Kenny : Part Two

He used a foot to gently prod the sleeping figure, who stirred and muttered something in his sleep.
Kenny prodded him with his foot again, a little harder. The figure jerked awake, half rolled onto his back and looked fuzzily up at us.
“Whass marrer?” he mumbled.

He reeked of alcohol, and I could see the top of a bottle protruding from one of the greatcoat’s pockets.
“ ’Oooo you?” the figure mumbled again. He struggled to sit more upright and the bottle slipped from his pocket and slid onto the ground. He tilted his head up to look at us and licked at his lips;- and I immediately realised who it was.
Jed.

Jed the rentboy, who had led Kenny’s mum to us, caused her --and Kenny-- a tremendous amount of unnecessary grief and who had ripped off his mum to the tune of fifty quid into the bargain.
I heard Kenny’s sharp intake of breath beside me.

Jed’s pupils were so dilated they were almost totally black, and he screwed his eyes up as he tried to focus on us. The stench of booze and vomit coming from him was indescribable.
“Whass a’marrer?” he repeated drunkenly. He was so far gone, and so stoned out of his gourd he could hardly put two words together.
“Fuck off!” he slurred. Spittle dripped from his mouth. “Tryin’ a sleep here.”

His eyes narrowed suddenly and he seemed to pull himself together a bit.
“Oh, I ge’ it! You wanna buy? Is tha’ it? Wha’ ‘ooo want? I got good stuff!”

He fumbled around his coat, patting it absently. As he touched one pocket I distinctly saw the outline of something in the pocket.
This was Jed, who, according to Kenny, always carried a gun.
Suddenly reminded that he had one, Jed grinned drunkenly at us.

“Not that,” he mumbled. “Thass mine! Might need that!” He grinned again, showing his black, broken teeth.
The brief period of concentration lapsed, and he continued to fumble at his coat, mumbling and muttering incoherently as he did so.
“We don’t want anything from you,” I said coldly.

“No, ‘onestly,” Jed pleaded, either not hearing my words or ignoring them. “Got really good stash here somewhere...” He trailed off and his hand, delving into an inside pocket, withdrew what looked like a brown leather wallet.
“No, ’s not it,” he muttered. He dropped the wallet onto the ground and his hand flopped onto his stomach as he relapsed into his drunken and drug-fuelled stupor. On his wrist was a watch, and bending down myself to have a closer look, I could see it was a Patek Philippe, worth tens of thousands of pounds.

Using my handkerchief, I carefully flipped open the wallet. It was bulging with notes. Inside the cover was a driving licence with a photograph, and I could just make out a name, - Manzi.
Jed had evidently rolled a recent trick, relieving Mr Manzi of his wallet and probably his watch. A favourite habit of some rentboys, Kenny had told me, although he’d sworn to me that he’d never done it himself. He had remained silent up to this point, but now I heard him exclaim quietly.

“Christ!” he murmured. “I can’t believe it! Look at him! What has he become? God!”
I looked at him and he was as white as a sheet, staring down at Jed.

“Dear God!” he said hollowly. “I could have ended up like that!”
He looked at me, and I saw a tear roll from one eye down his cheek. “I knew I owed you a lot, Des, but Christ! I never realised just how much!” He continued to stare at the figure in the doorway.

I straightened up and glanced round the square. There were a few other people about, but none near us, and probably not near enough to realise there was a figure on the ground. I am an honest man. I don’t commit crimes of any sort, at least not deliberately. But what I was contemplating now was certainly not legal. I looked at Kenny, who sensed my gaze on him. He wiped at his cheek and looked at me again.

“Should we do something? Call an ambulance?” He pulled his phone from his pocket, but I put my hand on his arm.
“If we do, it won’t be from that phone,” I said decisively.
I glanced round again. And made a decision.

Reaching down, again using my handkerchief, - I didn’t want there to be any chance of leaving a fingerprint - I carefully extracted three fifty pound notes from Mr Manzi’s wallet. I left the wallet where it had fallen and pocketed the notes.
“Let’s go,” I told Kenny.
He looked at me blankly. “We’re just going to leave him?” he asked disbelievingly.
“No, we’re not,” I said. “Come on.”

We left Jed lying in his semi-conscious state and crossed the pedestrian square to some phone booths. There, I dialled the emergency services, told them there was a figure in a doorway and where to find it, and suggested they send the police and an ambulance. I hung up without giving any details of myself and we hurried to the edge of the square nearest home.
“Wait,” I said to Kenny, and we paused in the shadows of a building at the corner of the square and waited.

