Date: Thu, 14 Aug 2003 15:48:16 +0100 From: joshua Caddy Subject: Chapter the third for the times they are a changing Legal Notice: The following story may contain descriptions of graphic sexual acts. These acts may be between boys or between a man and a boy. The story is a work of fiction and has no basis in reality. The author, or his designee, retains copyright to this story. There may be no reproducing or distribution of this story without expressed written consent. Thank you to everyone who has emailed their interest in my tale. It does make all the difference to know that people appreciate your efforts. I do sincerely hope you enjoy the next instalment Also a special thank you to Adam for his editing prowess Joshuacaddy@lycos.co.uk Chapter the Third. Have you ever seen a walrus spluttering as it surfaces from an icy sea? I did rather a good impression of one as Ryan's voice broke into my revere in the shower. What did he think he was doing coming into the bathroom? Then I felt something harsh and bristly rubbing on my back. The little swine had brought the yard brush into the bathroom and was proceeding to give me a good scrubbing. "You need to be clean for tonight oh harbourer of filth," he laughed. I just stood for a moment not knowing whether to be angry with him or wet myself laughing. I settled on the latter and so stood helpless in fits of giggles as he proceeded to apply the brush more vigorously. "I might not need help in the shower but you do old man," he continued to laugh. Well that was it! I grabbed the brush and pulled him into the cubicle with me. I pushed his head under the shower nozzle causing him to cough and splutter a bit. Laughing I pulled him to me. "I shall have my revenge you little beast," I said, kissing the tip of his nose. Then in a rather fair imitation of Christopher Lee as Foo Manchu I said, "The world shall hear from me again". With that I shut off the shower and wrapped a towel around myself. Ryan stood in the cubicle looking like a drowned rat. His t-shirt and shorts were stuck to his lithe little body and the weight of the water had caused his socks to slip down around his ankles. Looking at him stood there, grinning from ear to ear reinforced his hold upon my heart. This impossibly cuddly young lad was becoming the world to me. That I was attracted to him there was no doubt. I felt a "tent" beginning to rise in my towel and so I hurriedly turned away from Ryan and started to shave in the bathroom mirror. I am rather old fashioned in my shaving habits as I use an open (cut-throat) razor. I find the air of danger concentrates the mind. Sopping with water, Ryan steps out of the shower and regarded my shaving with interest. "Don't you cut yourself with that," he enquired? "Only when I'm distracted," I responded. This response caused him to look rather rejected ad he began to turn away. Kicking myself for the flippant response I put the razor down and turned to him. "You had better get those wet clothes off; I don't want you dripping water all over the house." As long as you speak with a smile you can make your tone as stern as you like. So I delivered this statement in my best officer-in-command voice. Once again my prating about caused him to smile. It broke my heart to see him unhappy, but it was like the sun coming up when I got him to smile; got him to smile just for me! He stripped off his t-shirt and shorts quickly. "No wet footprints boy!" I sternly chided him, once again with a smile. He sat down on the cold tiled floor and took of his wet, white socks and as he stood up he surprised the life out of me by dropping his boxers onto the floor and with a bit of showmanship kicked them into the corner. He stood there in a semi hard state looking at me speculatively. He'd got me again, only this time in a much more important way! What did he expect me to do now? Whilst I would have dearly loved to take him in my arms and caress ever single inch of his smooth, wet torso, allowing my hands to stray across his velvet skin, exploring the curves and crevices of his little body, Was this what he wanted? Was it what I REALLY wanted? Should I risk my relationship with him on the off chance that he was being sexual provocative rather than just an exited boy? As is my case, my head ruled my heart, so I took the easy way out. I grabbed my shaving brush and began to lather his hairless face up He wasn't expecting this, of that I was certain. "It's about time you learned to shave" I joked. So standing him before me, his damp body nestled back into mine I began to shave him. There was a touch of fear I his eyes as the glistening blade effortlessly glided across his face. "You have to pay particular attention around the nose, a man looks rather funny without a nose," I commented. The way he stood so very still and did not move told me how dangerous he thought this shaving business was. OK so I was playing with him a little, but he was in no danger. I had been shaving with an open razor all my life and had never cut myself. He stood so perfectly