Date: Wed, 08 Mar 2006 16:59:45 -0500 From: Jon Kent Subject: THE BEAUTIFUL GAME THE BEAUTIFUL GAME by Jon Kent Disclaimer: This short story combines two of the most beautiful things in the world - boys and soccer. But it also has some pretty graphic sex scenes, and they may not be legal where you live, or you might not be old enough to be allowed to read them where you live. Although the story has lots of literary merit, and although the characters in the story are completely fictitious, and though you may really enjoy the story, it's best not to break the laws where you live. So what you have to do is leave this story right now, go someplace else, find something that's legal for you to read. And, if the weather's nice where you live, you can always go, find some friends, and have a game of soccer because it really is 'the beautiful game'. For everyone else: read, enjoy, remember. THE BEAUTIFUL GAME 1 SWEET SUMMER SWEAT Sprawled out on the lawn, stripped to the waist, the two brothers were taking a breather from some later summer afternoon soccer. A trickle of sweat ran down the younger boy's chest to gather in his belly button. He ignored it as he turned to face his brother. You don't mean it," he said. "You must be joking." Propped on his elbow, he gazed quizzically at his sleepy-eyed brother. "No, I'm not. I'm really looking forward to school starting again." "Maybe the sun's getting to you," frowned Andrew. "Mum said we shouldn't spend too much time out here." Andrew's frown deepened, he blushed and looked away as he realised he could see up the left leg of Robert's shorts. It wasn't that he could really see anything but that shadowy curve could only be his brother's balls, and if that's where his balls were, his... Andrew wiggled his finger in his ear as if something had suddenly caught his attention. He couldn't resist looking again. Fortunately, Robert's long-lashed eyes were closed. "I really am," Robert added. "I've got a good chance of being captain of Year 9. That would be something, wouldn't it?" "Yes, it would, agreed Andrew, his voice slightly shaky as he realised Robert was wearing no underpants. Although his brother was only two years old, that meant all the difference in the world. His brother probably had hair down there, maybe a lot of it." Andrew had seen the drawings. They showed them the drawings last July, at the end of Year 7. They'd be going up to the senior school the secondary school, the school on the hill. That's where the big boys went, with their big bodies, their big muscles, and hair down there and up there. Andrew closed his legs together. He felt a hard-on coming on. He knew the word, 'hard-on', his brother used it, so he knew what it meant. He liked having a hard-on though he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. "And what if you were captain of the Year 7 side," continued Robert. "That really would be something. You're not a bad player, Andy, but you don't take it seriously enough." Andrew sighed and edged slightly to the right. "That's Robert all over," he thought. "Nothing but football. That's all he'd wanted to do right through the holidays, play football. Even today, in the middle of a heatwave, he'd dragged Andrew out into the backgarden. And it wasn't just a kick-about. Oh no, it was far more serious. Dribbling, heading, trapping the ball, and shootie-in at the home-made wooden goal they'd built last June. "Think you've got a chance of being captain?" asked Andrew, squinting slightly and praying Robert wouldn't open his eyes. His penis was hard now, and surreptitiously he tugged it into the vertical, feeling it hot against his lower tummy. He wondered what size his brother's was. He hadn't seen it for a couple of years. It wasn't that Robert was shy or anything like that. No, it was more because of his own damn shyness. Even on holiday, sharing a hotel bedroom, Andrew would turn away when his brother was dressing or undressing. He'd glimpsed it a couple of time and there was no doubt it was bigger than his, fatter than his, but that was only to be expected. Robert was 13, he was eleven. He'd catch up some day. "... and his fucking favourites." Andrew was jolted back to reality by the swear word. It wasn't that he didn't know the swear words, but here, in the back garden, the kitchen window was only yards away, and his mother could hear the proverbial pin drop. "I said I've got fat chance of being captain as long as Hunter is coaching the team. Bet you he picks Jack Driver again. Fucking cocksuckers, both of them." Andrew was genuinely horrified this time, not so much by the swear words themselves, but what the second word implied. Cocksuckers. Did that word mean what it suggested it meant? Cocksuckers. A cock sucker. A person who sucks cocks, a person who sucks another person's cock, a man who sucks a man's cock, a boy who sucks a boy's sock, a man who sucks a boy's cock, a boy who sucks a man's cock. Did things like that really happen? And did you suck it when it was hard or soft? It would be easy enough for a man to suck a boy's cock, hard or soft, but could a boy really take in a man's cock? He knew men's cocks were big; he'd seen the diagrams in school. He even knew what a condom was. He blushed again. He'd get lost in a condom. But surely a boy would choke on a man's cock. He'd heard the word 'muthafucka' but that didn't shock him nearly so much. He knew mothers had to get fucked. That's how babies were made. But cocksucker was something else. Cocksucking was something else, and with a shiver he realised what the something else was. It was what he wanted to do. Robert lay on his back, his legs wide open. And that skin, real skin that Andrew could see up the leg of his shorts. He wondered what it would be like. To kiss Robert's chest. To run his lips down his belly button. To suck up the sweat. To edge down his shorts - no underpants - and to let his brother's... "You're not listening to a fucking word, I'm saying." Robert was upon his elbow. "I said Hunter will probably pick Jack Driver again. He picked him in Year 7. He picked him in Year 8. So why not pick him in Year 9? Anyway, me and Mr Hunter don't get on that well. Thinks I'm too cheeky or something. But it's not that." Robert was riled now. He squeezed his legs together, parted them, then squeezed them together again. It was a habit he'd always had. "He keeps playing me left midfield and I'm right-footed for God's sake." "You're two-footed," Andrew chipped in, glad to get back in the conversation, glad to be distracted from those rhythmic legs, glad that the damp on the front of his shorts would be taken for sweat. "Not really," said Robert. "I practise lots and lots, but I can't really cross with my left, well, not when I'm on the run anyway. "But what about you? Don't like admitting it, but you're a bloody good player. You've got really good reflexes, and you're brave, or stupid enough to be a goalkeeper. You just don't take it seriously enough. You should. Specially now you're coming up the hill. They take sport dead seriously at the Community College. Nobody'll stuff your head down the loo if you're in a football team." Robert caught Andrew's shiver and laughed. "Hey, stop worrying. There's not much bullying at college, and nobody's gonna mess with my brother or they'll feel my foot up their arse." He paused, then, "but I'd better warn you about..." Andrew never discovered what Robert was going to warn him about. His elder brother's face disappeared into a bundle of black-and-white fur as Scoot, the family collie, jumped him, licking his face furiously. "Aw, shit, now I'll smell like doggie doo," protested Robert as the five-year-old family pet continued its romantic assault. "Get this fucker off me," he yelled, pushing the excited dog away. "Scoot, get Andrew, get Andrew," howled Robert. Scoot got the message, turned and hurled himself at the younger brother, this time fastening himself round the boy's right leg and humping furiously. "Aw, fuck," screamed Andrew, no longer giving a shit who might be at the kitchen window. He tried to shake free of the canine sex-maniac but only served to rouse the beast even further. Scoot humped his naked leg with grim determination while Robert drowned in his own laughter. "You'd better get used to it," shouted Robert. "Don't forget the Community College is an all boys' school." Robert's laughter was cut short by a half bucket of cold water hitting him on the back of the head. The second half was reserved for Scoot whose romantic involvement ended as suddenly as it had begun. "Will you two, no, you three stop that nonsense and get cleaned up. It's nearly four o'clock. We are to be at Grandma's by four thirty, and you two look like something even the cat wouldn't drag in." Her tone of voice told the boys their mother wasn't joking. "Upstairs, both of you, shower, and ready in twenty minutes. Or else." Details of the 'or else' weren't necessary. The boys leapt up simultaneously and sprinted for the back door. Only 20 minutes, and one shower. Someone wasn't going to be ready on time. That someone would have been Robert. The stairs were narrow but Andrew was the nimbler. He was into the bathroom, door banged and locked behind him before Robert made the landing. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Andy, open the door. We've only got 20 minutes and there won't be enough water for two. Come on, open up." Silence. The sound of the shower. "Open up, Andy. My Play station all weekend. And you can use my new racquet." No response. "And my I-pod." The door edged open, Robert slipped in, just in time to see the shower door close on his brother's pink buttocks. He ripped off his trainers, tore off his socks, threw off his shorts, pulled open the door and stepped into the shower room. Andrew was facing the wall, water bouncing from his shoulders. "Budge over, give us a bit of room," called Robert, using his body to edge his younger brother towards the white-and-blue-tiled wall. He felt his groin contact his brother's bottom. "Oh, what the fuck?" he thought, "he'll get used to that at college." Then Robert called out, "Where's the soap? Are you hiding the soap?" No response. He leaned over Andrew and fumbled for the soap. "Come on, hand it over." "I'm using it," came the muffled reply. "Give it here. I'll do my front and your back at the same time." Ignoring his brother's protests, he grabbed the soap and started doing his front and Andrew's back. Soapy fingers on soapy skin. There was something very sensuous about it though that's not the word that came to Robert's mind. His hand and the bar of soap worked its way down to his brother's bum. "Bubbles on a bubble," he grinned to himself. For a moment his fingers edged into the boy's crack, then drew back. "Blimey, what the fuck am I?" he asked himself. "Some kind of perv?" He didn't wait for an answer but turned Andrew round to hand him the soap bar. "Crikey, Andy," he laughed, "you've got a stiffy." The younger brother's eyes stung but that might have been from the soap. "So've you?" retorted Andrew, his voice cracking a little. "Shit, so I have," laughed Robert. "Must be the hot water." He took a closer look at his brother. "Hey, Andrew, that's not bad for a little'un. You've got a good four inches there, but your balls haven't dropped yet, have they?" Andrew ignored the question but took it as licence to gaze at his older brother. "Wow, Robbie was big. It must be six inches long, and it was a lot thicker than his. And hair. Yes, he had hair, of it, but only at the bottom of his belly. The rest of him was smooth as soapy porcelain. And Robert's balls had dropped. They actually hung down. He felt a terrible urge to reach out, to grasp and hold that soapy shaft. More. To drop to his knees at suck that soapy cock. Tears filled his eyes. Where were those thoughts coming from? Was he a perv, was that what he was? He wasn't sure what a perv was. They'd been warned about pervs in school, but pervs were DOMs, dirty old men that hung around the school gates. Andrew wasn't sure why the DOMs hung around the school gates, and to tell truth he'd never seen any of them, but he surely didn't want to be one. "Come on, hurry up," laughed Robert. "The water's turning cold. That'll kill our hard-ons quicker than anything. Even Scoot couldn't keep it up in temperatures like this." Out of the shower the boys bundled, across the landing and into their bedroom. They grabbed fresh towels and rubbed down vigorously. The mood was so good that the stiffies didn't seem to matter anymore though Robert twanged his a couple of times "for luck". They dressed and swept downstairs. As they went, Robert whispered to Andrew, "Yup, that's quite a dick you've got their brother. Hope you know what to with it." Andrew had no idea what to do with it but he had the feeling he was going to learn. 2 A SAVE IN TIME Robert dribbled the ball along the village lane towards The Green, Andrew trailing behind with Scoot. The sun poured down like and honey and now school on Monday didn't seem such a great idea after all, but nothing could spoil the boys' mood as they whistled and skipped along the lane. At The Green, half a dozen boys from Robert's class at the Community College were playing cricket. "C'mon, you lot," called Robert, "cricket season's over. It's time for the real game." With this he hoofed the ball into the middle of the square. There were cries of delight as the boys grabbed the stumps, made two goals and began to argue sides. "Eight of us, that's four a side," said Jack Driver, his hand set for paper, scissors and stones. "Nine of us," corrected Robert, indicating Andrew behind him. "Ten if you include Scoot. Andrew can play in goal, he's not half." "No way," protested Tommy Mitchell, "I'm in goal. I need the practice. I'll be in goal for the team this year." "Yeh," laughed Jack. "We'll stick little Andy behind Tommy's goal. He can fetch the balls that Will slices wide." "Never mind me," said Andrew. "I'm not going to be anybody's ball boy. Anyway, I'm off to see Uncle Adam. You can go and fetch your own balls." The boys laughed at Andrew's unintended joke, and before the matter could be pursued, he was off down the lane, Scoot prancing behind him, chasing butterflies, real and imagined. Upset at first to be left out of the game, Andrew was soon smiling again. He picked up a stick and threw it for Scoot to chase. As they neared Uncle Adam's cottage, a mischievous grin crept over his face. A stream ran by the cottage. Andrew flung the stick over the stream and watched as Scoot leapt to catch it, coming down with an almighty splash in the stream. He emerged sopping wet from the stream, laid the stick before Andrew's feet, and poised to shake the water from his coat. Before he could, Andrew grabbed the stick and flung it over the garden wall. It landed on the lawn, right next to the blue-striped canvas deckchair in which Uncle Adam lay snoozing, his pipe smouldering at his feet. Scoot leapt the low wall in a single bound, fetched the stick and stood there shaking himself and the water all over the sleeping man. "What the H...?" came the cry as Uncle Adam leapt to his feet. He took in the scene in a single glance, spotted Andrew and had him on the grass in the blink of an eye. Andrew, dressed only in his shorts, socks and trainers, was easy meat for some serious tickling, and wriggled helplessly under his uncle's fingers. Scoot joined in the fun, circling man and boy, sprinkling both with what was left of the stream water. "Stop... stop..." giggled Andrew, "it's too much, too much." He fought gallantly at first but was soon out breath. He lay sprawled below Uncle Adam, who knelt either side of his hips, his strong bare arms stretch the Andrew's childish arms above his head. "I give in, I give in," gasped Andrew who lay there, puzzled. Puzzled because he wanted to give in, but he didn't want his uncle to let him up. The smells were intoxicating. The smells of tobacco smoke, of rum (his uncle's favourite), of the freshly-mown grass beneath him, and of his own and his uncle's sweat combined to make him light-headed. No, he didn't want to get up. And not least because he had a damn hard-on again. This was embarrassing, ridiculous and embarrassing. He was wearing his blue satin shorts, and, copy-catting Robert, he'd left off his underpants. He could feel his erection pressing against the thin, satin cloth. What was wrong with him? He must be a perv. But he was far too young to be a perv, so what was it? Uncle Adam hung over his nephew. He looked down at the boy beneath him. Skinny, in the way that many eleven-year-olds are. The heaving chest. The tiny starfish nipples. The butterfly shoulders. The long neck. The sun-tanned skin. The up-turned nose, splattered with freckles. The slightly full pink lips. The dimple, the cheek bones. The blue, artless eyes. Lashes that would be wasted on any boy less attractive. The shock of blond hair with its reddish tints, just like his sister, the boy's mother. The boy, eyes closed, was panting, breathing through his mouth, showing the tiny white teeth of childhood. He didn't want to let him go, didn't want to release him, wanted to stay this close, forever, or at least for now. Or at least until his erection subsided. Had the boy noticed? Was that why his eyes were closed? Adam was glad to be wearing his baggy gardening shorts. Could he lower himself onto the boy? Feel his hardness pressed against the boy's... "Hey, Adam, I've got to go..." The cry tailed away as the figure emerging from the cottage realised its owner was no longer alone. Adam rolled away from Andrew who flipped over onto his front. Man and boy, uncle and nephew, lay there waiting for the young man striding across the small lawn. "Young man or older boy?" Andrew wasn't