It was only a few minutes before a police car, its blues rotating furiously, appeared at the emergency entrance to the precinct and drew to a halt in front of the shop. It obscured our view of Jed, but I’d seen enough, anyway.
“Time to go,” I said. I heard the sound of an ambulance siren approaching as we hurried away into the gloom of the evening and headed home.

***

Several more weeks passed. The date of Kenny’s theory test came and he passed with flying colours. A 99% pass because he’d made only one mistake. The date of his practical test loomed in a week’s time. Summer had become Autumn. Chillier evenings. Our time together was as good, as fresh, and our sex as exhilarating, as it had been at the start. We’d been together now for a few months.

Kenny had asked what I thought would happen to Jed, when we’d reached home that evening, - the whole outing slightly marred by the discovery of the rentboy in the doorway, but the sexual highs and outstanding orgasms we’d both had in the restaurant a subject for remembrance and light-hearted discussion for days afterwards.

I’d told him that I’d considered what to do about Jed, and decided to recoup the fifty pounds he taken from Kenny’s mum, with interest, and call the emergency services.

“With that gun in his pocket, Mr Manzi’s wallet and presumably his watch too, he will have a hard time explaining things,” I’d told Kenny. “And if he was carrying any drugs on his person, especially any hard stuff, I suspect Jed will be going away for quite a time. And if he was seriously ill from the booze and drugs, the ambulance would have taken him to hospital first, giving the police time to find Mr Manzi and make their enquiries.

If Mr Manzi complained there was money missing from the wallet, they would assume Jed had spent it on booze or drugs. All things considered, it seemed the best thing to do,” I finished, and Kenny had nodded thoughtfully.
And then it was time for me suck chocolate sauce from his pants and cock, and for Kenny to suck mango juice from mine.

Kenny’s driving test was on a Friday at 11 o’clock, and he’d invited his mum to come and visit us for a couple of days. She had declined a previous invitation – too soon, I suspected – but this time she said she’d be pleased to visit and arranged to arrive on the Friday at about 2 o’clock. This meant that Kenny could meet her at the station and they would have all afternoon together to talk, shop or do whatever.

Their private time, and I begrudged them not one second of it. We were going to eat out on both the Friday and Saturday evenings, - Mrs Noble was returning home on the Sunday - and I deliberately stayed a bit late at work to give them as much time as possible together without me. Kenny would be finished with his test just before noon, and although my plans wouldn’t change whether he passed or failed I couldn’t help feeling a little wound up as the hour approached. Five minutes before twelve, my phone rang.

“YES!” came the excited shout down the phone and I was sure other people in the office must have heard it.

I listened to his excited recounting of the test, and told him to enjoy the afternoon with his mum. He rang off, thanking me effusively for the lessons and my constant care for him.

I was delighted for him, both passing the test and having some time with his mum, and, I reflected as I hurried out into the town centre on an important errand, there was no doubt in my mind that I had come to love Kenny as much as any heterosexual male loving a female partner.

We had a table reserved for 8 o’clock, but I didn’t arrive home till seven, giving me just enough time to shower and change before we went out. Mrs Noble seemed very happy to be with Kenny and genuinely pleased to see me again. They hadn’t done any shopping, they were saving that for the Saturday, but they had spent an enjoyable Friday afternoon partly in town and partly at home.

We set off for the restaurant, not the one with the screens, that was going to be a strict secret for me and Kenny alone, but to another that we used from time to time.
Shown to our table, Kenny and his mum paused as they saw the champagne in its ice bucket waiting beside the table. Kenny eyed me suspiciously.

“You’ve done it again, haven’t you?” he queried. “Quietly set up a surprise behind my back?”
“If it was in front of your back, it wouldn’t be a surprise,” Mrs Noble observed with a smile.
“Good point,” Kenny acknowledged.

The champagne was duly opened and served and his mum and I toasted his success on his driving test and wished him safe and happy motoring in the future. We sipped at the drinks for a while and chatted amiably. Mrs Noble seemed quite relaxed in my presence, something for which I was extremely grateful, given her initial outburst on seeing me for the first time months ago. Dinner orders were placed, the champagne bottle gradually emptied, and starters served.
“What are you grinning about?” Kenny asked me suddenly.

“Oh, nothing,” I said, and managed to wink at Mrs Noble without Kenny seeing.
“Hmmmph!” was his only rejoinder.
He knows me so well, I thought affectionately. It’s becoming harder to surprise him without him realising it in advance.

