A WARNING. This story is a work of fiction, and none of the characters or places described exist, and therefore bear no relation to anyone living or dead. The story contains explicit details of a sexual nature and if this might offend you, please do not read it, or if in so doing you will break any law that applies to you wherever you may be.

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A story by Rafael Henry


Part one


Charlie and I have been friends for three years now.....ever since starting at secondary school. We're both in year ten, and just starting our exam courses proper. Charlie likes school more than I do. Because we're fond of each other, we help each other with things like homework, of which we get far too much in my opinion. We go to an academic school where all the departments are competing for our undivided attention through the tons of homework they throw at us on a daily basis. Charlie is better at maths and science than me, but I'm good at the arts subjects, especially art and music. I'm going to study one of those when I finally get out of the place in.....I don't know.....four years time? That sounds like a long time to me.

It might sound a bit odd to you, but Charlie and I are fond of each other. To be honest, it's a bit more than just `liking'. We need each other. Lots of boys feel that way about each other....I hope? We text or phone all the time because that's what us kids do. I admit there are relationships between boys and girls, proper friendships, and relationships. This is where we get into deeper water I suppose. As I have implied, my friendship with Charlie goes a bit further, and if I'm truthful, further than our parents would approve of. They might understand, albeit grudgingly, that boys do go through `stages', but it's a good job they are not aware of the `stage' we're at. No. It hasn't gone on long enough to be that obvious, or deep enough to tell all the world. It's a private thing between us, and nothing to do with anyone else. That's our view of it.

You might wonder how it started? The usual way I suppose. He made the year seven football team and I nearly did. We chatted in the playground a few times, and I began to think about him in bed from time to time. I've seen him in his knickers in the changing room and was interested in what I saw. He's seen me too, and I happen to know that I was noticed. I started to think about him in bed a bit more, and realised I wanted to be proper friends with him, so I invited him round one weekend. We had a nice time going round the town, getting something to eat, and then going to a film. It nearly happened in the cinema. We were both thinking about it, but neither of us had the courage to actually do anything, like touch the other person. We laughed about it a couple of weeks later...after he'd invited me to sleep over at his house. Bingo!

The average Mum isn't going to worry about two eleven year olds sharing a bed are they? No, not really. Well some might I suppose. The point was that there was only one bed in Charlie's bedroom.

`Is that a problem boys?'

`No mum...that's fine. Tom can sleep on the floor if he wants.'

Tom didn't want, and Tom didn't have to. Neither of us had had the courage to touch each other in any way up to that point. All that changed the first night at his place when we shared that lovely big wide bed together.

Here's how it happened. Issue number one.....what do we sleep in? We were up in his room after tea and sorting stuff out generally. I asked him...

`What do you wear in bed Charlie?'

`Depends I `spose...how hot it is...whatever I feel like. Nothing sometimes. What about you?'

`The same really...I've got pyjamas for tonight.'

`Oh. That's ok then. I don't like them.'

`What....me wearing them?'

`No stupid....me wearing them. You can do what you like.'

`I'll do what you do then. What will you do?'

`I dunno....some pants maybe...and a tee shirt.'


`Yeah.....as you're here. I wouldn't bother if you weren't here, but seeing as you are here, I'll put some pants on I suppose.'

I think deep down I was disappointed to hear him say that.

`Oh, ok then. I will too.'

TV after tea, some polite chit chat with Charlie's mother, and then a feeble excuse to get up to the bedroom. I have to admit to a few butterflies in the tummy at that point.

`We can get ready for bed if you want Tom?'


Oh my goodness. I watched him undress. It was tee shirt, shorts, and then socks off whilst sitting on the edge of the bed in his pants. There was a distinct bulge at the front I noticed. Either he was considerably better endowed than I was, or he has a partial stiffy. I was far too nervous to have anything other than my usual little shrivelled walnut whippy thing. I was also down to my underwear by this time.

`Are you going to wear them?'

Apparently not. He went over to the cupboard, rifled through a pile of stuff and extracted a pair of plain coloured brief pants. I don't think mine are the height of fashion, but obviously not up to par as far as Charlie is concerned....or is there some other reason?

`Ok, thanks.'

I took the little cotton garment and thought to myself....ok, here we go'.

Charlie watched as the striped number I was wearing came down and off my feet, to be rapidly replaced by Charlie's ever so slightly loose substitute. He is a little bigger than me generally....and in other ways too by the look of him. He looked at me and smiled.

`Are you ok in them?'

`I think so. Do you think I am then?'

`Umm. What about me?'

Just a tad speechless, I just nodded my approval. We didn't bother with the tee shirts. The walnut whip was just a little less whippy now, pleasantly in repose in its slightly oversized dwelling place.

We did the bathroom stuff together when I got a good look at his penis for the first time. My first thought was `is it bigger than mine?' Answer...oh yes. It was in every way....longer, thicker, and less skin hanging off the end. We did the boys' thing and peed in unison into the lavatory bowl, mine at an angle as the foreskin tends to redirect the flow fractionally, often in the wrong direction. Charlie's got his foreskin to come back over the head, so no such difficulties for him. I think his extended at least an inch during the piddling process. I was ever so slightly intimidated, but I needn't have worried.

Teeth done, we made our way back along the landing to our room passing another door on the way. Charlie's people are not poor, hence the five bed house in a nice suburb of the town. There was a small square piece of card with `ROBBIE LIVES HERE SO KEEP OUT, hand written in black marker pen, attached via sellotape to the door. I glanced at the instruction and thought, ok, fair enough. I had met Robbie before.

Did you ever see that film `Home Alone'? Robbie, in my opinion, bears more than a passing resemblance to Mac, as he appeared in the film, supposedly aged eight. He wasn't.....he was actually eleven when he made that movie in 1991. My mother bought the DVD for us three years ago or so. Anyway, you can't go round to a friend's house and not see little brother if he happens to have one. Robbie is three and a half years Charlie's junior, which means he is generally a bit of a nuisance to him....to be tolerated but still a nuisance quite a lot of the time, and Robbie of course likes to tease his older brother. He's one of those physical boys who seem to invite a kind of admiration from others. He's what my mother would call `cute'. I hate that word, but I suppose I have to agree....it's an apt description of Robbie. Cute.....and how.

Robbie would have his tea with us which meant I had some knowledge of his cheeky personality. I have to say I found him passably amusing and I think he had noticed. I found myself glancing regularly in his direction hoping he wouldn't suddenly glance back at me and catch me looking.

There's a teacher at school who does that to me. I am aware that he looks at me quite a lot, so I keep looking at him to see if he's doing it again. When I catch him looking, he looks away quickly and busies himself with some papers or something like that. I never said anything to the others about it because I don't want to get the bloke a reputation. Once that sort of rumour starts, there's no stopping it. Anyway, I'm quite flattered that he even wants to look at me. It's like that with me and Robbie. He knows I have a look and he plays up to it.

Charlie is, in my opinion, nice looking but not spectacularly so...certainly not pretty. He's a boy's boy...quite sporty and...all boy if you know what I mean. There's nothing girly about him at all. Put it this way.....if we were husband and wife, he'd be the husband and I would be the dutiful wife in the pinny. My duty would extend to the bedroom of course. I would know that he wanted it before bedtime. He'd let me know in that oblique way of his....some subtle or not so subtle innuendo whilst watching telly after dinner. Then in bed it would be a hand on my breast, and then it would slip down lower as his breathing quickened. I know what to expect....insufficient foreplay to get me nicely wet in there...and the realisation that by the time he's come, I'd be nowhere near. I would have to see to that particular matter myself later. Of course I would let him have his way, and in any method of his choosing. I smile as I lie on my back, legs wide apart, and accept him into me, often painfully fast. I know what he likes as he fucks me hard, into me as deep as he can get. I play with him back there because it will make him come quicker, and that's what he likes. There, it's over now, and much better this way round than the other. It was my period last week and I'm still sore back there, but that's my Charlie and I love him.

Yes, that's how it would be with me and Charlie.

You might wonder how I, at the tender age of fourteen going on fifteen, can write that sort of thing about a man and woman and sex. No problem. I'm very well read in many matters, and that's just one of them. Besides if I'm curious, all I have to do is consult the net. We all do it. In my case I read my mother's magazines which can have very illuminating articles in them about the female orgasm and what they want their husband to do for them...and vice versa. And what about man on man sex then? Does any adult on the planet imagine we don't know what's possible in those circles?

One of my chosen subjects to read for my GCSE's is History. Our course includes Ancient Civilization. I happened to delve into the life and habits of the Emperor Tiberius recently.....a very unpleasant piece of work who invented lots of ways to have a good time. Having collected up from the villages a dozen or so of the most eligible boys aged between eight and ten, approved them as fit for purpose, and then he, or his assistant, would train the boys to swim around with him in the pool at his palace on Capri. He called them his `minnows' or `tiddlers'. They would swim around with him tickling him between the legs with their tongues. How's that for kinky? And that's not all. I can just imagine Robbie performing that particular task very nicely for the very nasty Tiberius.


I know what Robbie's up to, the little perisher. It's quite a clever little scheme he's got going there. He's worked out that I find him amusing so he's playing up to that...the coy smiles and little glances in my direction...and the other stuff. It's a very subtle teasing campaign on big brother isn't it? Wind up brother by trying to distract his mate? Then there's the other stuff I just mentioned. The weather is warm at the moment being June and all that. We wear shorts when we are not in our school trousers. Why does he have to lean back in his chair like that, with his feet up on the front and his legs wide apart? He knows exactly what he's doing, as he gives me another one of those smily glances. Bad boy. His mother notices.....

`Robbie, sit properly please.'

`Why? What's wrong with the way I'm sitting? It's comfortable....I like it.'

He adjusts his position slightly to placate his mum, but if anything it's worse now. At least he's wearing something under his shorts. He tries not to laugh. Charlie looks annoyed. I make a point of not taking any notice, but I have.


`Can you shut the door properly please Tom? Don't want Robbie poking his nose in.'

`Would he?'

`No, not if my door's shut. He wouldn't dare....especially if you're here.'

`What about your mother?'

No problem there. What mother of a teenage boy would go unannounced into her son's bedroom after the door has been closed for the night? Very few, hopefully, and please not this one.

Robbie certainly wasn't going to disturb us. His mother insists that his door is left ajar at night. As we passed, I could just make out his bed in the corner of the dark room. He was lying on his side facing the wall partially covered by his blue and white patterned duvet, bare shouldered in the warm atmosphere, and thankfully asleep. Then Charlie says...

`Do you want to have a look at the little brat?'


We crept in and the sleeping figure didn't move. As we hovered over the sleeping figure, Charlie says

`Have a look at this Tom.'

Charlie deftly drew back the duvet that covered the lower part of his younger brother until all of his tummy and the upper parts of his legs were revealed. He was sleeping naked. Robbie's right hand was jammed between his legs which were slightly open. His thumb had forced his boy balls upward which had tightened the skin around them. You could see tiny red veins in the stretched skin within which lay his testes. Robbie's penis lay to one side, the foreskin tight on the partially revealed head.

I whispered to Charlie.

`What's he been up to then?'

`He's fallen asleep in the process by the look of it.'

We both chuckled.

`Do you want to touch it Tom? He won't wake up. Go on...he wouldn't mind anyway. He fancies you something rotten.'


`He does.....definitely. Haven't you worked that out? Do you want to then?'

`Want to what?'

`You know.'

`You're kidding aren't you?'

`No. I'll turn him over for you. Kneel down here. Are you right handed? Watch this.'

Charlie applied gently pressure on Robbie's shoulder. The slim body stirred slightly and then he obediently turned onto his back. The compact but very beautiful sex organ was completely accessible now as it lay flaccid on the soft warm skin....pelvic bones jutting from his flattened tummy, hands to his sides. The hand that lay between his legs had gone, leaving the testes relaxed between his legs side by side.

`Well go on then.'

`I can't Charlie. What if he woke up?'

`So what if he does. He'd be very pleased to see you. Go on. He won't wake up.'


Ten minutes later....

We kept our pants on when Charlie and I got into bed. I was feeling very odd after our visit to the slumbering Robbie, and Charlie was right. Robbie didn't wake up. We talked about this and that for a while, avoiding the issue that we both wanted to address urgently. We lay facing each other with a foot or so between us. Then Charlie came out with it....

`Do you do it then?'

`Umm.....now and again. How about you?'


`How often?'

`More than now and again.'

`How often then?'

`Most days....probably every day.....once or twice.'

We laughed at that.


`Yes.....and so do you probably.'

`Do I?'

`Yes, probably six times a day.'

Well actually no, he's wrong there...five times is my record, but I didn't argue the point.

A pause.

`Did you want to in the cinema the other day?'

`Yes, but I wasn't sure you did. Did you?'

`Yes, but I wasn't sure you did.'

More under the covers laughter.

`Do you want to now?'

`Yes I think so. Do you?'

`Yes, but have you before...with someone else....another boy?'

`No. Have you?'

`Yes, but it was only....'

`Only what?'

No answer, but I knew who it was. It must have been Robbie.

`Was it Robbie?'

`Umm. He wanted me to show him how, sort of thing.'

`So you did.'



I don't blame him. I would imagine it's common amongst brothers not too different in age. Charlie hadn't taken his eyes off me for five minutes.

`Are you ok Charlie?'

`Uhuh. Do you want to come closer?'

I answered by edging nearer to him. I could feel the warmth of his body now.

`Do you mind putting your arm round me?'

I did. It was the first time I have ever shown or demonstrated affection in a physical way to anybody apart from relatives, and certainly not another boy. I found the gesture intensely exciting. Was this making love? Was this sex?

I could feel Charlie touching my skin...around my shoulders and down my back. I did the same for him as we closed the gap between us completely. I could feel his hands go lower. A moment later his hand gently was gently rubbing my bottom. His hand went first to one buttock and then to the other, but thankfully not in between. I wondered what I would do if his hand delved in between my bottom cheeks. I had no idea. I was however, very conscious of what my penis thought about it all. He thought it was all great fun.

Charlie and I closed the gap between us completely which allowed me to touch the skin of my friend. Up to this point I had only admired his skin from a distance, usually in places where one gets to see more of other boys' bodies than you do in a classroom...the gym changing room, or the showers. Now I was running my hand down Charlie's back. Up and down I went, not quite knowing where I would go next. I think Charlie must have sensed a certain reticence on my part because he whispered in my ear....