much good at ages. "Hi, there," said the stranger. "Sorry to butt in, but I've got to go. That was dad on the phone. He's got tickets for the match, the cricket," he clarified, "over at St Lawrence. Should be good, it's the last of the season. I've cleaned up the bathroom. Thanks for the shower, Adam... or should I say Mr Clarke?" "No need for formalities here," smiled Adam standing up. He was followed by Andrew who stood there, a bit bashful, brushing the grass from his shorts. Uncle Adam did the introductions. "Andrew, this is Toby Laughton. He's a prefect at the Community College. He does odd jobs for me at weekends." Andrew nodded at Toby's wide-eyed smile. "Toby, this is my nephew, Andrew, Andy. I think you already know my other nephew, Robbie, Robert Morton. Andy is coming up to the Community College next week." Toby extended his hand. Andrew took it. It felt cool and dry. He blushed as he realised how squarely Toby was looking at him. "Are all the men in your family as good-looking as you two?" This odd question seemed to be addressed to Uncle Adam, but Andrew felt it was aimed at him, too. Before he could think of a reply, if he ever could, his uncle interrupted with a gentle "Naughty." Toby released him with a laugh that burbled like the stream. "I'd better be on my way. Better not keep the old man waiting. Thanks for the job, sir. Hope you've got something for me next weekend." He turned to Andrew. "See you at school, young man." Andrew's chest swelled at the "young man", his eyes following the tall, elegant figure of Toby Laughton as he loped off down the lane. "He's nice. I like him," the boy told his uncle. So do I. So do I," agreed the man. "Now, young man, to what do I owe this pleasure," asked Uncle Adam, resuming his place in the canvas deck chair. Andrew told him about the footie down on The Green. Disappointment must have sounded in his voice for his uncle said, "Listen, young man, it's not how old you are that matters, it's how good you are. I've seen you in goal, you're good, damn good. Now, leave Scoot here, get your sweet ass down to The Green and show them what you can do. After the game, come back with Robbie, and we'll have ginger cake and lemonade. Now, skedaddle!" He slapped the boy's bottom and off sped Andrew, taking the garden wall at a single leap. He'd do it, he'd show them. Andrew's luck was in. He reached The Green to find Ritchie Martin had turned up, and one side, his brother's, was a player short. "Right, Andy, get your sweet ass in that goal. We're two-nil down, so we can't afford to let any more in." Andrew got between the sticks and shook his 'sweet ass' for luck. he laughed to himself. Sweet ass! Robert must have picked that up from Uncle Adam. Sweet ass, indeed. How lucky he was. To have such a fun family. He settled down determined to let nothing past him. "Your brother's not half bad," said Tommy Mitchell to Robert after a few minutes' play. Their side had swept the ball downfield giving the boys a chance for a quick chat. "We've been practising a lot this summer, in the garden, we erected a couple of goalposts." "Bet it's a nice erection," murmured Tommy. Robert laughed. "Not as nice as yours, Tommy. Remember that party at Jack's when we...?" Tommy didn't have time to remember. He cut Robert short with, "Look, Jack's bound to score." The ball had been played perfectly into Jack's path, and he hit it with great power. The ball was flashing just under the crossbar. Shouts of goal went up. Then Andrew appeared to fly across the goal. Up to his right, he clung on to the ball at full stretch. A truly spectacular save. "Brilliant save, Andrew," shouted Tommy, one goal keeper recognising a wonder save by another goalie. Andrew continued to impress the older boys throughout the game with his bravery and clean-handling of the ball. "He's a natural," said Tommy. "Takes after our Uncle Adam?" "What d'you mean?" asked Tommy. "Our Uncle Adam played professional football. He was goalkeeper for..." Robert mentioned a Premiership team and Tommy whistled his approval. "Might have played for England 'cept for the injury." "Injury? Football injury?" "No, skiing injury. Did his knee in. Uncle Adam always claims a tree ran out and ambushed him." Tommy joined in his friend's laughter. "Rotten luck really, but he still coaches Andy now and again." "Maybe I can come along sometimes. Wouldn't mind a few tips myself." "Hey, look out, the ball's heading this way." Robert moved forward to intercept and tackle. The game continued for another twenty minutes or so. Then by unspoken collective agreement the boys collapsed on the thick grass under the elm trees. Andrew was thrilled to find himself treated as just one of the boys. His goal-keeping had earned him his spurs - though spurs aren't much use to a goalkeeper, he smiled to himself. As he lay there on the grass listening to the jokes and insults flying around him, Andrew became more and more aware that all the boys were shirtless in the warm afternoon sun. He couldn't help comparing their well-built bodies to his own scrawny thing, but at least he was tanned a golden brown, and not all of them could claim that. His penis was hard again, but this time he didn't give a shit. He even laughed at the naughty phrases that slipped into his thoughts - hard-ons, and stiffies, and not giving a shit. If this was what life was going to be like at secondary school, roll on Monday! 3 O SUCH A PERFECT DAY "No hard feelings?" "'Course not," said Robert, towelling his shoulders and back. "You've done a really good job last couple of years so it's just natural Mr Hunter chose you again, I suppose." Mr Hunter's decision to name Jack Driver captain of the Year 9 soccer team came as no surprise, but it wasn't easy for Robert to hide his disappointment. After all, he really liked Jack and it wasn't his fault Mr Hunter had a crush on him. He was bloody good-looking. Robert checked Jack was towelling his hair and glanced down at his friend's penis. It wasn't quite as long as his own but it could be a little bit thicker. Of course, he'd learned you couldn't guess the length of someone's dick when it was 'flaccid' - he'd learned that word in the summer, he liked it - but it gave you some idea. He'd learned that from Tommy Mitchell. Tommy knew lots of sex stuff and he didn't take it too seriously. He'd introduced Robert to some 'fun stuff' at the end of last term but he'd laughed when Robert protested it was 'gay'. "Call it 'gay' if you have to," Tommy had laughed. "I don't call it anything. It's just something I like doing, and I like doing it with you." The conversation took place on Tommy's parents' double bed, one afternoon, after school. The boys were helping each other with homework - Tommy was crap at French, Robert was crap at Maths, so they did each other's homework. To boys that made perfect sense. Afterwards, they were fooling around in the living room, playing grab-your-nuts, but when Robert had grabbed at Tommy's, he found himself clutching a serious hard-on. What was worse, or better, he'd held on a fraction too long. Then, red-faced, he'd let go. "You don't have to let go," whispered Tommy, suddenly a bit husky. "You don't even have to grab, just feel all you want." By the time Robert's fingers were round the boy's erection, his own penis was up and hard, helped by his friend's gentle manipulation. Robert risked looking at Tommy. He had a skin-colour that looked tanned all year round. His eyes were luminous black, almost as black as his brushed-back hair. His teeth shone against the colour of his skin. Robert found it difficult to look at Tommy; his gaze must be a dead give-away. "Tommy Mitchell is beautiful," he thought. Beautiful wasn't a word you used about boys, but he couldn't think of any other word that suited Tommy. And he knew it wasn't just Tommy's face. He'd seen him in the school showers often enough, watched the water run from his golden skin, and felt his penis harden in response. They'd lain on the bed, comparing genitals, comparing pubic hair, comparing the few strands of hair in their armpits. Then Tommy had kissed him. Kissed him! Robert had felt faint, especially when Tommy's tongue pushed into his mouth, especially when Tommy had invited Robert's tongue into his own mouth. They'd exchanged saliva, lots of it. "Why wasn't that disgusting?" Robert had asked himself afterwards. "Why was that so exciting, why did it feel so good, so right?" Then Tommy had licked Robert's body, yes, licked his body. Starting at his neck, he'd licked down to his chest, across his chest, all over his chest. He licked Robert's nipples for ages, even tried to nip them with his teeth. And all the time Robert's penis had hardened until it ached, until he felt he was going to 'cum' (another new and wonderful word) without anything touching his erection, not even himself. And Tommy hadn't stopped at his chest, he'd slid down to his belly, probing his belly button, then licking his pubic hairs until they were sopping wet. And then further down still... and he wouldn't, not that, not there, surely he wouldn't, but he did. "He's sucking my cock," thought Robert, and even the idea was thrilling. But not as thrilling as the feelings that ran through his legs, his belly, his bum, until he was shaking and shuddering - until, until... "What do I do?" thought Robert frantically. "Do I tell him? But he must know. He must feel it. It's throbbing so hard, he must feel it. Will he choke? Will he swallow it? Is it okay to swallow it? Oh...oh...oh..." The boy whimpered as his body shuddered and shook, as he pushed himself as deeply as he could into the warm wet wonder of his friend's mouth, his friend's throat. His head rolled from side to side on the pillow. Tommy was squeezing his balls. Tommy was stroking his... "Aw, shit, how did his finger get there?" "Fucking hell, Robert. You've got a real hard-on. Do you need any help with that?" "Who is that? Fuckin' shit, it's Jack." At least he was laughing. "Penny for them," said Jack, wrapping his blue-striped towel round his waist. "Lucky it's just us two in here. Who the hell were you dreaming about?" Robert could hardly say "Tommy Mitchell," so he joined in Jack's laughter and swung his towel round his growing parts. "Sorry 'bout that," he smiled. "What's to be sorry 'bout?" said Jack. "Nothing to be ashamed of there. I'd stay and help but Mr Hunter promised me a lift home. I'd better shift ass or I'll be late, and you know Mr Hunter, he likes every boy to come on time." Jack stepped out of the cubicle and headed for the changing room. "Catch you tomorrow at training," he called back. "Take your time, but don't do anything I wouldn't do." Robert laughed to himself and finished off towelling. Yes, he was disappointed about the captaincy but he couldn't help liking Jack. And what was that he'd said? "Do you need any help with that?" Was that a serious offer? Robert hoped it was, and his penis began to stiffen in agreement. Dressed, Robert flung his kit-bag over his shoulder and wandered out to watch Andrew who was playing in the 'B' team goal. It was unusual for a Year 7 kid to be playing with the Year 9s but as this was only a practice Andrew had jumped at the invitation. When his older brother arrived on the scene, Andrew was seeing a bit more of the ball than he might have wished. Once side was markedly stronger than the other, and they swarmed round his penalty area likes wasps around an old jam jar. "At least Andrew'll be too busy to feel nervous or worry about any mistakes he made." Andrew was lucky to get away with one slip when he fumbled a fiercely driven shot, but the attacker, a tall, slim Asian lad called Taz, somehow poked the ball the wrong side of the post. Andrew's next slip was more expensive. A corner came in from the left, up went Andrew, but, bounced in a shoulder charge, the boy let the ball squirm through his fingers and Taz was on hand to nod it firmly into the net. Robert wished he could explain what was going on to his brother. The clue was Mr Hunter. He was standing on the touchline with Jack Driver. They, too, had hung around to watch a bit of the 'B' match. And it was Mr Hunter who'd put Andrew in the weaker side. He was not only looking for a goalkeeper for the Year 7s, he was looking for a captain, too, and he wanted to see what young Andrew Morton was like under pressure. And the truth was that Andrew was good, very good. It was true he'd made a couple of mistakes but he'd also pulled off some pretty classy saves and, what was more important, his head hadn't gone down at all. He looked as bright and alert as ever. "Young Morton is pretty good," said Jack as if reading his manager's mind. "Yep, he's got lots of potential," said Mr Hunter without taking his eyes from the eleven-year-old who'd just plucked another corner from Taz's head. "And you always find the boys with potential," grinned Jack. "Don't get cheeky with me, young man," warned the teacher-manager, but the chuckle in his voice told Jack he'd got the joke. "Anyway, I've seen enough. What time is it?" "Ten past four, sir." "What time do you have to be home?" "I promised six o'clock but I can..." "Nope. If you promised six o'clock, six o'clock it shall be. That gives us about an hour and half. Come on, let's go and check out your potential." Jack's eyes shone. His laughter bubbled in the afternoon air. As they crossed the playing fields, he turned for a last look at young Andy Morton. "Mmmmm," he murmured, "there's a lot of potential in the Morton boys." If Jack and Mr Hunter had stayed a few minutes more, they would have seen a marvellous double save from young Andrew. First he parried an awkward 'daisy cutter' headed for the left-hand corner of his net. As the ball skidded out of the area, Taz pounced on it before anyone else and belted it into the net. He could hardly believe it when the keeper recovered in time to block the shot with his legs and scoop the ball over the cross bar. "How the hell did you keep that one out, shrimp?" Taz grinned, helping the kid to his feet. "I'd've put our corner shop on that one." "Just lucky, I guess. The ball hit my legs," he blushed modestly. But as Uncle Adam had shown him, even the best goalies have to make saves with their feet sometimes. A shrill blast on the whistle ended the game. "Coming for a shower," suggested Taz. "You've earned one." Andrew looked at the Asian boy's brown skin, big brown eyes, and jet black hair. He looked at his long fingers and wondered how long... "Wish I could," he said, "but Robbie and I have to get round to my uncle's. We promised to do the garden. Then we can stay the evening. We're going to watch some matches on DVD. Uncle Addy'll make steak and chips. We might even get a sip of his beer though I don't really like the stuff." Andrew realised he was gabbling on, but he didn't want to stop. And it looked like Taz wanted to listen. The younger boy realised he was blushing and turned away with a rather abrupt "Go to go. Robbie's waiting." He moved away with a wave of his hand, but he was glad to hear a call follow him - "See you later, Andy, see you later." Andrew found himself wishing he really was going to see the handsome Asian boy, later. That night Andrew lay in bed unable to sleep. Not that he wanted to fall asleep. Over and Over again he played the events of the day in his mind. The joy of that wonder save. The agony of the fumble that led to a goal. He closed his eyes and imagined himself playing for the Community College. In the goalkeeper's jersey. Let others score fabulous goals or make never-say-die tackles, for Andrew nothing could match playing in goal. He squirmed round a little and got himself into the ready-for-sleep position. Usually he didn't even have to do that. Usually he fell sound asleep that moment his head touched the pillow. But tonight there was so much to remember. And on to his private screen came Taz Gurpreet. Taz who'd been so friendly, so kind, so ready to say "Well done, kid," and mean it. Taz Gurpreet with those huge brown eyes, thick black hair, long smooth legs that went right up to his... "I wish I'd time for that shower," though Andrew. "I mean, he did give me an invitation. I know he's 13 and I'm only 11, but they did let me play for them." Andrew tried half-heartedly to push the dangerous images away. He wondered what Taz would look like naked with the water bouncing from his brown shoulders. He remembered the time in the shower with Robbie. He wondered if the Asian boy's penis was the same as his brother's, the same as his own. Of course, it would be browner, but he guessed that would only make it prettier. Cocksucker! The word jumped into his head. He felt it on his lips. What would it be like to feel a cock on his lips, between his lips, what would it feel like, taste like? He couldn't help it, he knew it was wrong, but he slid his right hand inside his underpants and squeezed his penis. It was half hard already. He slid the skin back, ran his fingers over the head, it was wet, no, not wet, a little oozy, a little cream. He brought his finger up to his nose and sniffed them. Nothing much. Maybe a little pissy, but apart from that nothing much. Still, he had to taste and slid two fingers into his mouth. He couldn't identify the taste, a bit tangy, but he liked it. He wondered if Taz would taste like that. Did older boys taste the same? Andrew froze. The bed was moving ever so lightly. It didn't take much to move the boys' bunk bed and he expected it was only Robert changing position. No, the movement continued, and now it was a gentle, rhythmic rocking. He strained his ears to listen and caught the sounds - sort of sloppy, almost like little wet farts, and definitely rhythmical. What the hell could it be? He lay absolutely still. Whatever Robert was doing