Seeing the champagne bottle upside down in the ice bucket, the wine waiter came to ask if we’d like another drink before our main course. We ordered, whisky for me, vodka for Kenny and a sherry for his mum, and these duly arrived and were dispatched without delay.
The time had come, I thought with pleasurable anticipation, for the fruits of my hurried errand earlier in the day to become apparent.

The waiter brought my meal, and Kenny’s mum’s. We politely waited for him to return with Kenny’s meal before we started our own. He arrived bearing a silver salver on top of which was a domed silver cover.

“Oh, you’re getting the special treatment,” Mrs Noble remarked. “That’s nice.”
The waiter placed the salver in front of Kenny and whisked off the cover;- to reveal a fat, white envelope lying on the salver. Nothing else. No dinner.
Kenny looked at it, then me, then his mum.

“What is this?” he enquired. “A joke? No!” His eyes narrowed as he looked at me again. “It’s you, isn’t it Desi? What have you done this time?”
Mrs Noble leaned towards her son and gestured at the envelope.
“If you don’t want to eat it,” she suggested in a whisper, “why don’t you open it? It has your name on it.”

Sure enough, the words Kenneth Noble Esquire were handwritten in calligraphy across the envelope.
“Alright. What is it, mum? You tell me, ‘cause I know Desi won’t.”
Mrs Noble threw up her hands.

“Kenny, I promise you I have no idea what it is,” she averred. “I really don’t. Whatever it is, it’s a surprise for me as much as you.”
Not true, although she wasn't aware of the exact contents.
Kenny looked at the envelope, then at me again. He shook his head slowly.

“One day, Des, I am going to surprise you, the way you constantly arrange these surprises for me!”
Gingerly, as if it might bite him, he picked up the envelope. It wasn’t sealed, the flap was just tucked inside, and he flicked it open and withdrew the contents. He stared at them for a moment then let them fall onto the salver and leaned back in his chair.
“You’re joking!” he murmured.

I had signalled our waiter who, following my earlier instructions, was hovering close by, and he nodded and hurried off to the kitchen, returning in a few moments with Kenny’s proper dinner. Kenny picked up the papers and envelope as the waiter removed the salver and placed the meal on the table in its place.
“We should eat,” I suggested, “before your mum’s, and my, dinners get cold.”

Kenny nodded, but he made no move to pick up his knife and fork, he was sifting through the contents of the envelope, a glazed look in his eyes.
“Any chance we can share the secret?” his mum enquired between mouthfuls of pork medallions.
“Have a look,” Kenny offered and gave her the papers.

Mrs Noble took only seconds to peruse the papers and turned to me with a smile.
“Airline ticket, hotel reservation...that’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. “A week’s holiday in Amsterdam starting on Monday! Kenny, you’ll love it, I’m sure! Derek, that’s so nice of you! This is a reward for passing his driving test, I assume?”
“Well,” I said. “Yes it is, now. If by chance he hadn’t passed, it would have been a sort of commiseration break. But, as it is, it’s going to be a celebration holiday, as you so rightly say.”

Kenny had started on his meal and he kept glancing at me.
“Desi, I don’t know what to say. How could I ever, possibly, thank you, not only for the driving lessons and now this holiday, but for everything you’ve done for me since I met you.”
“Kenny, as long as you’re happy,” I answered him, “as long as you’re content with your life here, with me, then that’s all the thanks I need. And I enjoy arranging these little surprises for you.”
“More than happy,” Kenny said softly. “Don’t know what word to use.”

Mrs Noble put her hand on my arm to stop me eating.
“I echo that sentiment, Derek,” she said quietly and earnestly. “I can see that you mean all the world to my son, and that he means all the world to you. To know that he’s in good hands and someone is looking after him, as you are, makes me very, very happy indeed.”

She released my arm, picked up her fork then paused and let out a chuckle.

“I’ve just made a pun, haven’t I?” she laughed. “I never thought I would be able to make a joke or a pun like that. But... ‘in good hands’ ?... given how the two of you are together...”
And Mrs Noble, the woman who had slapped me hard across the face as soon as she had set eyes on me, insulted me and spent hours crying about my association with her son, collapsed into a fit of the giggles.

After that, the evening flew by, gentle, relaxed, amusing, considerably alcoholic, and I knew that I would never have to worry about Mrs Noble’s attitude again.