`Just do what I do Tom.'

Ok, problem sorted. I knew I could always rely on Charlie for a pragmatic solution to a problem.

Charlie's hand was on the back of my head. His other hand had a very firm grip on my testis, which was rather liking the attention. I had a nice handful of Charlie's testes. They felt interesting as I moved them around in my fingers, and bizarrely reminded me of an illustration in my Human Biology textbook, and they also felt worryingly larger than my own. I graduated to Charlie's penis. Oh dear. Not only are Charlie's balls in the Premier league, but so is his penis.

The first kiss that Charlie planted on my lips didn't last long. It's not that I recoiled exactly. No, it was just the realization of what had happened I think....the shock of it I suppose.

`Sorry Tom.'

Don't be sorry Charlie. It was nice.....it really was. He's my friend and if he wants to plonk his mouth on top of mine, then that's ok with me.

`That's ok Charlie. Can I do it to you?'


I had to share with him my concerns about my inadequate sexual organs.


`What Tom?'

`I think your bits are way bigger than mine.'

`No they're not Tom. Yours are nice. I love your bits. I do...really.'

Sweet! Now that's the kind of friend you want.

He squeezed me again.....harder this time.

`Does that hurt Tom?'

`No. I like it.'

`Shall we take our pants off now?'

Yes please, but...

`Can I do it for you Tom?'

Oh yes please.

It's only one small article of clothing. We'd kept ours on thus far, and all the feeling had been felt through one single layer of white cotton.

Charlie was on his knees between my legs. His hands were all over me, as they say.....chest, tummy, the tops of my legs, and the tips of his fingers just inside my pants. It was intensely erotic, and I am overwhelmed by a flood of Charlie's loving. Everything I knew and thought about Charlie flowed through his hands and into my body during those moments.

I gripped his arms and pulled him down.


It was a strange realization that I was with another person. Hands around heads now as our breath was forced into each other. Our lips hurt from pressing too hard, unskilled loving, mouths wet with our saliva.

I couldn't believe what had just happened.....it was just too wonderful.




That was more than a year ago now.

I can remember going down to breakfast the next morning. Robbie, bare chested and just in shorts, was already working on his bowl of cereal, one elbow on the table, the other hand holding his spoon and moving the little square objects from one side of the bowl to the other. He gave me one of those sideways knowing looks of his with a hint of a smile. Had we woken him last night?

I felt my face redden at the possibility.....had he been aware of our intrusion the previous night?

My lips felt sore and I suspected they might even be slightly swollen. I looked at Charlie. His mother busied herself at the sink. She had undoubtedly noticed the dishevelled state we were in. That might not be the only thing she had noticed last night.

A month later, Charlie's larger than normal single bed had been replaced by two single pine beds, deemed more appropriate to accommodate him and an overnight visitor.

`Now your that little bit older Charlie...' his mother had said to him. She'd dealt with it reasonably, but firmly. After all, if there had been separate beds in Charlie's room, the boys wouldn't have had the opportunity would they? She blamed herself really. No, Charlie is far too old to share his bed with his friend. She should have known. Oh well, what's done is done, and it's not going to happen again. She'll see to that.


I sat opposite Robbie at the breakfast table that morning. He kept looking up at me. Charlie had been called out into the hall to talk privately with his mother about something. I had to deal with Robbie.

`Why do you keep looking at me Robbie? Is there something the matter?' I asked, getting ever so slightly pissed off with him.


He looked down with that revolting `little boy who had got the cream' look. Then he says...

`Did you sleep ok Tom?'

By now I was furious and upset. It must have been so obvious. I could have gone round the table and pushed his pretty little face into his corn flakes...or whatever they were. Shreddies actually.

When Charlie came back into the kitchen, he looked upset. Anyway, that was it. Charlie and I had finally got over our inhibitions and indulged ourselves in a good helping of very pleasurable activity. I had never done it with a boy before, but now I had, and I wasn't in the least bit sorry.

We went up to his room and sat on the bed in silence. I didn't ask him about the conversation he'd had with his mother. His face told me all I needed to know.

The price of love and affection eh? Why?

I'd never seen Charlie cry before. Of course I held him, who wouldn't have. I couldn't bear his distress, and I was the cause.


We needed time and opportunity to reflect on events and answer a few questions that we both had, like `do we want to go on with this thing'?

Later that day, we walked to the public library for a browse. Charlie was the first to raise the issue.....

`Tom.' He said, quietly and thoughtfully.

`How do feel about what happened last night?'

I was expecting a question like that this morning. I had decided that I would be honest with my friend. Hopefully he was still a friend.

`I'm ok Charlie. I'm really glad it happened actually, but I would understand if you're upset about it. I know you are, and I'm really sorry.'

He stopped and turned towards me and smiled

`I'm ok too...I think.'

It was like the time that morning in his room, but this was in public, and in the Public Library for heaven's sake. We managed to get ourselves into the corner of the children's section.

Charlie's jumper felt soft and smelled new. It is new....bought a week ago by his mother. A girl, quite young, looked at us, and then averted her eyes and went on reading. `Little Women' probably, or `Black Beauty' maybe? I don't know. I let Charlie's arm go, aware of the little girl's staring.

Charlie wasn't finished yet, his body turned into the corner of the shelving, and still needed me close to him, or so I thought. I saw `The Jungle Book' in front of me on the shelf. There a printed label on the edge of the shelf....Rare books. It looked like an old one. I took the faintly tatty volume off the shelf thinking it might distract Charlie if I showed him. I turned the pages carefully. My father had taught me how to handle books properly.

It was beautifully illustrated, and the boy did bear a resemblance to Charlie....but an even greater one to his younger brother. Mowgli leaving the jungle. I imagined Charlie, naked like Mowgli, leaving the jungle. I looked through the volume and found more.

Touched Charlie's arm again, just a gentle stroke of my hand down his forearm.

`Get off me Tom!'

So there we were. There I was not knowing.


After that day we had to careful to choose when and where we met to. We had talked about and had decided we wanted to continue something physical together. We used my house more often than not because my parents were both at work so there was an opportunity after school, of which we took some advantage.

Everything required a degree of planning. By the time Charlie had seen two weeks of his fifteenth year we had both decided we wanted it, seeing that experience as perhaps as it turned out, the catharsis of our relationship. I wasn't ready to stop, but Charlie was.

He had decided that girls might conceivably have something interesting to offer him. I couldn't hide my disappointment but it's his life. Whatever happened, we decided, we would remain friends for life.



Robbie's life had progressed from the year six brat that he was, into a new year seven pupil at our school, having passed as we had done three years ago the County Test for entry into selective education. Grammar Schools are now considered politically incorrect these days, but our county were still fighting to keep the fifteen or so single sex schools they still had. Ours has a tradition that goes back to sixteen hundred and something apparently, and I have to say I'm not ashamed to be part of it.


I was over at Charlie's place the evening before Robbie's first day. He showed us his new uniform which involved, interestingly for me, stripping off in Charlie's bedroom. I hadn't seen him nude for a long time...not since that night when Charlie had turned him over in bed for a view of his brother's handsome nether regions. That was a bit naughty of us...especially Charlie. Later that night, I had wished it had been me.

Robbie had everything new, from his socks up to his striped House tie. The whole performance was I suspect, or rather I hope, for my benefit. I just had a feeling it was. He abandoned the pair of horrible novelty knickers he had on, for a more sober little number, which I much prefer as it happens....plain and simple with enough room inside to not feel too restricted. Once pulled up into position, he treated us to a rather girly twirly routine to give us the full benefit of his lovely eleven year old body.

The image of Mowgli reappeared.

He held the pose so that we could admire his perfect and fulsome cotton clad bottom. I joked...

`You're not going to do that in the changing rooms I hope?'

Charlie and I laughed. Robbie looked slightly annoyed that we found it funny.

Robbie completed the ensemble by pulling over his head his new and pristine navy blue jumper with the thin bands of pale blue around the V neck. Perfect. I added to my last remark...

`Well I suppose you'll do. What do you think Charlie? Will he do for us?'

`It looks like he'll do for you Tom.'

Oh dear. Unwise comment or what? Just a little uncalled for perhaps. It rather hurt me, and I felt my face flush. Of course Charlie knows.

Robbie gave me one of those looks of his...almost expressionless but somehow full of meaning. The act of donning the jumper had ruffled Robbie's fair hair and his skin had a pink flush about it now, rather like mine as it happened. I stared back at him. I think Charlie had noticed that too.

`I'll be back in a minute.....leave you to it.'

Charlie left the room closing the door behind him. A moment later I heard him talking to his mother downstairs. Robbie took a couple of steps towards me.

`Am I ok Tom?'

I sensed just a moment of anxiety in his voice.

`Yes of course Robbie. You look great. I wouldn't lie to you would I?'

`Wouldn't you?'

`No, I wouldn't, not about anything.'

`So, would you tell me then?'

`Tell you what?'

`Anything about me?'

`What's that supposed to mean Robbie?'

`I mean, would you tell me what you really think about me? I know about you and Charlie. I know what you do. So does mum.'

`That's none of your bloody business Robbie. Anyway, we're not friends now. Not like that.'

`So what's wrong with me then? You don't like me do you? You think I'm a nuisance, and stupid. I'm not stupid Tom. You're never nice to me....ever.'


I'm at home now, and in bed picturing in my mind the image of Robbie as he prepared to clothe himself, and nude. Am I ok, he asks.

Robbie has grown in the last year in every way. His arms have yet to fill out, his shoulders too are those of a young boy...quite narrow and bony below his slender neck. His face has lengthened somewhat but still has the charm of boyhood...the pale blue eyes and the wide mouth and nicely formed lips always left slightly apart to reveal a little of the tops of the rows of teeth within. Gone is the rounded tummy to be replaced by something more mature, flatter and firmer. His limbs are longer now, thighs that promise strength in a year or so perhaps, but not yet. Man-cub.

Charlie and I are still friends thank goodness. We've known each other for far too long not to be friends, despite the occasional falter. I still sleep over at his too, but things are different now. Robbie has changed, not only physically but in terms of his attitudes to things. We get on well now.

One evening we met in the bathroom there, quite by accident. I had walked in, in my pyjama bottoms, and found Robbie already there, similarly clothed as I was.

`Oh, sorry Robbie!' and retreated.

`Don't go Tom.'

I stood beside him as he wiped the toothpaste from his mouth. He put the brush and flannel down on the edge of the basin. His head was lowered and he looked preoccupied.

`What's the matter Robbie? Is there something wrong?'

`No, not really.'

`Well what then?'

He lifted his head to look me in the eye.

`Am I still ok Tom?'

I just had, in an instant, a thought that excited me.

`I don't know, do I Robbie?'

`What don't you know?'

`About you. I haven't seen you have I?'

`Seen me?'

`Yes. I haven't seen all of you.'

`Can I show you then?'

`Yes, of course you can.'


Robbie showed me his body in the bathroom that night.

I've seen fourteen year old boys at the same stage of sexual development as an eleven year old, and the reverse too. Robbie simply lowered his pyjama bottoms enough to show me. I'm in the first category. I think it is happening, just about. It hasn't happened for Robbie yet. Nowhere near.

`Can I see you too please Tom?'

I pulled the front of my pyjamas down and showed him.

`You haven't got any hair Tom.'

`I have, but it's very fair Robbie. Look.'

He did, at some length, and about twelve inches away, peering at my nether regions like a professor examining a priceless painting.

`Not much. I haven't got any.'

`I can see that. Are you worried about it?'


`Good. You make a beautiful man-cub Robbie.'

`Like Mowgli?'

`Yes, just like Mowgli. Turn round please.'

Man cub stood perfectly upright and still as I traced a line from his hair line, his neck and down his spine towards the coccyx. I stopped a couple of inches before reaching it. To go further would have been too close.

I did it several times.

`Can I turn round now?'

`Yes, you can turn round now.'

There was just the faintest smile on Robbie's face when he showed me.

I nodded and smiled.

`Big man cub eh?'

His smile broadened.

`You big man cub too.'

We admired each other for a few seconds.

`I haven't seen that for a while Robbie.'

`Not since you woke me up?'

`When did I wake you up?'

`Don't you remember?'

Yes, I do remember now.


On school days Charlie, Robbie and I usually had lunch together, unless of course Charlie had been kept back for a few minutes by a teacher he had annoyed during the last lesson of the morning. He was apt to do that. Today, Robbie and I had been early in the queue and were sitting down with a plate of what we called `flat meat', roast potatoes and a small serving of cabbage....plus an ample amount of that dark brown gelatinous accompaniment known as school canteen gravy.

Robbie seems to have dropped into a more challenging academic world very nicely, coping, so Charlie says, very well with an explosion of demands made upon his time. He looks well on it anyway....two weeks in and a uniform still in more or less mint condition. That's quite good going for a year seven.

When Charlie eventually joined us, moving a compliant year eight boy sideways to make space for himself, he informed us that another friend of his was joining the fortnightly sleepover this coming weekend. Neither Robbie or I said anything at first, or even looked up. I was the first to react. Robbie looked like he was thinking deep thoughts.

`Oh, that's nice.' I said, trying to sound jolly.

`Yes, but it's a question of who goes in what room. What do you think Tom?'

`Well, as he's not been before, perhaps he should go in with you.'

I tried hard not to sound annoyed. I can just feel myself being elbowed out here. And there was the girlfriend thing too, although I'm not sure how that's going, if at all.

`That's a fair point Tom. What do you think Robbie? It's going to affect you most.'


`Because someone will have to come in with you, that's why.'

`Oh. But I don't know this bloke do I? Who is it anyway?'

No answer to the second question.

`Ok, point taken. Tom will have to share with you then. Is that ok?'

I looked at Robbie who made a point of not looking at me, or so it seemed. Robbie didn't want to sound too keen.

`I suppose so.'

We ate our lunch without any meaningful conversation, which is difficult anyway in that place full of noisy boys chattering, and the sound of plates being cleared, scraped clean, stacked, and cutlery thrown into a large stainless steel bowl.

I watched Robbie leave the table. We don't wear our blazers in there for obvious reasons. Robbie had dropped his knife noisily and with his back to me, bent almost double to pick it up. We notice when another boy does that, and we look. That's what boys like me do. We look. I noticed Robbie, and a flutter of nerves went through me.


He stood up, knife in hand, and turned towards me. I smiled. He smiled back, putting his head back slightly, which told me that he knew. He knew I had looked at him, the beautiful boy cub.