down there, it was shaking the bunk beds. There was a sudden flutter and Andrew risked a peep over the edge. Robert's white sheet lay bundled on the floor. Nights were still warm, so Robert must now be lying practically naked on the bed. He felt another distinct movement as if Robert had raised himself from the bed. Then he heard the faint snap of elastic. It could only be one thing. Robert had pushed his underpants to his knees. The rhythmic movement picked up speed. "I'm not that stupid," thought Andrew. "I know what he's doing. He's playing with himself." The boy wasn't quite sure what 'playing with yourself' involved, but he knew it had something to do with sex. And sex these days was on his mind almost as much as soccer. Making as little movement as he could, Andrew eased his sheet aside, raised his bum, and slid down his underpants to his knees. The bunk beds were fairly rocking now, so he guessed Robert wouldn't notice much. His hand slid to his own penis - no, dick was a better word - and his fingers squeezed the shaft into full erection. He continued squeezing for a few moments, but that didn't seem quite right. That couldn't make those rhythmic sounds. "Mmmmm... what else? Maybe..." The boy's fingers wound round his foreskin. He manipulated the skin down, up and over the head. That felt better. His free hand cupped the little sac that held his balls. The sac didn't hang down like Robert's but he could feel the nuts inside move around a bit. He realised he was moving his foreskin down, up and over the head of his dick faster and harder than before. He hadn't intended to do that, it just happened. He could Robert's breathing now. It was fast and shallow. In time with the rocking of the bed. In time with the sloppy, farty sounds. He wondered what his brother was thinking about. Immediately the images of Taz returned. He and Taz were in the shower. They were standing close together, facing each other, and Taz's dick as long and thick as Robert's. And the hair above his dick was thick and black. And Taz... Taz was 'playing with himself', smiling at him, and playing with himself. Andrew realised he was playing with himself, too. In the shower, in his bed. And he couldn't take his eyes away from Taz. And something was happening... The bed was rocking now. It was Robert below and Andrew above. And Andrew knew what his brother was feeling because he was feeling it, too. This incredible excitement that didn't have a name. This feeling that was not only in his dick, his balls, his bottom, but all over him, so he felt his chest was on fire, his tummy fluttering, his legs locking as if he were going to be struck by cramp. He was desperate to stop, and even more desperate that it might, stop, and... "Oh... oh... oh..." Something terrible, something awful, something amazing was happening. He was squirting himself onto his belly. He knew it wasn't pee. Pee wasn't like that at all. This was something different. This really was part of himself. And his dick jumped in his hand, and the head strained forward like Scoot trying to get off his leash. And the boy's bum rose from the bed, his hips strained towards the ceiling, and his first orgasm spat its seed onto his smooth, childish tummy. Andrew lay there, desperate not to make a sound. He wondered what had happened to Robert, but all he heard was a grunt, and a shift of the bed as his brother turned to face the wall. He risked a little movement. His fingers slid onto his belly. There was wetness, a creamy wetness. He scooped it up with his fingers, brought it to his nose, sniffed it, then licked it from his fingers. Practically no taste at all. Once more he wondered if older boys tasted different. If Robert tasted different. If Jack tasted different. If Taz... then he knew it. He wanted to taste it from Taz, and he wanted to taste it where it came from, even if he had to be a ... cocksucker! ... to do it. Andrew sighed and turned to face the wall. Life was getting to be so complicated, but he'd leave all that for another time. He smiled to himself, and thought, as he feel asleep, "After all, tomorrow's another day." 4 ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE "Great save!" shouted Robert as his younger brother pushed one of his best shots onto the post. "That's the third time you've stopped a certain goal." Andrew beamed. "Let's take a breather and then I'll try taking some corners." Andrew grinned and stretched himself out on the baked grass of the back garden. He appreciated the praise from someone who played in a school football team, even if that person was only his brother. The boy lay on the grass posing for imaginary sports photographers, basking in the applause that thundered round the tiny stadium. If only he were playing this afternoon, but that was the final selection for Year 9 and he hardly expected to be asked to play with them. Still, he'd shown what he could do in the practice matches, and, who knows, maybe he'd caught the eye of Mr Hunter. He wouldn't really mind if he weren't captain of the Year 7 team, making the team would be enough. He dreamed about that nearly every night though last night... No, no, he didn't want another damned stiffy, not here, not now. "I'm going in to get some lemonade," called Robert. "Be back in a jiff." The eleven-year-old lay there in the morning sun, telling himself that he would make goal-keeper, just knew he would. In a couple of weeks he'd be wearing the green goal-keeper's jersey with the No 1 stitched in black on the back. He remembered something Taz had said: "You've got what it takes, kid." Images of Taz came flooding back. Taz, naked, in the shower. He felt a familiar stirring beneath his shorts. "Aw, shit, not now," sighed Andrew though all he wanted to do was reach for himself as the images grew more and more daring. "Hey, Andy, come in here. Hurry up. It's important." Andrew looked up to see Robert shouting from the back door. "Hurry up. It's Mr Hunter. He's on the phone." Stiffy or no stiffy, Andrew didn't intend to keep Mr Hunter waiting. He sprinted for the back door and grabbed the mobile from his brother's hand. "Y-Y-Yes, it's Andrew Morton here." He heard the chuckle in the man's reply. "Hey, calm down, boy, it's only a football match." Only a football match! What football match? "I need you this afternoon," explained Mr Hunter. "Tommy Mitchell's gone and twisted his ankle. I don't want to risk him. How would you like to play for a Year 9 side? You did well enough in the practice games. But if you think you're too small, I'll understand. It's asking a lot, I know." "No, no, it isn't," stammered Andrew. "I really want to play honestly I do." He jumped as Robert goosed him from behind. He covered the phone, turned and hissed at his brother. "Fuck off, Robbie. This is serious." "You still there, Andrew?" "Yes, yes, sorry, sir, it was Robbie, my brother, you know, he was..." Andrew realised he couldn't finish the sentence. "He was...?" prompted Mr Hunter. "Well, he was... congratulating me," gasped the boy. Mr Hunter laughed. "Well, he probably won't be congratulating you this afternoon. He'll be playing for the other side, the 'A' team, and I'll bet he wants to stick a few past you." There was a pause. "Anyway, I'll see both of you at the school grounds at two o'clock sharp. And, Andrew, you'll be wearing the Year 7 goalie's strip. This is your chance to make it your own. Don't fluff it." "Don't worry, sir, I'm no fluffer. I'm the real thing." Andrew couldn't understand the burst of laughter from the other end, but he was too excited to be concerned. "Two o'clock then." "Yes, sir, two o'clock on the dot." Andrew listened to the click of the phone before turning to Robert. "I'm playing, I'm really playing this afternoon. Come on, let's get out there and practise some more. Come on, Robbie, we've only got..." He glanced at the kitchen clock. "...four hours." Robert laughed. "You'll have to practise on your own. I'm off round to Tommy's. He'll be a bit miserable about that ankle, so I'll go round and cheer him up." His younger brother frowned for a moment, then - "Okay, you do that. I'm going round to Uncle Addy's. He'll give me a few tips for this afternoon. But be back here at 1. I'm not going to the school grounds on my own. Okay?" "Okay." "Promise?" "Promise." "Scouts' honour?" "Oh, fuck off." Luckily Mum, who'd gone shopping, had taken Scoot with her, so Andrew was able to hurry across The Green and down Honeysuckle Lane without sacrificing precious minutes to any of Scott's doggy business. He took the back garden wall in a jump and hurried into the cottage through the back door. As quiet as a mouse, he crept through the kitchen, utilities room, his uncle's study, and the living room. He wanted to surprise his uncle, but of his mum's brother there was no sign. "Bet he's upstairs having a nap," Andrew whispered to himself. "Hope that gammy knee isn't bothering him. I want some practice in the garden." He slipped off his trainers and climbed the spiral staircase to the cottage bedrooms. Bang - bang - bang. "What the hell's that?" Maybe his Uncle Addy was doing a bit of D-I-Y. Bang - bang - bang. "Harder, fucking harder." That was his uncle's voice. What on earth was he doing? Andrew stepped up to his uncle's bedroom. The door was half open. He stood to one side and peeked in. At first he couldn't make head or tails of what was going on. There were people on Uncle Adam's double bed. Well, there seemed to be at least two people because he could count four legs. And the legs were...fucking naked! And so were the people. What the hell were they doing - wrestling? It was a big double bed, he'd wrestled on it with Robbie lots of times, but never naked, and never at this time in the morning. Bang - bang - bang. "That's it, Toby. Get it all the way in." Andrew was stunned. One of the naked bodies was Toby Laughton. Not that he recognised him. All he could see was a bum, the muscles in the buttocks contracting and relaxing, as whoever it belonged to rammed himself into... the person below him. But the person below him was, was his Uncle Adam. The voice was a bit strangled but it was definitely his Uncle Addy. Yes, it must be. Because the person on the bottom was wearing his uncle's socks. His legs were locked round the waist of the person on top. It was his uncle's voice, his uncle's socks, so it must be his uncle. The boy suddenly put the jigsaw together. The person on top was fucking the person beneath him. That must be it. They'd been told about fucking in junior school though they'd never used the actual word. He'd even seen fucking, lots of it - the school rabbits, the gerbils, the guinea pigs. That didn't quite fit what he was looking it. Because fuckers were males and females, boys and girls, gentlemen and ladies. But those fuckers, just like humans, had a penis and a vag... a vagi... something or other. But on the double bed was different. On his uncle's bed were two boys. Well, one boy and one man. So where could the boy be putting his penis? At that exact moment eleven-year-old Andrew Morton found out. Toby Laughton raised his buttocks high until his thick, hard erection was held in Adam Daley's rectum only by its head. The sixteen-year-old held himself up on the flat of his hands, then plunged himself in fast and deep. He rose again, paused, then plunged himself to the hilt, his thick pubic hair flattened against the man's buttocks. Bang - bang - bang. The tempo was slower now but the man's head bounced against the headboard, and the headboard bounced against the back wall. By stepping to the left a little, Andrew could see it all in fine detail. He wondered if it hurt. He wondered why they were both sopping wet - had they had a shower before climbing on the bed to fuck? Because no doubt about. That's what they were doing - his Uncle Addy and a Community College prefect - fucking on a double bed and... and what? Were they getting the same feelings as he'd had last night? Would that stuff come out of Toby's dicks? God, the boy had big balls. He could see them swing in their sac. Is that where the white stuff was kept? And where would it go when...? At that exact moment, give or take a few seconds, eleven-year-old Andrew Morton found out. Toby pulled his dick - "Fuck 'n hell, it must be eight inches! - out of his uncle's arse, and jerked it hard and fast. It began to spurt. Spurt the white stuff. Not just three little squirts like him, but four, five, six big streamy spurts that splattered onto his uncle's back. Spurt! Spurt! Spurt! Spurt! Spurt! The spurts slackened and Toby worked the rest out onto the bareback of the man beneath him. Then the boy collapsed onto the man's back in an audible Squelch! That was enough for Andrew. He sensed one, or both, would look round. He backed away, turned and tip-toed down the stairs. In the kitchen he slipped on his trainers. Quietly closed the backdoor behind him, then sprinted across the garden, down the lane, across The Green, over the wall and into his own garden. What the fuck was he going to do? It took him five minutes to figure things out. He'd wait half an hour, no, an hour, because maybe they would have a shower now, maybe it was Uncle Addy's turn to fuck Toby, they'd need some time. Then he'd phone his uncle, give him the good news, and beg him to come to the match. He knew it wouldn't take much begging. He loved his uncle and his uncle loved him and they both loved football and they were both goal-keepers. Yes, that's what he'd do. Meanwhile, he had some time to kill. He smiled to himself and slipped a hand inside his shorts, inside his underpants. He was slippery down there already. Then he began to play the movie in his mind: Toby and Adam Fuck For Fun... but no sooner had it begun than the lead characters changed, and they were Taz Gurpreet and - himself. Had Andrew been in Tommy Mitchell's bedroom at that moment, he would have had no need of make-believe. Robert lay poised above Tommy's stomach stroking the satin skin, circling his friend's belly button with a finger-tip, running his fingers down to the boy's boxers shorts, edging them lower to touch that wondrous, silky black pubic hair. "How come your skin's like this?" "Like what?" asked Tommy edging his ankle to a more comfortable position. "Brown. Tanned, I mean. Not tanned really 'cos it's this colour all winter, too." His fingers traced the outline of Tommy's penis; it was no longer flaccid. Tommy laughed. "Go ahead, Robbie. You can play with it if you like. 'Cos I like! And my skin? Well, that from my great granddad He came from Jamaica. I never knew him, of course, but mum told me a bit about our history. I must have inherited some his genes, I guess." "I bet you inherited this from him, too," said Robert squeezing his friend's semi-hard-on between finger and thumb. "But it means your dead lucky. You don't gave to lie out in the garden all summer just to get a bit of a tan. And it makes you look so..." "So what?" "Aw, shit, Tommy," blushed Robert. "Beautiful. It makes you look so beautiful. Damn, I must sound really gay." "What's wrong with being gay?" asked Tommy raising his bottom from the bed. Robert needed no more encouragement. Using his thumbs on either side of the boy's waist, he edged the boxer shorts to his knees. Released from its cotton confines, Tommy's prick sprang to attention. Robert stroked it in wonder. How could five inches of hard flesh mean so much? "People hate gays, especially boys," said Robert. "No, they don't," said Tommy. "They don't hate them. They're scared of them, especially boys. They're scared 'cos they have the same feelings, too. Not all of them but lots more than you think. Come on, Rob, you've done biology. You know what happens in puberty. We all get flooded with that hormone. What's it called - testosterone, or something? And the brain tells the body, "Go get some! Never mind what it is - just go and get some." "Some what?" "Some sex, you dumb ass. Yes, like that, just like that. Push the skin down, but not too hard. And touch that place just under the head. Yeh, there. That's it, right there." Tommy laughed. "I'd tell you to push a finger up my bum, but you're such a prude, Robert Morton." He paused then went on. "Puberty's a bit like an atom bomb. It just goes off in your body, and you're... you're horny most of the time. That's why we all sit in classes squeezing our dicks. That's why we wank ourselves silly." "That's true," said Robert. "Don't you dare tell. Don't you dare tease him. But I think Andy, my brother, had his first wank last night. He must've thought I was sleeping. He started slow but then he really went for it." "And what were you doing while he was wanking?" asked Tommy. Robert blushed. "Thinking about you. Wanking, too." It was Tommy's turn to laugh. "And what were you thinking? What were you doing? Go on. Don't be shy. Just do it." "Really?" "Yes, really." "I was doing this," said Robert. He leaned over Tommy's stomach. he pressed his nose into the silky black pubic hair. He breathed in deeply. Then, gently pulling the foreskin back, he kissed the head of Tommy's dick. He marvelled at its wondrous colours. The golden brown of the shaft. The purple engorged head with its tiny little slit. The two blue veins that ran intertwined the length of the shaft. The urethra that carried a million little Tommys. The curve of his scrotum. His balls that seemed the size and shape of walnuts. The little hairs on either side of the ball sac. The scents and smells - soap, piss, semen - that filled his nose, his brain, his life with such intoxication he could hardly think, hardly breathe. From light years away, he heard a whisper, "Do it, Robbie. You know you want to." And, oh, he did. The boy's mouth closed over the boy's cockhead. He let the shaft slide into his mouth. His lips ran down the shaft until the cockhead pressed against the roof of his throat. He slid back, then forward again. Gently at first he applied pressure to the shaft. Gently at first he squeezed the side of the shaft with his lips. Later he would marvel. He'd never had a lesson before but he knew what to do. Gently he squeezed Tommy's scrotum in time with his sucking. His sucking! He, Robert, was a cocksucker! That hateful word, but now he knew how it really felt, and it felt good. It felt good and right, as if he were born to do it. Let the world go take a flying fuck. He was sucking cock and he was loving it. Loving it as he loved Tommy Mitchell. He felt a shiver run down his back. Prickles at the back of his neck. "I love you Tommy Mitchell. Yes, I really do. And I love everything about you. There's nothing about you I don't love. And whatever makes you feel good makes me feel good, too." Holding Tommy's hard-on with his right hand, sucking it to the root, releasing it to the tip, then going down on him again, Robert let his left hand slide below Tommy's scrotum. The boy raised his bottom from the bed. Robert's fingers slipped into the hollow, into the crack of the boy's buttocks, his fingers seeking that dark and private place. The tip of his middle finger found its centre. He pressed at the spot. It felt hot and moist. As he sucked, he pushed insistently at this tiny spot that had become the centre of the universe. Suck and push, suck and push. That voice from far away again. "Wait a minute." He felt his hand being removed, brought to Tommy's lips, and his middle finger sucked into the boy's hot, wet mouth. Tommy sucked, he sucked, all was for the best in the best of all possible worlds. Then his hand was lowered and his middle finger again found the spot. He pushed and pushed - and then the universe was his, it opened and flowered for him, and his finger sank in as far as his hand. Once again he knew what to do. He even guessed what he was doing. He was finger-fucking his best friend. He was sucking his cock and finger-fucking his arse. Robert Morton was sucking Tommy Mitchell off, and finger-fucking him at the same. And he was good at it! he knew he was good at it. But he could be even better, even better for Tommy. And this time the voice was closer, this time the voice wrapped itself round him. "Aw fuck, that's it right there. What the fuck's that? Deeper, Robbie. And harder. And faster. Yes, yes. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck meeeeeeeeeeeee!" "I wish we could smoke," sighed Tommy. "What the fuck for?" asked Robert. The boys stretched out on the single bed, sharing the pillow, back against the headboard, Tommy idly playing with Robert's left nipple. "'Cos that's what you're mean to do after some good sex. Just lie back and have a ciggy, relax, chill out." "But I don't smoke. And neither do you?" Tommy laughed. "Of course I don't, dummy. I was only imagining." "Was the sex... good?" asked Robert. "Good?!" said Tommy. "Look at the sheets. I was gripping them so tight, I nearly tore one of them. It was a lot better than good. It was... awesome." Tommy sometimes used words like 'awesome' that nobody else used, but then he went to America a couple of weeks every year, to Florida, where he had some relatives. To a place called Fort Lauderdale or something like that. Robert wondered if there was a real fort there. He wondered what America was like, especially Florida. He knew there was lots of interesting stuff there, like Cape Kennedy, and Disneyland, and stuff like that. He wondered what American boys were like. Did some of them do gay stuff? Would they like to do gay stuff with him? "Hey, beautiful dreamer," interrupted Tommy, "sure you wouldn't like some before you go?" He leaned down and kissed his friend's nipple. "Wish I could come to the match but I've got to stay off this fuckin' ankle for a couple of days. But I can still..." "No, better not," said Robert. "I've heard it drains your energy, and I want to be at my best this afternoon. But...later?" The question in his voice made Tommy laugh and ruffle his hair. "Yeh, later, sweetheart, but not too much later. Look what you've gone and done again." He looked down the bed. Robert's eyes followed. The thin cotton sheet was tented. "Aw, shit," said Robert, "I'd like to just stay and..." "Get off my fuckin' bed. Get your sorry ass outta here. And you'd better grab a hat-trick this afternoon or it won't be my finger up your arse, it'll be..." He reached down and waggled his erection. Robert blushed and swung himself reluctantly from the bed. Then plucking up courage, he turned and leaned over Tommy, and kissed him full on the lips. Tommy pulled him down, and... "You will come, won't you, Uncle Addy? You will be watching?" asked Andrew for the fourth or fifth time. "You just try and stop me, young man. I'll be there at one thirty sharp, in case you want a word or two before the match. Now let me go. I've got a bit of work to do here, but I promise you I'll be there at 1.30. And, hey, is it okay if I bring a guest?" "A guest?" "Yes. It's Toby Laughton. He's been doing some odd jobs round the house today, a bit of drilling and such, and he's staying for lunch. You met him the other day. He thinks you're a hot little goalie, and I know he'd love to see you play in a real match. Okay, then?" Andrew was dazzled. Toby Laughton. A school prefect taking an interest in him. He blushed as he recalled the last time he'd seen Toby. Well, he'd actually seen Toby's clenching buttocks and long, stiff prick, but that made no difference. Toby Laughton thought he was a hot little number. Could life get any better than this? 5 A KIND OF MAGIC Andrew stood, hands on hips, dejected that his side, the underdogs, had thrown away a two-goal lead. He frowned at Robert's little dance of celebration. Sometimes it was difficult to love his own brother, especially when he'd been lobbed from outside the penalty area. He had to credit Robert with catching him off his line, and the lob had been inch-perfect, but no goalie likes to be made to look silly, and he had looked a little silly. "Well, you won't catch me out twice," he whispered under his breath. "Not if I can help it," he promised himself. Five minutes later, Andrew had the chance to redeem himself but not quite in the way he intended. He watched Robert flick the ball past the left back and cut into the penalty. He knew exactly what his brother would do next because he'd seen him practice it a hundred times in the back garden. Robert dragged the ball along the 18-yard line. Andrew knew he'd feint to the left, then turn to the right and slide it into the far corner. "Not this time, you won't," he thought, homing across his path like a missile. Robert sensed the danger and put on an extra burst of speed taking him clear of the on-coming goalie. He steadied himself, raised his right foot - and that's when Andrew hit him full tilt. It looked more like a rugby tackle than anything else, and Robert was sent sprawling in the penalty area. Around the ground came the inevitable cry: "Penalty!" Then Andrew noticed Robert was lying still, eyes closed, hardly breathing. "Oh, no, what have I done?" thought the younger Morton scrambling over to the prone centre forward. He bent over his brother whispering, "Robert, Robert." Within seconds, both boys were surrounded by a bunch of players and the referee. Tears sprang to Andrew's eyes. But the tears disappeared in a flash when Robert suddenly opened his eyes, sat up and shouted, "Penalty, ref. That's was a bloody!" Everyone burst out laughing, even the referee, who could have booked Robert for time-wasting, or play-acting, or bringing the game into disrepute, or whatever. "'Fraid so, young man. Penalty it is." This was addressed to Andrew whose face was bright red. "I'll get you, I'll get you," he whispered to his brother. "I'm going to save this penalty if it's the last thing I do." "Who's taking the penalty?" asked the ref. "Guess that'll be me," said a voice. Taz Gurpreet stepped forward. Robert threw him the ball. Andrew groaned. He knew how hard Taz could hit a dead ball. For a moment, his only plan was to get out of the way of the ball, then he thought, "Don't be such a wimp. You know he's going to aim it for the top right hand corner. That's his favourite spot. Just be on your toes and get up for it." In his heart, Andrew knew he little chance of reaching the ball, but he'd give it his best. That's what Uncle Addy had taught the boys, "You can only give it your best. But nothing less than your best will do." He glanced to his left. Uncle Adam stood on the touchline, holding Scoot on a leash. Beside him stood Toby Laughton. he blushed to remember the last time he'd seen them, then shrugged his shoulders, and got on with the job. There could only be a couple of minutes of the match left. If he saved this penalty, the 'B' side would come away with a draw, and he'd played his part. He watched Taz place the ball on the penalty spot. It would be easier if he wasn't so good-looking. Stop that! get on with it. He watched Taz look at the ball, turn, take a few steps back, turn, run up to the ball and - belt it! What a save! What a wonderful save? The ball was knocked out of its flight and rose to fly well over the bar. What a fuckin' save! But it wasn't Andrew who'd saved it. It was Scoot! Excited by all the shouting, worried to see Robert flat on his back, nervous because Andrew looked so anxious, Scoot had jerked the lead from Uncle Adam's grip, sprinted across the pitch, and flung himself at the football. He'd done it lots of times in the back garden. He usually got petted for doing it. And he made it! The ball hit his body and flew over the bar... while Scoot flew into the back of the net! The dog back on his feet in a tick. Barking with excitement, he bowled the startled Andrew over, leapt on him, and started licking his face all over. Only a few minutes ago, he'd been lying happily at the side of the pitch nuzzling and licking his balls. And here he was now, licking excitedly at his young master. "Get him off. Get him off me," yelled the boy, more embarrassed than angry. Round him he heard gales of laughter. Then he felt his hands taken and he was pulled to his feet. He shook himself and looked up. It was Taz! "That's the funniest thing I've ever seen," laughed Taz. And suddenly Andrew saw the funny side of it, too, and joined in the laughter. The referee stepped forward, tears streaming from his eyes. "Great save," he said, then with a blast on his whistle, he announced the match was over. It had ended in a 2-2 draw, and everybody was happy. Andrew, however, couldn't keep a slight frown from his face. "What's up?" asked Taz. "I got lobbed twice in that game. A good goalkeeper doesn't get lobbed twice." "Hey," said Taz, "don't be so hard on yourself. You're only 11. We're all 13 or 14. Of course, we're going to try and lob you. Even your own brother'll try to lob you." The handsome young Asian paused for a moment. "Hey, tell you what. If Robert says it's okay, I'll give you some practice. My dad isn't picking me up for about an hour. I want to practise my shooting, so having a goalkeeper will be great." He smiled. "Especially if it's you." "Great idea," beamed Andrew. "Hold on. I'll run and ask Robert and Uncle Adam if it's okay, but I'm sure it will be." Andrew was away and back within five minutes. "Yes, yes," he panted. "Robert's going round to Tommy Mitchell's to tell him how the match went. Uncle Adam and Toby have a bit of something or other to do. Then Uncle Addy'll collect me at," he looked at his watch, "at 5 o'clock sharp. That's about right, isn't it?" "Spot on," said Taz. "Let's get started. We want to have time for a shower afterwards, don't we?" Andrew's frown returned for a moment. "Oh, I didn't bring a towel. I thought I'd be going right home now." "No prob," smiled Taz. "I always bring a spare. In fact, I always bring a couple of spares." Andrew's face lit up. "Great. I'm a bit pongy already, so I'll be really pongy by the end of our practice. Let's get on with it." And get on with it they did. Andrew was pleased Taz took the practising very seriously. Taz had wonderful ball control and could lob it within an inch of wherever he chose. Time after time, he lobbed it towards the top corner of the goal, and time after time Andrew had to rise like a lark to touch it away. After half an hour, the sweat was running freely from both boys, and Andrew was loving it. But he was still relieved when he heard Taz say, "Enough's enough, and that's enough. Come on, last one in the shower's a rotten egg." The boys ran fast towards the pavilion, and the school's showers, tearing off clothing as soon as they were inside the single-storey building with its wooden benches three-quarters of the way around, and the open cubicles at the fourth end. It wasn't until Andrew was standing naked under a hot shower, the water bouncing off his head and shoulders, Taz only inches away, that he realised the situation. Everyone else had gone home. The pavilion was self-locking. When they left, all they had to do was pull the door shut behind them. Andrew looked at Taz. The Asian boy was facing away, long and lean, soaping his chest, his armpits, his arms. The younger boy gulped. His penis began to stiffen. He thought of horrible things, dead cats and half-chewed sparrows, and things that Scott dragged into the kitchen, but nothing helped. He was hard, he was erect, he was terrified. What would Taz think of him if he turned and saw his shame. Taz wasn't helping as he bent over to soap his legs and feet. Andrew couldn't take his eyes from the boy's muscular buttocks; they were round, like ping pong balls, but brown instead of white. Then Taz must have been soaping his dick and balls. With standing up, he opened his legs wide, and, truth to tell, he was a bit bow-legged, and the crack of his buttocks opened just enough for Andrew to see... He was hairy, Taz was a little hairy back there. Not much but it was definitely there. Andrew was shocked, not because Taz was a little hairy but because it reminded him how hairy Toby Laughton was back there. He must have shut it out of his mind. But now, as he remembered Toby thrusting himself deep inside Uncle Addy, he saw how hairy Toby was back there. Of course, Toby had hairy legs but the hair sorted of petered out at the top of his legs. But it began again - hairy between the buttocks. Was Uncle Addy like that? What about Robert? No, they'd been in the shower, and he hadn't seen trace of a single hair. But would the hair come later? Would he get hairy like that? He didn't know what to think about it, it was too much, too grown-up, too... sexy. Andrew had to admit it to himself, there was something really sexy about bums, even if they were hairy, maybe because they were hairy. "Hey, do me a favour, Andy, will you? Do my lower back. Can't really reach it." That was Taz, and he was passing the soap to him, and he was asking him to soap his back. Andrew's penis throbbed. All he wanted to do was grab it, jerk it wildly, shoot his white stuff, if there was any, and then, then what? He began to soap the Asian boy's back. He didn't really know how silk felt, but however it felt it must feel like this. Soap glided over skin, and every time his fingers touched skin, they tingled. It was like magic. Taz seemed so fragile, best to glide as smoothly, as gently as possible. "Hey, Andy, I'm not fragile. I'm not going to break. Get stuck in. And do a bit lower. I've ricked the top of my arse." His arse! Taz's arse. The soap slid down the boy's back. Andy noticed a triangle shape at the bottom of the boy's spine. Then the boy's buttocks bloomed into perfect globes. He ran the soap across the right globe. The soap and his hand slid into the boy's crack. As if his fingers had been burned, he whipped them away, but only to return almost immediately. The boy's bum mesmerised him. He could soap it, touch it, feel it forever. If only, oh if only... Taz caught him by surprise. He turned suddenly and looked right at him. Andrew wanted to die on the spot. Not only was his penis erect but his balls seemed to have risen in his scrotum until they'd all but disappeared. He tried to say something but the words were lost in a strangled stutter. All he could do was lower his eyes, and see that, and see that... Taz had a stiffy, too! It was long and hard and brown and purple at the top, and the base nestled in the thick black hair at the bottom of his stomach. Andrew didn't know where to put his gaze, but if it had to be anywhere, this was where he wanted it. But was Taz thinking? He must think him a little freak, a little perv, and little... he wished he knew more words to describe his shame. He would start crying in a moment, and that would end it all. "Hey, hey, c'mere, Andy. It's all right. Everything's all right. I like you, too. I like looking at you, too. I'd like to touch you, too." Andrew pressed himself into the boy's open arms, felt the boy's erection burn against his belly, felt his own stiff somewhere between the boy's legs. His felt Taz's knuckles run the length of his spine, and - "oh, oh, oh," - he was whimpering, and trying to hold the flood back, but it was no use, and he felt his body shudder, his hips shake, his knees tremble, and that stuff was spitting from his body again. And he was pressing it onto Taz, like a school rabbit on heat, he couldn't help himself. And Taz let him hang on, Taz held him tight, Taz kissed the top of his head until... until the story seas calmed into quieter waves, waves that still washed over him but which he could now bear. Then Taz eased him back a couple of steps and whispered, "Hey, look, look at me." Andy looked at Taz's penis. It was long, hard, thick, and