At one point, Kenny excused himself to go to the men’s room. If there was a disadvantage to having his mum around, and it wasn’t really a disadvantage, just a pause in our everyday life, it was that we obviously had to be clean and showered. If we had been near her in our usual clothes the aromas wafting from us both would have put paid to any understanding from her. No, when she came to visit, Kenny and I and all our clothes had to be squeaky clean.

As soon as he left the table Mrs Noble turned to me.
Her eyes sparkled.
“He still doesn’t know, does he? He has no idea?”

I shook my head. “No, he doesn’t but he will know as soon as we come back from Amsterdam.”
“And this little holiday is the second of the three things you told me about when -” she paused for a brief moment, “ –when I was so unforgivably rude and insulting to you months ago.”
I laid my hand on hers.

“Past times, Mrs Noble, past times. Gone and forgotten. But yes, you’re right.”
“First the driving lessons and the test,” she recounted, ticking them off on her fingers, “ then a holiday abroad somewhere, and the third will be --”
“Exactly,” I interrupted her. I glanced around but Kenny was still out of sight. “Still secret for a week or two more. And in fact there will be a little extra something when we come back.”

I whispered what it was and she gazed at me, shaking her head gently.

Finally she relaxed in her chair. “You’ve done so very, very much for him,” she sighed. She stared at the table. “I realise that you probably saved him from – from – many nasty things,” she finished.
“Quite possibly,” I agreed softly. “And I’ve enjoyed every minute of it, and enjoyed seeing the delight in him when I’ve been able to do something nice.”
She nodded.
“By the way,” I added, “I have something for you.”

I reached into my pocket and withdrew three fifty pound notes. “You recall that you had to give that boy money to find out where Kenny was?”
She was already nodding again.
“Well, we bumped into him not so long ago,” (not entirely untrue) “- and -um- as luck would have it he was able to give it back with interest.” (Also not a complete lie).

I pressed the notes into her hand.
“Enjoy a bit of shopping or a matinee, or something, tomorrow,” I suggested. She regarded me doubtfully.
“I assure you, that isn’t from me,” I said. “That came from the same boy you paid.”
(Alright then. Half a lie).

Kenny’s mum nodded and slipped the money into her purse. “Thank you Derek. Kenny and I will find something to enjoy ourselves with tomorrow.”
I explained briefly how I’d rushed out at lunch time from the office, booked the trip to Amsterdam and set things up at the restaurant.
Mrs Noble smiled knowingly.

“And I’ll bet setting it all up gave you almost as much satisfaction as it gave Kenny to receive it,” she suggested.
I grinned and shrugged.
“You’re not wrong,” I admitted, and then our conversation had to stop as Kenny returned.

****

We arrived at Amsterdam’s Schipol airport at 12.15 on the Monday. Kenny was as excited as I had ever seen him. Although he had his own passport I knew that it had only been used for two high school trips, and by coach, at that. He’d seen Normandy and the Somme battlefields with his school, but he had never travelled by plane, anywhere.

Checking in, baggage handling, security and boarding the plane were completely new experiences for him and he revelled in them. His amazement intensified when we were met at Schipol by the Hotel Schiller’s courtesy car which whisked us to Rembrandtplein where the hotel was situated. The four star hotel was not far from Dam Square and Damrak, the very centre of the city.

It was also not far from Amsterdam’s famous Red Light District. I’d booked a large suite, insisting on a double bed, with a balcony view over the canals below us.
When Kenny had spotted the double bed, he went a bit red in the face and looked at me.

“Desi, what on earth will the hotel think, you and me in one room with a double bed?”
“In this city, and particularly this area,” I said to him, “the hotel and its staff won’t bat an eye!“

Kenny stayed for some time on the balcony just watching the people strolling about, the glass covered canal tour boats cruising slowly along, and the outside cafes and bistros that abound there.
I, in the meantime, had unpacked our case and, apart from our personal, special clothes, had put things away in cupboards and drawers. The personal stuff stayed locked in the suitcase.

It had been a bit of a job deciding what we could bring and what should be left behind. There was always the danger of a customs spot check, even in the green channel at either airport, and regretfully, apart from our usual, very favourite open fly pants, carefully wrapped inside other clothes, we left our other used clothes at home. But there were still silk and satin pants, and a miniskirt each, and we’d brought our cum filled tracksuit bottoms as well.

There was a noticeable stain on the front of each, where our huge eruptions of cum had dried into the cotton, not to mention chocolate and mango. I strolled onto the balcony and put my hand on his beautifully rounded ass cheeks, firm beneath the jeans he had travelled in.
“Are we going to do a boat tour?” he asked eagerly.