still, pressed tightly back to me. I could feel the warmth emanating from his back, his round little bum pushed back provocatively into my thighs. The fragrance of his freshly washed hair tantalised[APB1] my senses. The closeness of the contact, coupled with the trust he placed in me was beginning to be more than I could bear. I deftly finished shaving him and then wiped his face with a hot cloth. Stepping back from him I was sure that the intimacy of our contact touched him the same way as it had me. Looking at his face in the mirror I could see tears welling up in his eyes. With one step he turned and wrapped his arms around my waste, pressing his face to my chest uttered through his sobs "I love you Uncle Michael!" "Big boys don't cry," I murmured with tears streaming down my face. We held each other for some minutes. Eventually our tears dried. "You had best go and put some clothes on. I can't take you to the races in your birthday suit" So saying I gently pushed him out of the bathroom and smacked his round little bum as he left. He turned saying, "bully" as he disappeared to get dressed. Smiling to myself I turned back to the mirror to resume my shaving. As my eyes met in the silver glass I could hear myself saying, "He needs an uncle, a friend, and he's too young to need anything else from you." In my heart of hearts I knew this to be correct. I could not be anything other than his friend. Surely that was all he wanted anyway. Besides, I could land up in all sorts of strife if things went any further. I must hold myself in check; he did not need abuse from someone he so obviously trusts. My head had a total grip on reality. "You must be the best friend / uncle he could wish for. Anything else is out of the question." But deep inside my heart was making a quite protest "But what if HE wants more?" With this conflict tearing me inside, I had to present the face that everyone knew. So steeling myself I finished my ablutions and went into my bedroom to get dressed. Whilst I have never been big on formality I have always believed in wearing the right outfit for the occasion. So out came a rather smart Saville Row suit and requisite brown fedora. Looking the part I went down stairs. Ryan had changed into the shirt and trousers we had bought that morning. He was a little surprised when I took a suit bag out of the pantry and saying "This was a present I got for you in Hong Kong but never got round to sending." He opened the bag to find a hand tailored black blazer. Ok, that's not the sort of present you should buy a twelve-year-old boy but when I saw it, I bought it, God knows why. It turned out to be a perfect fit. He seemed quite taken with his new apparel. Why this should be, when it so sharply contrasted with his other skater boy choices I'm not sure. Still, I was glad he was happy. The journey to the races was swift and uneventful. I put my foot down again as Ryan seemed to be quite the little speed demon. I'm not sure who had the most fun at the track Ryan or me. He quickly got into the knack of betting and picking winners. Towards the end of the evening he was a little in front of me and getting a little cocky with it. "When I win this last race I will have enough for a new bike" Ryan proudly boasted. So ignoring my advise he put all his winnings on the last race and of course the inevitable happened, the horse came in way down the field. The look of disbelief and bad temper was obvious on his face. He stormed all the way back to the car looking Like a thunder cloud, admittedly a rather cute one! As we sat in the car he started to swear and say, "It wasn't fair." At that point I stopped him. "Enough, a gentlemen looses his bets with good grace or he does not play," I rebuked. "You got greedy and that's why you lost everything. I told you not to put everything on that last race." "But I hadn't lost all evening," he moaned. "If that's not enough reason to walk away I don't know what is. Much older folk than you haven't learned this lesson, but I hope you have. Don't be greedy and don't bet what you cannot afford to loose." This did not mollify him at all. He sat and sulked almost all the way home. I had pointedly ignored him during the drive, letting him accustom himself to the reality of the situation. Just as we pulled into the drive Ryan asked "Will you buy me a new bike?" Whilst I would have happily done this, he would not have learned anything from his trip to the races. "Yes of course I will buy you a new bike, but you're doing my garden for the next six months to pay for it." This brought him up cold. "But, but I thought you loved me," he said trying to use emotional blackmail and puppy dog eyes. Ok, I don't have a heart of stone but I am not prone to blackmail and similarly he needed to learn. "You know I love you, but don't try pulling that stunt on me again. The price for a new bike has just risen to nine months gardening, and if you don't put those puppy dog eyes away it will rise to a year!" This brought him up sharp. "You need to learn there's