, but are they walking them together?

The Mentor of Barrenmoor Ridge is the second in Jackson Marsh’s ‘The Mentor’ series of older/younger gay romance novels.

Review: The Mentor of Wildhill Farm

Review: The Mentor of Wildhill Farm

It’s always special when you get a review from another author. Here is what Jackie Keswick has to say about ‘The Mentor of Wildhill Farm.’

Follow four young men and their mentor on a journey of self-discovery and never look at writing retreats in the same way again.

This ticked a lot of boxes for me. A great sense of location combines with situations and emotions many of us will remember from our own pasts to form a vibrant backdrop for five beautifully drawn characters who stayed with me long after I turned the last page.

This is a deftly woven story that offers plenty of introspection and a touch of sweet spiced with surprise while also managing to come across as very, very sexy.

It’s one of those books where I’m hoping for sequel…

Jackie Keswick, author of the Power of Zero series

The Mentor of Wildhill Farm, a MM romance with a goodly amount of erotica is available in Kindle and paperback.

In School and Out

In School and Out

gay eroticaIn School and Out is a collection of 13 gay sex stories. Half of the collection is set in a British Boys’ boarding school, and the other half on a Greek island.

The collection is currently available on Kindle and will soon be available in print. Check my page of Novels for more information and links.


In School and Out contains graphic gay sex. Some examples:

After Gym Class

Milo pulled forward again, sliding his arsehole smoothly around my cock. I felt the pressure of his buttocks lift from my hips as he moved forward and then press againt me again as he slid back. He did this again, and each time I felt my cock swell further, my balls started to ache, and my legs began to tremble. I knew that I couldn’t keep this up for long.

schoolboy gay erotica storiesAlex’s First Time

The lad struggled with the briefs, got his hands inside and pulled them off. Dean’s cock sprang out, slapped against the innocent face and was immediately lost as the boy impaled himself on the shaft.

Master In the Shower

I took hold of my prick in my hand and started playing with it. This was too good an opportunity to miss – seeing one of the masters wanking in the shower, if that was what he was doing. Looked like it to me. It would have been better if I’d been able to join in, but of course, that was not going to happen.

Greek boys gay sexThe Greek Lads

He was standing in front of the window, his back to the sunset and the long white curtains shielded the light, sighing in the breeze. His hands were on his hips, and his jeans had been undone at the stud. I couldn’t make out his expression, but he didn’t move when I came in, naked and still damp, still hard. I stopped in my tracks, first with shock and then with uncertainty. He was in my room; he would have to be the one to make the first move.

Lonely Road

His slim, smooth hips were rising to draw me into him. He was feeding on me, sucking me into him, pulling at my back. And at the same time, I was allowing him into me. Feeling him slide carefully in, not holding him too tight for fear of breaking him. As I rode, he rode. Together in the same rhythm, in the same heartbeats, both of us giving what the other wanted and taking only what we needed.

The Mentor of Wildhill Farm

The Mentor of Wildhill Farm

When Camden Stevens, a 42-year-old writer, is invited to mentor four gay youths at remote Wildhill Farm, he finds himself with a dream, come true.

Logan, the 18-year old virgin, Dean the troubled show-off and Kenny the farmer’s lad, both 19, and Gabriel, the 20-year-old esoteric, are all keen to develop their skills. Cam’s job is to mentor them in their writing and their sexuality – and he has carte blanche to do that in any way he sees fit.

The boys are launched on a week of self-discovery as they explore their writing and each other through a series of erotic games. Somewhere, in the mix of youth and sex, Camden unexpectedly finds love.

The Mentor of Wildhill Farm paperback [249 pages. Coming soon]

The Mentor of Wildhill Farm Kindle [£2.22 – $2.99]

Other novels


The Mentor of Wildhill Farm: Kindle Edition

The Mentor of Wildhill Farm

The Mentor of Wildhill FarmThe Mentor of Wildhill Farm is now available on Kindle as an eBook download – and in Kindle Unlimited for free. This is a M/M Romance/Erotica novel (adults only) in the older/younger niche.