“We’re going to do everything we can,” I assured him, “but right now, there’s something else I want to do.
He turned to me and smiled shyly.
“Are we going to suck and fuck?” he asked.

Tempting as it was to undo his jeans and let them drop here, on the balcony, I gently pulled him into the room and he sank back onto the bed. I pulled off his shoes and unzipped his jeans, feeling the bulge of his cock inside them. Slowly I pulled them down and he kicked free of them. He was wearing stretch hipster satin pants, and the outline of his cock was clear beneath them, curled against his belly.

I leant over him and kissed it, running my tongue over the fabric and over his thighs, savouring the warm flesh beneath my tongue and enjoying the smell of his warm skin. His cock had started to harden and so I licked it some more until it was completely erect, the tip of his helmet just emerging from the top of the stretchy material. I licked that and felt it strain against my tongue.

I took it into my mouth and began to suck him, enjoying, as I had so many times before, the taste of his hot rod in my mouth. My hand cupped his balls and he pushed upwards off the bed, filling my mouth with that hard, hot gorgeous length of cock.
He made little murmurs of pleasure as I sucked at him, massaging his balls gently. My finger probed inside the edge of the pants and I found his crease, running my fingertip up and down it until I stopped at his rosebud and massaged that. Gently I inserted one finger into his jewel and teased round the inside of his hole, sliding my finger in slowly until it was fully inside him. He gave little gasps of pleasure as my fingertip probed round inside him.

“Love it!” he exclaimed softly.

I slid my finger in and out slowly, fucking him with it and feeling his heat and the quantity of his inside moisture on me. It excited me and I tried inserting a second finger inside him as well. He wriggled and gasped again how nice it was, and I continued to fuck his tight little hole with both fingers for a while. Eventually my excitement was too much to ignore.

I rolled him over to lie on his stomach. His firm round cheeks were before me and I leant down and kissed and licked at them, making the fabric wet. My tongue pushed at his crease and teased at him. I pushed my tongue harder and the tip went into his rosebud, carrying the stretch fabric with it. I continued to lick and rim him for some minutes as he began to breathe faster.

Slowly I pulled his pants down until his firm round cheeks were fully revealed. I nuzzled them for a while and then started to rim him again, without the fabric in the way.

He lifted his hips from the bed and pushed backwards and upwards onto my tongue. My own cock was now hard, and I wanted him, badly. Quickly I threw off my own jeans and eased my stiff cock from the top of my pants. I was wearing very loose Y-fronts and my rod came free quickly, as if anxious to be free of them and to plunge into something else.

I pulled at Kenny’s hips so he was kneeling and then pressed the tip of my cock to his cheeks. But what I really wanted was pure lust and I wasted no more time but stroked my helmet along his crease once or twice, finally stopping at his wet rosebud and pushing gently at it.

Kenny knew the signal, and he pushed his muscles out, opening his hole so that my cock could slide in easily. I slid into him, gasping myself as I felt his young muscles gripping my cock. Kenny gasped too, and I began to pound at him, sliding my rod in and out of him as hard as I could.
“Desi! Desi! Fuck me! Yes, fuck me hard!” he murmured as I thrust into him again and again.

I could feel the onset of my orgasm.

“I love fucking you!” I whispered in a gasp. “I love your tight, round cheeks, I love your soft rosebud, gripping my cock, and I love filling. You. With. My. Cum...!”
As I spoke I felt that all important quiver in my balls and my first gush of spunk shot from my cock and into Kenny’s beautiful young ass.

He felt it, and gasped “Yes!” as the hot cream began to fill him to the brim. I’d wanted really hard, strong sex, and there were enough spasms to ensure that his hole would be completely full. I felt the heat of my cum sliding along my cock as I thrust at him for the final few times. As the last spurt left my tip I paused, undecided what I wanted to do.

When I slid from his hot, wet, tight ass hole either I would pull up the satin pants and let him expel my cum into the back of them so that I could lick and suck and drink it, or I would roll him over on top of me so that he could expel it over my pants and belly. In the end I decided that I wanted to be close to his lovely ass some more, so I pulled up the fabric and told him to roll onto his back to expel.

He lay looking up at me.

“I do love to feel you in my ass” he said softly. “I do love to feel your cock sliding in and out of me and when your hot spunk hits me inside...I just love all of it.” He reached up a hand and stroked my face. “I just love you, Desi,” he whispered.
I gently rolled him over to his stomach again. The back of his pants were wet from my cum, expelled from his rosebud and awaiting my attention.

