I was 13 when my parents were both killed in a car accident and I went to live with my grandparents in Lincolnshire. I was a slim boy with wavy blonde hair, grown long in the fashion of the time, down to my shoulders.

My grandparents were very kind and I soon settled in with them in their rambling old country farmhouse. They gave me a large bedroom with a lovely huge feather bed and I enjoyed a freedom from discipline quite unlike that experienced by other adolescent boys in the area.

Unfortunately, with another person to feed and clothe, my grandparents began to find it difficult to make ends meet and, as their house had 5 bedrooms, they decided to take in an American serviceman from the nearby USAF air station. Most people in the surrounding villages did the same thing, as the American air force paid generously to billet their personnel with English families.

Carl was a big man, Iwould guess in his 20's though at the time I thought he was about the same age as my dead father. He was very broad-shouldered, dark skinned in a Latin sort of way with very deep piercing eyes and, in a way, I was a little scared of him. However, he was quite charming and quickly won the hearts and confidence of my grandparents. With me he was always lighthearted and friendly, putting his arms round me in bear hugs, ruffling my hair and complimenting my folks on what a fine young man they had as a grandson. However, several times when we were alone, he would slide an arm around my waist and whisper things like "You're too darn pretty to have been born a boy. It's a pity you aren't a girl or you could be my girlfriend." And he would chuckle and pat my bottom, giving me a wink as he saw my blushes.

My grandparents enjoyed going to the village club on Friday evenings to play Bridge and always came home around 1.00am each week. When I moved in, they had stopped going but, when Carl heard about this, he told them there was no problem and he would "babysit" me while they were out.

About the third time we were alone, I was sitting reading a book at the table and Carl was lounging in an armchair by the fire. Out of the blue he asked me if I had started "jerking off" yet. I knew what he meant because the Americans had introduced this expression though we called it "tossing off" at the time. I went bright red and said "No, of course not" but I probably didn't sound too convincing as it wasn't true. My best friend's older brother had shown us how to do it some months earlier and I did it several times a week to get what we called "the feeling."

"Then it's high time you started young Stevie" said Carl and, when I did not respond, he said "look". I turned to look and gasped. He had his penis out and it was huge and hard and he was slowly rubbing his hand up and down its length, smiling at me. "It's a great feeling" he said, "I do it every day when I can't get any pussy." My heart was pounding in my ears and I felt the colour rise to my cheeks. I felt a kind of terror, that what he was doing was very wrong but I was like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car, rooted to my chair, my mouth dry just staring transfixed at his huge penis. "Get yours out and try" he said but I shook my head. My cock was much smaller than his, even though it was bigger than my friend Colin's and I was far too shy, nervous and embarassed to comply with his request.

"You mustn't do that" I said, "they may come home early and catch you." though we both knew there was no chance of that happning. They enjoyed their evenings too much.

"Come here and do it for me then" he whispered, his dark eyes boring into mine. I gave a small shake of the head and said "please stop" but he just chuckled, still slowly stroking his tool which seemed, if anything, even bigger, swollen with an angry deep purple head. With his other hand he beckoned and said again, "come here" and it was almost as if I was hypnotised. Without knowing how or why, I found myself getting up and going over to stand beside him, my heart pounding and my limbs heavy and literally shivering with the scary anticipation of what might happen next.

He reached out and took my hand guiding it to his rampant penis, whispering, "feel it" My head was shaking a NO but somehow I found his dick in my hand and he was closing my fingers round it. It seemed enormous, hot and hard and, as I held it, I felt it pulsing. "Move your hand up and down" he breathed and, as I did what he asked and slowly stroked it, he sighed and laid back in the armchair. "That feels good little Stevie" he whispered, "don't tell me you've never done that before" and he closed his eyes and groaned.

"We have to stop" I said and, to my surprise, he sat up and said that we should or it would be all over for him. Not knowing exactly what he meant, I stepped back and he said, "I think it's time for you to go up to bed now, sweetie, but I'll come up in a few minutes to tuck you in." And he gave me that slightly twisted smile again. I said OK and left the room on legs which would scarcely carry me. As I shakily climbed the stairs to my room, my head spinning from all that had happened I was filled with dread as to what else he might have in mind if he did, indeed, come to my room...........

To be continued