Date: Tue, 26 Mar 2002 18:11:47 -0600 From: Gary Subject: England Swings 01 England Swings By Gary_Q Gary_Q@hotmail.com The below story is a work of fiction, none of the events described happened, nor do any of the characters exist. This story contains erotic and/or sexually explicit behavior between consenting males, both adult and underage minors. If it is illegal for you to, or you find this sort of work offensive, don't download or read it! The author reserves all copyrights to this story, it my be printed, electronically recorded or reproduced ONLY for personal use. The reproduction or linking to this story by pay web sites is expressly forbidden. Chapter One Ronnie and I were relaxing in the den of my house, cuddled next to each other in front of the TV, when we heard my dad's car turn into our driveway. He had his hand cupping my inner thigh, stoking the hem of my shorts while I stoked his flat, tight stomach as we explored each other's 13-year-old bodies, something we did almost daily after school for the past couple of months whenever we could be alone. He ran his fingers through my shoulder length, strawberry-blond hair a couple of times before brushing my long surfer style bangs out of my eyes and kissing me on the forehead. "Yeah well, only one week until summer vacation, and we can be together all day," I whispered into my best friend's ear, kissing him on the lips. He was squeezing my golden bronze, thin leg when we heard my dad's driver call out, "Oh, and congratulations, Doctor Richardson!" Ronnie slid his thin, 5 foot-four body across the couch and leaned back against the cushions as my dad opened the front door. "Hi guys," Dad said as he passed the entrance to the den. After disappearing into his study to leave his briefcase and laptop he walked into the den, stripping his suit-coat and tie off as he walked. "How was school guys?" he asked, tousling Ronnie's dark blond hair. Before we could answer he kissed me on the top of my head before bending over and giving me a quick hug from behind. "Where's your night brace?" he asked. Before I could answer he added, "Go! And get me a cocktail, Tiger, I want to talk to you two. You guys get yourselves a coke," he said as I rushed to my bedroom. Dad was sitting in the middle of the couch when I walked back into the den, pulling the straps of my orthodontic headgear around my head. Ronnie met me at the bar, built into the back wall of the den. As I had done God knows how many times since my mom died four years ago, I mixed my dad a double Martini. Ronnie and I each stole a sip, of course just to make sure it was properly mixed. Ronnie got two Cokes out of the bar's little refrigerator and we rejoined dad on the couch, sitting on each side of him. "Guys, I have an announcement, one that is going to be a little surprising," Dad began, pausing to take a long sip from his drink. "I am being transferred, and Brian and I are going to move to England," he said. My throat dropped into my stomach, before ricocheting off it into my groin. I looked over at Ronnie, who's face was as distraught as I'm sure mine was. I knew that dad worked for the government, actually the Foreign Service part of the State Department, and that he we might have to move sometimes. I was born in Hong Kong and remembered living in Washington DC when I was young. But we had lived here in southern California for several years, I knew my dad had a very high ranking job, and had always figured we would stay here close to my best friend, almost boy friend, and a life I loved. "I know that's a shock, son," Dad continued, I'm sure feeling or seeing my concern. He wrapped his arms around both Ronnie and my shoulders. "But its necessary. I've been named as the Charge d'Affaires for our embassy in London." He took another swallow of his drink before putting his arm back around my shoulder. "It's a big promotion for me, but I don't really have a choice. When the Department says to go somewhere, I have to go or quit my job." I started off into space for the better part of a minute, trying to convince myself I was dreaming. Ronnie shifting nervously on the couch got my attention and I looked around dad toward my friend. "Wh-wh-when?" I more whispered than said. "Very soon, the current Charge d'Affairs suffered a heart attack and the embassy was already understaffed. It's going to be tight, but I hope we can leave the day after you get out of school." "What's a charger dfairs?" Ronnie asked. "It's Charge-A-Dee-fair, Ronnie," Dad corrected. "He's is the second in command of the embassy, the only one higher is the Ambassador. Hey, you're going to love England son, it will be a good experience for you," he said turning back to me. "I know how close you two are," he added, making Ronnie and I exchange worried glances as both wondered if he really did, "There is a program where it's possible Ronnie can come visit us after we are settled in, at government expense. How's that?" The phone rang before we could answer. Dad reached over me and picked up the cordless off of the table next to the couch. He spoke into it a couple of times before setting it on the coffee table in