“Camden Stevens, a forty-two-year-old writer with a passion for younger men, is invited to mentor four gay youths at an isolated farmhouse. His students are budding writers in their late teens, all keen to explore their creativity — and sex. Camden must mentor them in both, and expects them to work hard.

What he doesn’t expect is a youth like Gabriel, and what he doesn’t know is that the man who set up this fantasy-come-true has a motive of his own.”               $2.99             £2.22

My Amazon Author page

The Mentor of Wildhill Farm: New Gay Erotica

The Mentor of Wildhill Farm

The Mentor of Wildhill Farm is my second full-length MM romance/erotica novel. I put it that way because, apart from being a romance, there’s a fair amount of erotica in it. I’m currently in the editing and preparing for publication stage but my wonderful cover designer has come up with a few covers. Here’s the one I am currently playing with. I think it says it all apart perhaps from the erotica element, but we don’t want to frighten Amazon.

The Mentor of Wildhill FarmThe Mentor
of Wildhill Farm

Camden Stevens, a forty-two-year-old writer with a passion for younger men, is invited to mentor four gay youths at an isolated farmhouse. His students are budding writers in their late teens, all keen to explore their creativity. And sex. Camden must mentor them in both, and expects them to work hard.

What he doesn’t expect is a youth like Gabriel, and what he doesn’t know is that the man who set up this fantasy come true has an ulterior motive.

The links will be posted here when the book is ready. It will be in Kndle format and available as a paperback.

The Greek Boys part 1: Free Gay Erotica

The Greek Boys
[Part one of three]



I saw the lad again tonight, plucked up courage and winked at him as I passed. That, as it turned out, was all I needed to do. It is now dawn, he’s just left, and I have to get this written before I forget. Not that I ever will.

I had been on the island for only one evening when I started to realise two things about the local lads. One, they were desirable and two, they wore tight jeans even in July when the sun was burning. I had only been on the island two days when I realised a third thing: Many of them looked at me strangely whenever I walked by their café in the tiny, half-ruined back street of the village. Later, I realised something more: I was going to have one of these lads before I left. He looked at me, I looked at him, and I knew instantly.

I was staying at a friend’s apartment. He’d let me rent it for the whole month of July, and I had exclusive use. A balcony overlooked a delightful view of ancient houses, a courtyard below and trees rambling down a valley to the sea a mile away. The balcony room was furnished with a large sofa, wall hangings and old photographs of the island dating back at least one hundred years. Off this ‘salon’ was my bedroom. A large double bed that I hoped might see more than a little action, a wardrobe and a table were the only things in it. From another door off the salon, a short corridor led to the front entrance, a bathroom and a small kitchen. Outside, I had a courtyard with fruit trees and steps leading to a private entrance yard guarded by ornate metal doors. The place was private, cool in the heat of the day, and comfortably warm in the evenings. I’d be happy here for a month.

After recovering from my flight, an overnight journey was finished off by a boat ride to this remote place, I spent my second day exploring the village, checking out where the cafes were, the shops and the tavernas, and seeing how far the beach was. I familiarised myself enough to find my way home through the intricate maze of cobbled alleys and unlit passages. It was while doing this that I passed by the café. It was the local lad’s hang-out, not a tourist in sight, pop music playing and a collection of youths hanging around at tables outside. From my quick recce, I guessed it was a place for those in their late teens and early twenties. I saw no-one older than thirty.

It was while checking it out that I noticed the looks. In the few seconds it took me to pass, look into the gloomy inside then out at the pavement tables, I noticed the strange expressions. A couple of the guys stopped their heated conversation and stared at me, then carried on chattering in their indecipherable language while cocking their heads in my direction. I was clearly a talking point, and I had no idea why. Assuming it was because I was the only tourist to be staying in their neighbourhood, I took no notice, nodded at them and carried on. I didn’t let myself be intimidated, I’m thirty-two, I work as a builder, live in London’s East End and can handle a few inhospitable foreigners if I have to. I’m also up for a bit of trade with the same kind if they’re consenting, cute, younger and gagging for it.