I found out who the new friend was...the boy that is, not the girl. I wasn't really bothered about her. He's a sporty character know as Miff. Don't ask me why he's got that nickname, I don't know. Apparently he's in the year ten football team with Charlie, so that says it all as far as I'm concerned. Charlie had a practice after school, so I walked homewards with Robbie, laden down by a very heavy school rucksack. I had very little in mine.

`Here, you have this one Robbie and I'll take yours.'

`Thanks Tom. I s that ok then...about the weekend?'

`Yes Robbie, it's ok. I think I can just about put up with you for an hour or so.'

`An hour or so? I thought it was all night? Charlie said it was all night?'

`I'm just teasing you Robbie. It is all night.'

`Well don't tease Tom. It's not very nice is it.'

`No, it's not. Sorry.'

We walked on down the road. Robbie's head was down and he clearly didn't want me to see his face. I put my hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

`Sorry . I didn't mean to be unkind'.

He didn't answer, but still kept his head down.

`Are you still my Boy Cub?'

He nodded, face still down. A few seconds later he enquires....

`I thought I was Man Cub?'

`No, not yet. You're still Boy Cub I think, but you can be Man Cub if you want?'

`No, I want to be Boy Cub.'

Facing me now, I put my fingers under the boy cub's chin and applied enough gentle pressure upwards so I could see his face. He wasn't quite recovered.

`I'm sorry Boy Cub. Do you forgive me?'

If anything it made it worse when I said that.

`I'll forgive you if you let me call you Man Cub?'

`Ok. MC and BC. Agreed, but only when we're on our own.....when no one else is there ok?'

`When will that be?'

Like Charlie's, Robbie's room was equipped with two single beds...pine ones that matched....and three foot wide. I know that because I have measured them. Both beds had matching duvets.....nice blue and white sky designs. The pillow cases were pale blue. Miff, Charlie and I had had enough TV, and Robbie had packed up about half an hour earlier. Miff and Robbie did their bathroom stuff together, and I followed them five minutes later. I popped my head round Charlie's door to say goodnight. There was one bedside light on and both boys were in their beds, their top halves uncovered, and discarded clothes left in two heaps on the floor between them. Charlie, on his back with his hands behind his head spoke.....

`Nite Tom. Will you be ok in there with him then?'

`Robbie's asleep so....'

`Oh. Anyway, we won't disturb you, but if you're not up by nine we'll come and get you ok?'

I smiled and closed the door behind me.

I looked at Robbie as I shut our bedroom door. His bedside light was still on and he was lying on his back with his shoulders uncovered. I couldn't resist it. I slowly drew back the summer weight duvet that had covered him. Robbie had one hand on his tummy, the other lay by his side. His left knee was slightly drawn up leaving a gap between his legs. The movement of the cover had disturbed him. He turned onto his side away from me with his right leg drawn right up now. The faint residual tan on his back contrasted with the pale skin of his buttocks. I looked carefully into the shadow between them. There was just the deep shadow in the narrow gap that was visible at the very top of his legs. I must have spent two or three minutes studying Robbie. I replaced the duvet, and noticed the pile of folded clothes near the foot of the bed, with the smallest items on top. I picked up one of them. Refolded, more neatly than it had been left, I replaced it on top the pile.

In bed I wondered...shall I, or shall I not? I had turned off Robbie's light and I lay there in almost total darkness....just a little light from a streetlamp penetrating the curtains. No, I'll read for a while.

I couldn't settle to that. I glanced at the small clock on the chest of drawers. Ten thirty five. I put out my light and lay on my side and looked at Robbie, some six feet away from me. I could just make out the figure....he had turned over towards me, open mouthed.


There was a little light coming through the curtains. I glanced at the clock. I was just aware of slight pressure on my shoulder.

It was Robbie.

It took me a few seconds to focus on the naked figure. Robbie always stands beautifully upright. I have always noticed that. It's the way he holds his hands, or rather his arms. He seems very conscious of exactly how he holds them. His arms hangs to his sides with his hands just turned slightly open.

Because of the way he's standing, he telling me something about his body....the way it is now. I could hardly miss it. I study it for a few seconds. I haven't seen that many of them, and this one bears a strong resemblance to Charlie. I suppose it would because they are brothers. He's smaller than Charlie, which befits Robbie's age. The testes are packed tightly underneath.

I look up at Robbie's face. His mouth is half open and he's wearing that slightly vacant expression of his. The light filtering through the window casts onto his hair creating lighter areas amongst the darker. He's waiting.

Robbie sees me looking.

`Can I come in please?'

I answer him by drawing the duvet back and making space for him. He gets in beside me and I immediately enfold him into my arms. We both want contact so we straighten our bodies so that we touch. I pull him towards me, my hand firm against the lowest part of his back.

Robbie's hands are held together under his chin.

I can smell the top of Robbie's head. It's sweet and of him, mixed with the remains of last night's shampoo. I love his ears, in fact I love all of him. I realise that now. I whisper in his warm ear....

`I think something has come between us Robbie.'

With hindsight, it wasn't really the right moment for jokes.

`What? Have you?'

I had to explain. A minute later he had a question for me.

`Would you like me to Tom?'

I knew what he meant, but it was no time to be selfish. One never needs to do that that.....it's never a matter of life and death is it? Of course it isn't.

`No Robbie, but do you want to?'

`Umm. `

`I don't mind if you do Robbie.'

`I just wanted to please you Tom....like you did Charlie?'

`You don't need to Robbie, really you don't. I just love being with you, that's all. That's enough.'

`For ever?'

`No, not forever.'

`I love being with you too, Tom. When then?'


I tried to explain to Robbie that just because a certain part of our body reacts to another's touch and our own thoughts the way it does, doesn't mean that we have to act upon it.

`But it's still nice isn't it?'

`Yes it is Robbie. It's very nice.'


I'd noticed something about Robbie's body in those minutes that we shared this morning in bed. It probably wasn't more than ten minutes. We heard Mrs Lee shout from downstairs....

`Breakfast in fifteen minutes boys'.

He's not muscular in any way, but everything about him has a kind of firmness. I can't think of any other word to use. If I didn't know otherwise, I would have thought he was an athlete in training. Then I gradually put two and two together.

We were out of bed and dressing. I had lost the obvious signs of recently being intimate with a boy three years younger than me, but Robbie hadn't, as he began to dress himself. I asked him...

`That club you go to Robbie. What is it?'

`It's a dance club. I do ballet.'

Of course!




After breakfast, he asked me if I would go with him to Dance Cub. He goes every Saturday afternoon and on Wednesday evenings. It's not the sort of thing that a year seven boy shouts about at school, sadly. I have to admit I was surprised when he told me.

Robbie's mum.....I call her Mrs Lee.....took me aside after breakfast.

`I'm sorry about Charlie, Tom. I'm very cross with him. It's unforgivable behaviour.'

It was. At breakfast, he came out with various remarks loaded with innuendo obviously aimed at me, and Robbie. I know that Mrs Lee had put two and two together and got four with regard to Charlie and me. You can't hide it effectively, not long term, and who wants to anyway? I also knew that she had given Charlie a very hard time over his `relationship' with me and the exchange had upset both of them. In fact that was the beginning of the end for me and Charlie. I wasn't to be in his longer term plan anyway, so why not get shot of me now? Very sensible I suppose. If she asks me if Robbie came into my bed at any time last night, I will tell her that he did.....for about twenty minutes of bliss as far as I was concerned, and I hope for dear Robbie too. Nothing happened. We both knew what each of us had got, because we could feel them on our tummies. What amazing things they are. Robbie's penis is beautiful in whatever state it's in. One day maybe, but not now.

In bed with me, he asked if he lie on top of me, and I said, yes, if he wanted to. He lay with his legs either side of mine. I spent five minutes stroking his back while he gently moved himself an inch or two against my tummy.....then back again, repeating that movement over and over again. I let him do it. I kept the palms of my hands on his bottom so I had some control over his movements. I could feel the muscles working in his buttocks. He's a strong boy there....very strong. I had total access to that part of Robbie's body and I was getting dangerously close to something I might regret immediately afterwards, and for a moment I thought I would lose control. I very nearly did. I'm not sure if Robbie did or not. I didn't want to ask him, and I don't think he'd want to tell me if he had. At his age and rather obvious stage of development in that way, I knew there wouldn't be any other way of knowing if he had or not. If he had, he'd hidden it well. The whole thing came to an untimely, or probably timely, end when Mrs Lee's summons wafted up the stairs.

I borrowed Robbie's bathrobe and reached the bathroom unseen holding myself in at the front. Robbie wanted to come with me but I told him he couldn't. I told him I would be back in five minutes. I think I was in there for less than three. When I got back into the bedroom, he was ferreting through piles of clothes inside a fitted cupboard looking for a pair of clean underpants. He pulled out a pair. They didn't look like the usual sort of thing at all. They looked like they were designed to hold a boy securely. I imagined it was what he needed for ballet. I didn't enquire.


Mrs Lee was very nice. I had the distinct impression that her attitude had moderated since the big row with Charlie. She said that Robbie was `different' to Charlie. Sure, he is different, but what did she mean exactly? I told her that he's asked me to go with him to his ballet class that afternoon. She thought it was a nice idea, and thanked me.

`It's ok Mrs Lee. It sounds interesting.'

`It is Tom. Are you sure you'll be alright?'

`Yes, I'm sure I will be.'

`Good. It's not something he tells everybody about, which I know is silly. Lots of boys do it. And something else I'd like to say to you Tom. I know Robbie has teased you in the past, but that's because he wants your attention. It's very kind of you to be friendly towards him. I just want you to know that it's fine for you two to be friends, but please don't feel you have to be. Do you see what I'm saying Tom? Robbie is a very loving boy, and will certainly want to show that side of his character to you, if you let him. It's just a matter of whether you want that or not, but you mustn't let him have his own way all the time. He can be quite wilful.'

To be honest I wasn't totally sure, but I nodded a `yes I understand', rather than saying it out loud. Am I thinking what she's thinking?


Now I understand why he holds himself the way he does. The boys and girls are trained right from the outset to stand properly. He first went when he was six. A teacher who had connections with the London Ballet School had spotted Robbie in the athletic sports soon after he joined the school. Robbie's main event was the high jump. The ability to jump high is a major factor in the selection of boys who might want to dance. Robbie went along to the nearest class to try it out, and liked it. His parents were told that he had potential, and that he should apply to a proper school. He got in. The rest is history.

It looked like an old warehouse. Once inside the double doors, we went up a flight of stairs to the first floor. There was a notice on the blue door....the London Ballet School. I could hear a piano playing somewhere and the sound of a man's voice.

Robbie went ahead of me down a corridor, every now and again looking behind at me, smiling in an encouraging way. I was quite needlessly nervous about the whole thing, and Robbie knew it. In front of us was a line of boys who all turned round to look at the latest arrivals. Robbie embarrassingly took hold of my hand.

`Hi everybody. This is Tom. He's thinking of joining.'

Thinking of joining! I don't think so.

There must have been at least a dozen boys waiting, and now every one of them was scrutinizing me. There was a succession of `Hi Toms' as I looked at each smiling face. They looked very ordinary in various styles of casual clothes with their small bags slung over their shoulders. In age, they looked like late primary to mid secondary...say, eight up to my age. In size they ranged from what I would describe as small and bit puny, to about my height, and I'm exactly five feet.

What I would say is how incredibly open and friendly they all were towards me, right from the outset.

I asked Robbie where I should go. All the boys would have to change somewhere.

`Come in with us Tom.'

A man who looked quite young, probably in his early twenties at a rough guess, unlocked a door and we all trouped in. I sat down on a bench in the middle.

`Sit there Tom. Come in with us when we're all ready ok?'

I didn't see an ounce of fat on any of the boys. They all looked like athletes.....long straight legs, most very slim, and with one very noticeable feature...very well formed and firm bottoms. They're all like it. They all had sticky-out and quite muscular bottoms.....even the youngest ones.

The man's name was Otto. All the kids called him that. It was `yes Otto...no Otto.....three bags full Otto'. He seemed very good with them and all the time they were changing into their ballet kit, he went round them individually asking them how they were and so on. He ignored me, at least to start with. Sitting as I was, feeling a bit of a spare part generally, I got to see the boys.

The first thing that impressed me was that they were all completely comfortable naked in front of Otto. The boys were like living sculptures. The changing process was like a ritual, and they took their time over every detail. First, they all strip off everything, and several of them examined themselves in front of one of the four full length mirrors that were fixed to the walls. Otto walked amongst them making little comments and giving them a light touch on the shoulder just to jolly them along...that sort of thing. Several of them extracted a pair of black tights. I noticed that two of the youngest, probably about eight or nine, wore nothing under their tights. There was no sign of their testes, but their little penises made a slight indentation. I thought they looked very cute. One of them had the most wonderful head of butter coloured quite long hair, but most wore their hair short and neatly trimmed. One boy, about my age, seemed very interested in me for some reason. He was sitting on the bench directly opposite me. Every time I glanced in his direction, he seemed to be looking in my direction. He didn't smile, but just gave me this slightly vacant look. He had slightly longer hair than most of them and piercing blue eyes. I found his attention to me unnerving. By the look of him, he had begun puberty, but there was no evidence of any hair. There were a couple of others who seemed `on the way' as it were, and they didn't have any hair either.

All the boys did their stretches naked. This involved touching their toes, and various other exercises. The boy with the blue eyes performed this ritual right in front of me, most of it, or rather one particular movement, with his back to me. I couldn't help looking. He could get the palms of his hands flat on the floor, admittedly with his feet wide apart. I was impressed! Then he turned round, smiled at me for the first time, and continued his stretches. My face felt extremely hot. I think that's what made him smile.

Robbie wore stretchy little blue shorts with a standard looking pair of white briefs underneath. A couple of others, a bit younger than me I think, wore very tight little knicker things. The older ones wore something similar but with a thong at the back. It seemed to me that what the boys wore was directly related to their development, that's to say that if you haven't much to worry about, you don't need anything at all, and if you have something bordering on the substantial, then you need the proper kit which is called a dance belt. Blue Eyes wore one of these. It was flesh coloured. Robbie's white knickers show through his black tights, but not so Blue Eyes.

The other thing about all this is that they all take great care to obey the twelve o'clock rule, even the small fry. That involves ferreting about in your nether regions inside whatever you're wearing, to make sure that willy is sticking up vertically, and that's where it stays. It's all about keeping everything in the right place to avoid damage. That's it really.