front of us. "That was your mom, Ronnie. She wants you to come home, time for supper," Dad informed both of us. Ronnie shrugged his shoulders and stood up. I stared at him for a second before standing up and walking behind him outside. "That's fucked!" he growled. "That's totally fucked!" I replied. "And in a week, shit what are we gonna do?" "I don't know, we gotta think of something," he whined. "I gotta go," he added. We tried to kiss, our lips just barely touching as the steel facebow sticking out of my mouth blocked our way. "Why do I gotta fall in love with a tin grin!" he joked. "Tell your mom you're going to spend the night tomorrow, I'll show you why!" I called after him as he ran down our sidewalk. I watched him until he was out of sight before going back inside. I looked into the den, then started to go up to my bedroom when my dad called me back. "I know this is a shock, son," he began. "But I know you're going to like it once we get there, okay?" Before I could answer he continued. "We have a lot to do to get ready. Tomorrow Mrs. Graham is going to pick you up after school. She'll bring you down to the consulate so we can get you a passport and do some more paperwork. Next week you will need to go to the doctor for your shots, and to the orthodontist and get your records, she will take you there too." Wow! Great fun! I thought. "Yes, sir," I almost whimpered. Things didn't get any better. Ronnie called later that night saying he had to go out of town with his parents, not only could he not spend the night, but we wouldn't get to see each other all weekend. Dad was going to make me wear a white dress shirt to school the next day instead of my normal tee-shirt, but after some major squirming and begging I talked him into taking one with him to work, so I could change into it for my pictures. The next morning he made me put my headgear I my backpack before I left, which meant I could expect to wear it around his office so everyone could stare at me. The next afternoon Dad's long black Cadillac, State Department seals on each door, was sitting in front of my school when I came out. My face turned so red I'm sure it glowed from feeling all the eyes staring at me as dad's driver opened the rear door for me and waited for me to climb in. Mrs. Graham, Dad's assistant was waiting inside. "Your dad said to remind you to put your brace on," she more ordered than suggested as I sat down. Still red faced I dug into my backpack and hooked the shinny steel facebow onto my back teeth, then wrapped the straps around the top of my head, another around my neck. Thankfully most of the paperwork was already filled out, and after I changed into my dress shirt and tie, they took several pictures of me along with taking my fingerprints. I was very relieved when I was allowed to take my headgear off while I was photographed, but of course was reminded to put it back on as soon as we were done. I was hoping to be taken home when they were done, but ended up sitting around my dad's office, trying not to choke with my stupid tie around my neck until Dad was ready to go home. We spent all weekend packing. The house the government was providing us in London was furnished, so Dad made arrangements to have most of our stuff put into storage after we left. Most of our clothes and belongings we wanted to take with us were going to be shipped ahead of us, so we kept back clothes for next week and packed everything else. Dad brought home some pictures of our new house. It was really neat, and huge for the two of us to live in. He also had some pamphlets about England and the embassy. I was, at least I thought then, happy to learn I would be going to a public school that all the embassy kids attended I had seen pictures of British kids going to stuffy prep schools wearing blazers and ties, at least I would be spared from that. The next week was just as busy. Monday, the government Cadillac was waiting to embarrass me after school, and I was whisked off to the doctor, who took great delight in using my arms as pincushions as he gave me all the shots needed to go overseas. Tuesday it was back for an unscheduled trip to the orthodontist, who took equal delight in giving my teeth one of the most painful tightenings he ever had, I'm sure getting his last shot at me before releasing my records to the ever present Mrs. Graham. Wednesday I had to rush home and put on a suit and tie, then go to my dad's office for his going away party. All this time I only got to see Ronnie at school, and was going nuts not being able to spend time with him. Dad was right about us leaving as soon as my school ended. The last day of school was Thursday. School let out for the summer at three o'clock, and we were flying out at five-thirty. At least Ronnie and his mom came to the airport to see us off. We excused ourselves to use the rest room and got to spend ten minutes or so privately saying goodbye, but all we could do in a public restroom has steal hugs and kisses when no one else was in it. Two planes and about 15 hours later we landed in London. A stretch limo was waiting for us, and after this nutcase driver scared the