I doubted any of this lot were and, sighing (because they were all tanned, fit and wearing tight jeans, but this was not my home turf), I carried on back to my apartment.

As the holiday progressed, I passed by the Andras Café at the same time each day on my way back from the beach. Each day the same lads were sat around drinking cold coffee and playing backgammon, and each day they threw me a look. I started to make it a custom to say hello and learned the Greek word from a fellow tourist so that I could surprise them. It didn’t make a difference. They still just stared blankly at me with their huge, brown eyes. Each day I sighed, and each night I jacked off with one of their bodies in my mind.

One in particular.

A slim guy in his late teens, whose eye I had caught on my first passing. He had short jet black hair, a smooth, closely-shaved face, and a cocky grin. His torso was shaped by a worked-on chest, and slim hips, and the oh, so tight jeans that rose in his crotch to a tantalising mound as he sat with one leg rested on the other. He always sat apart from the other boys as if he was an outcast, and that appealed to me.

I winked at him last night and made sure I walked very slowly. I’d had wine with my lunch and the afternoon had been spent lying on the busy beach staring at men in wet trunks. Straight lads with their girlfriends had posed around me, and I had flicked my hungry eyes to crotch level at any chance I had. That made me hornier than usual, and something about the day told me that the night was going to be special. I was right.

As soon as I had winked at the slim one, he winked back and flashed me a quick smile. Immediately my heart was up and pounding, and I knew I’d started something. By the time I’d passed his table, he was leaving coins by his half-finished coffee and standing. I walked on and heard him follow.

I turned up the steps that led to the narrow lane and my apartment. After a few paces, I heard someone coming up behind me and knew it was him. I didn’t turn back, just carried on – in case I’d misread things, and he was only going home the same way. I didn’t feel threatened, it’s not that sort of place and, like I said, I can handle myself. I came up to my front doors, got the key into the metal gate and went inside. Should I leave the door open? Why not?

I climbed up the steps to the apartment and pushed open the front door. The apartment was bathed in late afternoon light, diffracted through the lace curtains, filling the corridor with a magical, pink glow. I left the front door open and went through to the salon. The French windows were open to the view, and I stepped out onto the balcony, hoping to see the lad standing below, waiting for me to invite him up. The alley was empty apart from the sounds of sparrows, a far off cockerel and a slight breeze annoying the fig trees below. My heart sank, and I realised I’d got the whole thing wrong. He wasn’t interested in me. He was at least ten years younger and probably had a girl waiting for him somewhere. I turned back into the flat, deciding that a cold shower and a quick wank was what I needed to drive him from my mind.

The shower did nothing to stop the swelling in my cock, and by the time I got out, it was still semi-hard, hanging over my filling balls and craving attention. I grabbed it with a fist and gave it two hard yanks. That was enough to get it upright and to attention. It stood out seven inches in front of me waiting for me to carry on. I left it there and padded through to the bedroom. The day’s wine had tired me, and I decided that I needed a siesta more than a jerk-off. Heading for my bed, I walked back into the salon.

He was standing in front of the window, his back to the sunset and the long white curtains shielded the light, sighing in the breeze. His hands were on his hips, and his jeans had been undone at the stud. I couldn’t make out his expression, but he didn’t move when I came in, naked and still damp, still hard. I stopped in my tracks, first with shock and then with uncertainty. He was in my room; he would have to be the one to make the first move.

And he did. He took one pace towards me, looked over his shoulder as if to check he was not being watched, and then made another step closer. His arms rose in a shrug, and he smiled broadly and winked. I didn’t move a muscle. His expression changed to concern.