just so... "Touch it if you want to. Hold it for me. I'd like that." Andy wrapped his fingers round the boy's erection. His finger touched, just. He knew what to do. He began jerking the skin the length of the penis. He wanted to give Taz that feeling, make him happy, see his stuff squirting from his body. There was more he wanted to do, much much more, but he didn't know what it was. If they had a bed, if they were on a bed, maybe... Taz eased him back. Unwound the boy's fingers from his shaft. Raised his head with his fingertips. "Not here, not now, not like this." "But I want..." protested Andy, not sure what he wanted. "I know, I know, I want it to," said his friend gently. "But my dad'll be here in a few minutes. We don't want him to catch us like this, do we?" Taz's last remarked ended in a little laugh. "Look at the time, Andy, look at the time." He turned the boy so Andrew could see the clock on the facing wall. It read quarter to five. Where the hell had the time gone? "Come on, let's shower for one minute more, then we're out of here, but is it okay if I dry you, all over, and I mean all over." It was Andrew's turn to smile. "Yes, please, I'd like that. I'd really like that." The boys stepped into the full blast of the same shower. They felt the last of the hot water bounce from them, then stepped, hand in hand, from the cubicle as if they'd been newly baptised. "Taz," said Andrew, finding it a little difficult to speak as he was towelled vigorously all over. "Taz, you won't tell, will you? I mean, it's okay, that we like..." He'd almost said 'love'. "...each other and all that, but you won't tell, will you? I don't know what Robert would say. He's probably tease me silly." "Okay," said Taz, "I promise not to tell anyone." "And I promise the same. Not tell anyone. This is just me and you, just me and you, Taz." He thought a moment. "And Scoot. I have to tell Scoot. I tell Scoot everything. Is that okay?" "That's okay," said Taz solemnly. He bent and kissed the young boy's shoulders. "Hey, Taz, can I ask you something?" "Ask away, Andy, ask away." "Well, is it okay for a boy to kiss another boy?" "Yes it is," said Taz, then added, "but it's a very private thing, and you should only do it in private." Andrew turned to Taz. "We're in private here, Taz," he said, looking up into those bottomless brown eyes, "so is it okay if I kiss you here? But only if you want to," he added. "Oh, I want to. I really want to," murmured the older boy, leaning forward to press his brown lips against the warm pink lips of the younger boy. 6 - AROUND THE WORLD IN EIGHTY WAYS "Have you ever been around the world?" asked Taz. "Around the world? I've never even been out of England," replied Andrew. He propped himself up on his elbow and looked at the Asian boy. "Well, would you like to go around the world with me?" "'Course I'd love to. But my mum would never let me. I'm only eleven. Mum always want to know where I am. She treats me like a baby." "Does your mum know where you are now?" Andrew looked down his own naked body. His semi-hard penis lay across his little balls. He blushed. "She doesn't know exactly where I am," he admitted. "But she knows I'm out walking Scoot and that I'll be back by teatime." He stretched himself out on Taz's bed. He loved the feel of the silk duvet under his back, under his bum. The duvet was deep burgundy with gold stitching. The curtains were also deep burgundy, and the deep, upholstered armchair. It was only a bedroom but it looked like a miniature Indian palace. He smelled the incense that burned on the bedside table, the smoke circling upwards. He felt so comfortable he could like there forever. Especially with Taz stretched out alongside him, the boy's brown skin so much darker, so much richer than his home. He looked at Taz's penis - a brown snake hanging across his left thigh. He sighed. He was so lucky to be here, in Taz's home, on a boring Sunday afternoon. Robert had gone off to Tommy Mitchell's again. Then the phone rang. It was Taz! Did he want to have some more shooting practice? Yes! Meet at The Green! Yes! But when he'd arrived at the Green, Scoot prancing around him, Taz had invited him to visit his home. His family were out visiting. They'd have the place to themselves. Yes! Yes! Yes! Andrew was amazed how natural it felt. He hadn't felt shy at all. Of course he was a little embarrassed when he'd stripped off his clothes. He was so small and pale against Taz's beautiful brown skin. But he didn't mind being naked with Taz. He'd jumped on his friend's bed and stretched himself out like an invitation, his penis hard and eager. And Taz had stripped and stretched out alongside him. Andrew thought the sex would start right away. He was a bit scared but he was too excited not to want it, whatever it was. But Taz had done nothing, only talked, and asked him questions, and told him about his own family, his own hobbies, and he'd shown a real interest in him. And now Taz was offering to take him round the world. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he trusted Taz, and whatever it was, he wanted it. "Lie back. Cup your head in your hands. Get really comfortable," instructed Taz. "Now close your eyes. Keep them closed. No matter what, keep them closed. 'Cos we're off round the world. Here we go." Andrew sighed and closed his eyes. He felt Taz's lips against his forehead. Lips, warm and wet. Felt Taz's tongue lick across his closed eyelids, then slide down his little nose." He imagined what that would look like. Taz had a very long tongue, the longest tongue he'd ever seen. Taz's tongue could reach well past the tip of his own nose. And it was pink, not brown. And now it was tracing his lips, sideways. Andrew opened his mouth. He guessed Taz wanted to stick his tongue in his mouth. He liked that. He wanted to taste the Asian boy's saliva against. But Taz only pressed his lips against the younger boy's lips. Then his tongue was licking under the boy's ear, first right, then left. That tickled a bit and Andrew giggled but he kept his eyes shut as he'd been instructed. The warm, moist tongue slide down his chin, down his neck, then headed right across his shoulder blade leaving a warm, wet trail. It retraced its path then lingered in his throat. Andrew didn't have an Adam's apple like Taz so he felt wet kisses pushed into the hollow of his throat. The tongue headed left across his shoulder, then all the way along his arm, his hand, his fingertips. Taz sucked the boy's fingers, one by one. Andrew couldn't help it, his penis was really hard now. He imagined his friend's lips were round his stiffy and he was sucking it like he was sucking his finger. He wanted to reach down, play with himself, work his hard-on, but, no, he had to stay on position, no matter what. Taz's mouth sucked on the boy's thumb for a while then his tongue retraced its path to the boy's armpit. Andrew was taken by surprise. Taz's lips were glued to his armpit, he was sucking the flesh, then his tongue would lick it all over as if he were scooping the last of the ice-cream out of a glass bowl. Andrew wasn't sure why but there was something really sexy in having his armpit, and then his other armpit sucked, and he was a little disappointed when the tongue left his armpit and trailed its wet way to his chest. He felt his friend's tongue trace patterns round his chest, and then felt lips fasten round his right nipple. The eleven-year-old boy had little sticky-out nipples and he'd sometimes felt a bit embarrassed about them, but now Taz seemed keen to fasten on each one, to hold a nipple between his lips and suck it gently. His nipple began to feel erect - Was that possible? - and Taz seemed to be sucking as if he was a baby at a mummy's breast. Andrew couldn't understand why but again he was swept with sexy feelings as the older boy worked on his nipples. He wished Taz would play with his hard-on while he was sucking Now and again his bum pushed up off the bed in sheer desire. The tongue traced circles round the eleven-year-old's belly, stopping now and again to suck at his belly button. "God... God..." thought Andrew, unable to find any words to express what he was feeling. His penis had never been so hard. It actually throbbed and ached. He felt the head of his cock had pushed right out of his foreskin, and that the skin on the shaft was drum-tight. His balls were high in his scrotum. But it wouldn't be long now. Not long until Taz's mouth closed over his erection. Not long until he was deep in that wonderful, wet cavern. He didn't know how he knew it, but he knew it - he knew what Taz was a 'cocksucker' and that it was his cock that was going to be sucked! What a wonderful world! He only wished he was bigger down there. As big as Robert. To give Taz something to suck on. He was so little. Robert said he was big for his age. And after the shower Taz'd said he was big for his age. But he was only three inches when fully hard. And he looked tiny next to Taz. So he hoped he was enough for Taz, that Taz could have a good suck on his cock. And that he, yes, he would get the chance to suck on Taz's big brown cock. How wonderful would that be! And he'd tried to do a good job. Yes, he'd give his best. That's what Uncle Addy had taught the boys, "You can only give it your best. But nothing less than your best will do." Taz missed his hard-on! Andrew couldn't believe it. The older boy's mouth had circled round it, licked the inside of his thighs, but then it had moved on, down his right leg, licking, licking, licking. Then Taz had kissed and licked his right foot, sucked on his toes, one at a time, then returned to his thigh. Now, now, it's got to be now. But, no! Then Taz had licked down his left leg, kissed and licked his left foot, sucked on his toes, one at a time. Let it be now, let it, be now, but, no! "Keep your eyes closed. Turn over," Taz instructed. Andrew turned over. Cradled his head on his arms. Kept his eyes closed. And then gasped as Taz covered his bottom with hundred of little kisses. At first it had seemed silly. the kisses meant nothing, but as Andrew felt the warm, moist pressure on his skin, his penis had hardened again, and he'd pressed himself deep into the silk burgundy duvet. Then he felt Taz's hands on his bumcheeks, felt the long brown fingers split him like a peach. The eleven-year-old's face burned into the pillow. He felt completely open. His most secret place exposed to the other boy's gaze. He tried to tighten his hole. Maybe Taz would just take a peek and move on. But, no, he felt that long pink tongue on the inside of his bumcheeks, and it was licking and kissing there, too. He felt so ashamed, ashamed to be exposed, but ashamed because there was something incredibly sexy about the feeling, too. Imagine Taz wanting to do that. Then he felt it - the hot tip of Taz's tongue was actually touching his... What was the word they'd learned in school? - his... his... his anus. Not only touching it but tickling it with the tip of his tongue, pushing against the tiny opening. Andrew tried to tighten his hole again. But he didn't want to tighten it. No, he didn't want to do that. It was awful, terrible, but he didn't want to tighten it, he wanted to... and he did. He relaxed his hole muscles - What were they called? - yes, his sphincters. There were actually two of them. He remembered that from school. So he made a conscious effort to relax them. And it worked! Because he felt the tip of Taz's tongue inside his anus! Was that possible? And if it was, how much of his tongue could Taz push up his bum? Would it hurt? Would his hole close up afterwards? What if he had to go to the doctor? And tell him! "Doctor, doctor, my hole won't close?" "And how did that happen, young man?" He couldn't tell him, he just couldn't. And if Robert found out, he'd laugh his head off. He'd never let him forget it. But it felt so nice. He wanted to put his own hands down there, hold his bumcheeks wide open, help Taz to help himself. But what would Taz think? Surely he'd think Andrew was rude, a rude dirty little boy, and he never wanted that to happen. But, oh, it felt so nice. And then it came to and end. Why did all the best things have to come to an end? Taz's tongue was travelling up his spine, licking and kissing each vertebra. Then his shoulders. Then the back of his neck. His dad used to do that. When he stayed with him and Robert and mum. Before he left. When dad bathed him, he'd tickle the back of his neck with kisses. Not kisses like Taz's kisses. Dad's kisses. And he missed them. He'd forgotten how much he missed them. And then the whisper at his ear, "Turn over. Eyes closed." And he turned over. And now Taz was kissing his lips, his mouth for real. And he opened to let the long brown snake in. And it tickled his tonsils. And Taz opened up to him, and his little tongue was inside Taz's mouth, his tongue running along those bright, white, shiny teeth. Then Taz raised his head. "Welcome home," he whispered. "Open your eyes." Andrew opened his eyes. There was that beautiful face inches from his own. Those big brown eyes as deep as the pools at the river. That smile only for him. He was so happy he wanted to cry, but instead he whispered, "It's my turn now." "Your turn?" "Yes. To visit my favourite parts of the world." "Are you sure you want to? You don't have to do anything," said Taz quietly, lovingly. "Yes. It's your turn to follow MY instructions. You have to lie back. Close your eyes. And don't look, no matter what?" "Okay, you're the boss," said the 14-year-old Asian boy. "Right," said Andrew. "Stretch out on your back. Hands under your head. Get totally comfortable. Now close your eyes and keep them shut. No peeking. Promise?" "Promise?" said Taz, doing exactly what he was told. Andrew waited a few moments to make sure Taz was keeping his eyes closed. Then he slid down the duvet, and curled himself so that he could lean over the boy's groin. Tentatively he reached out a hand and rang his finger along the sleeping brown snake. He snatched a look at Taz's face. Eyes closed. Good. He returned to the tube of flesh and rang his pointing finger along it again and again. It felt warm and soft but somehow completely alive. He opened a wide space between thumb and finger, circled Taz's cock and gave a gentle squeeze. He felt the flesh stir and harden. He squeezed again and again, but of so gently. The 'snake' was alive now. It filled and fattened. Filled, fattened and straightened until thumb and finger couldn't meet at all. Until Andrew had to circle it with his whole hand, but even then his thumb couldn't touch his fingers. The shaft was long and hard, but it was a funny sort of hardness. It was a soft hardness. Was that possible? And even though it was stiff it felt full of life. The head peeked out of the foreskin, then pushed all the way out, helped by Andrew who slid the foreskin back as far as he could. Not too far. He knew from experience that could hurt. But was so fascinating. The feel, the texture, the throbbing along the underside, the veins that circled the shaft disappearing into the thick forest of black hair at its base. The little eye, so much bigger than his own, that seemed to invite kisses. Could he? Would he? yes, he would. Andrew leaned forward and kissed the head of Taz's cock. He thought he heard a moan, more like one of Scoot's whimpers. He glanced up. His friend's eyes were closed. Good. That gave him permission to do whatever he wanted. And he knew what he wanted. He leaned forward and planted another kiss on the tiny mouth, another, and then another. The head of the boy's cock was wet, and getting wetter. It was almost like saliva. Andrew gave the 'saliva' a tentative lick. What was that taste? It was sweet but it was also slightly sour, just slightly, and in a nice way. Was that because of what Taz ate, what his family ate, what his mother cooked him. He knew Taz's family had two restaurants, or was it three? He'd been to one them. It was called 'Spice' and his meal had tasted a little like this - sweet and sour. Robert's said you had to get used to it. You might not like it at first, but then you'd get used to it, and you'd really like it. He swiped the head with his tongue again. He got more this time. He let it linger on his tongue. Yes, he could get to like this. And after all, it was just part of Taz, so it must be good. He lowered his mouth, circled the head with his lips, and let the head rest just inside his mouth. Wasn't life weird? This was what Taz pissed through but that didn't matter. Well, not at that moment though he didn't fancy a mouthful of piss if Taz suddenly got the notion. Don't worry about that. Nobody would ever do that. So there he was, lying on Taz's bed, holding his stiff cock at the base, hairs tickling his fingers, sucking on the head of his cock - and it seemed the best possible place in the whole wide world to be. He realised his other hand was between Taz's legs, gently kneading the sac that held his balls. Why was he doing that? He had no idea. But it felt good when he did that to himself so it probably felt good to Taz. He kept on sucking, kept on thinking. There was so much to make sense off. Yes, this was what boys pissed out of, but it still seemed 'beautiful'. He couldn't think of any other word. And it tasted just... lovely. That was the closest he could come to describing it - just lovely. Then he remembered something else. Taz had kissed him, long and deep and hard. And where had Taz's tongue been just a few minutes before - up his bum! Not his own bum, of course, up MY bum, thought Andrew. And it didn't seem to matter one tiny bit. Of course, you should keep your bumhole very clean. He'd always been taught that. And now he had an extra reason: keep it clean for your friend