crap out of me driving on the wrong side of the road, we soon arrived at our new home, located inside what they called the compound a group of houses and duplexes adjoining the US Embassy and surrounded by rock walls. The house was even more impressive than the pictures showed it. Most of the furniture looked like it was antique, and all of it was clearly very expensive We met Elaine, our housekeep and cook, along with Mrs. Smyth, who said she was the Director of Housing and Dependant Services, whatever that meant. All I wanted to do was get something to eat and go to bed, and paid little attention to either woman as they talked to my dad until I heard Smyth say, "Brain is already registered at Westshire, but tomorrow I will need to take him into town to get his uniforms and haircut." I froze in mid-step, staring into space as I tried to decide if I was hearing things. I ran my fingers through my long hair as I looked down at my baggy cargo pants and oversized tee-shirt. "Dad! You didn't say anything about no damn uniforms!" I cried. "I'm NOT getting my haircut, NO WAY! Besides, it's summer, I just got out of school!" I proclaimed as I turned toward them. "Sir," I quickly added when I saw my dad's angry face. "I mean please Dad!, ah, sir," I tried, realizing, from his facial expression, how close to death I was. "The schools here are on a different schedule, you'll start Monday. And uniforms are not that big a deal, all kids wear uniforms to school here," Smyth replied. "And the haircut is really just a trim, it cannot touch your collar or cover your ears is all," she added. "What time would you like to pick him up?" my dad growled more than asked. "Would nine be suitable?" she asked. "Can you be ready at nine, Brian? I'm sure you are looking forward to going with Mrs Smyth, aren't you." The look on his face told me there was only one answer that offered any hope of survival, at least until he got me alone. "Yes, sir," I meekly whimpered. To my surprise, Dad didn't kill me after Smyth left. Elaine brought us some sandwiches and cheese, serving me a large glass of milk and Dad a martini. After letting me stew for a couple of minutes Dad reached over and lay his hand on my forearm. "Give it a chance, son, it wont be bad at all, I promise." Knowing I was still on thin ice I gave him one of my most polite yes sir's before he continued, "Westshire Preparatory is one of the best schools in England, the State Department is putting out a lot of money to have you attend it" Gee, thanks! I thought. They don't need to do me any favor. . . s. My mind froze up in mid thought as I realized what he had said. "But that book said I was going to go to public school!" I cried. "Sir," I quickly added. "In England public school means it is funded buy the public, as opposed to the government, I thought you knew that. They're what we would call private schools in the states," Dad explained. I stared down at my almost empty milk glass for several seconds. Oh God, my life is over I told myself. The next morning the smell of something baking woke me up, something my stomach decided we had to investigate immediately. I jumped in a pair of shorts and wandered through our huge house for a couple of minutes before I found the kitchen. Elaine was removing a pan from the oven as I walked in, and the aroma of sweet, fresh bread made me drool slightly. "Good morning, Master Brian!" Elaine bubbled in her thick English accent. "I thought you'd like some nice fresh muffins!" She removed two huge biscuits from the pan, then rushed to the refrigerator, setting a large glass of milk, along with another of orange juice on the kitchen table. "Your father said you most often have your breakfast in the kitchen, is that acceptable sir?" Still somewhat asleep I looked around to see where my dad was. "I prepared you some ham, how many eggs would you like sir?" We were the only two people in the room, so I wondered who she was calling sir, who she was talking to. "Sir, would you like some eggs with your breakfast?" To my shock she was looking directly at me. "Ah, yes ma'am, please," I answered. I sat down and picked up the orange juice, not remembering I was still wearing my headgear until the glass bounced off my facebow, spilling some of the juice on the table. "I'm sorry," I whimpered, looking around for a towel before I got into trouble for making a mess. Elaine rushed over to the table, quickly wiping up my spill. "Oh, no sir, it's not a problem!" she exclaimed. "Here, butter your muffins, I'll get you a fresh glass." I just had time to take my headgear off before Elaine sat a plate with some sliced ham and the eggs in front of me. It was fantastic, after the first bite I more inhaled than ate everything she put in front of me. Finally, three muffins, two eggs and a ton of ham later I was full. "Can I bring you anything else sir?" she asked. "No ma'am, thank you," I responded. "Ah, ma'am, ah, well, would it be okay if you didn't call me sir, please? It kinda scares me, maybe can you just call me Brian ma'am?" "Of course si. . ., well I'll try, it is a hard habit to break," she answered, snickering. "You're a wonderful