‘I should go?’ he said, and his accent was heavy.

I shook my head, my eyes fixed on his.

‘What should I do?’ He whispered, and I had the impression that he had no idea what should come next. This was new to him.

‘What you want,’ I whispered back.

I had still not moved. My cock was still straining towards him, water dripping from my heavy scrotum. Another drip trickled, tickled and ran there while I waited. Waited and watched.

He kicked off his dusty sandals, and I looked at his long, brown feet. My eyes rested there a while as I heard him pull his t-shirt over his head. A crack of static, a rustle of material. My gaze darted, and I saw two tufts of thick dark hair as he raised his arms. His chest tightened, defining pecs with a small V of hair between them. His arms were strong and I guessed he worked as a labourer. His head caught in the neck of the shirt which was then pulled free as his face came back into sight. He was still looking directly at me, uncertain, wanting assurance.

I raised a smile, stood my ground and gazed into his deep brown eyes as, at the edge of my vision, I saw his hands fall again to his waist. He undid his jeans with one slow, deliberate movement and then waited. I stared at him, looking back at his face and raising one eyebrow. He shrugged again, asking what he should do next. I cocked my head. Whatever you want.

He pushed his jeans over his hips, revealing tight white shorts. They shrouded their innocent secret and outlined a proportioned shaft that lay stiffening to the right. Beneath this, the cotton cocooned a perfect roundness, and above the waistband, an eyelash-thin line of hair ran to meet the smoothness of his tanned belly. The jeans slipped lower under their own weight, and his legs, strong from labour and exercise, supported his youthful body. He was powerful yet timid. I continued to drink in the sight of his body and waited. A moment passed, no sound but our breathing and the rustle of wildlife outside. He pushed the denim aside with a kick and took one more step closer.

We were within two feet of each other. I could smell his soap and register his breath, but still, I did not approach. We tried to reach each other’s thoughts. He wanted me to tell him what to do, I wanted to see what would happen. Tentatively, he reached out a hand, smooth skin on the back and rough, worked flesh on the palm. It rested on my chest — broader than his and hairier. His hand slid to rest on my hip. I looked at his body. Taught yet pliable, strong yet uncertain. Unused. Wanting. His hand moved across and his fingers wrapped around my cock. He looked for permission, and I parted my legs allowing my balls to hang free. His hand was quick to cup them, explore them, learn what another man’s felt like. I let him touch me. He was gentle. I let him explore and learn the pleasure of the first sensation of another man’s skin against his own. Finally, he knelt, and his eyes left mine. They travelled my body as mine had travelled his until I could only see the top of his dark head.

The heat of his eager mouth engulfed me as my shaft slipped between his lips, parting that cheeky grin. Still, I did not touch him. I just stood there and let him discover. I let him move his head towards my crotch, then out again, until the tip of my swollen cock rested behind his teeth. Towards me again, where he buried his nose into my damp flesh and sucked my breath through me. His actions grew quicker, and he made quiet groans, sounds of wonder. His arms wrapped around my waist and his fingers dug into my taut, hairy arse muscles as he pulled me harder into him. He clawed in at my arse, gripping firmly as he desperately tugged me deeper into his throat. He pulled back, never letting me free, but taking a deep breath so that he could drag me into him further each time. He held me in his throat longer, his tongue playing around the base of my now totally swollen shaft.

I was soon close to coming. The heat, the sight of the lads in their tight denim, the wine, the youth drawing on my flesh. A few more thrusts and I’d be filling his gullet with cum. I tried to warn him by pulling back, but he realised what I was doing. He read my signals and held me tighter. He wanted me to explode inside him. His hands took one of my arse cheeks apiece, and he slammed me back into his face, my balls slapping up against his smooth chin, my balance almost lost. I grunted another warning, and it only made him more desperate to drink me. His grip tightened, his throat contracted. The heat around my itching cockhead. My balls rising, preparing to unload. His eyelashes brushing against my pubes.