because he might want to stick his tongue up there AND kiss you afterwards! It wasn't enough. Sucking the head wasn't enough. He remembered when he'd played 'Oliver' in the school musical. He laughed as he thought to himself, "Please, sir, I want some more," and lowered his head to suck in more of Taz's thick cock. He got half of the boy's cock in his mouth before he gagged. His eyes watered as he let it slide out again. But it had felt good, so taking a deep breath, he went down on it again. Nobody'd told him but he knew what to do. If you slide your hand up and down your hard-on to get that feeling, you had to... He let his mouth slide up and down Taz's shaft, taking in about half each time. He felt his saliva gather in his mouth and run down the shaft. He loved the feeling but he knew he had to do more, he had to speed things sup, so he speeded up the rhythm and squeezed is lips tight against the flesh as they rose and fell. He felt Taz's fingers in his hair. Was that allowed? Who gives a fuck? Maybe if he was lucky it would happen. Maybe Taz's cock would squirt the white stuff. What would he do if it did? How would he know it was going to happen? And when? Should he take his mouth away? Was it rude to keep it there, or rude to take it away? There was so much to get right if he was going to be a good little... cocksucker! That's it! Suck as hard and as fast as you can. So he did. And when Taz to warn him, Andrew ignored him. Ignored the fingers pulling in his hair. Ignored the warning that came from so far away. And by then it was too late. Taz squirted - no, Taz spurted, spurt after spurt into his throat. Andrew swallowed, gulped and swallowed again. There was just too much. He couldn't swallow it all at once. Some escaped from the side of his mouth. Never mind. He'd scoop that in later. For now just swallow every single spurt. That's what he was there to do. And he'd fuckin' do it perfectly. Taz hauled him away, gently, gingerly, hauled him away and up into his strong brown arms. he looked into the boy's eyes. They were glazed, dazed, filmy, far away, but they were triumphant. Andrew cuddled into the strong brown arms and whispered, "Did I do okay, Taz? Was it okay? I did my best. Was it okay?" "Oh, sweetheart," came the whispered reply. "It was better than okay, it was the best, simply the best." Andrew's father used to call him 'sweetheart'. Used to say, "Sweetheart, you're the best, simply the best, better than all the rest." Andrew snuggled deep into the warm brown chest. Outside, in the garden, Scoot barked it was nearly time to go home. 7 - PARALLELOGRAM "Fuck me." Robert was taken by surprise. Not so much by the request. He sort of knew that one day Tommy would ask him to do it. But not today. He'd only learned the thing called '69' the day before, so Tommy's "Fuck me" came as a bit of a surprise. No, it wasn't what Tommy asked as much as the way he'd asked it. It was quiet, tender, insistent, and didn't seem like part of the game they'd been playing on Tommy's mum and dad's double bed. They were naked. They were sweating. They'd tried most things Tommy could think of short of going all the way. And Robert was surprised Tommy hadn't asked, "Can I fuck you?" He was the leader in most things, so Robert expected he'd be fucked first. But Tommy had surprised him, by whispering tenderly in his ear, "Fuck me," and that'd surprised him. Mind you, he'd probably have been even more surprised if he'd been able to see his little brother at that moment. Andrew was sixty-nine-ing with Taz Gurpreet. Though at that moment Andrew was struggling to take all of the Asian boy's swollen eight inches while Taz had sucked in the younger boy's cock and balls at one go. Robert had felt a little guilty, leaving Andrew on a sunny Sunday afternoon. But he knew his brother would take Scoot for a walk, probably drop in at Uncle Adam's, and it was always fun at Uncle Addy's. It was always fun round at his uncle's. he might drop in on the way home, but for now... "Fuck you? You really want me to try and fuck you," asked Robert. "I've never done that before. I've seen pictures, men and women, but I've never, you know... Have you?" Tommy Mitchell laughed and pulled his friend into his chest. "No, I haven't. What of boy do you think I am?" There was a note of protest in the question, but it was far from serious. "Actually, I haven't fucked anyone before, and I haven't been fucked before. So I'll be..." Tommy sang the end of the sentence, "...like a virgin, fucked for the very first time. Like a v-i-i-rgin..." "Shut the fuck up, Mitchell," laughed Robert. "You're a bloody good goal-keeper but you're crap at singing." Robert paused, became serious. "I don't know what to do. Fucking, mean." "Oh, for fuck's sake," said Tommy. "It isn't rocket science. You get your dick hard." He tweaked Robert's thickening penis. "You grease it up. Then you stick it up my arse, and Nature takes care of the rest." "But won't it hurt?" asked Robert. "'Course it'll fuckin' hurt," said Tommy. "That's not a cucumber between your legs, but it's big enough for my little hole. But I don't think it'll hurt that much. If it does, you'll hear me scream like hell. Do you want to give it a go - yes or no? If you don't, that's okay by me. We can go back to the kids' stuff. But I want to feel what it's like to get fucked, and I want you to do it. Just think. You'll be my first forever and I'll be yours - forever." "Okay," said Robert. "What do we do?" "Okay!" said Tommy, a smile lighting up his face. "Go into the bathroom. The one over there. Mum and dad's. Rummage in the wall cupboard. You'll find a big jar of Nivea cream. Go and get it while I fix things here." Robert swung himself from the bed. It felt weird to pad across the bedroom carpet, naked, with his half hard cock bouncing on his balls. In the bathroom he sat on the toilet for a moment. Did he want to do this, fuck his best friend? Yes, he did. But he was a bit worried. What if he was no good at it, what if he was useless? What is he disappointed Tommy? He sighed and rose, turned to the mirror cupboard, opened it and found a big jar of Nivea staring him in the face like an invitation. For a moment he giggled to himself. A weird imagine had come to him, of him trying to shove the whole jar up Tommy's arse, and Tommy howling, "Only the cream, only the fuckin' cream, you moron." Robert straightened his face and stepped back into the curtains-drawn bedroom. There was something odd about the bed. Then he realised what it was. It had turned shiny black. Tommy had covered the whole bed with black bin liners. What the fuck for? Of course! It could get a little messy - Nivea, and sweat, and cum (Tommy's word for semen), and... he didn't want to think about what else. And didn't want to make a mess of Mrs Mitchell's patchwork quilt. Yuk! Tommy sat on the edge of the bed. "C'mere," he said. "Give me the jar. Stand there. Yeh, there, right in front of me." Tommy twisted open the screwtop and got a big gob of Nivea on the fingers of his right hand. With his left he raised Robert's penis. Within seconds it was standing up hard. He stroked the shaft with his cream-covered fingers. He slid Robert's foreskin back and slobbered the head with more cream. "Your turn," he said. "Take a big scoop." Robert took a big scoop. Tommy turned on the bed, held himself raised in his hands and knees, waggled his bum at Robert and whispered, "Do the honours, please." "Pardon?" "My arsehole, you dummy. I'm not having your big prick up my arsehole if it's dry, not matter how greasy your dick is. That would really hurt. Get your fingers in. One at a time, mind. Don't forget, I'm a virgin, fucked for the very first time." Robert took a deep breath and pushed one of his friend's buttocks to the side. He could see Tommy's hole. The skin was a lovely brown. It paled towards the centre of the boy's buttocks, but there, dead centre, it was... a little brown, what? Robert found it hard to think of a word. It was like a little mouth, but it was sort of puckered, as if it wanted to give him a little kiss. He put the pad of his middle finger right on the hole. Wow, it was hot! Not hot really, but it was warmer than the surrounding skin. He began to stroke the little mouth up and down. "That's it, that's it," said Tommy, "but push in as you're doing it. Don't worry, you won't hurt me. Just think what comes out of there, the size, I mean." Robert didn't want to think about what came out of Tommy's hole but the thought of what was going in there excited him and he felt his prick harden even more. Smear and push, smear and push, and... he was in! His middle finger had slid in up to the first knuckle. What should he do now? Wiggle and push, wiggle and push, that seemed the right thing to do. And his middle finger slid right down to where it joined his hand. he couldn't feel anything in there, and, for some reason, he wanted to. "Ready?" he whispered. "I'm going to try and work in two fingers now." "Go for it," whispered Tommy. Two fingers took about ten minutes. He had to take it easy. Too much too soon hurt Tommy. His friend was brave but he could hear the pain in the muffled cries and whimpers. But finally both fingers were in as far as they could go, and Robert was 'sawing' in and out quite happily. "Three," came the muffled voice. "You'll have to go for three. Get more cream on your fingers. You feel a bit dry back there." "Would you like a magazine?" asked Robert. "Something to read while I'm..." "Robert, shut the fuck up and get on with it. This isn't easy on my neck." "Ooops, sorry," said Robert, sloshing a huge scoop on cream on his fingers. Two fingers were easy now. Three were going to take some time, or so he thought, until Tommy suddenly opened up, and his three fingers slid easily into the hilt. He wiggled them about. It felt sorry of mushy in there, when he touched the sides. "That must be the inside of his rectum," thought Robert, trying hard to remember what the diagram of private parts in his Sex Ed. book looked like. For a moment he wished he'd brought it with him, then he'd know where everything was. "That's it," said Tommy. "Get up on the bed and get your dick inside me. Don't think it'll hurt now." Robert clambered up on the bed. It wasn't easy. The bin liners were slippy and the cream didn't help. With one hand he tried to separate his friend's buttocks. With the other he held the shaft of his cock and poked it around in the space between. His creamy skin kept sliding away from Tommy's creamy skin. Where the fuck was it? A few times he got what he thought was the knob of his cock against Tommy hot brown creamed-up centre. But he couldn't be sure. he poked and prodded and though Tommy tried to guide him it was hopeless. Finally Tommy collapsed on the bed and Robert fell onto his back. "S'no good like this," panted Tommy. "Let's try it this way. Get off me. And get off the bed." Robert followed instructions, his erection a bit droopy with disappointment. He watched as Tommy stretched himself full length on his back on the bed. Then the boy bent his legs towards himself. "Come on, get in the space. Let me get my legs over your shoulders. And mind my fuckin' ankle." Robert clambered back onto the bed, in the space between his friend's legs, and hoisted each leg onto a shoulder. Then, kneeling, he edged himself deeper into the space. This was much better! He could look down and see Tommy's face. He laughed as the boy stuck out his tongue at him. Then the boy's look became serious. He reached down his body, and with both hands pulled his buttocks as wide apart as he could. Robert still couldn't see the hole but the geometry was much easier. Almost at once he located the little anus, then felt Tommy's fingers take him and guide him to the spot. He edged his hips forward and lowered his body over Tommy's. He pushed. He pushed again. Something gave, and he was in, at least his knob was in. Wow, and double Wow. Then he heard Tommy moaning and panicked a little. "Am I hurting you? Will I take it out." "No, no, I'll get used to it. It hurts like hell but it's fine, it's okay, honest. Just give me time to get used to it. How you feeling?" Robert looked down into the face below him. Something that might have been love swept over him. He'd always liked Tommy. He couldn't think of anyone outside his family he loved more, and Tommy was letting him do this. He didn't care if they stopped now. This was enough... enough forever. But it wasn't. Though the joiny bit where his knob met the shaft burned a bit, Robert knew he wanted more. Gently he leaned forward, his weight forced another inch or so inside his friend's rectum. He stopped, he waited, he looked at the face below him. Sometimes it was an angel's face, sometimes an old man's, sometimes a baby, and sometimes it was just Tommy, his Tommy. He leaned forward to kiss the boy and his shaft slid halfway home. "My God, my God," sighed Tommy. "It's hurting you, it's hurting you," cried Robert. "I'd better stop." "You do, and I'll fuckin' kill you," hissed Tommy. "It hurts like hell, but there's something... I don't know... it's like making a penalty save in the last minute of the game. You just know you gotta do it. Shove some more in. You have got some more, haven't you?" The last question was giggled, and reassured Robert hurried to comply. He lost his balance, fell forward, and buried his cock in Tommy Mitchell's arse - to the hilt! "Fuckin' hell," yelled Tommy. "I said fill 'er up but not all in one go. It's like I've got a huge shit inside me, a log, fuckin' hell." Robert felt vague proud. "Go for it, sweetheart," whispered Tommy. "That's what we're here for. So fuck me!" With one free hand, Tommy started to work his cock back to erection. Robert grabbed a hip in each hand, eased his cock back, then slid it into the hilt again. Shit, it was hot in there, hot and tight, and his shaft felt it was being gripped by sponges on either side. After a couple of minutes, he found a rhythm, and slid himself in and out, feeling a warmth spread from the base of his cock up his belly, over his chest, round his neck. The same warmth spread downwards, across his thighs, his hips, his arse that suddenly felt all muscly as he clenched and unclenched it. He was doing it, he was actually doing it, he was fucking, and he was fucking his best friend. Whatever happened, nobody could ever take this away from him. He felt the need to speed up. It wasn't a conscious choice. Something was happening to him. He felt less in control. His body was taking over. That didn't seem to matter. That was the right thing to do. He opened his eyes, looked down at Tommy. His friend's eyes were closed. He couldn't work out the expressions on Tommy's face. Was that pain or pleasure? He could feel Tommy's fingers and the head of his cock bounce against his belly. Tommy was wanking himself, so he must be enjoying it, enjoying being fucked. Robert had to go deeper, faster. His cock was telling him that. His thrusts became quicker, shorter, his breath faster, more shallow, the sweat running down his back, into the crack of his bum. He was sweating. More than that. He was wet. All over. Even the hair, falling in his face, was wet. And all the time, faster, deeper, harder. This was the way it had to be. He wondered if... no, he couldn't wonder about anything now, he was beyond wonder, beyond thought. It was time to go home, to drive all the way home, to feel the sweet surrender of just letting things be the way they should. And there it was. But this was way beyond his own hand. This was even beyond Tommy's mouth. This was a thousand mouths and a thousand fingers. This was it. His roller coaster ride. His big dipper. His tunnel of love. Drive in, pull out, drive in, pull out. He wasn't aware of it but Robert, head thrown back, was pounding Tommy now. And Tommy was driving up to meet him, his hand working furiously, savagely on his own cock. Lift off! Splash down! There, there, there! Robert felt himself stream into the boy below. Beyond squirting, beyond spurting, this was streaming. And not just sperm, not just semen, not just cum. This was his entire self emptying into the boy below. This was it - the Big Bang! This was it - the moment of Creation! This was it - the bells of Ying and Yang going ding-a-ling-a-ling! He couldn't breathe. He fell forward. His damp hair flopped across Tommy's face. His lips touched Tommy's lips, mouths opened, tongues searched, each boy breathed for the other, took the other in, became the other. Robert heard himself whisper - "Tommy, Tommy, you just don't know," and he felt Tommy's arms wrap around him, felt Tommy's lips touch his ear, heard words from Tommy he'd never ever forget. 