boy!" she added, patting the top of my head. Smyth rang our doorbell at exactly nine o'clock. When I opened the door there was a shiny black Jaguar sitting in front of the house, a big man wearing a suit holding the rear door open. I felt my jaw drop open as I follow her to the car, the man holding the door was huge. Since I'm only five-foot two-inches tall most adults look big, but my eyes were looking at his stomach. I looked up at him as we got closer, his neck looked almost as big as my waist! After Smyth and I climbed into the back seat and he closed our door he somehow managed to stuff his huge frame into the front passenger seat, where the steering wheel should be on normal cars. I was looking at the Marines guarding the entrance to our compound when Smyth said, "Brian, this is Kevin." The big man turned round in his seat and offered his ham like hand to me as she continued. "Kevin is one of the escorts here for embassy children. Whenever you leave the embassy grounds you ALWAYS have to be with your father, or have one of the escorts go with you. Kevin isn't a chaperone or anything, his only job is to make sure you are safe, but the gate guards wont let you leave without an escort, okay?" Great, thanks Dad! I thought, I'm stuck in a fucking prison! "Hi Brian," Kevin said. "That's not how it is, I've seen that face before. I don't tell on my kids, I don't tell them what to do, I just protect them. Give us a chance, just forget I'm around, okay?" Yeah, sure! I thought as I noticed his brown hair pushing against the car's headliner, wondering if he was denting the top of the car outward. Who would even notice you! "Yes sir," I replied. "How about okay Kevin, or yeah Kevin instead?" "Yes sir," I answered, slumping down in the carseat. Shortly the driver stopped in front of a small business. As Kevin climbed out and went to the storefront, looking into its windows, I noticed the sign read Shope instead of shop. I was still trying to believe all of this when Kevin opened the car door and Smyth climbed out. I blindly followed them into the store. "Good day madam," an old man said as he walked up to us. He looked more like a wax figure from an old, old movie than a person his three piece suit and stiff collar something out of an old black and white movie. "May I presume the young man will be attending Westshire?" Smyth nodded and he said, "This way please, sir." I stood motionless, trying to figure out who he was talking to for a couple of seconds when I felt Kevin's brisket size arm on my shoulder. He guided me behind Smyth and the old fossil toward the back of the store, tucking me under his arm as we walked. The clerk stopped to whisper something to a younger man, just as stiffly dressed, before ushering us and into a corner of the store with full length mirrors on two walls. "Your name, sir?" the old man asked, looking at me. I looked up at Kevin, afraid to answer because I didn't know his last name. "This is Brian Richardson," Kevin responded, gently squeezing my shoulder. "Good day, Master Richardson. Please remove your shirt and shoes, and step up here," the clerk asked, pointing to a small raised platform nearby. I had kicked off my Nikes and was slowly raising my shirt when Smyth dug into her purse, pulling out a pager. After asking if she could use their 'Tele' she disappeared to the front of the store. Shortly she returned, and after Kevin bent over she whispered something in her ear. "Brian, I'm sorry, but I've been called back to the embassy," she informed me. I was off the platform and grabbing my shirt and shoes, heading for the door before she continued, "No, no, Kevin is going to stay with you. I'll be back soon." "Take Brian's car, if we get done here we can walk to the barber shop," Kevin said as he guided me back toward the platform. "It's okay, we can wait, maybe come back another time," I suggested as I tried to follow Smyth out to the street, hoping against hope to get out of this weird place. "Thanks, little man, but we'll manage fine," Kevin snickered as he effortlessly lifted me back onto the little stage, and relieved me of my tee-shirt and shoes. Through the mirror's reflection I saw the younger man setting stacks of fabric on a table behind me as the old man measured my waist, chest, neck and arms. I stiffened when he wrapped his tape measure around my butt and hips, then pushed it into my crouch and measured my leg length. I saw the younger clerk walk up behind me and hand the fossil a small piece of purple cloth. "Please go try these on," the old man suggested, pointing toward a nearby door. I accepted the bright purple cloth to find out it was actually a pair of shorts. I was staring at them in disbelief when I felt Kevin's huge hand touch my shoulder. "Come on little man," he said as he guided me off the platform and toward the door. Once inside the small dressing room I cringed as I unfolded the skimpy garment. They looked like dress pants, with a zipper fly, belt loops and sharp creases down the legs, but the pant legs were only about an inch long. The top edge of both the front and rear pockets were lined in bright red, as were the hem