My breathing stopped for a split second.

Silence. My heart pounded, my legs tightened, and I felt myself jettison the first load into the springy softness of his throat. He drew in a breath, made a gasping sound as the second spurt hit somewhere deep within him. Another, my groin jerking against his face. Another load caused him to gag, and I heard him swallow, spluttering as another man’s cum filled his mouth and dribbled over his lips for the first time. He sucked me still and dry, holding my red hot cock in his mouth until my pleasure was spent and the sensation turned to ecstatic pain.

Eventually, he let me go. He released me from his mouth first but continued to hold my groin against his face as he drew in my scent, licked my hairy balls and stroked the back of my legs. He stood and looked into my eyes. A trickle of sweat ran from my brow and into my eye, and it closed instinctively in a wink. He raised a finger and brushed my closed eyelid tenderly with a thumb. He licked my salty sweat from it, all the time questioning me with his round eyes.

His white shorts were now straining against the solid shaft that they could hardly contain. The material was pulled away from him revealing a darkness of shadow and hair. The front of them was moist, his cock upright and primed. He was begging me to do to him what he had done to me. He turned his head towards the open bedroom door and indicated that he wanted us to go in. I shrugged, said nothing, and he let out a frustrated sigh.

‘Please?’ he said.

I refused to reply. He turned and walked two paces towards the room. Stopped and let me view the tightness of the white shorts around his small, round arse. His back was strong enough to support my weight, but his waist was slim enough to allow me to hold it with my fingers nearly touching.

‘Why do they look at me?’ I asked, and my voice stopped him in his tracks. He made no reply, so I went on. ‘When I pass your café, the other young men stare at me strangely. They talk about me after I have passed, I know.’

He turned back then and smiled apologetically. ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘We talked about you.’

‘What were you saying?’

He came back to me and placed my hand on his cock. It was warm, tender and small in my large palm, smooth under the softness of his shorts. I knew it was mine for the taking. I put my other hand on his arse, and he made no objection. I knew that was mine for the taking too.

‘We could not decide,’ he said and looked me directly in the eye, drawing me closer.

‘Decide what?

‘We could not decide which one of us you wanted. We all wanted you. You chose me.’

‘You chose me,’ I reminded him.

‘We chose each other,’ he said and kissed me.


After Gym Class: Free Gay Erotica

After Gym Class

The first of my free gay erotica short stories about life in a British boarding school. All characters are 18 years + in age.

We do P.E. on a Tuesday, a combined class of thirty of us. I like it for two reasons: One, I like physical activity, and two, everyone has to get in the showers afterwards. And there’s a routine to the showers. The oldest lads, the eighteen-year-olds like me, Dean, Stuart and so on, go first. Straight from our kit into the nude then into the shower while the others have to wait. And they’re not allowed to wait in their kit. They have to get it off and stand there naked in a line.

Plenty to look at there.

Sometimes you see them cover their cocks with their hands. Usually, those who only have a small prick do this, us older boys don’t care. When you’re eighteen or nineteen, you want to show off what you’ve got, and most of us have got a lot to show. But when you’re younger you get embarrassed. A couple of weeks ago me and Milo behaved like prats during the class, and Dean was instructed to punish us afterwards. His way of doing this was to make us stand in line with the other boys and suffer a loss of privilege.

I stood there, cold, with my hands covering my prick, waited, and watched the other guys come and go in and out of the showers. They were playing about, slapping each other with towels and being generally laddish. All I could do was stare at the back of Milo’s head and try not to get caught looking at the other lads as they passed by.

Dean made the two of us wait until everyone else was washed, dressed and had gone off for lunch. Even Mr Myers had gone, so there was just me, Milo and Dean left.

‘Learned your lesson?’ he said with that stupid Liverpool accent of his.

‘Yes, Dean,’ I mumbled. My legs were aching, and I was freezing by then. We were still waiting in line.