All the boys sat waiting. No one said much, and when the door opened at the far end of the room, they all got up and trooped in to their class. Otto sat down on the bench next to me.

`So, you're friends with Robbie then?'

`Yes. He said I could come along today.'

`That's good. Are you interested?'

`Yes, I think so....well, I might be.'

`Would you like me to look at you?'

`What does that mean?'

`It means that you might not have the right kind of body for dance. I can soon tell you. It wouldn't take long.'

`What do I have to do?'

`Nothing. Just take all your clothes off so I can see you properly.'

Otto has a compelling manner. By that I mean he puts you at ease. I think it's his voice more than anything else.

He asked me if I minded undressing. I just gestured a `no' with my head.

`Come on then. We'll go in the office.

There was a desk in there and a couple of piles of paper on it, plus some other bits and pieces. There was plenty of room to move so I started to undress. He took my clothes from me as I did so.....top first, then my shoes and socks, trousers, and then my pants last. I turned to face Otto. He put his hands on my shoulders.

`Stand as straight as you can please.'

It went on from there. I felt the tips of his fingers run down my arms, my back, around my neck, and around my bottom. He pressed and pulled....took hold of arms, made me bend this way and that. At the end, he tested me for flexibility....toe touching...how high I could raise my legs...all that sort of thing. At times it was an intimate experience.

`Not bad. It would take time, but with lots of hard work you could probably get a little way up the ladder....to start with at least. It's up to you.'

He sat down while I stood, naked, in front of him. I was beginning to feel more comfortable with Otto. I think I even smiled at him. He smiled back.

`Ah, I see you do have a nice smile. That's better. Do you feel better now?'

`Yes, thanks.'

`Good. You have a good body Tom. You need to look after it.....eat the right food. No sugar drinks. Your friend Robbie has a good body too. What sort of friends are you Tom.....you and Robbie?'

`What do you mean?'

`I mean, do you sleep together?'

It took me a few moments to get over the shock of his question.

`Umm, not really. Well.....'

`Well I'm sure he'd like you to. Why don't you? He's a sweet boy, and so are you. Ask him. He'll say yes. Do you like girls?'


I watched the class as Otto walked round observing and making comments as he saw fit. He was obviously a rank, if not several, above the man directing the exercises the boys were doing. It was interesting. There's no doubt about it.

The class lasted an hour. As the boys, except one, trooped off back to change, Otto came over to me where I was sitting on a bench to the side. I'm intrigued by his accent. I think he's probably German, or Austrian. Somewhere like that. He's one of those people who inspires confidence in you. Do you know the type? One day I like to do that....inspire confidence in people. I feel that I don't know enough about anything to do that. Maybe one day.


`Where are you from Otto?'

`I'm from the Czech republic. The boy over there is my cousin. His name is Marco. He's fourteen.'

Another surprise. I had him down as fifteen at least.

`Would you like me introduce you?'

I didn't answer. I didn't need to. Otto beckoned Marco over before I had a chance to say no. A few moments later we were face to face.....Blue Eyes looking at blue eyes. Phew!

`Marco, this is Tom.'






Part two

As I lie in bed at home at 35 West Hill, Highgate, I realise that my life is in danger of getting over complicated.

I thought I had a better future with Charlie, but he's turned turtle now, preferring to be all laddish with his footballing mate. That's ok, because we'll always be friends, at least I hope so. They talk about girls now, trying to impress their mothers no doubt, not to mention their proud fathers who are mightily relieved that son is showing signs of not being gay. You can just imagine the conversation their parents might have in bed over the morning cup of tea.

`Do you think Charlie's taking an interest in girls now darling?'

`You know darling, I think you might be right.'

I can just imagine it, can't you?

Proud father takes another sip of his tea. God's in his heaven and all's right with the world.

No such conversation in my house. The subject of girls has never been raised by my parents, or me come to that, not that I dislike girls, or find them unattractive. If I'm honest about it, they don't really do it for me, at least not yet. You don't get to my age and miss out on playground talk, so I know what fucking is. I've seen a couple of girls on the beach who I could have happily slip my four inches into. Having said that, there were a number of the other sex too who would have been candidates, but suffice it to say, I have yet to fuck anything.

Talking of which, Robbie does it for me. Sorry, I'll rephrase that. Robbie does it for me, but he doesn't, if you see what I mean? I know he'd like me to do it for him. I would too but I'm not confident when it comes to it.

I'm thinking, while I lie here in my warm bed, about the ballet class yesterday. I'm thinking about what the boys wear for ballet. I'm thinking about that blond headed boy deftly slipping off his `normal' pants and putting on the little knickers they wear so nothing shows through their tights. The boys, so Robbie told me, wear the same little pants as the girls, before the boys graduate to a dance belt. Marco's belt were like pants too with something at the back. Otto's were different. Don't worry, I had a good look. At the front the seam divided his balls right down the middle, one either side, so he looked like a girl whose swimming costume is too tight round her willy. Exactly like that.....like two large eggs either side of the uncomfortable looking indentation. He saw me looking in wonderment at his nethers.

`Would you like to see one Tom? I can see you're interested.'

He pulled down the front of his tights and showed me.

`You see? It's no mystery Tom. It's just practical.....it's a necessary thing.'

I could see that.


I couldn't make up my mind between the blond boy in the knickers....Robbie's lovely little sexy body naked, or Blue Eyes showing me everything he had, front and back. I opted for Blue Eyes, and I'll tell you why in a moment.

The image of his face...the eyes and his mouth....and then the gradual revelation of his body worked very nicely. I'm not into it on a regular basis, but I really felt like it this morning. I'd planned my finale as he holds his penis towards me. He's standing and I'm sitting on the bench. All the others boys are watching us and holding their little willies in anticipation of what Blue Eyes was going to inflict on me. He's been looking at me all the time and I've been studying him. His penis is good and hard as he withdraws his foreskin back over the swollen glans. He begins to masturbate inches from my face. His breathing quickens and I'm ready and waiting to accept the splashes of his semen. The boy with the long blond hair strokes my back...

That was the plan, but it all ended some way before that.

Of course one is always interested in the results of our labours. I look down onto my tummy to have a look at what mother nature has provided for me. The result doesn't accurately reflect the experience, but it's a considerable improvement on six months ago when the result could be summed up in one Latin word....nihil.


Yes, this particular fantasy did focus on beautiful Blue Eyes, and it all worked a treat, as I said. The reason I had selected him from a very strong field, was interesting, at least to me. I have his phone number. Otto had written it down at Marco's insistence, and given it to me at the end of our brief chat in the hall. It was a London code as I would have expected. I put the little scrap of paper in my pocket as Marco walked off to get changed with the other boys, which was where I wanted to be as it happened, but Otto had more to say.

`Marco likes you Tom. Is that a surprise?'

`Err, yes...no...I mean, I don't know. Should it be?'

`No. Come on Tom, have a think about it will you?'

`About what?'

`Give him a call. He will show you how to do the exercises safely.....how to do things properly. He's very young but he has experience. He could teach you. Why not let him teach you useful things Tom? I'm sure Robbie would want you to don't you think? You like him do you not?'

`Yes. Yes, I think so. Yes he's nice.'

`Well then, give him a call. You can arrange to meet at his house maybe. Where do you live Tom?'

I told him I lived up Highgate Hill.

`So that's easy then. He's almost your neighbour.'

Marco lives with his mother on the edge of Hampstead Heath, two doors down from where George Orwell lived apparently. That's about a fifteen minute walk from here, and very close to my Catholic Grammar School....literally five minutes away.




I phoned Marco last night. Our sleepovers are a Fridays only thing at Charlie and Robbie's, and then fortnightly at the most, so I'm in my own bed and dozing after a rather nice five minutes half an hour ago. Marco goes to an independent school in Highgate ironically, and rather a posh one at that. If we swapped house, it would reduce our travelling time to and fro school to about zero.

I have arranged to go round to his, after school tomorrow. Every time I think about it, my stomach turns upside down. Marco is going to show me how to do all the ballet exercises properly, and all the other stuff like the kit you need. He's about my size, referring to his complete figure, not individual features, so he said everything should fit nicely.

I keep thinking about Robbie, and I feel guilty. Firstly, I've recently had a extremely vivid pictorial cum and he wasn't in the picture, and that may well have upset him had he known. Secondly, I'm going to be putty in Marco's hands, hopefully, and Robbie is not going to be there, and neither will he know about it either.

I can deal with my guilt, and if I'm right in what I suspect, Robbie will be the ultimate beneficiary. That's plan A.


I turned down Thoresby Avenue. About a hundred yards down the road I saw a boy sitting on the wall with a school bag at his feet. He was looking in my direction. I thought at first it was Marco. It wasn't. It was the long haired blond boy I had seen at Robbie's class two days earlier. I recognized his uniform. It was the school in Highgate about five minutes walk from my house, and the same one that Marco went to. As I neared the seated figure, I recognized his smile. He raised his hand, but didn't stand up. I sat next to him on the wall.

`I thought you were Marco.'

`He's not coming. He's had to stay at school. He let me come to meet you instead. Is that ok?'

`Let you come?'

`Yes. Are you disappointed I'm not Marco?'


`Do you want to walk for a bit? We can leave our stuff here. I've got a key.'

He opened the front door of the house with the Yale key with a piece of yellow string attached to it. We put our bags just inside the door.

From there, it's a very short walk to the Heath. You can use the paths and then cut across the grass up to Parliament Hill. The benches were in use so we walked away from them and lay on the grass to admire the view of London. It's an amazing view, with all the big buildings below you in the haze. You can see right over into Kent from there. Two boys were trying to launch their kites, but not having much luck.

`They need someone to hold them up for them. Shall we help them Tom?'

That's what it needed....someone to hold the kites as high as possible so that the breeze caught them, and then up they go. The two boys were pleased. We sat back on the grass and watched as the coloured objects darted this way and that under the precarious control of the boys. I broke off a seed stalk of dry grass. I still didn't know his name. It was Peter.

`So how did you know my name Peter?'

`Robbie told me. I've known him for years...ever since we started ballet. He's way better at it than I am. He could be really good.'

`So what's stopping him then?'

`He doesn't think he's that good....and his parents aren't rich are they?'

`No they're not. Does it cost tons of money then?'

`If you want to go to a specialist school it does....thousands every year.'

`Like what school Peter?'

`Like the Royal Ballet. Like that!'

`Oh. A bit like Billy Elliot then?'

`Robbie's better than he was.'

`He was good though, wasn't he.'

`Yeah. Did you see it?


`Did you cry when he got accepted by the school?'

`Yeah, I think so.'

`I did too.'

We lay in the grass looking at the view while peter told me about himself, and I told him about myself. The two boys had packed up their kites and gone. There were long silences between things he had to say and things I wanted to say. We had got to a point when neither of us needed to say much. We were comfortable with each other. Moments later, Peter had a question.


`What Peter?'

`I know you're best friends with Robbie. Have you got room for another one?'

I smiled at him. His hair had fallen over one eye. He was looking straight at me with those inquisitive eyes of his...well, the one I could see. I thought I would tease him a little.

`Oh I don't know really. Robbie might not like it.'

I watched as his eye looked away from me, just for a moment before it came back to me.

`Sorry Peter. Of course I have room for you. Do you want to shake on it?'

He answered by taking the ends of my fingers.

`Will this do Tom?'

`No. I want you to do it properly.'

`Like you do with Robbie?'

`No I don't Peter. I never have, not like that. I wouldn't know how to.'

`So, would you if you knew how?'


He didn't want to let go of my hand, and I was glad he didn't.

`How do you feel now Tom?'

`Excited. How about you?'

`Me too.'

I've made a new friend.


`What time is it Tom?'

`Five to five.'

`Have you got to get home soon?'

`No, not really. I should be back by seven though.'

`Have you got tons of homework?'

`No, not tonight.'

`Shall we go?'

`Where Peter?'

`Get our bags from the house. Do you want a drink?'


Marco had given Peter his own key to the house. Very often they left school in the afternoons at different times for various reasons...some activity or other, so it was better to wait at Marco's place on those days than hang around the school gate waiting for him to appear. No, this was a far better arrangement which meant he could get on with homework quietly in peace. When Marco turned up, he would get them both a drink of something and they would sit and talk for a while, or whatever they both felt like. Both Marco and Peter's parents worked, and they wouldn't see them until well after six, so their time was theirs and uninterrupted.

Marco had found Peter attractive right from the start. Who wouldn't have done? Peter had welcomed Marco's overtures, and being an older boy by some way, had found it all rather flattering. Marco had found Peter a willing partner who had quickly learnt to do what Marco liked. It wasn't just that of course...they found that they had other interests in common too, like the ballet. They would change out of school clothes and practice the various disciplines together in Marco's room. That's when it all started. The shower afterwards. Marco loved covering Peter's beautiful little body with the gel and rinsing him off with his hands under the warm water. Peter let Marco put his hands anywhere he wanted to. Peter enjoyed that, and his body was responsive, as of course so was Marco's. Peter had asked Marco if he could pretend to be his little girl. Marco said that there wasn't anything he'd like better, so they began to play that game. When they were ready, Marco undresses Peter and lays him on his bed. They cuddle, which turns into kissing quite quickly. Peter knows by now that it's not something that can happen just like that, but Marco knows exactly what to do. Peter waits, and then it happens.

From the outset of their relationship, Peter had no qualms about the practicalities of accepting Marco's love. Doing those things that Marco asked him to do was his way of loving Marco back. Getting properly prepared for sex was a nuisance, but a necessary one if things were to run smoothly and without undue discomfort. Then there was the issue of Marco's semen. Again, Peter willingly accepted what Marco had to offer into his young body. The first time was a shock....of course it would be for anybody, especially as Marco gave him little or no warning of what was about to assault Peter's sensitivities. That was naughty of Marco, but afterwards, in a moment of panic that he might have put Peter off sex with him for ever, he apologized amid kisses and cuddles. Peter, tearful and joyful all at the same time, was forgiveness itself. Later that afternoon, they made love again, this time in a different way.


I watched as Peter opened the heavily panelled front door with the coloured glass window in it. It shut with a nice solid sound behind us. It sounded so quiet in there. We picked up our bags and Peter asks me if I want a drink.

`Just a glass of water I think.'