of the pant legs, if you could call them legs. A small red and gold monogram on at the bottom of the left leg read 'W P'. "I cant wear these!" I exclaimed through the door. "Come on Brian," Kevin replied, clearly standing just outside. "I don't think you want me to come in there and put them on you, do you?" I took a deep breath and stepped out of my cargo shorts. After staring at the ugly shorts for a few seconds, hoping the would go away, I stepped into them and pulled them up my legs, having to squirm somewhat to get them over my backside. As I buttoned and zipped the fly I felt them pushing against my crouch and conforming to my butt. "They're too tight," I called through the door. When I looked down I saw they only covered less then an inch of my thighs. "And they're not long enough!" I added. "Come on out, let's have a look," Kevin directed. "No! I'm not gonna let anyone see me in these things!" I cried, my voice raising in pitch. Before I could say anything else the door opened, Kevin's huge body completely filling the opening. With my chin on my chest I slowly walked back into the mirrored area. I shuttered when I saw myself in the mirrors. The shorts were skin tight and didn't cover as much of me as a pair of boxer type underwear would. As I shuffled toward the platform I got a side view, the damn things seemed to accent my teenage bubble butt. "A perfect fit," the old man said, pulling on the hems. "Now, put this on," he continued, holding a white dress shirt up behind me. I glanced over at Kevin, trying to prevent the tears forming in my eyes from running, but slid my arms into the garment. It was more comfortable then I expected, a lot softer than the ones I already owned. As the old man began buttoning me into it, I noticed a large red and gold monogram on the breast pocket, again reading 'W P'. He moved behind me and pulled the sides of the shirt in toward my waist and chest, making marks on the fabric as he did. "Do you prefer long or short sleeves, sir?" he asked as he checked the fit around my neck. "Master Richardson, do you prefer long or short sleeves," he repeated. "Please slip this on," he continued, holding a matching purple blazer behind me. "Ah, short sleeve," I mumbled as I numbly allowed the coat to be pulled over my shoulders. "Give him two long sleeve, for dress wear," Kevin added. Dress wear!?! I thought as I looked at the blazer style jacket in the mirror. It was an exact match to the shorts, even also having red trim on around the collar, coat opening, bottom of the sleeves and hem. The breast pocket had matching red trim, and another 'W P' monogram. Fuck, I bet there's a bulls-eye on the back. The old man spent a minute or so marking the blazer for alterations before stepping back, asking me to step down from the platform and have a seat. He put a small stool in front of me, and measured my feet before disappearing toward the back of the store. Quickly he reappeared, pulling a pair of brightly polished dress shoes out of their box. Handing them to me he asked me to try them on. After I put them on I stood and walked around the room as I was told, feeling like a stuffed monkey or something. When I walked near the chair Kevin was sitting in he smiled at me, making my red face glow even brighter. "I cant wear this crap," I whimpered. "Hey, you look great," he responded, extending his arm toward me. I shyly shuffled over to him and he slipped his arm gently around my waist. "Everyone at your new school wears exactly the same thing, all the embassy kids do," he said, brushing my hair out of my eyes with his other hand. "Besides, you're a good looking kid, these show off your cute body," he added. I was trying to think of something to say when he slid his hand down my back, cupping my butt cheeks and giving them a firm squeeze. Finally I was allowed to put on my regular clothes. As I came out of the dressing room Kevin and both clerks were standing in front of the table I had seen the younger clerk stacking things on earlier. As I approached I got still another shock, the old man was holding up several pair of long purple socks, with wide red stripes on the top. "Here are his stockings and school shorts, he gets six of each. Also three ties, two jumpers, a belt, two pair of school shoes and a pair of trainers. Oh and two school caps," he was saying. "We will have the alterations completed this afternoon on his shirts and blazers, may we deliver them to the embassy?" Kevin had started to explain that we were without transportation, that we would have to pick everything up later, when I longingly looked out the front of the store, wishing to get out of there. "Ah, Kevin, is that your car?" I asked, seeing the black Jaguar parked in front. "Well, it's your car, but very good!" he replied. The clerks quickly packaged everything and carried it out to the car, and we finally were out the door. "We're going to walk to the barber shop, meet us there," Kevin told our driver. Wrapping his big arm around my shoulder he guided me down the street. "I wanta go home," I whimpered after several seconds. "Sorry little man, but you have to get a trim." "No, I wanta