Running Away

He caught up with me on the marshes, just as the river widened and the last farm house disappeared from view.

"What are you doing?"

"I left home." I kept walking.

He grabbed my arm, and I reluctantly slowed. "Why?"

"You know why." I shook myself free and kept going. He trotted along beside me. "Do you even want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to say. They won't care, anyway."

"But what are you going to do?"

"Walk until I get somewhere, and then take it from there."

"Where? There's nothing round here for miles."

"Then I'll walk for miles." I pulled ahead and, for a moment, he watched my retreating back. Then a sigh and he was alongside me again.

"Can I walk with you, then?"

"It's a free country."

We walked in silence. I'd long ago calmed the fury that saw me slam a few clothes into a bag, stuff my savings into my pocket, and pick up a few odds and ends. Now all I cared about was putting as much distance between myself and them as I possibly could, and I knew their first thought would be to follow me towards the city. So I went in the opposite direction entirely. Onto the marshes.

Mark laughed. "I haven't had this much exercise in ages."

"Nobody asked you to follow me."

He was silent again, and I wondered whether I ought to feel at least a little regret at having snapped so hard. Of everyone I knew back there, he was the closest I had to a real friend, and probably the closest I cared to have. I'd always been a quiet child, although my parents preferred to call me sullen, and barely spoke even at school. Mark was the only boy who could get more than a few words out of me, probably because he was the only one who never stopped trying. The fact he lived just three doors down merely gave him more opportunity.

"I heard you fighting with them in the garden." Again, he broke the silence. "Quite a row."

I said nothing, but he was right. It had been. Then I ran upstairs, packed and stormed out. He'd probably heard the door slam behind me as well.

"Have you eaten?"

"Not hungry." Damn, I'd forgotten to bring any food. Never mind, there would be a pub or a little shop somewhere. There always is.

Again silence, and this time it stretched out for a mile or more. A light rain came on and I pulled up my hood, then flickered a glance towards him. T-shirt, jeans, sneakers. "I dont suppose you thought to bring an umbrella?"

"No. I bet you didn't, either."

"I'm not the one who's going to need it," I said, nodding towards some ominous dark clouds as they gathered ahead of us.

"I'll be okay," he said, and I cursed him for following me. If the weather got worse, we'd have to stop and take shelter, if only to stop him getting soaked through. And stopping meant losing time. But the rain was getting heavier now, his hair was already plastered to his head and I could imagine the damp coming through his sneakers, too.

"There's a church up ahead." I could see the spire about a mile away. "If there's nowhere else around, we could run in there." Again a curse. I'd deliberately kept off the roads, just in case someone thought to search in this direction. Now Mark was putting me back onto the biggest of them all.

But half an hour later, there we were, pushing open the heavy oak door and stepping into the chill stone nave. The first rumble of thunder had preceded our entry; inside, we saw the lightning flash behind the stained glass windows, and were thankful, at least, that the weather probably meant there'd be nobody else visiting the church today. We settled on a pew; then, feeling the cold through our sodden clothes, went in search of somewhere warmer.

A little room off the vestibule, an office from the look of it, with hymnals piled high on every available space, a filing cabinet beside the desk, and a small electric heater. Mark plugged it in and made a space on the floor beside him, where we could both feel the warming blast. He spread his wet T-shirt on the floor in front of us, his socks and sneakers too. My coat hung from a hook on the door, dripping softly onto the carpet, and my sweater draped over the back of a chair.

The lack of any windows meant we were safe to turn the light on, a pale yellow bulb whose glow barely reached the walls.

"I wonder how long the storm's going to keep up?"

"I bet you didn't check the weather forecast either," I chided him, and he laughed. "I did, but they're always wrong."

The thunder slowed, but the rain kept going. Dark clouds grew darker as night began to fall. Now I was feeling hungry. "I wonder if they have a little kitchen here?"

"Let's go look."

Success. A kettle and teabags. A small fridge with milk and margarine. Half a loaf of bread. There was even a bar of chocolate. I reached into my pocket and pulled out some small change, placed it on the breadboard. Mark watched approvingly, and added some coins from his pocket.

We made a few sandwiches and a pot of tea, then back into our refuge. It was still pouring with rain. "Looks like we're here for the long haul," he murmured. "You don't think they have a TV as well?"
 "It's Wednesday. There's nothing on."

"We could talk?"

"What do you want to know?"

I knew what he was going to ask, or at least I thought I did. Instead we just chattered - music, mostly; mutual acquaintances; nothing of consequence, but enough to remind me why I liked him. "So why did you come after me?"

"I could see you were upset."

"So?"

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"And when you discovered I was?"

"I wanted to make sure you stayed that way."

"Well, thank you. That was sweet." I leaned over and gave him the tiniest kiss on the cheek.

"Wow." He was flustered, I could see that. But still he did his best not to show it. "I don't think I've ever even imagined you doing that."

I laughed. "There's a lot I things I do that you don't know about."

"Like what?" He felt on firmer ground now, so I remained silent. In truth, there wasn't, but I wasn't going to let Mark know that.

"You go first."

"That's not fair." We squabbled back and forth for a moment, then I kissed him again. And when he strained to kiss me back, I let him.

And that, with a lot more to-ing and fro-ing, another pot of tea, and a fruitless search for the bathroom that sent him scurrying out into the churchyard to find some place to pee, is how I wound up sitting in a church, watching Mark pull down his jeans. He'd slipped on his way back and now they were soaked right through. Or so he told me. It was only when it was my turn to go outside that I noticed a door we'd not seen before, with a fully functioning toilet inside.