no such thing as a free lunch. I know I'm a soft touch and more than likely you will twist me round your little finger, but please don't try the 'you don't love me stuff' because that hurts more than you know." Gone was the angry, manipulative little boy and a rather ashamed Ryan was sitting beside me in the car. Kissing him on the nose I said, "Go and open up the house smelly boy." He smiled at me as he trotted off to open the back door. As I put the jag back in the garage I could not help but feel a little mean in upping the gardening anti, but what the heck, current child psychology recommend tough love. I just hope I don't have to be tough very often. As it had reached twelve when I went inside. I did the nightly ritual bits, closing curtains making cocoa etc. We settled down in the sitting room in front of a pointless movie. Ryan snuggled up next to me on the sofa. "Sorry about the bike und stuff," he quietly said. I put my arm around his shoulders and drew him even tighter to me. "It's all right Ryan, I think we both need a few ground rules. I shouldn't spend money like water, then suddenly change tack on you. It's not fair. I did mean what I said though, please don't use the 'you don't love me stuff' I doubt I will be able to cope with that!" We snuggled down together and watched a little of the film. I felt Ryan's head drop onto my shoulder. The sudden jolt shook him awake a little. "Ok beast, bed time" I said. "Go and get your teeth brushed, there's a new brush in the cabinet. I don't know what you usually sleep in but one of my t-shirts in the top draw by my bed should do you." So saying I followed him upstairs and began to turn down the bed in the spare room. Whilst I was doing this I heard him finish in the bathroom and go next door into my bedroom. "Can I wear any of them?" he shouted? "Yes take your pick." I gave him a few minutes to get changed (I could not risk another repeat of the bathroom situation, my will power wouldn't stand it!) and then went through into the other room. Ryan had just finished getting change into one of my ubiquitous black t-shirts. It hung almost to his knees so that was safe for me! He stood with his back to me, folding his clothes and putting them neatly on the chair by the bed. "My, my, aren't we domesticated?" I chuckled. He turned and smiled at me. "I'm always tidy." Then I noticed his choice of shirt. Now I have all ready confessed to not growing up; so some of the legends on my shirts are rather "Teenage Boy." Emblazoned across Ryan's chest was the statement "Masturbating is not a crime." He noticed me noticing his choice in night attire and gave rather a naughty little giggle. "Well you said I could choose any of them!" "Yes er ok er fine er..." I rapidly looked to change the topic of conversation. "Well let's get you into your bed," I finally settled on as a fairly safe choice. "But I thought I could sleep in here with you," he protested. "Well we all know what thought did. Followed a muck cart and thought it was a wedding. I don't want your snoring keeping me up all night." "I don't snore!" he stated indignantly. "I know you don't. Its just that I've got some work to do and I don't want to wake you when I come to bed." "But you wouldn't wake me." "I know I won't because you will be fast asleep in your own bed." With that I towed him through into the guest room and tucked him in kissing him on the tip of the nose. "Sleep well," I said. He wasn't going to let me go that easily though. He grabbed hold of me and kissed my cheek "Thanks, Uncle Mikey. Will you tell me a story like when I was little? He knew he was pushing his luck. I could see it in his eyes. "There once was young lad who would not go to sleep and let his uncle get on with his work. So the wicked uncle had to tickle-torture his smelly nephew." With that line I started to count Ryan's ribs and all the other silly things adults do to kids. After five minutes I stopped and standing up said, "Good night, smelly boy." "Night Michael," came the tired, contented reply. Turning the light out I went downstairs into the den. Taking my sketchbook from the desk I settled myself in the armchair and poured a large whiskey. I had just achieved another victory for my self control so I semi congratulated myself on getting Ryan into his own bed. Yes I would have loved to have him sleep with me but I doubted if certain parts of my anatomy would have behaved themselves having him so close. Picking up the sketchpad I let my pencil wander, yet again. Various studies of Ryan emerged. The excitement at betting on a winning race, the sulks on the way home, sitting in the pub. The number of sketches went on and on. Unless you create in some way you don't know how engrossed you can become. In only a couple of hours I had filled almost the whole book. The last two sketches were the ones to catch the eye though. On facing pages I had captured Ryan wringing wet in the shower, his t-shirt sticking to his body outlining the fine musculature beginning to develop, his shorts clinging to