`Would you like to see Marco's room Tom?'


We laid our blazers on the bed in the corner, Peter's navy blue with crimson braid round the lapels and sleeves....very posh...and mine just plain navy and in my view just as smart and somewhat less pretentious.

Peter went and stood by the window the other side of the room, which had a view to the left of the pavement that led to the pathway up the slope onto the Heath. Peter had his arms folded as I reached him. I put my fingers on the horizontal wooden bar that divided the large sash window, and leant my chin on it. I could see the side of Peter's face, mostly hidden by his hair in varying shades of blond as it made its way down in waves from his forehead and past his ears onto his neck. I looked at his top lip that showed the tiny golden hairs above his lips. His face looked flushed.

`Are you ok Peter?'

Peter just nodded without looking sideways and directly at me.

`You're thinking about Robbie aren't you.'

It was more of a statement than a question.

`I suppose so, a bit.'

`I thought you were.'

`Is that wrong Peter?'

`No of course it isn't.'

There was an air of conviction in Peter's tone. It immediately reassured me. It was obvious that we had an opportunity to `do something' if we both wanted to. I don't want to, and I don't know how Peter's feeling.

`So do you want to go now Tom.....go home I mean?'

`No. Is it ok if I stay for a while?'

`Of course. It's nice isn't it?'

`Yes it is Peter.'

Peter turned towards me, and looked down....and then up into my face.

I smiled, and so did he.


I was home an hour later, and in a strange mood. I didn't really want to speak to anyone, and was short with my mother, and had to apologize.

`Never mind darling, I expect you've had a difficult day.'

In some ways I had. I had been rude and found myself wanting in the light of my mother's unconditional love, wretched boy that I am.

Standing by the window in Marco's room just an hour ago, Peter had put his arm around my shoulder and I had responded. We had held each other like that, and with no words spoken. I could smell the day on him, and the perfume of the skin of his neck. Robbie smells like that sometimes, and I suppose I do too.

We lay on Marco's bed and talked like friends do, face to face.

`So will you stay until Marco comes home?'

`No, I don't want to. I'll go when you do.'

We didn't speak for a few moments. Then Peter says...

`Robbie's very good. Can't you persuade him Tom?'

`To do what Peter?'

`To have a go...get an audition or something. Otto's tried to tell him. It's almost as if he's ashamed of being really good at something.'

`What....do a Billy Elliot?'

`Yes. Why not?'


I was promised a treat for my last birthday. I thought of one or two things I'd like to have done, but there wasn't anything I wanted to do that my parents would have approved of, so it was left that when I had an idea it would be considered.

My last conversation with Peter gave me the idea. I'd noticed the article with more than a passing interest. It was in last Sunday's Sunday Times. The show had been running for quite a while, and although I had seen the film, I was intrigued by this article. It was about recruitment for the stage production of Billy Elliot, and about the boy who was taking over the lead as Billy. Being in a stage play in London equals educational disruption, so there must be a regular turnover of boys to play Billy. I liked was I was seeing. On a scale of one to ten, he was fairly close to top marks, this lad. Time to mention it to mum.

`What a lovely idea Tom! Perhaps Charlie would like to go?'

`He hates all that stuff mum.'

`Well what about Robbie then? He'd be perfect.'


When I got home from school on the Wednesday, the tickets were on the kitchen table, and they were good ones right at the front.

I knew where the theatre was, because I had noticed the huge hoarding over the entrance to the theatre on a school music trip to Westminster Cathedral which is a five minute walk away, and it's close to Victoria Station.

I hate the Tube and I always use the bus if I can. Our journey involved one change at Trafalgar Square. We had time so Robbie and I did the usual....a stroll round the Square looking at the tourists climbing onto the lions to have their photo taken. I love all the crowded places around the centre of town. All human life is there, as they say. We sat on the edge of one of the raised up pools with a fountain in the middle that looked like some weird sea creature spitting out water. There's always something, or someone, to look at. Robbie noticed him too. He was about Robbie's age. Neither of us said anything, but we didn't need to.

The `new' Billy Elliot was amazing, as was the whole production. We were surrounded by excited boys and girls, and the atmosphere was totally gripping the whole way through. There are three scenes that were too much for the girl sitting to my right. Affected myself, I looked to my left at Robbie, eyes wide and his face wet with tears, shining in the reflected light from the stage.


Robbie was quiet on the bus. We both were, as the 24 made its way through the traffic towards Camden Town. We were lucky. The two fronts seat, nearside, were empty when we climbed the stairs. It's the first place you look when you get near the top of the stairs. Robbie sat next to the window, looking out to his left at the passing shops and streets most of the time, his long legs, mostly uncovered as his shorts rode high up his thighs. He has the limbs of a dancer, his elegant arms and hands held together at his front.

I didn't want to distract him because he was a long way away.....somewhere I knew not where, but I would have laid a bet that that place was the Victoria Palace Theatre, where our hero in blue shorts and red singlet danced the afternoon away to his enthralled audience.

It wouldn't have mattered if the show had been good or bad. As it happened, it was fantastic, at least I thought so. But that's not the point.

The point is, it would seem to me, that if you want to do something badly enough, you can probably do it. Billy Elliot did didn't he?

We had just passed Camden Lock when Robbie turned towards me. I thought there was something wrong.

`What on earth's the matter Robbie?'

He looked at me for more than a few seconds.....

`I'm going to try Tom.'

`Try what Robbie?'

`To get an audition...to White Lodge.'


Everybody in the dance business knows what White Lodge is. It's the junior section of the Royal Ballet, located in Richmond Park. Otto had mentioned it several times to Robbie, according to Peter, but Robbie had been generally disinterested. I'm sure, deep down, Robbie was in fact very interested but lacked the confidence to even think about applying to audition.

When Robbie dropped his bombshell on the bus, a surge of...I don't know quite what it was. A mixture of excitement, pride, fear, and of course a wave of joyful affection for Robbie.

`Am I stupid Tom?'

`No of course not! You're more talented than you realise Robbie. One day you could be brilliant dancer....everyone says so.'

`Do they?'

`Yes! And I'll tell you this Robbie...I'll do anything for you.....to help you in any way. You must know by now don't you?'

`Know what Tom?'

I looked at Robbie and smiled. He looked back with a blank expression.

`You don't do you. You don't know. You've no idea have you.'

`I have Tom, but I can't say it.'

`You don't have to say it....but just feel it. That's all you have to do.'


We stayed on the bus a couple of stops after the point we would have got off, so we could find the man who supervised Robbie's class...the man called Otto...Otto in the tights and the weird thing he wore underneath that separated his balls in that funny way. Robbie said that the class after his would still be running and Otto would be there still.

The door to the warehouse was open, and once upstairs we had access to the hall. Robbie said there was ten minutes or so until the end...the last class of the day. There were about ten girls going through various routines. Amongst them were three boys who looked around ten.....that sort of age. They all wore black tights and white tops. The nearest boy was about ten feet from where I was standing. I could tell he had nothing under his tights. The whole class, as part of the exercise, turned towards us. I looked at the little thin dark boy who saw me, and then looked away. Otto took no notice of us. The woman went on playing the piano in the corner, directed by Otto.

Otto sent the girls and the three boys to their separate changing areas and walked over towards us.

Of course Robbie had to make his excuses to Otto for not being at his class that afternoon.

`Oh how marvellous! How was it?'

`It was brilliant Otto.....really brilliant!'

I could see that Robbie was ready to tell Otto his news.

`Go on then Robbie.'

He told him.

`Do you think I have a chance?'

`Of course, but it'll mean more work Robbie.....lots more work.'

`I don't mind. I want to....I really do.'

No one would have disbelieved him. You only had to look at his face.

`I know you do Robbie....and you do have a chance. You have a passion for dance. Everybody should have a passion for something, whatever it may be....and you have the talent. Now you need to work Robbie, like you've never worked before.....and with passion. Talk to your parents Robbie. If you want it, I will make the arrangements. You have to be ready by February.'

Just before we left, Otto took me aside. Robbie couldn't hear Otto's words.

`Did you know that he loves you? Don't tell me that you don't know that Tom? Of course he does. I see it in his eyes, and I can see it in yours too. Look after him Tom. He needs you now. He needs you more than he can say.....more than he will say. Take care of your friend. Will you do that for him, and all of us Tom?'

Of course I will....my beautiful boy...no, our beautiful boy.


Motivated boys at our school, or any decent establishment, do more than just their schoolwork. Some struggle academically and need all their resources just to keep their heads above water. I think it's a matter of putting one's different interests in separate boxes, and open them when it's their turn to be opened. Robbie has his ballet which he does at certain times, and I have my art and music. Each thing we do has its place.

Robbie and I, and Charlie for that matter are going to cope with the modern exams we will take at fifteen or so. I'm not saying any of us three are brilliant scholars, but we can comfortably handle the fairly basic rubbish they chuck at us. Robbie knows now what he wants to with his mind and body, and so do I. Charlie? Well, I'm not sure about him. He's able enough but lacks a particular direction, and he's girl mad right now, and prefers to hang out with like-minded boys who are not really my cup of tea these days. That's not to say I don't miss his company, or what he had to offer during those nights we shared when I slept over. I particularly miss that nice poky thing he keeps tucked up in his pants, not to mention a lovely pair of squishy testes, and the complete package superior to mine, at least at the moment. Not that's there's anything wrong with mine.....just a tad less advanced that's all. No, I'm quite happy with what I was given, as is Robbie I might add. He's showing signs of getting somewhere, or rather getting something at long last, when the poor boy has the energy. He's working hard as you can imagine. He's working to make a dream come true. At the moment it is a dream. There are times, as a not very good Catholic boy, that we are expected to think about others, silently, asking for intercession. Believe me I'm trying. As I send my various requests, he is always there.

I still go with Robbie to the Saturday class. I don't go every week, but most of them, and I love being with them. I've made an arrangement, or rather come to an arrangement with Otto, the man who is basically in charge of the whole thing. I like him....he's funny, and really loves his pupils. He's very patient with the ones who are there for the exercise as far as I can see, but a great teacher for the ones who really want to achieve, like Robbie.

Otto lets me work there. I sit and draw the figures as they work. Everybody knows the drawings by Degas don't they? Well, substitute the girls in tutus for boys in black tights.....either the long ones down to their ankles, or the little nifty short ones that look like old fashioned girl's knickers, and quite interesting when the younger boys prefer not to wear anything underneath. The problem is that the boys move all the time. My art master quoted a French artist the other day.....a man called Delacroix. I quote.....'If you can't draw a man falling from a high window before he hits the ground, you can't call yourself an artist.' It's true. So with that in mind, moving figures are now meat and drink to me, and it's the perfect excuse for looking. I can sit where I like in the hall, or stand, and the changing area is not off limits. The boys love it, and give me lovely knowing smiles as they just hold the pose as they change...just for a couple of seconds to be sure I've noticed. They are very aware of how beautiful they are, and they want you to see them. Very occasionally an unfortunate will sport an erection, which he will not try to hide. I think it's rather sweet. The last thing any of the others would do is to comment. Otto would be very cross if he saw it, but it does happen from time to time.

Robbie models for me at home now. Sometimes Peter comes too, if he's free. They've know each other from their years at ballet. Peter is at Highgate which ironically is a lot nearer my place on West Hill than our Catholic school over at Hampstead, so he just drops in from time to time. It's all done by text message of course. Easy as pie. Both of them are great models and we have a session at least once a week. I have to say that the sessions are much more productive if I have Robbie on his own. It's less productive if Peter is with him. They're more or less the same age, and they have a tendency to misbehave. I wish I could show you what those two look like as they stand, or lie before me, but I just have words to play with here. There's no doubt that it's an erotic process, at least for me and quite often for them too, as my 4B pencil wanders around their bodies lying together exploring with my eyes those intimate places. Yes, it's intensely erotic, made more so of course because I find then both so attractive. They know that, so they both play up to it. They know exactly what does it for me, so much so that usually the drawing session turns into something quite different. The trouble with Peter, if that's what I might call it, is the fact that he knows so much. Robbie and I never knew about the finer points, but Peter had been tutored by an expert....Marco, alias Blue Eyes.

Marco had befriended Peter four years ago before he even started ballet. They were both at Highgate Junior School and lived near each other. Peter was overwhelmed by Marco's attention to him and their relationship became a physical one quite quickly, despite the fact that Peter was just nine years old. They had experimented with sex and liked it. One thing led to another.

I think, for Robbie, the drawing sessions do him good. They represent something quite different from the stress of his preparation for the great day...the day of the audition at White Lodge. He can relax and let his mind wander while I get on. It works well. I have four A3 sketchbooks full now. These alone guarantee me a grade A the summer after next. No one else will have anything that compares with these documents. I'd like to see the faces of the examiners when they see this stuff, but there's nothing erotic or sexual in them, unless you find drawings of naked boys erotic? I suppose that's all in the eye of the beholder. No, I'm always careful not to record those moments when Robbie anticipates in his imagination the end of the session, and when our alternative activity starts! When Peter's here it's worse as you can imagine. I just put my pencil down and watch the two of them. Peter's not my friend in that sense.....he belongs to Marco...but Robbie is, and I'm a bit jealous of their playfulness, but quite happy to lend him to Peter for a half hour or so. I know they're only playing, and why not?

I usually have the two of them lying together which I know isn't the best idea if I want to get something done. That's when the trouble starts.

`Can you two lie still please?' Robbie looks at me.

`It's your fault.'


`Putting us like this. Peter keeps poking me with his thing.'

`Peter, can you not poke him please.'

`I can't help. It's Robbie's fault.' Peter says.

`Of course you can help it.'

`I can't. Robbie keeps touching my bottom.'

`Well don't Robbie. Leave his bottom alone please. You don't know where it's been.'

The boys turn onto their backs at this point, propped up on their elbows, both smiling at me, but I have the answer to the problem.

`Ok, I want a standing pose now.'

That does it. I pose the boys standing together, arms folded, but not touching this time, and watch their testes relax and hang a little lower and their penises slowly deflate. Order is restored, at least until the end of the session.