8 - PICKING UP GOOD VIBRATIONS "This rain's never going to stop." "Yes, it will. Stop whining. Get back to bed." "I'm not whining," said Andrew though he knew he was but he couldn't help. "It's probably been raining all night," he said, staring miserably out of their rain-spattered bedroom window. "They'll probably call the match off." "Maybe they will. Maybe they won't. Stop worrying. It's only a friendly. And you won't even be playing of Tommy's ankle is okay." Robert cuddled down and slipped his hand into his Y-fronts. Even the sound of Tommy's name made his penis throb. He had a morning hard-on and he was determined not to let Andrew spoil it. "I know it's only a friendly. I know I might not be playing... but I might. So I want this bloody rain to stop." Andrew imagined his dreams disappearing down the drainpipe with the rain. "Maybe you should phone Mr Hunter and ask if the match's going to be cancelled." "Oh, for fuck's sake, Andy, it's only 9 o'clock. The match isn't till 2 o'clock. Get back to bed." "No, I'm going to stand here. I'll watch the rain. I'll tell you if it slackens or if it looks like stopping." "Don't bother," said Robert, his fingers gently working his stiffy. "Even if the rain stops, the pitch could be water-logged. Then they'll have to call it off." "Don't say that. Don't even think about it." There was a pause, followed by a yelp. "Damn it, Robbie, my gloves, my goalie's gloves. I've left them at Uncle Addy's. I'd better phone and..." The younger Morton, dressed only in Y-fronts, hopping from one foot to the other at the window, never finished the sentence. He was caught in the back of the head by a pillow, his own pillow. Robert had slide from his bed, reached up, got Andrew's pillow, and threw it across the room, catching his brother beautifully. "You... you..." He was no match for Robert but caught him by surprise as he dived across the room. Robert toppled back over a large blue bean bag. Andrew diving on top of him and the wrestling was on! Andy had the advantage at first, forcing Robbie into a crab position over the bean bag. Chests pressed together, the brothers struggled for the upper hand, but with a two-year difference, Robbie managed to turn the tables and get to his feet. The boys did a funny little dance as the struggle continued, but pushing him backwards, Robbie pressed Andy's legs into the bean back. His legs gave way, and Robbie lowered him into the bag. It was Andy's turn for the crab position, his crotch pushing up into his older brother's. Both boys were panting. Robbie put his legs either side of the boy beneath, so they gripped and held him in position. It was Andy who noticed it first. His brother's cock was hard, very hard, and it was pressing against his own. His penis stiffened in response until their two cocks, separated only by cotton Y-fronts, pressed against each other. Andy looked up at Robbie. His eyes were closed. Then he started to move his groin in circles, first left, then right. This time it was their cocks doing the funny dance. Andy closed his eyes. It wasn't Robbie on top of him. It was Taz. And they weren't just having sex, they were making love. He felt Robert's fingers slide inside his Y-fronts. He raised his bum so that he could edge them down. At the same time his own fingers pushed Robert's Y-fronts down his bum. He felt their naked cocks fence. They were on fire, he was on fire, his face burning. He closed his eyes and surrendered to pure sensation. He felt his brother's lips against his neck. Heard the murmur, "Tommy... Tommy..." Bang! Bang! That was their door! That was their mum! "Boys, are you ready for breakfast yet?" The Morton brothers were off each other in a flash, Robert in the lower bunk, Andrew in the upper. The door swung open. "Morning, boys. Remember you asked me to get you up a bit early today. You've got a match, haven't you? And the rain's beginning to ease. So, have fifteen more minutes and then up you get. Breakfast on the table in half an hour." Mrs Morton closed the door gently behind her. Silence hung heavy for a few moments. Then Andrew swung himself down from the top bunk, landing lightly on his toes. "I'm going to check the rain," he announced. "And after breakfast, can we please phone Uncle Adam? Just to check he knows when to pick us up." >From the lower bunk came a muffled something. Andy saw movement beneath Robbie's duvet stop. He laughed to himself, "Sexy beast." The rain had practically stopped. He climbed back into bed, closed his eyes, found his stiffy, and began to relive the weight that had been on top of him only a few minutes before. Most of the images were of Taz but a few of Robert crept in. Andrew sighed. "Aw, shit," he thought. "We are brothers and we've always shared everything after all." Above and below the bed began to jog and jiggle. At that moment, half a mile away, Uncle Adam would not have appreciated a phone call. He, too, was looking out of the window, but he was hardly concentrating on the rain. Standing in front of him, feeling every thrust of the man's penis, Toby Laughton was wondering exactly where his prostate gland was. It wasn't that he disliked being fucked, but to be honest he'd rather be doing the fucking. To be fair, he and Adam took equal turns, but Adam only really enjoyed it when the older man hit the magic spot, otherwise it was all a bit of a pain in the ass. In the early days it had been incredibly exciting, painful but exciting. Now it was a rather routine, and to be completely honest, he'd rather be in bed with Adam, feeling the older man's arms around him, cradling him in the spoon he made with his body, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. He liked making love with an older man. All that slam, bam, thank you ma'am, of his first few ventures into sex with boys his own age had been a bit tedious. He'd loved being seduced by an older man. Seduced? That was a laugh. If anything, he'd done the seduction. He'd hung around Adam's cottage doing odd jobs until he was part of the furniture. He'd worn shorts so tight and skimpy his mum wasn't going to let him out of the house. He'd dropped hints until he despaired Adam Daley was hopelessly straight. He'd got so desperate he'd deliberately run straight into a tree, banging his nose, then letting the blood run straight down his T-shirt and shorts he had to take them off, had to have a shower, had to call out to Adam, "Don't go." In the shower, he'd played with his prick until it was tumescent, as hard as he dare have it without a full erection, then stepped out of the shower with the magic words - "If you try to seduce me, I won't try to stop you." It was so bonkers, he giggled. Then gasped as Adam push his cock in so deep that his pubic hair tickled the college prefect's bum. He gasped again and pushed backwards. That was it, there, right there. He turned his head and felt the man's lips against his, his tongue forcing its way where his cock had been only fifteen minutes ago. "Uh, uh, uh. Yes, there, right there." Damn it, he'd pulled his cock back a bit. That's what Adam did. Took you right to the edge, the hauled you back, making you more desperate to go over every time. "Boys? Who needed them when you had a real man?" He giggled again. He sounded like something out of a porno movie. Boys. An image popped into his mind. He was kneeling on Adam's behind, his lover below him, on all fours. He was taking him from behind, driving so hard and fast into him the man's head was bouncing off the headboard. Then he'd caught a glimpse of a boy, in the wardrobe mirror on the other side of the room. At first he thought he was seeing things. No, it was a boy, a young boy, standing just outside the bedroom door, eyes wide, mouth open. He'd seen the boy before. It was young Andrew Morton, Adam's nephew. He'd popped into the garden a couple of times when Toby was pruning or weeding or mowing the little lawn. He had a dog. What was the boy's name? Scotty? No, that was the dog, but it's name wasn't Scotty, it was something like Scoot. And the boy wasn't Robert. That was his elder brother. What was the younger boy's name? Anthony? No, not that. Aaron? No. Andrew, that was it. Andrew Morton. Yes, Andrew Morton. Andy. He'd met him at the match. For some reason he was keeping goal for Year 9 though he was just... what eleven? Yes, that was it. He was eleven and he was coming up to College in a few days. Bloody good little goal keeper. And bloody good-looking. But then so was his brother Robert. So was their Uncle Adam - his Adam, who... "Fuck me!" That hit the spot. Adam was hunched over him now, going hell for leather. But considerate as ever, Adam was jacking him off at the same time, his hand reaching round Toby to work his prick furiously. Toby reached and pushed the hand away. It wasn't that he wasn't appreciate of the man's concern, but he wanted him to concentrate on his own orgasm. He wanted his man-lover to come in fountains. Then he wanted them to go back upstairs, into the tiny bathroom, where Toby wanted to try something he'd read about on one of those erotic sites he'd found on the Internet. He wasn't sure if Adam would be up for it. It was pretty far out, but the worst that could happen was he'd say no. Toby giggled as Adam bounced him back and forward against the kitchen sink. Nope, that wasn't the worst that could happen. Even worse would be if the phone rang in the middle of it. Now that could really be messy. If a phone had rung, it wouldn't have bothered Jack Driver or Mr Hunter. They were expecting the phone to ring. They were expecting a series of phone calls from the team. And the news was good. The pitch for the friendly match had dried out so much during the summer that last night's rain had only softened it, in fact had made it a lot more playable. And the forecast was good. Things should dry out by lunchtime and conditions would be perfect in the afternoon. "Do you think you'll give Tommy Mitchell the whole match?" asked Jack, sipping at his second mug of tea. He'd been round at Coach Hunter's since 9am. Mr Hunter was a bachelor, so he hadn't disturbed anyone by arriving so early. And he had his own key. "Not completely sure, Jack. What do you think?" "Well, we've got Andy Morton ready to sub. if you think a whole game's too much for Tommy. But I don't see much point playing him. He won't be playing for the Year 9 team in school matches, and, anyway, Ritchie Martin will be back from holiday at the weekend." "That's what I'm thinking, too," mused Mr Hunter, shifting closer to his team captain on the couch. "But young Morton's done so well in the practice matches, it's only fair to give him some of the match, even if it's only the last fifteen minutes. He's obviously going to be the Year 7 goalie this year. Hell, if he was two years' older and six inches taller, he'd be challenging Tommy for first choice keeper." Jack grinned and ran his fingers across the man's groin. "It's that six inches that really matters, isn't it, sir?" "Is that all you ever think of?" laughed Mr Hunter, feeling the boy's fingers coax him towards erection. "We're meant to be thinking about team selection, not about how you're going to make me happy." "But I like doing that, sir," whispered Jack, edging down the man's zipper, "making you happy." He struggled to free his teacher's cock before it reached full length. There it was. "This is a lot more than six inches, sir." Jack turned and put his mug on a coffee table. "It's more like eight, maybe nine. Can I measure it, sir?" As he spoke, he eased the older man backwards and raised his legs till he was stretched full length on the couch. "Measure it," said Mr Hunter, sighing as Jack edged open his trousers, and tugged his them and his shorts to his knees. "How are you going to measure it without a ruler?" "Like this," winked the 13-year-old boy. Jack lowered his lips to the man's straining cock and ran little kisses the length of the shaft. He looked up for a moment. "And if the phone rings, you answer it please. I'm a bit busy." Three streets away Tommy Mitchell waited for the phone to ring. "Where's that lazy blighter?" he thought to himself. Typical of Robert. He could move like greased lightning on the soccer pitch but ask him to get up early on a non-school morning - no way. He wondered what Robert was doing. Probably in bed, probably asleep. Well, he, Tommy, was in bed but he certainly wasn't asleep. Tommy opened his legs wider and pushed the vibrator in a little deeper. He wondered if his mum had bought herself a new one. He wondered if she ever suspected her only son had purloined her special friend. He wondered if she noticed how much Nivea was being used. Ah well, now that he had Robert he might have less need for a vibrator. But he didn't think so. It was comforting to lie in bed, play with his hard-on, and fuck himself with a solid six inches, even if it was only ribbed plastic. It needed a new battery. Two nights ago, he'd actually fallen asleep with the vibrator inside him, switched on! What is his mum had come in? And found her son, naked, ass in the air, with her buzzing vibrator protruding from his arsehole. But she wouldn't do that. She was a good sport, his mum. She respected his privacy, and he respected hers. He'd heard her being fucked again last night. maybe he'd have a new uncle at breakfast. He'd had lots of new 'uncles' at breakfast since his dad had walked out on them. Maybe the new uncle would be good-looking. Maybe he liked boys as well as women, sons as well as mothers. Maybe he wouldn't need the vibrator after all. Tommy laughed at himself and turned back to his book - 'Lord of the Rings'. It was pretty heavy going, but at least it reminded him of Elijah Wood. Mmmmm... he wouldn't mind Elijah being Lord of his Ring. He sighed and pushed the vibrator into the hilt. 9 - ALL OR NOTHING "Okay, lads, we're down two-one but that's to be expected when we're up against a breeze like that." Mr Hunter smiled at the sweaty, muddy boys who packed the benches. "Belmont are a very strong side, don't forget. Remember, they aren't a school side, they're a club side so you expect them to be that much stronger. Now listen. This is how we take advantage of the wind in the second half." Andrew Morton couldn't listen. There was only one question, and it filled his head. "Will he or won't he? Will he or won't he?" He risked a glance at Tommy Mitchell. The Year 9 goalkeeper sat on the bench, next to Robert, leaning forward, listening intently to Mr Hunter's instructions. He'd played really well in the first half. No sign of the ankle injury, and he'd had no chance with the two goals. Andrew's emotions were mixed. On the one hand, he desperately wanted to play. On the other, he recognised he was being a little selfish. He shook his head and cleared it of any notion of playing in the second half. He looked across the changing room at Taz. How could Taz be so relaxed? He was leaning back against the wooden wall, eyes half-closed, head resting against his football shirt. He'd taken if off immediately they'd come in, wiped his armpits with it, and stuck it behind his head to rest on. Andrew watched the sweat trickle down his friend's brown chest. The younger boy didn't realise it but he was licking his lips. He wondered if he'd get a chance to see Taz in the shower. Not much hope if he didn't get a game in the second half. He knew Taz liked him, liked him a lot. Andrew shied away from the word 'love', that was a girly word, but he knew Taz really cared about him. It wasn't just the sex... though they both liked the sex, a lot. "So that's settled," said Mr Hunter. "Young Morton's been a great help to us, so we'll give him the last fifteen minutes regardless of the score. And if he screws it up, don't blame me. That was Tommy Mitchell's idea." Mr Hunter grinned at Andrew. "Better close your mouth. It's too big a target for their centre forward to aim for." Andrew got a grip of himself and joined in the laughter. "Okay, boys, two minutes. Last chance for a pee." Half a dozen boys strolled to the open urinals, fishing themselves out as they went. Andrew made his way over to Tommy and Robert. A little sheep-faced, he muttered, "Thanks, Tommy, hope I play as well as you." "No chance," laughed Robert. "Nobody does it like my Tommy." "Or like my Andy." That was from Taz who'd joined the little circle and put his arms round Andrew's shoulders. "Oh, ladies," came a voice from across the room. "There's no time for a love-in. We've got a match to win, remember." The team scampered out onto the muddy field. The Belmont side were already there. Andrew gulped a little as he saw the size of their players. Some of them dwarfed him. He'd bet some of them even shaved. He walked over to where Uncle Addy was standing with Toby Laughton. "Well," said his uncle, pulling on his pipe, "you can only go out there and do your best. And the other thing, too." "The other thing?" echoed his nephew. "Yes, the other thing, Andy. Enjoy it, just enjoy it." >From the restart College almost equalised. Robert picked up the ball from midfield and sent an inch-perfect pass through to Taz. It looked like a certain goal, but as Taz tried to dribble round the Belmont goalie, their keeper pounced and nicked if off his feet. Andrew couldn't help but clap his hands. He felt his uncle's hands on his shoulders, and heard the words, "Too right, Andy. Bloody good save that. Took a bit of courage to dive in that mud, at those feet." The game became an exciting end-to-end battle as both teams threw themselves into it. Belmont came close twice but Tommy was on the spot, once to knock it round the post for a corner, then to tip it over the bar. Uncle Addy chewed on his pipe, glanced at his watch, murmured, "Twenty minutes to go." Andrew wished he'd gone to the toilet. Then another goal. The ball was punted hopefully forward. As it dropped, Jack Driver flicked it on, and there was Robbie Morton slipping through to volley an unstoppable strike past the Belmont keeper. The crowd, all fifty of them, went wild. It was a wonderful strike in anybody's book. As he ran back to the centre circle, Robert saw Mr Hunter signalling Tommy and the referee. He was making the promised substitution. He felt a pang in his chest. Andy looked so little running onto the field, and, as he passed, the Belmont captain reached down and ruffled his hair. Andy pulled on his gloves and too his position in College goal. He had that look on his face. What Robert called his Gandalf look: thou shalt not pass. Two minutes to go. Still anyone's game. Then disaster. Belmont took a corner. College crowded the penalty area. Over came the ball. Their centre forward rose to head it goalwards. But the header was weak. It was Andy's ball all the way. But Robert was unsighted. The ball came at him out of the blue. It was heading for his goolies (balls). Instinctively he tried