‘I think not.’ He came and stood next to us. ‘You’re not a prefect, so you call me Sir.’

‘Sorry, Sir.’

‘Too late, Darren. O.k. both of you, hands on your heads.’

‘Oh, what?’ Milo is one of the oldest boys in our house, just turned nineteen. He didn’t take to being treated like a third year.

‘You need to learn respect.’ Dean swiped him around the head, and Milo did as he was told.

So, there we were, two sixth formers standing naked by the showers, hands on heads like naughty kids. What next?

‘Come and stand inside so I can keep an eye on you while I get washed,’ Dean ordered, and we were marched into the shower room.

It’s a big, open space and the water spurts out from the walls. You can get fifteen people in there easily, but this time, there were only us three. Neither Milo nor me pointed out that Dean had already had his shower. We just watched as he set the water going, checked the temperature and then threw off his towel.

‘Keep in that line,’ he barked over at us, and his voice echoed off into the sound of splashing water. ‘Closer together so I can see you.’

Milo shuffled back a pace, and I took a step closer to him. I was still looking at his back, but my mind had switched off from our punishment. To try and take my mind off my aching legs and hungry stomach, I looked at Milo’s shoulders and then further down his back. I’d never noticed how smooth he was before, I’d never noticed him much at all. But, as he backed towards me, I couldn’t help but stare at his arse. It was also smooth, white and firm. I was so intent on staring at it that I didn’t notice how close we were until he bumped against my prick. As soon as it touched his arse I felt that familiar shiver run through me, my heart skipped, and I suddenly felt weak. I’d never been this close to him before, and certainly not naked.

‘Keep your hands up,’ Dean growled. ‘And watch me. You need to learn how to wash.’

‘Oh, come off it, Sir.’ Milo did complain then. ‘We’re not kids.’

‘You behaved like kids in class, so I’ll treat you like them now. Watch.’

And so he made us watch as he rubbed soap over his body. When he started rubbing it into his arse crack, I couldn’t help but get a hard-on. What with watching him and feeling Milo only inches in front of me, looking at the back of his shaved head and knowing that at any moment my prick would rise just enough to touch his smooth flesh.

It did just that, and pressed at the bottom of his crack, between his legs. I expected him to move forward, but he didn’t. As Dean washed his face, covering it with his hands, Milo parted his legs just enough to let my prick be trapped between his cheeks. While this was going on, the water from Dean’s shower a few feet away was splashing onto us, and we were both getting wet. The water got in my eyes, but I couldn’t move my hands to wipe them so just had to put up with it.

‘Are you still watching?’ Dean called. His own eyes were closed, and he was reaching for his shampoo.

‘Yes,’ Milo replied. As he spoke, he pushed back, and I felt my cock slide right in between his cheeks.

I couldn’t believe he was doing this and reckoned that he was trying to wind me up. But I didn’t complain. I loved the feel of my cock caught between his soft, firm, buttocks. His shoulder blades touched my chest, and the back of his head was only an inch away from my face. I could smell his sweat from gym class and see the blonde hairs under his arms turning wet in the spray from the shower.

Dean was rubbing shampoo into his hair and had his back to us now, and I guessed that in a few seconds he would open his eyes and turn. Without thinking of the consequences, I took my hands from my head and reached in front. They went straight to Milo’s cock, and I grabbed it, solid, wet, hard. I pulled on it a couple of times, and he shoved back into me in reply.

Before I knew what had happened my cock was suddenly hot and constricted, it slipped into him, and the two, perfect mounds of his arse were flat against my hips.

‘Make sure you’re paying attention,’ Dean said as he put his head under the shower to wash the shampoo from his hair. ‘I want to see you two wash in a minute.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

My hands flew back to my head. If he’d turned and seen us, then I hate to think what he would have done. We were locked together, my cock buried in Milo’s arse, rock solid and static, the two of us with our arms up, water splashing our faces.