We kissed some more. It felt strange, though... the kissing, and the fact that he was practically naked. Down to his underpants, anyway. And the fact that what had once been a more or less inconspicuous bulge (yes, of course I looked. So would you have) had suddenly unfurled into something else entirely. And, because I am by nature a very curious girl, I found myself wishing he'd landed on his ass when he slipped, instead of his knees, and soaked his underpants, too.

I wondered if he'd have dared?

His kisses were growing more insistent. Closed mouths had long ago opened to one another, our tongues curling together, heavy and moist. A hand gingerly touched my breast and I allowed it to. Moments later, fingers scrabbled at the buttons of my blouse. I felt him tugging, feared for the thread, and broke his hold. "Let me."

I pulled off my blouse; paused for a moment, then unclasped my bra. His eyes almost popped out of his head. "Your turn," I said.

He looked confused. "I don't have anything left to take off."

"Really?" Feeling a lot more brazen than I had ever imagined I could, I hooked a fingertip beneath the waist band of his underwear, as far from the bulge as I could, and twanged it. "What about these?"

His face was a glorious mask of confusion. He didn't try to bargain with me, "I will if you will," or something like that. Just sat up, slowly peeled them down, and then hunched his knees against his torso. I reached for his shoulders and pulled him back down.

His mouth was on my breast, his lips around my nipple. I should probably say "inexpertly" here, but believe me, when you've never had someone sucking on your tit before, you don't know if they're experts or not. Or care, for that matter. His cock twitched, raised itself, then settled down again.

I couldn't help myself. "Does it always do that?"

He reluctantly raised his head. "What?"

"Twitch like that."

"Only when someone's watching."

"And who else has watched it?"

I saw him searching for a smart answer, and fail. I broke the silence. "So if I watch it, it'll twitch?"

"Probably."

I laughed, leaned forward, looked. It twitched. I bent closer, still looking. It twitched again. I exhaled through pursed lips and Mark moaned a little. And it twitched even more.

I'd never been this close to a boy's cock before. I'd never actually seen one, in fact, not even in pictures. A crude drawing that someone scrawled on the noticeboard at school was probably the closest I'd ever got, although I can't say the likeness was particularly good. Not at all, in fact. The drawing looked ugly, misshapen, bloated. This was smooth, rounded, gently curved and crowned not with a scribble of purple marker, but a plump mushroom that glistened with some kind of moisture.

I wanted to touch it.

But how? My head was resting in my right hand, my left hand was in his, as he nuzzled my finger tips. I didn't want to move either. I leaned even closer, touched him with the tip of my nose. Another moan, as I giggled "peck." And then "peck" as I did it again, and "peck peck peck" as I did it some more.

It wasn't twitching any more. It was practically dancing instead, which is how... were anyone ever to ask me... my next jab missed its target and instead his flesh was against my lips. Just as I opened them to say "peck."

The fact that I didn't then move back as usual is completely immaterial.

So is the fact that I then parted them further and let me teeth first graze and then clench his length. I bit.

I don't think Mark realized at first what was happening. I wasn't biting hard, I knew better than that. But enough to hold him for a few seconds longer, and then sit back and consider the taste that teased my lips and tongue.

Teased in a good way. Teased in a way that I wanted to taste again.

I pulled my hand from his and gripped the base of his cock. Held it upright, astonished at its strength, its warmth. The way it felt so firm and yet almost soft. Gentle. If it had been furry, it could have been a favorite pet. Maybe it could have been anyway. I stroked it, and it flexed against my hand. I put out my tongue, just a tentative tip, and licked the shaft.

I looked up and Mark was staring at me, wide eyed in amazement, his eyes dancing, his skin almost glowing. I licked again, a short one first, then longer. From base to halfway. I wasn't sure about the tip yet. It was wetter than ever, and I could see a dew drop of clear liquid ooze from the hole.

But that thing had a mind of his own. That cock. Almost as if it sensed my mouth was close and it wanted it closer. Wanted to feel it, wanted to bury itself inside it. And I wanted it to.

My lips closed around the tip of the tip. A little sticky, a little tangy, and just a little bit more. My lips slid on his slickness, but my fist held him firmly, pushing back against him as he raised his hips to push himself deeper. A little more. More. My jaw was starting to protest... how big was this thing really? And then he did push hard and suddenly the pressure released, the pain ebbed away and I was holding him firmly in my mouth.

His body undulated slowly beneath me, his hand in my hair, pushing my head down as his hips raised up. I gave him a little leeway - too deep and I knew I'd gag. But not deep enough and I'd surely want more. I could feel my body asking for it, demanding, begging. I could feel my pussy dripping into my panties and I wished I'd taken them off.

Imagined how it would feel to straddle his face, rub myself against his mouth, slicking his tongue, dripping into his throat... and then cumming; oh my god (and I'm in the right place for that), I was cumming and bang!!!!! so was he, filling my mouth as he pushed my head down and fuck it, my free hand pulled up my shirt and I settled onto his face regardless, rubbing my soaking panties into his face as I cried out around a mouthful of hot cum and sticky cock, and when I did let him go and he slipped from my jaws, I still had that mouthful to remind me.

I flipped myself over and kissed it into his mouth. "You forgot this," I told him and he swallowed it down, so I did the same with the little that was left, and then we lay together in one another's arms until another storm woke us at three in the morning.

So we did it all again. Only this time, I took off my panties.