I leant down and licked at his crease area, sucking at the fabric and taking my own cum into my mouth. Taking the last few drops and leaving just a damp patch on the back of his pants, I lay on my back and looked across at him.
“Your pleasure now, my lovely little Kenny. And I love you too. What do you want to do? fuck my ass?”

Kenny gazed at me. “No, I want to fuck your mouth,” he murmured. “Keep my cum in your mouth and then I want you to spit it out into my ass crease again, and suck it and drink it like you did just now.”
He straddled over me and I shifted up the bed a little so my head was resting on the headboard.

He pulled his pants down to his thighs and brought his cock near to my face. He had gone slightly soft, and I took him into my mouth and began to lick and suck at him, my hand cupping his balls and one finger tracing between his balls and his rosebud, still wet and slippery from the remains of my own spunk. He grew immensely hard and began to thrust into my mouth urgently. I could feel his huge, engorged, purple helmet as it slid along my tongue and against my cheeks.

“Want to fuck you!” he murmured, his eyes closed in rapture. “Love to fuck your mouth! Love to feel your lips sliding on my shaft, making me hard, making me cum!”
And with that he shot his first spurt of cream into the back of my mouth.

“Makes me cum! Makes me cum!” he gasped softly with each thrust and each gush of his gloriously hot, sticky, tasty spunk. I felt the twitches in his rod die away as he finished. Slowly he withdrew it and the last tiny drop of cum glistened on the end of his cock. I licked it off, without losing what I had in my mouth, rolled him over and pulled down those satin pants again.

Putting my face close to his crease I allowed his cum to drain from my mouth into his crease. As it began to run down towards his thighs I used my tongue to lap it up, this time swallowing as I did. My tongue tip slid past his rosebud and collected a huge pool of white cream. I gulped it down, savouring the taste and texture of this amazing young man’s sex. Finally, there was no more, and we just lay beside each other on the bed, holding each other’s soft cock.

“What are we going to do while we’re here?” Kenny asked sometime later.
“Everything,” I said. “Visit the Rijksmuseum, Anne Frank’s House, take a canal boat, take a horse drawn carriage ride --”
“Museums?” Kenny queried with a slightly doubtful look.

“I think,” I said carefully, “that we need to go to a few places your mum will expect us to go. She’s bound to ask you what we did and what we saw, and I think you should have some – um, --er,-- intellectual answers for her, rather than just tell her we fucked the asses off each other all week.”
Kenny laughed. “Point taken!” he said.

I reached over and kissed his soft cock and thighs. And that made him start to get hard again, and him becoming hard made me hard, and so we had to start all over again as I wanked him until his shaft erupted cum all over his belly, and he sucked me and stroked me until I had filled his mouth with cum which he then allowed to drain into my pants.

And we did, indeed, do pretty much everything during that week. We went to admire the art in the Rijksmuseum, (just to say we’d been) although neither of us had any interest in art as such; we took the tour of Anne Frank’s House, (just to say we’d been) and visited the Oude Kerk, the oldest church in Amsterdam, (just to say we’d been).

We also took a tour of the Heineken Brewery (because we wanted to) and took trips out to a cheese factory and a clog-makers, (because we wanted to) both just outside the city in the countryside, and where we picked up some cheeses and some clog souvenirs to take home, me for some of the office staff and Kenny for his mum.

We mooched around Dam Square and Damrak, and window-shopped and bought more souvenirs in the alleyways behind the shops which run parallel with Damrak, and where the most interesting and intriguing shops are located. We sampled Dutch pancakes and Dutch waffles and enjoyed delicious freshly brewed coffee everywhere and the occasional Amstel beer.

We also visited a fishing village on the coast, Volendam, where the girls wear traditional Dutch costumes every day, - presumably for the tourists, although there weren’t many about at this time of year – and where we learned how a diamond-cutter cuts and polishes a gem, and enjoyed a freshly caught seafood lunch in the open air.

But in the day time between excursions, and in the evenings in the privacy of our suite, we just enjoyed sex, sex, and more sex. We never tired of each other, and we never failed to produce the most exhilarating and satisfying climaxes in each other. Not wishing to leave too many tell-tale traces in the bed, some of our adventures took place in the large bathroom, which contained a bath and a separate shower, as well as a double handbasin and a bidet. We didn’t use the bidet after Kenny had tried it for the first time and announced that if anything wet was going to squirt into his ass, it had to be my hot cum and not plain water.