I couldn’t resist. I kissed Milo on the back of the neck, silently and tenderly. He turned his head to show that he didn’t mind, and then he moved his hips. I felt my shaft sliding out until only the tip was left within him. And then he pushed back again. Our eyes stayed fixed on Dean in case he should turn and see, but he was fumbling for conditioner or something, still with his back to us.

Milo pulled forward again, sliding his arsehole smoothly around my cock. I felt the pressure of his buttocks lift from my hips as he moved forward and then press against me again as he slid back. He did this again, and each time I felt my cock swell further, my balls started to ache, and my legs began to tremble. I knew that I couldn’t keep this up for long. I knew that I was going to come. I wanted to hold him around the waist, wanted to play with his prick for him, but I daren’t move for fear of making too much noise or getting carried away. It didn’t matter, he was happy to fuck himself with my cock, in his own time.

Then he pulled himself so far from my cock that I thought his arse would let me go, but it gripped me tight just in time, and with a quicker movement, swallowed it again. This time I thrust forward and saw the muscles on his back knot up. His arse tightened, his legs went stiff and, unable to stop himself, he slipped his hands from his head and onto mine. He grasped my hands and squeezed tight. His arsehole contracted, crushing my inflamed cock as he pushed back hard and quick, pulling away immediately and then thrusting back. After the third time, he squeezed my hands so hard that I knew he was coming. His body froze, his sphincter grabbed me, and I felt my cock spurt inside him. Each time I came, it swelled more. I felt it spasm. Felt the heat and blast of orgasm deep inside him as his body tightened around it.

We stood as still as we could, unable to make a sound and unable to hold each other as both of us let lose our spunk. Our eyes were fixed on the prefect now, washing soapy water from his back. It ran in rivers until it vanished into the dark crack of his arse. It dripped between his legs, the hair on his balls hanging soaked beneath. I watched it run down his powerful, sportsman’s legs and drain off onto the floor where it mixed with Milo’s come and tricked away.

‘Right you two,’ Dean suddenly said, and I looked up. He was reaching for a towel, grabbing wildly in his temporary blindness. ‘Get yourselves under the water now and do it properly.’

Milo let go of my hands, reached behind and pushed me away. My cock slid from his arse and flopped, semi-soft into the steamy air as he stepped forward.

And then he turned to face me, showed me his own, still stiff cock, thick and cut, growing from a small patch of blonde pubes, dripping the last of his cum from the slit. He smiled at me and winked.

‘Get a move on,’ Dean barked. He had turned off his shower, and a towel covered his head.

By the time he finally looked back at us we were side by side under adjacent jets of water, our backs to him. No sign of what had just happened betrayed our adventure.

‘Maybe now you’ll behave in gym class,’ Dean tutted and flicked his towel against the back of my legs.

I felt the sting, yelped and flinched. But then, as he left us to finish washing, I felt the after-sting, a dull, warming pain. It felt good.

My mind was distracted. As soon as Dean left the shower, Milo leant over to me, took my aching cock in his hand, pulled me towards him and kissed me hard.

‘Let’s get into trouble again,’ he whispered.

‘I can’t wait.’


Other People’s Dreams

Other People’s Dreams is a gay erotic thriller that combines the magic of the Greek islands with a story of obsessive sexual desire.

Gay erotic romanceOne yacht, a thousand islands and all the time in the world…

Four cute gay youths sign-up for the adventure of a lifetime; an all-expenses-paid sailing trip among the Greek islands. However, the boat’s wealthy owner, the handsome but troubled Jake Chambers, has a hidden agenda. His advertisement clearly stated, ‘Certain strings attached.’

Jake’s innocent crew become the victims of his obsessive behaviour when he turns his attention to each one of them in turn.

A stolen chance, lost love, a wrecked boat – If Jake can’t have those moments back, he must relive them, no matter the cost.

Other People’s Dreams paperback [248 pages. £7.46]
Other People’s Dreams Kindle [£2.27]