I have another sketchbook. I reserve that one for the poses I couldn't show to an examiner. My art teacher, yes, but not an outsider. These are the drawings I make of Robbie a little before cuddles time. These are the drawing we both like best. He knows what's going to happen when the drawing is done. Robbie finds it all very exciting, and so do I, and often we don't get that far because we just can't wait any longer to get our hands on each other. Both artist and model are naked. The drawing is intimate because I love those parts of him. I pose him so I can see those delicious areas of Robbie's lovely body, and then I draw them. Robbie and I look at what I have done together. I hold him as hard as I dare hold this delicate opening flower of boyhood, as he holds me. What I need now from him he will give me...what I have in within me for him, I will soon give him. We are just two boys together.....joined in our own way, and I love him, and in the way I want to, and how he wants me to, just as he loves me in the same way. There are times when Robbie is my food, my drink, my life, my everything. I know this will pass all too quickly so we must seize the day, as they say. All too soon he'll be gone, and I'll be alone.

Usually, `cuddles' come last in the order of events, but as I've suggested, not always. I usually meet Robbie outside the main entrance of the school, and we bus over to Highgate together on drawing days. There are a few other boys on that bus too, and we're careful to `behave' in public. Reputations once made are very difficult to undo. So far, so good, in terms of keeping our friendship out of sight, but once in my makeshift bedroom cum studio it's different. There, with no parental interference, we can be what we want to be.

I can always guage Robbie's mood on the bus...what sort of day he's had and so on...and what he will need from me later, if anything. Sometimes it's nothing, and sometimes it takes precedent over everything. Everybody knows what `it' is, and descriptions can become mundane and tedious, but there's a place in my mind for a painted picture that suggests something fine and beautiful...something that expresses the feelings that two people share and find deeply satisfying. I don't know if what we do in a physical way you would call sex, or just playfulness? Whatever it is, we both want it. It happens in different ways. Robbie has his coy way of telling me on the bus that a nice little play is top of the agenda when we get to number 23 West Hill, and I'm not going to argue the point. We go straight upstairs and undress each other, which is our guarantee that our playfulness will result in Robbie having at least one cum, and almost certainly, me too. It's an intensely erotic experience for both of us as we remove each item of our uniform.....blazers on the door hook, shoes neatly away, and anticipation building in our tummies....nerves almost. I put my arms around Robbie and smell his hair and the skin on his face...feel the softness of a jumper, so smart in navy blue. Our mouths meet long before we are naked, and breathlessly undo things that need to be undone. I'm inside Robbie's grey trousers now, and I can feel the soft material that still covers Robbie's excitement, for excited he is. I go lower and grasp the testes that are withdrawn in the way that young boys' do.....tightly hidden. Mine are larger and Robbie accesses them easily and gently squeezes them between his fingers.

He stands before me now, naked torso, hard and tight from relentless exercise, as good as any gymnast, and he watches as I begin to reveal him.

Come closer Robbie. He obeys. Turn round Robbie. He does because he knows. It's that part of him I can't resist, and that part of him that gives Robbie so much pleasure.

`Can we lie down now please Tom?'

Of course. Robbie does lie down and the way he does tells me everything I need to know.

Today I took my pleasure first because Robbie wanted it to be that way. It is my time now to give thanks for all that we are together.....all we can be...all we want to be...all we should be...together in our temple. Loving is love itself, and we are consumed in the fire of love.....burning, burning, and then washed cool with our tears.



It's two weeks until Robbie's second audition. He got through the first one, but so did a lot of the others. The second one is the one that finally sorts out who has the chance of a career as a dancer. Christmas has come and gone, and I'm snowed under with schoolwork. Most of it is tedious stuff which I can do without a huge amount of effort, so I do enough to get by. Art and music take pride of place.....and Robbie's future, which will, ironically, mean that I will lose the most precious thing I have. His life is dominated by a last effort to achieve a standard in his chosen media that will win him a place at ballet school. These are anxious days.

I didn't see Robbie the day before the audition, not that I wasn't thinking about him. They interview the parents as well as the boys and girls, because without his parents' support all the way through, Robbie wouldn't make it. Although the School is not residential, travelling costs mount up, and then there's the question of fees. On the morning, I think I was as nervous as I imagined Robbie would be. I usually meet him on the corner five minutes from my house on West Hill, and close to our bus stop. Thankfully he wasn't there, which meant he hadn't chickened out of the whole thing, which I always thought was a possibility given his natural, and at times endearing, lack of confidence. There was always a possibility with Robbie that he would do that. Some Highgate boys passed me, looking very superior in their deep pink braided blazers. They don't give the likes of us a second look.

I couldn't eat lunch, and afternoon school was filled with a game of rugby. The weather was mild so it wasn't as bad as it might have been, but still something to be endured.....got through...survived without any particular injury...joyless, and then all washed away under warm water at the end in the familiar white tiled room, steaming with hot water and boys. There's no conversation, just the sound of water against skin, and splashes on concrete floor. There are several bodies to each shower head, and the touching of flesh is unavoidable...elbow against elbow, bottom against bottom, thigh against thigh, arm against buttock, and always the smell of cheap soap and hair wash. There are thin boys, little and big boys, one or two rather overweight boys who detest any form of games, boys with tiny penises and invisible scrotums, and one boy with dangly dick and balls to match who is often mentioned in casual conversations about the amount of semen one should produce by the time you reach the age of thirteen. It doesn't mention that in the book my mother gave me to read...'A Catholic Boy's guide to Puberty and Beyond'. Help!

I met Peter at the bus stop at the top of West Hill, or Highgate West Hill to give it's correct title. I wasn't expecting him, but I had thought of him during the day, knowing that he would be anxious too. If Robbie's audition is successful, it will be as much Peter's doing as anyone else's. I was pleased to see him.

`Hi Peter.'

`Hi Tom. Are you busy?'

I told him I wasn't particularly, apart from the usual ton of useless and repetitive `sums' I had to do before school tomorrow, not the mention some French vocab.

`Can we walk for a bit?'

`Yeah...do you want to dump the bags first?'

We headed for the Heath, and soon found a vacant bench. A group of school kids wandered past....three boys, not Highgate, who looked year eights, and one girl. I looked at Peter. He'd noticed I'm sure the one I had noticed. I looked at him.


I smiled. Don't play the innocent with me my boy.

`I wasn't!'

`You were!'


To be fair, the one who had caught our eyes did have more than a sideways glance at Peter as he passed by. I don't blame him. As boys his age go, Peter would be at the top of anyone's wish list, but he's heavily involved with Marco currently. If he wasn't, and Robbie didn't exist, I would be into his ballet knickers on a daily basis. Of course I've seen him as he is, so to speak, a number of times when he's pitched up for a life drawing session. When he and Robbie start messing about, I'm sorely tempted to get involved, but thus far I have resisted joining in their silly games...naughty boys. There's no doubt there are times when a frisson occurs between them, but as we well know, they get excited at just about anything at that age don't they? I am of course, at the ripe old age of fourteen, far more in control of my feelings.....or am I? No, not always. I know for a fact that Peter and Robbie have enjoyed some togetherness in their time as friends, because Robbie told me about it.

Peter is in a contemplative mood, as I am. It's also February, and there's a nasty biting wind blowing across the Heath.

`When do you think we'll hear something Tom?'

`I don't know. It's an all-afternoon thing, so not until tonight I suppose. He said he would text. Are you cold Peter?'

`Umm, a bit.'

`Shall we go back to mine? When's your bus?'

Peter looked at his watch.

`It doesn't matter. They go every ten minutes or so.'

`So, do you want to?'

`Yes please.'

Neither of my parents get back from work before six thirty, and probably later than that. They both have jobs that can keep them at work. The clock in the hall stood at ten to five. We hung our coats up on the stand and went upstairs to my bedroom in which my bed in the corner was one of the less significant objects in the room which is dominated by art equipment, paper all over the place, and my beloved cello. I love the sound that thing makes...not this one when I play it, when other people play theirs on a CD. I don't practice enough.

I know Peter and I were preoccupied with thoughts of Robbie and how he had fared over at White Lodge, and neither of us had said much on the way from the Heath to West Hill.

It was all quite natural. We took our blazers off and without any discussion I went and lay on my back on the bed. Peter followed me. He stood looking down at me.

`Can I lie on you please Tom?'

`Yes of course.'

With my legs together, and his either side of them, I took the weight of Peter's body. His head fitted perfectly below my chin, face to one side, and I found a comfortable resting place for my hands on each of Peter's buttocks. Two minutes later we were both uncomfortable. Peter rolled sideways, put his hand inside his trousers and made the necessary adjustment. I did the same. Back into position, we fitted together nicely, side by side as it were.

I could feel the firmness in Peter's bottom as I moved the palms of my hands around the muscles as I imagined a masseuse would work. I know Peter likes what I'm doing because he moves against me in response. I'm wondering, as a first thought, about what exactly lies beneath the grey material of his trousers. I survey Peter's hips with my finger ends, and then around the raised forms of his buttocks and a little way between them which, given the position he's put himself in, is easily found. Peter knows this little game. A few moments later...

`Satisfied Tom?'

`Yes thanks.'


`Nice. Very nice.'

`Would you like to know what colour?'

`Yes please.'

`Have a guess.'

I guessed right. It wasn't difficult.


Peter left a half hour later to get his bus. We'd had a very pleasant play together but we'd done nothing that Robbie would have considered a betrayal of our friendship. We'd both wanted to, but it didn't seem right for either of us. It amused me to watch Peter put his blazer on over the rather obvious bump below. All my fault I suppose, not letting him have his way.

Having seen him out of the front door, I bizarrely opted for some cello practice, but I couldn't concentrate and gave up after ten minutes and put the sheet music to one side. I lay back on my bed and thought about Peter. I breathed in hard and slid my hand inside my trousers and gave my penis a squeeze through my underpants. It was hard. I undid the clip that held things together and slid down the zip. I looked at the white material now distorted by my erection. At that moment my phone beeped. It was a text from Robbie.

My heart missed several beeps as I read it. It just read...It was ok. can I see you?

I texted back....Yes. When?

Yours, now? came back moments later.

Ok. hurry!


It was neither good news nor bad. I tried to hide my disappointment. Robbie looked exhausted and was tearful in my arms. The day he described was a gruelling affair designed to test twenty five eleven year olds to the limits of their physical and emotional endurance. At the very end of his day, he was interviewed by three people.....two men and one woman, and on his own, not with his parents. They had been interviewed earlier. The interviewers sat behind a desk while Robbie sat on a wooden chair in front of them. The woman asked the final question....

`Robbie. You have worked hard today, and we thank you for that. We think that you have done yourself justice in what you've shown us. I want to ask you what you think you will do with your life if your application to White Lodge is unsuccessful?

`I don't know. There's nothing else I want to do.'

`Thank you Robbie. That's all we needed to know.'

The two men and the one woman smiled at him.

`You can go now Robbie.'


Robbie had to wait two weeks for the letter informing him of the decision. It arrived on the Saturday morning. He'd run down the stairs every morning after the audition when he heard the letter box go. That last Friday night he'd not slept well, and didn't hear the postman in the morning. His mother had deliberately left the envelope on the floor by the front door. It was his to open of course. It seemed cruel to wake him, after all it was more than likely to be bad news. She had been warned at the School that the chances were extremely remote that Robbie would be successful. Let him find it for himself.

Robbie woke, and the sinking feeling in his tummy that he had become used to when he remembered, returned. He opened his bedroom door and took the few steps to give him a view down the stairs to the front door. He saw the pale cream envelope lying there on the mat. Just the one item of post this morning, he thought. That was unusual, and no junk mail?

The letter was addressed to him.

He opened the envelope in his bedroom, tummy in a whirl. It contained a single sheet of paper. He glanced at the heading....impressive in embossed black type.

Dear Robert...it began.


Robbie often came round to Number 23, our house on Highgate West Hill, about ten on a Saturday morning. Unlike the boys at Highgate, we had no school on a Saturday morning. My mother let him in.

`Oh hello Robbie. Tom's upstairs in his room.'

Tom's expression when she had opened the door to him had worried her slightly. She was aware of the situation. She watched as Robbie walked across the hall and then disappeared from view. She heard his footsteps on the wide stairs that led to the upstairs hallway and Tom's room that overlooked the street, quiet save for the occasional passing car, tyres noisy on the wet road. She walked to kitchen and put the kettle on to make a pot of tea, and tried to listen knowing she would hear nothing.

Robbie didn't knock on Tom's bedroom door. Tom was lying on his bed reading. It was a heavy paperback catalogue of the Sickert exhibition at the Tate that his father had bought him at the end of their trip there, all colour and light.

Tom looked sideways and saw Robbie standing there. Robbie's solemn expression gave Tom no clue. He put the book down and swung his legs off the bed, stood up and walked across to his friend.

Robbie's face was unreadable...but it was the face that wore so many thoughts and feelings...so many highs and lows.....so many emotions. Tom said nothing because he knew. Robbie was telling him his wonderful news with his filling eyes and faint smile.

Robbie took the letter from his pocket and handed it to Tom. Tom unfolded the cream coloured sheet of heavy paper and read it.....the words blurred now. He didn't need to read further than the first line. He looked back at Robbie. Tom heard Robbie's unspoken words.....

`Will you love me....now?'

Tom put the sheet of paper on the bedside table, while Robbie followed his best friend. They stood facing each other for a few moments before Tom made the first move. He held Robbie's head in the palms of his hands and gently tilted it upwards towards his own face. Robbie could feel the warmth of Tom's hands on his ears. They both had so much love in them to give each other, and both boys were ready now to give everything they had.

Tom and Robbie made each other's bodies free for loving in that gentle way boys like them needed. Robbie gave Tom all the signs that he was Tom's boy this morning and how they loved each other in a physical way would be Tom's decision. It wasn't in a way that needed any kind of preparation or forward planning.....just a loving from their mouths and lips and tongues to satisfy Robbie's deep desire to give thanks to his friend for his loving kindness and support.

Both boys were breathless at the end. The end had just come for Tom.

The boys lay together, close, their skins cooling.

`Can you believe it Robbie? It's actually happened.'

`What...that just now?'

`No, you daft bat....getting in to White Lodge.'

`I know. I keep having to read the letter over and over again. It's just the beginning though.'

`The beginning of the beginning?'

`Or the beginning of the end?'

They laughed. Then Tom asked.....

`Was it nice then?'

`What....just now?'

`Yes...that.....just now.'

`Of course it was. It got me nicely in the mood.'


`Yes, really.'