We fucked and sucked, stroked and wanked, rubbed and probed, and kissed every inch of each other’s bodies. The slightly skinny young boy who had stopped me in the street those months ago was developing into a strapping young man with soft skin but with muscles underneath, with a gorgeous cock which had seemed to grow longer and thicker as he matured.

I loved touching him and holding him and couldn’t get enough physical contact with him. Sometimes I was surprised at the strength of my own libido. And as Kenny was the instigator of our sexual romps just as often as I was, I was sure he felt the same way.

On one occasion I had a yearning for some golden piss, and I made Kenny tell me when he needed to pee, then pulled him into the bathroom and made him stand there with a pair of my pants on, and let his full bladder flow into them. His golden shower ran into the pants and soaked them, ran down his legs and pooled on the tiled floor. I put the warm, wet pants on myself and wore them all day and, as they had dried, all night too. And later I licked his legs from his ankles up to his cock, savouring the heady taste of his piss mixed with his own erotic taste.

On another occasion he was wearing a pair of very soft, baggy, silk briefs. It was the day we’d been to the cheese and clog factories and I think he wanted to do something special for me. He pulled me into the bathroom, sat on the toilet in his silk pants and pulled my hand between his legs and round to his ass. He said nothing, just smiled and kissed my arm in front of him, and I gradually felt those soft silk pants filling from his ass, bulging larger and larger at the back as he emptied himself into them.

I loved it, it had been a long time since I’d experienced that, and I gently squashed the silk up against him, massaging the contents over his ass and balls and in between his cheeks into his crease. It didn’t make him totally hard, just a little, but it made me very hard indeed, and Kenny could see it in front of his face. So he pulled down my pants and sucked me until he sensed I was about to cum, and then aimed my cock at his own pants so I shot my spunk everywhere over the front of them.

“I have to say,” he admitted later, “I was surprised. I hadn’t done that before, but there is something incredibly erotic about knowing you are doing that into your pants, and feeling them fill and bulge with all that warmth over your balls and ass. I enjoyed it.”
“Try doing it standing up,” I suggested.
“I will,” Kenny promised, “when we get home.”

Afterwards, he emptied his pants as much as possible, but I told him to wrap them in something and we would take them home as they were. When they were completely dry, I knew the sight of them with the remains of his special gift, the smell of them, together with piss and cum, would be enough to almost make me cum in my pants without so much as touching my cock.

But the highlight of the week, I felt sure, would be the walk through Amsterdam’s Red Light District. There are actually three separate areas famous for their hookers and sex shops, but the area near our hotel, the Walletjes area, is the most famous and the most visited by tourists.
Looking or buying!

We had an early dinner one evening and I told Kenny we were going somewhere special. Our walk took us through China Town, and through the narrow alleys and canalside roads, such as
Little Venice, Kloveniersburgwal, Trompettersteeg Alley, and then Oudezijds Achterburgwal and Regulierdwarsstraat, these last two where the gay fraternity enjoy their own clubs, hookers and shops.

Kenny was open-mouthed at the prostitutes in their windows, and although none of the girls were of any interest to us, both of us could appreciate a good-looking female body when we saw one. We tried a few bars and constantly fobbed off the hawkers with their free entry cards for the hardcore clubs. I asked Kenny if he wanted to go in and see a live show.
“Live what?” was his response.
“men and women fucking.”

Kenny gave me a neutral look. “We can go in if you want,” he said.
“Not if you’re not interested in heterosexual fucking,” I told him.

So we gave the live action clubs a miss, but tried one or two sex shops. The DVDs and magazines didn’t interest either, - we didn’t need those to get ourselves in the mood! – but we did pause over the displays of sex toys.
“Want to try one?” I asked.

Kenny regarded a ridiculously long, excessively fat, double ended dildo.
“I would not like to have that in me!” he stated. “How could anyone take that? It would do some serious damage!” He examined the display.
“On the other hand,” he mused, “I wouldn’t mind having something in my ass while I sucked you or fucked you. That might be nice.”

“You do realise,” I cautioned him, “that if we get a spot check at customs we shall be in trouble. They’ll confiscate our purchases at the very least, and possibly arrest us for importing pornographic items.”
Kenny looked a bit worried.
“I’ll take them in my hand luggage,” I said. With the used and special clothes that both of us had with us, with the piss, the cum, and now the silk pants with Kenny’s special gift inside them, we didn’t need sex toys to be in trouble. Although nothing of those items were actually illegal, it would lead to some very embarassing questions if we were stopped.