his firm thighs emphasising the area between. His hair plastered to his forehead, but most of all you saw the look of sheer joy on his face. Drawing life into a picture is so hard to accomplish. This sketch was practically leaping off the page waiting to be held and loved. If this picture held the joy its neighbour held something far naughtier. These graphite lines showed Ryan in the act of kicking his boxers into the corner. This naughty, sexy little chap knew full well what he was doing. This was evident in his eyes the provocative flick of the hips, the erect boyhood surrounded by a diaphanous dusting of hair. Everything about the boy in this drawing exuded a burgeoning sexuality. I contemplated my creation. Was this really what I had seen or was it artistic licence? Licence for me to create what I had wished had occurred, rather than what did? At a much darker level was I one step away from creating pornographic images of Ryan for my own voyeuristic pleasure. This possible realisation revolted me. Was this deep within my subconscious whilst I had been drawing? Was I now regarding Ryan like an object, a sex toy? If I wasn't sure then the drawing must stop. I had a chink developing in my armour of self-control. It had better be welded over now. Thrusting the book down the side of the chair. I poured myself another quick whiskey and contemplated the day's events. Discounting the sketches I had just done, it had been a superb day that we both had enjoyed. Comforting myself with these much happier images, I turned the light out and went to bed. Held in the folds of my warm bed I barley noticed the severe summer storm that was raging outside. I found the rain lashing upon the window somewhat soporific and the sporadic crashes of thunder nothing more than its bass accompaniment. Ryan obviously did not feel this way for after a very loud thunderbolt my door flew open and between muted sobs he asked, "Can I sleep in here with you please?" I could not turn him away could I? Lifting the cover up I said, "Come on then smelly boy and no snoring." He practically jumped into the bed and dived on top of me. Laid over me, arms and legs wrapped around me like a baby octopus. I must confess I did feel rather smothered, but what a way to go! Gently I stroked the back of his neck and ran my hand down his spine. The long rhythmic gesture calmed him sufficiently for me to transfer some of his weight onto the bed. Turning onto my side I held the frightened young boy to me. Continuing to stroke his neck I kissed him on the forehead and murmured meaningless, soothing noises. I could feel that his t-shirt was absolutely drenched with sweat. It clung to him like a wet tea towel. When he had stopped crying I said. We had better change that shirt. So I sat him up and pulled the t-shirt off over his head. "Do you want to get another one out of the draw?" I asked. "No" he replied, "it's too hot." Snuggling back down under the covers he curled up part on me part on the bed. I resumed my caressing of his neck until by his soft breathing I knew he had fallen asleep again. As he drifted off in to the realm of I allowed myself to relax and enjoy the warmth of his body pressed to mine. Have you noticed the fragrance boys have about them, it's divine. I lay there with my nose buried in his tousled locks softly caressing his back. Eventually I had to shift my position. Ryan had laid on my arm and it had gone numb. Gently I rolled him further onto me so that I could shift my arm. Pulling him on to me it was then that I realised he was naked. He must have taken his boxers off when he got changed for bed. So boxer shorts are only a thin piece of material but without that fractional barrier between us I was practically messing myself. What would I do if someone found out I had had a naked boy in bed with me? It's surprising how fear can drive all other thoughts from your mind. No thoughts of lust or wanting. No fantasies or speculation, just bone numbing dread of consequences. I froze to the bed, not wanting to move in case I made things worse (it's strange what tricks the mind plays upon you). I think it was the fact I had stopped rubbing his back that woke Ryan. He muzzily lifted his head and with a contented little smile murmured "love you Uncle Mikey." He kissed my cheek and slipped back to sleep. As he did so he slipped one leg back over me and wrapped his arm tighter around me. I was a prisoner of this boy in more ways than one. His declaration of love eased my fears. Who would know and if they did who would blame me letting a frightened boy sleep in the same bed with me. Further, he trusted me so why should I not trust myself. Again the heat from his body caused me to snuggle into him further. It felt so right having his soft warm skin pressed to mine. I resumed stroking his back and in that way fell asleep myself. I awoke much later than I had intended. Ryan was still snuggled in close to me. He had barely moved all night. As I became aware of my surroundings, as you do on waking, I found my hand