I made Robbie go down stairs and tell his good news to my mother. I stayed in my bedroom. He was gone for some time, and when he came back he was quiet. Robbie is a boy who wears his feelings on his shoulder. I can always tell when there's a bit of upset in his world. My mother has a soft spot for Robbie.....most mother's would have, and I also know she would be so happy for Robbie. When he told her his news she would have made a fuss of him for sure. Robbie, being the boy he is, would have responded to her kindness....arms around shoulders and a few tears no doubt. I know everything is going to change now, and I have to let him go. He has a new life just about to begin...new friends and challenges he knows nothing about at this moment, which will take him to new places....places where I shall not be. There will be no dramas.....no big goodbyes.....just a fading away I expect. That's what I want for him. Once Robbie asked....never let me go. Today he knows I have to.


Three months later.

I haven't seen much of Robbie, or Peter for that matter, and I'm feeling slightly rejected if I'm honest. There were a load more formalities before Robbie's place at White Lodge was confirmed, for example a means test on his parents' income which would determine how much they would pay towards Robbie's training. I had the impression that he would go for free. He'll be out there in Richmond Park for three years before graduating to the school in Central London when he's fifteen, assuming he makes the next step up. Before he goes he has to attend weekend classes at White Lodge, so our routine Saturday afternoon class in Hampstead are over. Peter still goes, but my reason for being there no longer exists. Apparently Otto took the good news with a shrug of his shoulders and dismissed Robbie's achievement as just another pupil who had benefited from his inspired teaching. Robbie had gone straight to Otto to tell him the good news before coming to tell me in the wonderful way he did.....just with his expression. I'll never forget that moment. Otto had kissed him gently on his forehead and sent him home, before turning in that rather dramatic and theatrical way of his, and disappeared into his office. If I was a teacher, I could imagine how Otto felt at that moment. I think I would have settled back in my chair, hands behind head, and thought to myself....job done.

Even my old friend Charlie was beginning to disappear from view. He was on girlfriend number two I think, if not the third. He was aware that I wasn't particularly interested to hear about his exploits with the opposite sex so he and I just exchanged pleasantries over lunch, provided there was a space next to him in the dining hall. I hardly saw Robbie at school, and his bi-weekly visits to Number 23 weren't happening now. I didn't question it, but accepted that he had moved on, and all he could think about was his move to White Lodge. It would mean boarding, with just the occasional weekend at home. Normal school holidays don't apply apparently. It would be a labour of love for Robbie, and complete commitment on his part, not to mention his family.

I do see Peter from time to time, but he wants to talk about his problems with Marco most of the time. That relationship worries me, but I'm not entirely sure why. He doesn't seem happy to me. I think he entered into an over-sophisticated sexual relationship with Marco before he really understood what he was getting into. I blame Marco for that. It was never like that with Robbie and I. Yes, we had forms of sexual fulfilment, but what we did was a result, or an expression of, our affection for each other. It was never something we just did for the sake of it. I know I'm looking for love, insofar as a fourteen year old boy can know what that is between himself and another boy....or girl for that matter. In my case it's boys, and I'm beginning to think it always will be. I don't want sex with Peter, although he's one of the most beautiful boys I've ever clapped eyes upon...and very sweet with it. He will do it because it feels nice and it makes him happy in the short term. I've explained to him how I feel about it.....and then give him a massive cuddle, and try hard not to let things go any further.

I'm sure my mother has realised a few things about her son.....a mother's intuition and all that stuff. The good thing is that I have her undying love, whatever or whoever I turn out to be. That will never change.

I think I've already mentioned that both my parents have demanding jobs so I'm often here at home on my own some time into the evenings. I've always dealt with that perfectly well, and it has had its advantages from the privacy point of view. My mother is quite high up in Wandsworth Social Services, mainly on the training side. She has never talked much about her job and what it has entailed over the years, but she has always had a social conscience which I suppose is just as well in that line of work. Recently there was an influx of families settling in London, and elsewhere, from the Middle East. A week or so ago she mentioned a mother and her ten year old son who had been housed in a flat a couple of streets away from us. In the next sentence she had announced that we needed a cleaner. Within two seconds my father and I had put two and two together and got four, as you do. If I was twenty five years old I would have asked this woman to marry me. I like looking at other human beings and this one would bare the scrutiny of Leonardo DaVinci. My impression of both her and her son was one of civilised intelligence. That might sound patronizing but I think it's true. The son, rather thin with large and slightly different looking blue brown eyes, was equally beautiful.....a sort of middle eastern version of Peter in a way. She had two jobs. The first one was cleaning in the local primary school which her son attended. After that she came to us, with the boy. My mother had dropped subtle hints that if I wasn't too busy with my own homework, perhaps I could help Hala improve his English, or anything else he was struggling with.

They obviously had very little money judging by the way Hala was dressed. Everything he wore was second hand. His grey shorts were ill fitting, and his grey jumper.....well, needed replacing. I mentioned it to my mother.

`Can't we do something about Hala's school clothes Mum?'

I've always been rather particular about how I look. I don't mind getting filthy in the line of duty, but I shower afterwards, and I keep all those other places scrupulously clean, particularly the most private ones. I see Hala as a sartorial challenge.

Hala has rather taken to me which privately I'm quite chuffed about. Not only that, but tomorrow I'm taking him to our local M and S to kit him out, all expenses on us. He's already thoroughly investigated my bedroom and all the contents of my cupboard and chest of drawers while I watch him with some amusement. In the short time I've been working with him, I've realise that his mind matches the brightness and alertness of his face. He is actually a clever little critter, and in a couple of days, he's going to be a nicely dressed one too. You may have guessed already....I like him, and as it happens, so does Peter. I don't suppose Robbie will ever meet him, the way things are now.


Peter turned up after school on the Monday...the day I was taking Hala to get kitted out. I explained to him what we doing and he wanted to come too. Ok, no problem. We knew exactly what we were after, because I had checked on Hala's preferences last Friday. Everything was pretty standard except for one item that was more personal. He'd checked out what I wore, and he had said he wanted the same. Excellent. That's my boy.

That part was simple...two packs of five and all the same...plain and simple, and very nice. We tried three pairs of shorts on, rejected the ones with useless pockets and again, opted for the simplest style, and just big enough....two pairs. Six polo shirts followed, then eight pairs of socks, and two nice quality grey jumpers. Peter found the shoes, black with two Velcro straps.

Hala insisted that he try everything on when we got back about five thirty. His mother was still there. She wouldn't be finished until six. Hala was duly presented to her...his face beaming with pride. He looked perfect standing, hands casually in pockets, as pleased as punch. The old stuff went straight into the bin.

Peter and I had supervised the transformation from scruffy, very worn and not very nice...to smart and clean. We had even put him in the shower. Peter towelled him off, while I opened packaging and selected the new stuff. Hala, as we could see, is a pretty boy in every respect. He could easily pass for a European, his skin tone a very light tan, working well with his very dark brown hair. Just before he left with his mother, school bag on one shoulder, I had an idea. I had kept all my revision notes and test papers for the entrance exam I'd taken several years ago for the grammar. Hala's intelligence and attitude to work shall be put to the test, starting tomorrow.

With the front door closed, Peter turned to me wearing that expression I knew well.

`Can I stay for a while please Tom?'

We had talked about `things' before, and Peter was aware of my views on his behaviour. He also knew that I was thrilled that Robbie had won a place at White Lodge, but I was also hurt by it. That could never be Robbie's fault, only my emotional failing, albeit understandable.

`Come on then, but not for too long. I've got tons of work.'

The last thing Peter needs is rejection. His relationship with Marco had become tricky to say the least. The last year for him has been too colourful, and in my judgement he needed another year with just ordinary, run of the mill friendships like most kids have. He needed a really boring year socially so he can take stock.

We took our shoes off and lay down on my bed. I made the first move by putting my arm around him. He wriggled himself closer. It was all very tempting. I could feel my penis swelling, and I imagine, arrogantly I suppose, that Peter's was too. We began a conversation about not doing things just because we felt like it, and that it wasn't any kind of rejection of him, but out of respect for Robbie, not to mention Peter himself.

`Will you always feel like that Tom?'

`No, not always....just for a while.....until Robbie has got a bit more settled.'

It would have been so easy. Peter made sure I could see he was hard, and I wasn't about to hide mine, or able to, come to that. It would have been so easy to slip my hand into his pants and feel that lovely hard object.....and his little balls that rest at its base. It was a close run thing, but nothing happened beyond my caring gestures.

`Why do you do that Tom?'

`Because I love the smell of you, that's why.'

`Isn't that a bit weird?'


`Dunno. Does it mean you still like me?'

`Yes it does.'


A pause.....then...

`Can I help with Hala?'

I smiled.

`Yes, why not. How's your maths?'

We had three sessions a week with Hala. Peter was here for one of them, and concentrated on Hala's basic arithmetic. The other two, I worked on his reading and grammar. I had decided, on the advice of my mother, that if progress was slow it wasn't a good idea to push Hala, but let him progress gently at his own pace.

That wasn't the case. He was responsive from the start. Peter was brilliant with him, and just what he needed to give his life a different an interesting new direction. We had a gift which we wanted to give to Hala, and if you were to look into those beautiful blue brown eyes you would see a boy's mind and spirit more than capable of accepting it. My mother had made a point of telling me not to ask Hala about his life prior to his arrival in England. I could only speculate, and try that little bit harder to help him.





Part three

The day before the end of the summer term.

My mother had accompanied Hala's mum to his parents evening at the school. Her English is pretty basic and her understanding of the issues that Hala has at school would not have been sufficient. When she got back home about nine, I wanted to know what happened.

`Basically he's a bright boy, but way behind in everything. There was one thing though that might interest you and Peter.'

She gave me one of those smiles. Something, just for an instant, lit up inside me.

`Oh. What's that?'

`He's the most improved boy in his class.'


I hadn't spoken to Robbie in ages. He made a point of sitting next to me a lunch today, squeezing himself between me and a great lump of a boy in my class.

`Hi Tom.'

`Long time no talkies, Robbie.'

`I know. Sorry.'

`So...are you all set then?'

`More or less.'

`Great. That's it then.'

`Not quite Tom. Can I come over sometime?'


`Yes, really. Tonight?'

I'm taken aback, but I'm not about to say no.

`Stay for tea?'

`Umm, ok. Can I stay afterwards?'


My mother was pleased to see Robbie, and made the usual fuss of him while I looked on. Robbie has always said how much he likes her. She's very good with boys. Robbie asked her if it was ok for him to stay the night.

`Of course you can Robbie. Tom, make sure he has everything please.'

The cheeky little so and so had come with his tooth brush, but nothing else. What else does a boy need when he sleeps over at his friend's house?

We made our excuses and retired early....about nine thirty. I showered first. Ideally we would both have got in there but there isn't room. Robbie was sitting on my bed, towel in hand and naked. I'm not a bad physical specimen, but when Robbie stood up it would have stopped most people in their tracks. He had developed since I last saw him nude.

`Bloody hell Robbie.'


As if he didn't know. Standing up like that was a quite deliberate piece of showing off. Ironically, the only part of him that appeared the same was his penis. His body looked suddenly youthful, but Robbie's cock was still the same nicely formed little object you would expect to see attached to the very prepubescent kid. I looked down at it. Of course he notices where I'm looking.

`That bit of me doesn't seem to be going anywhere does it Tom.'

I laughed.

`Good. Anyway I like it the way it is. Does it still work ok?'


`Well that's fine then isn't it?'

Robbie looks down in that lovely way of his.

I undress in front of him while he sits back on the bed. By the time I've stepped out of my pants and folded them neatly, I'm most of the way there. Robbie looks at my offering and smiles.

`That's nice Tom.'


We're cuddled up in bed now. It's a slight squash but my bed is a wide single thank goodness, but still won't allow much space between us. We're both aware of poking the other one in the tummy, and we both know that at some stage we will need to orgasm if we are to sleep, but not yet awhile. I've already mentioned Hala.

`How old is he?'


`And do you want to?'

`He's ten years old Robbie...and no, I don't want to. Don't be horrible.'

`Why? It didn't stop you with me did it? I was ten.'


`You know when.'

`You remember that? You were asleep weren't you?'

`No. I stopped when I heard you and Charlie come in.'

`Stopped what?'

`You know. Anyway , you saved me the bother.'


`Yes. Didn't you realise?'

`No I didn't.'

`Well you did.'

`Sorry. Was it nice?'

`Umm. The best ever.'

A pause. Then Robbie has a suggestion...

`Shall we?'

`Umm. How?'

`Like we are now.....I want to see you when I come.'

We're looking at each other. Moments later I kiss Robbie and he kisses me. Everything comes back to me....all those intense feelings I have for my beautiful boy. I have him in my hand and he has me in his. We stop kissing and we look at each other, our mouths open. I get up on my elbow and push the duvet off our bodies.

Robbie's right hand is working well, and I need to know.

`Are you ok Robbie?'

`Yes, are you?'

`Can I?'

`Go on...I will as soon as you do?'

I leaned over Robbie just enough to make sure .

We had no words...just my face and his face....my eyes and his eyes.....my breath and his breath...and then, afterwards, my mouth and his mouth.

`You did didn't you Robbie?'

`Yes Tom, don't worry, I did.'

`That's good then.'

`How about you Tom. Did you?'

We laughed, and inspected the living proof that I had indeed ejaculated fulsomely onto Robbie's tummy.

`When did you learn to do that Tom?'

I like Robbie's sense of humour.

`You're a funny boy Robbie.'

`Funny ha-ha?'

`Yes.....funny ha-ha. How does it feel to be loved by me?'

`Nice. Will you always?'

`Of course, but from a distance now. You're free to go and get loved by someone else now...one of those boy dancers....or one of the girls maybe?'

`There are eighteen of them, and six of us. You won't mind then?'

`No of course not. It's your life Robbie. Go and live it.'

`Don't Tom, please. You're going to make me cry.'

`Go on then Robbie. Then I can too.'

It was loud, anguished and real and true.....and we felt a lot better afterwards. It was our own way of finally letting go, and I wouldn't have had it any other way.

Go and live your life Robbie. Go and be as free as a bird as you fly through the air driven by your dreams.




Hala's mother was enthusiastic about the idea of him coming away with us. It would encourage him to be independent of her and to spend some time in a different environment away from London. Neither he nor his mother had had the opportunity for travel since their arrival in the UK almost exactly one year ago from the Lebanon. My mother had made all the arrangements...booking the cottage for the first three weeks of the summer holiday. She had arranged her annual leave to coincide with the dates, but my father would come and go as his work allowed. As a result of my success at dressing Hala so nicely for school, I had been given the task of repeating the trick for his time up on the Norfolk coast. It meant another trip to M and S for some basics, plus a visit to J and B Sports for some new trainers, two pairs of shorts, some white socks and a couple of sleeveless plain coloured tops. I'd guessed at sizes but more or less got it right when Hala insisted on showing me what he looked like. He has the figure of a runner and he looked fantastic in his new kit, and I was pleased with the result.

