It was raining. Shit I hate English weather. It was the beginning of the Summer Holidays and I'd just broken up for the best part of eight weeks. If the weather didn't change soon I swear I'd die of boredom.

I lived in THE most boring part of the Midlands possible - right out in the country - not even a corner shop or a post office were within walking distance. Not the best place for a hyper-active 15-year-old to live. As I went to boarding school most of my friends either lived in the far extremetes of the country or Europe - the farthest being two brothers from the US (Chicago, I think) -- their Father had been sent over here on business and the family had decided that they were going to spend the Summer "back home".

I was so bored I had resorted to watching Daytime TV. Flicking through 20 or so satellite channels the only vaguely entertaining of which was the Gerry Springer show on UK Living. There's only so much daytime TV you can take in one go, so I clicked the set off and headed for my room.

I threw "Middle of Nowhere" into my CD player and absent-mindedly looked at the picture of Ike, Zac and Tay on the front cover. Geez he looked cool. If only I could get to meet him.

From the moment "MMMBop" went to number one in the UK I'd been a closet Hanson fan. At my school, if you were a lad, admitting you liked Hanson was like admitting that you were gay. The ironic thing is that I am. However life at the hell-hole I attended was bad enough (it was co-ed, so there was none of the boy-boy "action" I could have done with) and the pecking order was dictated by the amount of macho posturing you could come up with infront of the girls.

I somehow had managed to do quite well at this - a couple of my friends had informed me that the some of the girls thought I was "cute" and apparantly I was also considered somewhat of a bounder: That being because I roller-bladed and had my hair just below shirt collar length. The school rules dictated that pupils must "have their hair cut so that they are within the acceptible limits set out by the school."

These so-called "acceptible limits" ensured that no-one had a pony-tail, dreadlocks, or "hair that came to below their eyebrows or longer than a centimetre above the shirt collar". Most armies are not this strict....

I get the feeling I'd been given some slack as I was a rather good academic - the only reason my parents could afford to send me to the school is because I'd been awarded a Science scholarship. I noticed that my grades often appeared in the prospectus as an indication of the sort of standards the school was capable of (I'd already taken English and Maths GCSEs a year early and got As in both). I'd also made a couple of promotional videos for the School over the last year that they used at ISIS exhibitions (bit like Comdex for Private Schools) and as a "reward" I was allowed to keep my hair just that bit longer. That was my reasoning, anyway...

I get the feeling I frustrated one or two of the girls, however, as I NEVER took them up on a date (as much as you could date at a boarding school).

Anyway, back to the story: I liked Hanson. To a fault. AND I COULDN'T TELL ANYONE! Geez....

As "Thinking of You" pounded through the stereo, I fired my computer up for the first time in two months and prayed. I'd built Beastie (as he'd become known) myself from bits and pieces my dad had brought home from work (he worked for a hardware support company). It'd usually die about once every week or so whilst I was at home, but couldn't complain - I hadn't paid a penny!

Windoze 95 eventually spluttered into life and I initiated a dialup connection to my ISP. Suitably surprised by getting an "Online" message first time, I started my mail run. Now I wished I hadn't subscribed to all of those mailing lists over Easter....

Whilst that was busy I fired up Internet Explorer and surfed (well, swam leisurely) over to Nifty and had a look at the "Gay Celebrity" area, hoping for something about Hanson. Nothing. OK - news groups then. alt.binaries.nude.celebrities.male. One pic of Taylor fully dressed. How kack! He was still cute though, and I couldn't help thinking about what I'd like to do to him. The jeans I was wearing seemed to get progressively tighter as my 5" hardon tried its best to cause me as much discomfort as possible. I continued to gaze at the pic of Tay on the screen as I rubbed the bulge in my jeans.

I imagined that it was him that was rubbing me and that I was grabbing and rubbing his bulge in return. In my mind's eye Tay looked straight at me and sat astride me, pushing his crotch into mine. I imagined I could feel his own hard-on pressing into me as he leaned forward and kissed me, his long blonde hair falling over my ears. As we pushed our tongues into each others' mouths, I can feel him pump his hips against me and moan slightly - a moan that I can feel through my whole body as I'm pressed so tightly to him. He steadily speeds up his thrusts and I grunt as I shoot my load into my kegs, a large wet spot appearing.

As I came back to reality, Beastie beeped informing me that 150 messages had been successfully downloaded. I hung up the phone.

I flicked through the message headers as I re-arranged myself in my now sperm-coated underware. I don't know why, but I've always liked the feeling of my underware slippy with cum. I felt myself beginnng to harden slightly again as I did this. One of the e-mail headers catches my eye - it was from the Hansonline mailing list. I opened the message and found that it was a list of tour dates and to my amazement, found that they'd be performing live in two weeks' time at the National Exhibition Centre in Birmingham! I couldn't believe it.

Just as I was reading this my father yelled from down stairs:

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you come down for a minute? I've got a surprise for you..."

This was odd. My dad never came up with any surprises - he was just that sort of person.

"Sure, hang on a tic..."

I leapt out of my chair dragging my jeans off and frantically searched through my wardrobe trying to find a clean pair. Once I was dressed again, I went to see my dad. I went into the living room and found both my mum and dad grinning at each other in a "we know something you don't" sort of way.

"Dean, we've decided that seeing as we haven't really been on a 'proper' holiday for quite a few years now and that you've put up with it so well, we thought we'd treat you -- I've managed to book us a trip to EuroDisney!"

WOW! I never thought I'd ever get to go whilst I was still young enough to really appreciate it.

"Dad, that's great! When do we go?!"

"In about a week and a half's time. It's slightly pre-season I know, but it should be a bit quieter then...."

Shit. SHIT SHIT SHIT! The one time I get to do something really great I end up fucking missing an opportunity to go and see my favourite band (and my favourite jack-off fantasy) in the flesh. Crappin' hell!

"That's great, dad!"

I couldn't look disappointed as I knew both my parents must've worked really hard to get this for me. I just couldn't disappoint them - they were so pleased I was pleased and, after all, they hadn't seen me for 8 weeks...


On to Chapter Two

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