go home to California!" I exclaimed. "I cant wear those stupid clothes, and any school that makes you wear stuff like that is gotta be just as dumb. And why do I gotta have someone watch me all the time, I didn't do anything wrong?" Kevin pulled me closer to him and began gently stroking my arm as I added, "Fuck, this is a fucking prison!" "You are NOT in a prison, and it's not a stupid school, did you know some of Britain's royalty attend Westshire? Like boys that are going to be future Kings and such? So do the kids of many important people from all over the world. I'm not watching you, I'm guarding you, to be sure no one can hurt you. An escort is a polite way of saying body guard, that's why you have your own car and driver, too." "Why do you say its my car, why do I need a car?" "Mostly because it's bullet proof." I stopped dead in my tracks, almost slipping out from under his arm. "Do you know what your dad's job is now, who he is now?" I just shrugged my shoulders. "Your dad is the second most powerful American in Europe, actually in this part of the world. Give it, give us a chance, little man, your dad needs your help right now," he said, pulling me in front of him. He draped his big arms over my shoulders and rubbed my chest for a minute or so. "If something happed to you it could screw up your dad's judgement regarding some major things. ALL I'm doing is making sure no one can hurt you, okay?" he added. He waited a minute or so for me to respond before ushering me ahead down the sidewalk. The haircut went fairly well, considering I had to get one. Kevin scared the crap out of me when we walked in and he told the barber to give me a buzz cut, and leave an eighth inch on top, but he caught me before I could get out the door and convinced me he was teasing. I ended up with a Dutch boy sort of style, loosely parted in the middle. They trimmed my bangs just above my eyebrows and left my hair so about half of my ears were covered. When we left I somewhat liked my new style better than my long, surfer hair I had before. When we got back into the Jaguar Kevin climbed in the rear seat next to me. "I still like the buzz cut better," he quipped as we drove off. I couldn't help giggling, and without realizing I had done it punched him on his big arm. He grabbed me, pulling me against him before he started tickling my stomach and ribs, and soon had me giggling so hard I was begging him to stop before I wet my pants. He kept the torture up for a couple more seconds before tucking me under his arm, cuddling me against him in the soft leather seat. I was still feeling silly when we got back to the embassy compound. When Kevin and our driver bent over to retrieve my packages from the trunk, I reached over and ran my fingers quickly through his hair, yelling "Buzzzzzz" as I did. With almost lightening speed he grabbed me, picked me up, and draped me over his forearm, my arms and legs dangling like limp ropes. He grabbed a package in his other arm and carried me up the sidewalk like a sack of potatoes. He rang the doorbell but then pushed the door open, not waiting for someone to answer. He had only carried me a couple of feet inside when a white haired, very distinguished looking man stepped into the entry way, my dad beside him. Kevin froze when he saw the elderly man. "Good morning, Mr. Ambassador," he almost whispered. "Good morning, Agent Thompson," the man replied. "And this must be young Brian," he added, smiling at me. "Yes sir," Kevin answered, glancing down at me. He stood there for a second or so before looking back at me and setting me down, I think he had forgotten he was carrying my 90 pound little body. Without thinking I tucked myself back under the big man's arm, somehow feeling more secure leaning against him. "Yes, Charles, this is my little tiger, Brian Junior," my dad said, walking toward us. "Brian, this is Ambassador Eckhard." I flashed a nervous grin as I shook the man's hand. "And this is Special Agent Thompson. Agent Thompson, this our new Charge d'Affairs, Dr. Richardson." the Ambassador said. "I see you two are getting along quiet well," he added with a slight grin as Kevin and Dad shook hands. "Agent Thompson is with the Company, but his publicly known position is that of serving as Protective Escort." I was trying to digest what the elderly man was saying when Dad began praising my haircut, making me go over to him and model it. Kevin excused himself, and I unthinkingly found myself walking to the door with him ignoring Dad's request. The Jaguar was gone from in front of the house, but I noticed four or five kids about my age, or a little older, kicking a soccer ball around in a yard across the street. I closed the door behind Kevin, and turned to go ask Dad if I could go over to see them, when Elaine appeared in the entryway carrying a small tray that, much to my dismay, contained my headgear. "Your father has asked I remind you to wear it," she said, holding the tray out to me. "Yeah thanks," I grumbled. "I mean thank you ma'am." After putting it on I went in the kitchen and got myself a soda, and after digging through the cabinets to find a straw so