In my view, a nighttime session in a tent is about as good as it gets. There’s something deeply sensual about the middle of the night. The world outside is encased in a blanket of silence, the dense air smells of wood-smoke and damp vegetation, moths dive at the lamp dimly flickering inside the tent and time seems to slow to a complete standstill. When a boy creeps into your tent, you know you’ll be with him until dawn. You can relax.

Scout Colton and I had been planning this encounter for days. We had it all worked out. We’d come up with a series of watertight excuses for the unlikely event of him getting caught in my tent. The nearer we got to the encounter, the hornier I became. A single glance in his direction was seemingly all it took for my dick to start throbbing—and lemme tell you, spewing precum is no laughing matter when your uniform pants are light beige in color. I can’t tell you how many times I looked down at my crotch and saw a great big wet patch. I started tying a sweater around my waist to combat the issue.

So, anyway, I was kissing him before I’d managed to zip the tent flaps back up, and then, there we were, on the groundsheet, making out like star-crossed lovers, our hands exploring every inch of what had become frustratingly forbidden fruit…

I love unbuttoning that boy’s shirt. He has this sweet smell about him; a mixture of soap, talc and cheap deodorant. It’s a smell which I’ve come to associate with extreme pleasure; a smell which instantly makes my dick spring to life. It’s also a smell which tells me I’m about to experience the pleasure of running my hands over his soft, smooth chest which invariably feels like silk underneath my giant, rugged palms. The sensation always causes me to kiss him with more urgency.

His shorts are always next to come off. The delayed gratification associated with unbuckling his belt before slowly unzipping his fly never ceases to do the business for me. By the time those shorts are down, every fiber of my being is ready to fuck him. My hand slides down the back of his underpants. I push a sneaky finger inside him and before long, he’s gasping and twitching in anticipation.

At that moment, time simply grinds to a halt. All the worries in the outside world vanish. All thoughts disappear. All the deep concerns about the ethics of what we’re doing evaporate. It’s just me and him, edging closer and closer to a paradise the intensity of which no one else will ever understand, let alone experience.

I remove my pants and underwear, exposing my big daddy dick, which is always rock-hard and curving up towards my belly button. He knows now to get on his stomach and give me head. He knows exactly how I need to be sucked; exactly what my dick is crying out for. He’ll slowly work his lips further and further down the shaft towards the base, and my pre-cum will squirt into his tight throat.

I usually turn him onto his stomach, so that his beautiful dick can create intricate snail trails on the khaki-coloured ground sheet. Within seconds, my tongue will be skimming across his hole and then penetrating it tantalizingly. Everything is as natural as it can be. Pre-cum and spit is all the boy needs to prepare him for my dick.

And then I’m pushing myself into him until my pelvis is pressed against his ass cheeks. At a certain point, he’ll gasp. No matter how many times we do this, there’s always the sweet moment when his body registers surprise at quite how big I am.

I tend to kneel behind him to begin with. It makes me feel dominant and I like to exert my power from the off. The position gives me plenty of thrust and the boy always responds with deep groans and moans, usually reaching for his own dick, which he jerks erratically as the waves of youthful lust crash though his tender body. There’s always a point at which I have to stop for a moment to catch my breath and force the rising semen back down into my balls. I’m not ready to cum yet. No way!

I grit my teeth. Beads of sweat start to roll from my forehead. A smile flickers across my face as I remind myself what and who I’m doing. He looks back at me with those sweet, pure eyes and I look down at my raw dick gliding in and out of his peach-like ass cheeks and wonder if there’s any better view in the world. This is my boy.

At that moment, I always pull out and turn him onto his back, kissing him passionately before spitting into the palm of my hand and lubricating my rock-solid penis. I push his legs apart and then tip his pelvis back so that his hole is in line with my dripping dick…

And then it’s time for round two, except this time it’s a whole lot more intense because I’m looking into the boy’s face while my dick pounds freely inside him. We lock eyes for what feels like an eternity. It’s just us. There’s no one else in the world except the moths flinging themselves at the canvas, desperate to enter the tent, craving front row seats for the sex-fest of the century. Sometimes in this position I have to put my hand over the boy’s mouth. He can get a bit noisy, which, when you’re less than ten feet away from another tent, is problematic in the extreme. Besides, there’s something hugely sexy about seeing his eyes bulging as he gasps for air.

He stares at my wedding ring, no doubt wondering who I’m being unfaithful to as I grind my raw dick into him, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. I am with him and I will never tire of him. We were meant to find each other. I’m convinced of it.

I knew at that moment that I’d passed the point of no return. I gritted my teeth, stared up at him and exploded. The spunk literally flew out of my dick and cascaded into him with the force of a volcanic eruption.

I’m in trouble. I’m in big big trouble. We shouldn’t be doing this. But I know now that I cannot stop.