was resting, cupping his round little bum. As I automatically moved my hand away, a sleepy little voice said, "I like your hand there better than your teeth." Ryan was awake and was smiling up at me from his position stretched across my torso. He must have noticed the look of shock on my face. That I had been discovered with my hand where it shouldn't have been had rather shaken my self-composure. He asked "What's wrong Uncle Michael?" I had two choices admit my transgression and apologise or try and bluff my way out of the situation. If I had been more awake I suppose I would have gone with the latter being the emotional coward that I am. "I'm sorry Ryan that shouldn't have happened." "What?" he responded unsure as to what I was referring. "I shouldn't have been touching you there. Sorry." "What are you going on about?" It was clear he had no comprehension of the significance of the intimacy of my touch. He obviously found nothing wrong in my having a hand on his bum. Being somewhat sharper by now I realised I had better change my tack before he realised the implications of what I had been saying. "I shouldn't have been touching your bum, I should have been biting it" I shouted and started to wrestle with him, pretending to try and bite his bum. He exploded in fits of giggles and valiantly fought off my attempts. We ended up with him sitting astride my chest with him pummeling me with a pillow. "I surrender, I surrender," I pleaded in mock fear. Satisfied with his victory Ryan put the pillow down and sat looking down at me. "What are we going to do today?" he asked. "Nothing if my spleen burst's from having this fat little beast sitting on me." He gave me such a look of indignation. "I'm not fat!" he categorically stated and started bouncing up and down on my stomach to prove it. Having this naked twelve year old bouncing on top of me was getting me a little hot under the collar. Watching his semi hard penis bounce up and down was erotic, enchanting and bloody frightening for me. I could feel a piece of my anatomy starting to get rather interested in his bouncing. I quickly surrendered again "Ok, sorry you're not fat in fact you're rather skinny." "I'm not that either," he shouted and jumped off of me and stood at the side of the bed doing body builder poses. Shit things were going from bad to worse. He was now doing a little floorshow for me. I hoped to god he did not know what he was doing and particularly not what he was doing to me! "Go on Arnold Schwarzenegger get in that shower so we can get something done to day." Fortunately, he paraded of to the bathroom with that suggestion. I lay on the bed almost shaking with fear at what just happened and what could have happened. Did Ryan have any concept of the sexual nature of his antics or was it just adolescent play? My problem was threefold. I wanted Ryan. I didn't know if he wanted me. What would I do when someone found out? If nothing else it was a question of trust. He had placed all his trust in me, that was unassailable. My actions had to reflect that gift. At that point I wished I smoke, drank to excess, took drugs, anything to calm me down, anything to help me figure out what to do. I got up and sat on the edge of the bed trying to clear my head. Looking down on the floor I saw Ryan's discarded T-shirt. Picking up the soft fabric I instinctively held it to my face. The melding of washing powder and the smell of Ryan's sweat assailed my senses. I was held captive by this heady perfume. Why had he got to me so quickly? I had spent two days with the boy and it was like I had never been without him. It was as if he had been grafted onto my soul. I heard the shower stop so I threw his t-shirt back where it had been and started out my clothes for the day. When Ryan came back into the room I was relieved to see he had a towel wrapped around his waste. "Get dressed and go and see what's on the TV. I'll cook breckers when I've had my shower and if some little swine comes near me with the yard brush again I will skin him alive capich?" "Yes Uncle Michael" he said angelically, looking as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "Good" I replied swatting his behind and dashing out the door before he could retaliate. Just to be on the safe side I locked the bathroom door. Taking my shower I regained more of my composure. Another day ahead of me with my boy to look forward to. I dressed and went downstairs expecting to find him in sitting room in front of the idiot box. He wasn't though. He had gone into the den and was watching the TV in there, or so I thought. When I went in to see what he wanted for breakfast the TV was on but his attention was elsewhere. He had found the sketchpad and was gazing at my drawings of him. He had reached the last page as I went in. I started to speak but he turned to me with tears rolling down his face "Why?" he asked in a quiet little voice. End of Chapter the Third Your comments are most welcome. Joshuacaddy@lycos.co.uk [APB1]This could be a British/American spelling change.