I could drink it with my headgear on, went to my room. Much to my surprise Elaine was in my bedroom, busily putting my uniforms into my closet and drawers. I faintly smiled at her and jumped on my bed, not really feeling like talking or anything. I didn't even notice she had left until I reached over to take another drink of coke. As I looked around the room for her my eyes stopped at my bedroom window, and the now eight or so kids playing soccer across the street. I watched them for a minute or so, noticing two pretty hot looking boys yelling and dribbling against each other as they fought for control of the ball. An auburn haired boy really caught my attention he was just beautiful, his tight body reminded me so much of Ronnie's. I started toward the door to go ask my dad if I could join them when I remembered my headgear. Yeah, after everything else today, I'm gonna go meet them wearing a car bumper? I thought, Not even! I leaned back on the headboard of my huge bed as I tried to convince myself how suck my live had become, and an hour or so later was doing a good job at feeling sorry for myself when a loud crashing sound interrupted me, almost like an explosion. Kevin's statements about my bullet proof car and my dad's new job flooded my mind is I sprang upright, and watched a soccer ball bounce as it rolled across my bedroom's floor. "Oh shit!" I heard a high pitched voice cry though my now broken window. I had just gotten to the window when my bedroom door burst open. Elaine sprang across the room and grabbed me by my tee-shirt, tearing it as she physically threw me about half way across the room, away from the window. Dad caught me before I hit the floor, Ambassador Eckhard right next to him. Dad very harshly turned me and pushed me back toward the hall, but stopped when the Ambassador started laughing. "Welcome to embassy duty!" he chuckled as we turned back toward him, holding up the soccer ball. Dad had just pulled me into a hug when our doorbell rang. Elaine disappeared down the hall as Dad and his boss started laughing. "I bet that's someone is looking for this!" the Ambassador snickered as they guided me toward the front door. When we turned the corner into the entryway there were three boys and a girl standing at the open door, Elaine glaring at them. "Oh God, it's the Ambassador," a high pitched voice almost whispered. "Yes, it is the Ambassador," Eckhard replied. To my surprise he bounced the offending soccer off the floor, and passed it with his knee very adeptly toward the kids. The auburn kid caught it and handed it to a blond haired girl behind him. "We're sorry sir, I mean sirs. Please, I kicked it but I didn't mean to, sir!" he whined, his face turning as dark red as his hair. He was even hotter than he looked earlier from my bedroom window. He was wearing white gym-shirts that just covered his wonderfully round bum, and a sleeveless cutoff tee-shirt that displayed both his thin, tanned arms and his tight, flat stomach, almost as works of art someone carefully framed. I only had a few seconds to look him over before I saw a group of Marines drive up and jump out of their truck, rifles and machine guns in hand, but I noticed his shorts showed a nice pouch between his legs. The Ambassador stepped past the kids and waved at the Marines, who climbed back into their truck before he turned back to us. "You might want to reset your alarm Doctor,"he said to my dad. "Excuse me Eric, this is Dr. Richardson and his son Brian." he said to the auburn haired kid, " I'm sure you haven't forgotten your manners, have you?" "No sir, I'm sorry! Hi sir, I am Eric, this is my sister Jennifer, and our friends Joe and Raul. We are very sorry we broke your window, but I promise it was an accident sir!" I noticed he had braces on his teeth too, besides seeing how cute his freckles and button nose were. Dad poking me in my back, a little harshly, snapped me back. "Ah, hi, ah, I'm Brian. Ah, this Elaine, she's a great cook." Realizing I just totally screwed that up I added, "This is my dad Dr. Richardson, and Ambassador Eckhard." Oh God, I fucked that up even further! I thought as I saw everyone's snicker, DAHH, yeah they know who the Ambassador is! "Ah, I'm sorry, we just got here and stuff." Yeah, as if they didn't know I did, along with seeing I was a dorky metal mouth!?! I told myself, knowing I was totally red faced by now. "Do you play soccer any?" Eric asked, flashing an almost blinding silver smile. I could almost feel his eyes moving between my face and my hips. "Want to go kick some?" I started to say no, not about to be embarrassed any further, at least for today, when my dad said, "Just be back before three o'clock, Mrs. Smyth wants to meet with you, a little orientation session." Before I could react he pushed me toward the door as the other kids stepped outside, and dad closed the door behind us. I stared at the closed door for a couple of seconds, Eric and the other kids urging me to go with them. "Ah, well I gotta go change, is it okay?" I asked, remembering my torn shirt. Everyone giggled before I opened the door and peered in, looking for Dad. He was nowhere