So we bought a couple of nice looking latex cocks;- feeling soft but hard enough to insert where ever wanted. One was slightly on the thin side with a nice latex foreskin that rode up and down, and another, thicker one which we agreed was about the size of my cock. With a slight pang of regret, I had to admit to myself that Kenny’s gorgeous shaft was now bigger than mine when he was ramrod hard, as he so often was.

We strolled along amongst the crowds, and there were quite a lot of people around, despite the lateness of the season. Ahead of us we saw an argument between a big black guy and a smaller, Japanese man. The big guy was trying to wrest the Jap’s camera away from him.
“What’s going on?” Kenny wondered. “A mugging?”

“He probably took a photograph of a girl in a window. That’s strictly forbidden, even though prostitution is completely legal here. And strictly enforced. The big guy is probably her pimp.”

We turned down a side alley and continued. Every building, every shop and every floor was given over to sex. Hookers, clubs, bars, sex shops, theatres, movie houses, live action shows, nothing, but nothing in this area existed except to show, promote and sell sex.
Strangely, it isn’t dangerous, as long as you obey the rules, like no photos of the hookers, and as long as you don’t buy anything from the street vendors. They accosted us, trying to sell anything from “private girls” to drugs, from used cars to bicycles.

We called in at another bar and sat awhile, just watching and listening to other English speaking tourists as they marvelled and commented on this bustling, lively, neon-lit area.

Kenny had marvelled himself;- at the number of bicycles. There were thousands of them, being ridden, leaning on posts or shop fronts, or lying half buried in the canals. Everyone not strolling round the Red Light District seemed to be riding a bike. But it made sense, of course. A lot of the roads beside the canals would permit only one vehicle’s width, so rather than make a lot of unnecessary and confusing one-way systems, the authorities left nearly all of them two-way, and the Amsterdammers used bikes to get around and over the bridges.

Kenny and I finally found ourselves in the gay area. It seemed odd to see young men in the windows and not women, but we felt quite comfortable and tried a bar for one last drink before heading back to the hotel. No sooner had we sat down on stools at the bar than Kenny was surrounded by suitors. They hovered around him like bees round a honeypot, attracted by his physique, his young looking face, his smiling eyes.

And no doubt any sign they could see of the shape of his beautiful cock beneath his clothes. They plied him with drinks, which I wasn’t worried about as the alcohol was most likely considerably watered-down, they touched him, stroked his arms, pleaded and cajoled, trying to get him to either go with them right now, or meet them later. Some of them were obviously hard, and others rubbed themselves as they propositioned him. But Kenny was scrupulously polite in his rejections of them all.

No thank you, not just now. No thank you, my tastes run to someone a little younger - this to the older, butch men with their leather outfits, studs and rings – no thank you, I have a partner already, yes, I am sure you’re very good at sex but I’ve just had some and I’m fine for now, yes I’m sure you’re as big as you say but I’m not in the mood just now.

Eventually, the word must have spread, and he was left alone.
“Phew!” he commented, taking a large slug of his drink. “Thought they’d never go!”
“Didn’t you fancy any of them? The younger ones, I mean,” I couldn’t resist asking him.

He looked at me and saw the twinkle in my eyes.
“No, I did not!” he answered with some asperity. “I don’t need them, I don’t need their sex. I have you, I love you and I only want sex with you. What about you?” he added suspiciously.
“Well, there was that guy in the tights that showed what a nice cock he had –“ I began, and Kenny punched me gently in the arm.

“Don’t believe you,” he said, and swallowed the last of his drink. “Not a lot of alcohol in that,” he commented.
Kenny, I thought, you’re learning.

“Let’s go, my own sweet Desi, I want sex with you. Lots of it.”

We returned to the hotel and changed from our publicly acceptable clothes into things that we both felt comfortable with in the privacy of our suite. We both fancied cross dressing for a change and I put on a black minidress and holdups, and Kenny wore a black micro skirt and the mini pants with the sewn-in fringe.

We kissed and caressed each other for a while and then I ordered some drinks from room service. There was soon a knock at our door and a call of “room service” from the hallway outside.
Kenny grabbed my arm and whispered to me.

“Tell him to leave it outside the door,” he said.
I called instructions to do just that and we heard the waiter set the tray down. Giving him time to disappear, Kenny grinned at me.
“Want to do something risky and exciting again!” he murmured.