to protect himself. The ball hit his hand and bounced harmlessly out of play. "Penalty!" Up went the cry from the Belmont supporters. Robert sank to the turf and cradled his head in his hands. The referee had no choice. Penalty! Andrew settled himself on the goal-line. He felt curiously calm, sort of detached from everything. Tommy'd run up to give him a word of advice but he hadn't heard a word of it. he looked over at Uncle Adam. He was smoking his pipe, acting, for all the world, as if nothing much was happening. Andrew looked at the goal around him. This wasn't their mini-goal in the backgarden. This wasn't even the half size things they used for practice matches. This was the real thing. And the real thing was huge. He watched their captain pick the ball up, wipe the mud from it. Andy noticed he'd missed a couple of muddy streaks. He watched the lad place the ball on the penalty spot, turn and take a few steps back. Andy couldn't help smiling. He remembered Scoot's penalty save. Well, Scoot wasn't here this time, so he'd jolly well have to save it himself. The spectators hushed. Mr Hunter wiped his hands nervously. Even Uncle Addy removed his pipe, moistened his lips, and whispered something to Toby Laughton. The Belmont captain turned to face up. Beyond him stood Taz. What was Taz doing? He wouldn't, he couldn't. Andy blushed. Nobody else'd realise what the Asian boy was doing, but Andy did - Taz was blowing him a tiny good luck kiss. The Belmont captain stepped up to the ball and... Andrew's last thought was a bit of advice his uncle had drummed into him. "Pick one way to dive, right or left, and stick to it. Don't change your mind, just do it." The striker hit the ball, he hit it very hard, it flew towards the left corner, just as Andy dived right. Andy felt something smack against his legs. It was the ball! It went spinning into the air right in front of the empty net. Their striker went for it. Robert went for it. Robert got their first and whacked it out of play. In fact, he whacked it right out of the ground, over the bushes, and into the stream. The referee blew full time! It was a draw! College had pulled off a draw against the stronger club side in the district. The College players mobbed the Morton brothers in sheer delight. They were joined by Mr Hunter, Uncle Adam, Toby Laughton and Tommy Mitchell. As everyone jogged to the changing rooms, Uncle Adam turned to Mr Hunter. "Damned fine save that, Eric." "Nothing I wouldn't expect from my Year 7 goalkeeper, Adam," smiled Mr Hunter. The years rolled away. Both men remembered their years playing for College - Adam Daley in goal, Eric Hunter at centre forward. So many memories of great football memories, and so many other memories to share, too. 10 - HERE WE GO The rain had started again. It was hammering down. A crowd of boys hung round waiting for their turn in the Belmont showers where the water was already lukewarm. "Right, College," shouted Mr Hunter, immediately getting their attention. I can take half a dozen of you in my car. The rest of you can grab rides home with parents. See you all Monday afternoon at training. Once again, well done!" Mr Hunter's car was a 'people carrier' and within moments it was packed with boys, muddy ones in the back, clean ones up front. Uncle Adam and Toby Laughton rode up front with the driver. In the back, laughing and joking, Jack Driver, Robert Morton, Tommy Mitchell, Taz Gurpreet and Andrew Morton squeezed muddy knees and thighs together. "I've got a couple of bathrooms at my place," called Mr Hunter. "Let's hear if you want to go there for hot showers, then something to eat and drink." A unanimous "Yes, sir!" rang through the carrier as it swung left onto the main road. The drive took only fifteen minutes, and Andrew was thrilled to be included as 'one of the boys'. It was the most exciting day of his young life, and it wasn't owner. "Right, you lot, off with those muddy boots and stockings," instructed Mr Hunter just inside the back door. "Might as well get those strips off, too. No, Tommy, you can keep your underpants on till you get to the bathrooms. There's one on the first floor, a second on the third. Now get your arses upstairs and give them a good scrubbing. Toby, you might like to help Adam, Mr Daley, and I make up some sandwiches. On second thoughts, maybe you'd better supervise the showers. I don't want the bathrooms flooded if it can be helped." Before he'd finished speaking, there was a stampede up the stairs. Andrew, shielded by Taz, got to the first floor bathroom, dived in, and, as Taz followed him in, slammed and bolted the door. No time to argue, the remaining three headed for the second bathroom, which, as it turned out was double the size of the one below. Inside the bathroom, Taz turned on the hot tap. He was about to pull down his underpants when Andrew, a little shyly, put his hand on the older boy's waist and whispered, "Can I?" "'Course you can," said Taz. "It's your big day. You can do whatever you want." Andrew dropped to his knees in front of Taz. He backed the bigger boy under the shower, then leaned forward to ease down his white, clingy underpants. Taz's cock sprang free. Without being touched, it stretched, hardened, elongated and stood up against his belly. Andrew leaned further forward, pulled the big cock towards him, eased back the foreskin and licked the purple, engorged head. The hot water bounced from his head, bounced down Taz's belly, ran through his thick black pubic hair and down the shaft of his cock. Taz gasped as he felt the younger boy's lips run up and down the shaft, felt the boy's fingers squeeze his scrotum, felt the boy's middle finger stroke the crack in his arse. The sound of the boy's slurps could be heard above the cascading water. Directly above them, sharing a shower, Jack, Tommy and Robert, naked, let the hot water bounce from their upturned faces. Their soapy bodies gleamed in the subdued lighting of the bathroom. "This is nice," murmured Robert. "It sure is," came the muffled reply. Robert was startled to feel pressure against the back of his neck. It felt like... it was Tommy's lips! Tommy was kissing the back of his neck with Jack Driver only inches away. Stunned and embarrassed, and blushing brightly, Robert pulled away. "What you doing?" he gasped. "He's doing this," said Jack, stepping into him, and kissing him full on the lips. "But he'd like to do this." Robert felt a hand round his cock. It had already begun to harden in the heat. "No, what I'd really like to do is this." Robert looked down. Tommy was on his knees. As Jack held his cock, he saw Tommy lean forward and slip the head into his mouth. Felt Tommy's hands round his bum, pulling him in deeper. Heard Jack's whisper at his ear. "Hey, Robbie, take it easy. Tommy and I used to be... you know. But then he found you. But that doesn't mean we can't celebrate together." Robert felt Jack's hands cup his jaw, pull him forward, run his tongue against his lips, seek entry. He opened to Jack's probing, allowed the boy's tongue to slide in deep, pushed it back, then let his own slide into Jack's. Below, he felt Tommy's head bob up and down on his cock. The sensations were overwhelming. He was french-kissing with Jack while Tommy deep-throated him. He tried to think, to make sense of it all, but thinking wasn't really possible, and, to be honest, he didn't want to think. Just to feel, feel and feel again. Jack was sliding his tongue down Robert's body, pausing to nibble at his nipples, to probe his belly button, and then, oh then, there were two tongues on his shaft, no, one tongue licking his shaft, the other tickling his scrotum, then back to the shaft. One mouth half way down his shaft, the other tonguing at his balls, his perineum, his crack, his most private and secret place. Robert lifted one foot and placed it on the bath, opening his buttocks to the probing tongue. This should be dirty, but it wasn't. This was his body to do with as he pleased, and if it pleased his two friends to treat him this way, he would enjoy their pleasure. Robert threw his head back, let the water batter on his face, clutched at the hair of the boys below him, knew that this ecstasy couldn't last forever. "I wish this could last forever," sighed Taz. He was washing Andy from head to foot, savouring every delicious inch of the boy. He'd visited India twice. He'd seen older boys wash younger boys in the sacred river. What he was doing now was sacred, worshipping with his soapy finger every inch of the satin-skinned youngster. Andy murmured, "Yes" and leaned into his older friend. How could anyone be so lucky? "Bath towels are out here. Come and get 'em." The voice was Toby Laughton's. The reply came from Jack Driver, "On our way." The bathroom door opened. "Dry yourselves in 'The Loft'," said Toby. "I know where The Loft is," laughed Jack. "I'll bet the towels are on the radiators." The boys skipped nakedly across the landing into the huge guest room called The Loft. It stretched the length of the house and was really three rooms knocked into one. Stepping in, Robert saw the biggest bed he'd ever seen. To call it a double or even king size was silly. It was a double king size at least. And the room was warm, wonderfully warm. Robert was startled to see Jack and Tommy dive straight onto the bed. They began to wrestle but it wasn't really wrestling, it was sex! "Hey, wait for me!" That was Toby, and he was scrambling out of his clothes. Robert could hardly believe his eyes. Naked, Toby was more man than schoolboy. Slim but surprisingly well-muscled, his broad shoulders revealed why he was the county's champion freestyle swimmer. But it his cock that startled Robert most. It swung heavy and free, like a small hose pipe. It must have been all of ten inches and it wasn't even hard. Toby dived onto the bed and joined in the free-for-all. Out of the melee came Tommy's voice. "Hey, Robert, come on. Get on the bed. It's no fun without you." Another voice echoed him. "He means that, Robbie. The little mutha fucka is in love with YOU!" Tentatively, Robert edged towards the bed. A hand reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him onto the bed. He felt the warm of boys' limbs enfold him. He heard someone whisper, "Here we go." He sighed, glad to be there. "I'm glad to be here with you," sighed Andrew, nestling between Taz's thighs. "Is it okay if I...?" "Go on. Help yourself," laughed Taz. Andrew cupped Taz's scrotum in two hands and raised them to his face. He felt hairs tickle his nose. "Do you think my balls will be as big as yours one day?" he asked. Taz, perched on the side of the bath, ruffled the boy's hair. "'Course they will. You're already a big boy for your age." "If you think I'm gonna be big, you should see Robbie. And he's got lots of hair, too." He paused. Then, "Do you think Robbie does it with other boys, too?" he asked. He remembered the morning and the pressure of Robbie's crotch against his own, the hard shape of his brother's cock pressed against his own. "Not sure," said Taz, "but I wouldn't be surprised. Robert and Tommy Mitchell look like they've got the hots for each other." "That's nice," said Andrew, pressing his cheek against the older boy's brown inner thigh. "Nice for them I mean. Hope they're as happy as us." Taz raised Andrew and position him between his thighs, making just enough room for Andrew's bottom on the edge of the bath. His own brown cock stuck up between the boy's thighs. It looked as if he had two cocks, one long and brown, the other shorter, and pale pink. Gently he pressed them together. Andrew looked at the erections and giggled. "They're just like us," he said, "the long and the short". He was glad Taz hadn't come yet. That meant the best was yet to come, for both of them. The boys stood up together. Taz leaned over Andy and pulled him into him, his hot hard shaft pressed against the smaller boy's lower back. He considered the idea of bending the boy over the bath and sliding that hot hard shaft deep inside him. He guessed Andy would be willing. But he was only eleven, so small you could hardly make out his anus. And there was no hurry; they had all year together to look forward to. "Hey, where are the towels?" asked Andrew. "There's only these little face towels." He hung a blue face towel on Taz's erect penis. Both boys laughed. "Bet they're in the upstairs bathroom. Or in The Loft," suggested Taz. "The Loft?" queried Andrew. "Come on. I'll show you." He opened the bathroom door, took the boy's hand and led him upstairs. Andrew followed, wondering what The Loft was, and what might he happening there. His brother, Robert, was also wondering what was happening. He knew he was stretched out on the double bed. He knew he was sucking a cock; it felt and tasted like Tommy's. He knew someone was sucking his cock; was that Jack or Toby? But why were his legs in the air, bent double so that his knees touched his stomach? He felt a hot tongue licking his buttocks. He laughed to himself. That must be some kind of joke. But then the tongue was between his buttocks, deep between the cheeks, and, oh, my God, it couldn't, it wouldn't, but it did. Someone was licking his... it took him some time to admit the word... arsehole. Someone was licking it, lapping at it, running his tongue round, across, over and... the tip of the tongue was pressing at his backdoor, his back passage. He wanted to protest but the sensations were too much. The mouth round his cock, the cock in his mouth, and, yes, he had to admit it, he liked the wet warmth of the tongue probing his anus. He felt his buttocks being pulled apart, not too wide, but wide enough so that he must be wide open to whoever was between them. His legs began to shake. His tummy to flutter. He felt faint and light-headed. He didn't know where to concentrate. It was all too much, all too wonderful. In the distance he heard a couple of creaks. Were those his knees? They sometimes did that after a hard match. But he couldn't focus, couldn't concentrate. All he wanted to do was let go, to surrender, to sink in the cotton-wool bliss around him. The Loft door creaked open. Taz and Andrew stood there, wide-eyed, trying to make sense of the scene. From loud speakers, hidden somewhere in the beams, music washed over the boys writhing naked on the bed. Had they been able to pay it attention, they would not have recognised it though it was difficult not to respond to it. Downstairs, Mr Hunter and Mr Daley recognised the music. It was they who had put it on, and set it to play again and again. It was Donna Summers. And she was singing, "Love to Love You, Baby." Taz carried Andy to the bed. Their towels fell away. He placed Andy at the end of the bed, then straddled his chest, his long brown legs on either side of the small pale lovely boy. He fed him his thick brown cock again. Andy swallowed half the cock and sucked on it like a hungry baby on his bottle. Andy raised his arms behind his head and found a world of flesh. He let his small hands and fingers play in the world of flesh: cocks and balls, legs and thighs, hair, bum cracks, hot little places. He kept his eyes open. He couldn't see much. Mostly the thick black hair at the base of Taz's stomach, but it was oh so beautiful, and he loved to love it, baby. "Baby, baby," sighed Eric Hunter, sipping again at his champagne. "Takes you back, doesn't it, Adam?" "It surely does," agreed Adam Daley, "though all we had was your narrow metal army bed. And we certainly didn't have those speakers or those cameras." "Mmmmm," said Mr Hunter, "but had each other." "And half the school," laughed Adam. "Your nephews are beautiful boys," said Mr Hunter, "and damn fine players, too. I'll be appointing Andrew captain of the Year 7 after training on Monday. He's earned it." He returned his attention to the screen. Beautiful, just beautiful. "I wonder if it's genetic," mused Adam. "What?" asked Mr Hunter. "This 'gay' thing. That's what they call it now, gay, don't they? I mean, first there's their father, then there's me, and now the boys." "Mmmmm," said Mr Hunter. "I'm not sure. I've been in teaching nigh on 25 years. It happens, it always happens. Boys experiment. They try things out, and they like to try things out with each other. They feel safer that way. Girls are a different thing altogether. Girls are scary, so a lot of boys stick to each other. Some 'grow out' of it. Some are made that way. Time will tell; it always does." "You're right," said Adam. He gestured towards the screen. "How long are we going to give that lot?" "Oh, as long as they need, I guess." "Which gives us time..." Adam put down his glass, leaned towards Eric, and kissed him on the lips. He sighed. "Boys are fine, but there's nothing like a real man." "There's nothing like the real thing," sighed Andy as Taz's swollen cock swung over his face. "Close your eyes," whispered his lover. "Here it comes." Then he felt them, hot spurts across his cheeks, his nose, his mouth - hot spurts of Taz, hot spurts of love. Inches away, Robert felt hot spurts, too. His cock spurted wildly into the air. Another cock spurted wildly onto his chest. Two fingers, or was it three, eased out of his arsehole. For a moment he wondered where Andrew was, and wondered if Andrew would ever feel like this, so... so... blissed out. Taz, taking the younger brother's cock and balls into his mouth together, knew that in a couple of minutes Andrew certainly would. Outside, across the wood, across the stream, small boys kicked a ball around in the sunlight breaking through the last of the rain. They'd watched the match. They'd watched their heroes. They wanted to be just like them. And if they wanted it badly enough, someday soon they, too, would be playing The Beautiful Game. THE END OF THE BEGINNING