to be found, so I rushed down the hall into my bedroom, dug through my clothes and found a pair of Boardie shorts and a muscle shirt, jumping into them. "Cool!" Eric said from behind, scaring the crap out of me. After I blushed a couple of times, Eric and I rushed back down the hall toward the front door. Elaine was waiting for us, holding the tray she had served my headgear to me on earlier in front of her. After I stared at her a couple of seconds she said, "Dr. Richardson said it's okay sir . . . I mean Brian." I looked at the tray and back up at her, slightly lost. "Well, I'm sure it's okay if you want to wear it," she added. I quickly ripped the straps from around my head and neck, then the facebow out of my mouth almost throwing them on the tray. I smiled up at her in thanks, she smiled back before saying, "Now shoo, go meet everyone." "I hate that thing, it's totally embarrassing when someone sees me in it," I said as we trotted toward the street. "Yeah, my sister and I got them too, so it's cool," he replied, giving me a wide smile. We kicked the ball around for a few minutes, talking a little as we did. I checked out Eric every chance I got, enjoying his golden thighs and long tight legs. He was about four inches taller than me, but probably about my age. Another kid named Stan caught my attention too, his body was totally hot. He was sort of compact, only slightly taller than me, lean but not as skinny as I was. His golden blond hair and emerald eyes were so fascinating I had to be careful not to stare at him. After a few minutes everyone seemed ready to stop playing and catch their breath. Jennifer disappeared into a nearby duplex, returning a minute or so later with several bottles of cold water everyone passed around. "What form are you in?" Eric asked. Seeing my puzzled look he said, "What grade in school?" "Oh, I just finished the sixth," I replied. "Cool! We're probably going to be in the same form, maybe you'll get some of my classes," he replied. "Me too!" Stan added. "How old are you?" "Thirteen," I answered. "You're thirteen?" they said almost in unison. "Well, I'm short is all," I answered, trying to keep my voice from cracking with embarrassment. "Besides, my birthday was just last month. Do you guys go to Westshire?" I added hoping to change the subject. "Everyone goes to Westshire," Eric snickered. "Well all the boys do, almost everyone on embassy row does." "Do you gotta wear those dumb uniforms all the time? They look so dumb!" "Yeah, but it's not that big a deal, 'cause everyone wears them," Eric snickered, glancing down at my crouch. I found myself wondering if his uniform shorts were as tight and skimpy as mine, and how hot he would look in them. I told them I was from California and only wore a tie a couple of times a year for events I had to go with my dad, and we talked and joked for a few minutes. "Oh great, here comes the bitch," I commented, seeing Smyth coming out of the embassy building. Everyone snickered. "You don't like her? She's pretty cool really, she sets up trips and stuff for us, Stan sort of likes her too," Eric answered, almost giggling. "Shit, I've met her two times, and she's already made me get a haircut, stuffed me is those stupid purple clown suits and has this overgrown house-ape guarding me waiting for me to screw up! I think she's a total bitch!" Everyone started laughing, and Eric playfully slapped my leg. I pushed him back and we were horse playing back and forth as she neared. "Brian, finish your water before you come in, I need to talk to your dad for a minute, okay?" she said, giving us a smile as she added, "Hi Kids!" Everyone said 'hi ma'am' or 'hi Mrs Smyth' to her before Stan chimed in, "Hi Mom!" I felt my shoulders droop to my knees as my mouth dropped open. I closed my eyes for a second trying to build up the courage to look at Stan. "I'm sorry dude, I didn't mean it," I whimpered. "Its cool, don't worry about it," Stan stammered, trying to laugh and talk at the same time. "Yeah, and he's cute when he blushes that bright!" Eric added. They all laughed for a minute or so longer before he added, "Hey, you want to do something when you get done?" "Ah, you guys wanta? I'm sorry for being so dorky and stuff, well I guess I am," I whimpered, knowing I had made such a total fool out of myself in the last couple of day nobody would want to associate with me. I found myself wondering if the ways I had read about killing yourself worked. Stan and Eric exchanged glances before looking back at me, both of them grinning. "You're not a dork, you're a nutcase!" Stan proclaimed. "Do you smoke shit or what?" "He's gonna fuck with your mom and the compound up totally, YEAH!" Eric replied. "You want to meet us after Mrs. Stan-Bitch is done with you?" He asked. "Yeah, cool," I replied, still trying to figure out if they were serious or screwing me around. "Hey, I still gotta hook up my Playstation, maybe if you guys wanta come help it would be neat? I got a bunch of games!" Stan and Eric accepted my offer before I started back toward my house, praying they were serious, that we could become friends, at least. To be continued. . .