The cottage of brick and flint is neat and clean with the usual holiday extras available, such as a windbreak for the beach, should the weather up here be nice enough, and buckets and spades, and a couple of hand lines left in a tangle by the last users no doubt. There were two bedrooms.....one for my mother and father when he turned up, and the other for me and Hala which had twin beds. Hala loved our duvets which were covered in little sailing boats and sea birds flying around white clouds. Our room had a pleasant view down the narrow road all the way down to the harbour at the bottom. I could see bare masts and parked dingies in a huddle to the right of what looked like a river surrounded by marshes. Hala was fascinated.

`What's that noise Tom?'

`Birds Hala...seagulls probably.'

With all the fetching and carrying done.....food packed away...clothes sorted and stowed, we were sent out to explore.

We wandered up and down the wide quay amongst the late afternoon strollers, some with dogs on leads, people sitting on benches just looking, and parents supervising children of various ages peering over the edge of the wall next to plastic buckets filled with cloudy water and dark shapes at the bottom. We had a closer look at one. The shapes were moving. They were small dark green crabs.

`What are they doing Tom?'

`Catching crabs Hala. Look...they dangle the lines over the edge in the water.'

`What happens then?'

`Then the crab grabs hold of the bait and gets pulled up to the top and put in the bucket.'

`What happens to them?'

`They get put back into the water when it's time to go home. Everybody goes home at the end, including the crabs. It's called having fun. That's what we try to do when we go on holiday in England. We try very hard to have some fun....do some things we don't normally do at home.'

`Are there any crabs at home?'

`No, just here.'

`Can we try to catch one?'


My mother had warned me that Hala might get upset at bedtime about being away.

`What do I do if he starts howling then?'

`Well, talk to him Tom....try to reassure him. Have him in with you if need be, but Tom....remember he's not Robbie.'

I went a deep shade of pink when she said that. I hope she hadn't noticed. I had wondered for quite a while about how much she knew about me and Robbie. I suspect she knows more than I thought. I don't need a warning about my behaviour and my responsibilities towards Hala. Her comment upset me.

The first night went reasonably well. We had use of the bathroom which was close to our bedroom door, and my mother's bedroom had an ensuite. There was no shower in ours, just a large bath. Hala went in first, and I used his water. It was the first time Hala has seen me naked. I wondered how he would react. He had a good long look, looked up at me and smiled, and then had another long look. Then he looked down at his...and then back at mine.

I'd found a copy of `Coral Island' on the bookshelf. We began chapter one together sitting on Hala's bed. It's quite hard work but we are progressing. In bed later, Hala copied me by sleeping in just a tee shirt. It wasn't late and despite the curtains being drawn, heret was still a little light in the room. Hala was facing me, eyes wide open.

`Are you ok Hala?'

No answer.

Five minutes later I looked again. He had turned away from me. I got out of bed to have a closer look. He may have gone to sleep. He hadn't. I put my hand gently on his shoulder. He turns over towards me. I can see tears. I want him with me

`Would you like to come in with me Hala?'

Within five minutes he's asleep. I disengage from him and lay him more or less on his back. I need to look at him. I draw back the duvet so he's exposed to below the waist. I can't deny that what I'm seeing excites me. I carefully get out of the bed and into his. I know where my best chance of sleep lies. The feelings are strong and I give in to them. It's over quite quickly.


`Why don't you try out the crab lines Tom. Hala would enjoy that.'

First untangle the darned things.

`There's some bacon fat here. Try that as bait.'

My mother has obviously done this before.


We sat on one of the seats on the quay that make the perfect vantage point for viewing the crabbers, most of whom are lying prostrate on their tummies on the tarmac, heads overhanging the edge and hand gripping their line, and staring into the abyss watched by mummy, daddy, granny, granddad, or all four, plus a few more a few feet back on the benches.

I'd noticed the figure running along the quay. He was dressed in running shorts and a white singlet. He looked about my age, or perhaps a little younger. He ran right past us as I grappled with the tangled crab line. I watched as he reached the far end of the quay, stopped and looked back. I think he saw me looking. He turned and walked back in our direction. I thought he was going to go straight past but he stopped, casting a shadow over me.

`Do you want another one...I've got several.'

I looked up at him. He went on.....

`Can I help? I'm quite good at untangling those things. Comes with practice I find.'


I wasn't going to argue. It took him a couple of minutes before presenting Hala and I the slightly kinked but now untangled nylon line with a nasty looking hook thing at the end.

`You shouldn't use these. They've got sharp hooks and they damage the gillies.'

Hala looked at him.

`What's a gillie?'

`Those little crabs we catch here. That's what we call them.'

The boy took back the line, bent forward and ground the point off the hook.

`There. You can use that now. Do you have any bait?'

`Yes...some bacon fat.'

`Perfect. Are you on holiday?'

I explained our situation.

`Shall I show how to catch them?'

Why not?

He explained the technique to Hala, and within five minutes we had one up on deck as it were. Hala was thrilled.

I watched as the boy demonstrated his method. It involved squatting in various odd positions, plus a bit of kneeling down, before the prized little dark green crustacean emerged from the deep, clinging as if its life depended on it, to the fragment of bacon rind. The boy, triumphant, sat back, knees raised, supporting himself with arms behind him on the warm tarmac. I couldn't not notice. Loose fitting running shorts don't hide much when you sit like that. I looked away, worried that he might have noticed. I even entertained the idea that he wanted me to see. With Hala now usefully occupied I went back to the seat. The boy followed me and sat down. The boy was the first to speak.

`So, are you here for long?'

`Three weeks.'

`Oh. I live here so....I might see you here again maybe. What's your name? Mine's Max.'

`Tom, and that's Hala over there.'

I explained why he was with me.

`What year are you in?'

`Ten, or eleven in September when we go back.'

`I'll be in year nine then, but we don't call it that. Where do you go to school?'

More explaining followed, and more questions followed by more explanations.

`Where's your cottage?'

`Just up there.' I said pointing behind me.

`Which one?'

`Number twenty six. It's on the right just past the deli.'

`Do you want me to show you round Blakeney? I know everywhere. I can show you all the interesting places. Do you like swimming? How old is Hala?'

`He's ten.....eleven soon.'

`Same age as Henry. He's a friend of ours. Do you want to meet him?'


We had made friends on our first day, thus conforming to the holiday rule.....find a friend as soon as possible. Hala took to Henry straight away, somewhat beguiled by his boyish charms. He's one of those boys mother's like.....kind to animals [of course] and other children their age....beautifully behaved and quick to ask the other person what they would like to do. Henry is the perfect playmate for Hala, which leaves me slightly freer to talk to Max. He's confident both physically and socially, and charming with it. Tomorrow he's calling for me and we're going up to his house. He's two years younger than me so I'm a bit reticent, but Mum wants me to have some time away from Hala. He's lovely but I know she's right.

Hala came in with me last night. This time I stayed in with him for an hour or so, rather than decamping to his bed when he fell asleep. I lay with him in my arms. He was like a big teddy bear you need to have close to you, all warm and breathy, and for the first time I was aware of a sexual element on my side, if not on his. That's not to say that his penis didn't harden.....it did, but that happens regardless of what you're thinking about at his age. Sometimes being a Catholic boy is not easy. I have never seen a circumcised erection before. I had a very good look at Hala's. Interesting, but not something I would wish for myself. I can't imagine doing that to any son I might have.

I masturbated with him next to me. He was sound asleep of course, but his little cock was as hard as a nail. I had some tissue at the ready in exactly the right place when I came. I don't think I could have dealt with the guilt if I had allowed any to get on him. Despite that, I felt some shame. Twenty minutes later, with Hala turned over and his bare bottom in my view, my shame had evaporated into the night, to be replaced by lust. I came again just as quickly as the first time. I consoled myself in the knowledge that I hadn't touched him.

I don't know if sex was in Max's mind when he knocked at the door the following morning. It was lurking in a corner of mine. I had been thinking about Robbie that morning, and wondering how he was faring back at home. Mum had taken Hala off to the quay to meet Henry there and and play crabbing. I was on my own for a half hour before Max turned up. He was dressed in the same running kit he had on the previous day, at least it looked similar. He had a small rucksack on his back. I was curious.

`Hi Max. What have you got in there?'

`A towel. I thought we could jog to Cley and have a paddle. Do you fancy it?'

Max's outfit had already hinted at that sort of activity.

`Yeah, ok, but I doubt if I can keep up with you.'

`That's ok. We can walk and jog....or just walk if you want.'

`I need to change. Can you wait a bit?'

Max came upstairs with me and waited while I changed into a much lighter pair of shorts and a tee shirt which made me look more or less the same as him. Half an hour later we were standing in the car park at Cley beach.

`If we go that way for a bit they'll be no people.'

`Is that important then?'

`No not really. I think I might have a swim. You don't have to.'

We walked another half mile probably. The tide was low and the sand glistened in front of us below the pebbles that turned to a lighter shingle as the beach progressed seawards. Some white birds were strutting about busily pecking at the sand. Although it was probably only about ten, the sun felt strong.

`Here ok?'

Max's body positively glowed in the intense morning light and the virtually windless conditions. I stood there watching him undress. He made a neat pile of his clothes, such as they were, near the top of the beach and turned to me.

`Are you coming then? There's no one anywhere near us. No one's going to see you.'

`It's not that Max. It looks mighty cold out there.'

`Rubbish. What are you...man or mouse?'

`Well, come to think of it, probably mouse.'

`Come and paddle then. Are you going to come?'

That was about the third comment I could have taken more than one way.

I looked around and there wasn't another human in sight. Max stood there smiling while I stripped off. I stood up in front of him to face the music. He nodded his approval.

`Well, I suppose I asked for that didn't I? Are you ready to go for it? Just follow me, ok?'

I did. The water was freezing. It's the last week in July and I imagined it was like being castrated. I lasted about five minutes and Max a little more. We ran back to where our clothes were. Max extracted a large towel from his rucksack. There was room for both of us on it. We faced each other. He has eyes the opposite of Hala's....mostly green with little specks of brown. I can see salt left after the water has dried on his face. Max keeps looking at me.

`It wasn't so bad was it?'

`No. It was ok.'

`Is this ok?'


`You and me like this.'

`Yes. It's nice.'

`Are you warm enough?'

I'm at the crossroads. It's decision time, but I don't want to make it. I'm going to leave that up to Max. Max turned onto his back with his hands behind his head. I was still on my side propped up on an elbow.

`You remind me of Robbie.'

Max turned his head towards me.

`Which bit of me?'

`That bit.'

`Oh. Who's Robbie? Is he a skinny Jim like me then?'

`You're not a skinny Jim.'

`I am compared to you.'

`I like you like that.'

A pause, then....

`Have you had any girlfriends yet Tom?'

`No, not really.'

`Mainly Robbie then?'

`I suppose so. Not any more though, at least I don't think so. Not now.'

Another pause.

`Can you tell me about Robbie please?'


I started from the beginning.....the cheeky little brother of my friend Charlie.....and the night Charlie wanted to show me his sleeping brother under the bedclothes. That's when it really started. That was the night I really got interested in Robbie. Max is the same age as him and bears some definite similarities to him physically, if you know what I mean, but there again, don't most boys look more or less like that? Probably, apart from Hala of course.

Near the end of my story I noticed some figures in the distance. They were walking towards us along the beach. If they kept up their present course, they would pass a few yards below us along the shingle. We were higher up at the base of the low dunes amid the marram grass.

`Those people Max. Do you think we should put pants on?'

`No. Just turn over onto out tummies.'

`And keep our feet together?'

Rather naughtily, we compromised on that one. It must have looked rather obvious. I could hear the crunch of feet on the shingle quite close. I left enough time for them to pass by before I looked westwards to see where they were. They were about fifty yards further on. One of the men looked back. I found those moments curiously stimulating. I lay back down on my back. I looked down at my penis. I had swelled a little. Max, who had been on his tummy, turned onto his side. I looked at his. He saw me looking and smiled.

`Tom. You've got some sand in your tummy. Shall I brush it off for you.'

`Ok. That would be nice, thanks.'

I had no objection to what Max did. I thought it would probably end up this way....nature taking its course, or rather our natures?

Max claimed not to have seen a boy's semen before. He could see I'm into the puberty business fairly bigtime and was like most boys, curious to see what happened. It was all rather pleasant. With just a little direction and one or two adjustments, he got it completely right and it worked nicely. The first I ever saw of that stuff was my own, and since then I've only ever had the opportunity with younger boys. Hala is of course off limits...completely off limits.

`So Max, is your curiosity satisfied?'

He'd been playing with it for a couple of minutes....feeling the texture and generally moving the stuff around my tummy.

`Hmm, but not completely. What about your curiosity Tom?'

`There's nothing to find out is there Max?'

`You don't know until you've tried. I mean you can't be sure can you?'

`Fairly sure, but I'll give it a go, just to make sure shall I?'

I looked at his shining eyes and his cute smile.

`Where shall I start Max?'

He took my hand and guided it to where he wanted it. I was surprised that he wanted me to start there, but also excited. His reaction was interesting, just like Robbie's had been when he was touched there. I had heard that a lot of boys don't like any interference in that area, but here is one that does clearly enjoy it.

With his back to me now I can play with Max using both hands. I can taste the salt on his neck.


`So I was right then, wasn't I?'

`No. There was something.'

`Hardly. That doesn't count.'

`Why not?'

`That's little boy's stuff Max.'

Perhaps that wasn't the most tactful of comments, after all he'd done his best.


With Henry and Hala getting on like a house on fire, that left Max and I free to meet about every other day, and sometimes two days running for a couple of hours. Everything runs slower on holiday so when Henry called for Hala and my mother who would sit and read while they played on the quay probably catching the same crabs they had caught the day before, I would wander up to where Max lived with his mother.

By the second week we had reached a convenient equilibrium whereby nothing deep and meaningful was expected from the other, but just a general friendship between two boys who got on well. I met his mum and saw around his house which struck me as interestingly alternative. We would usually go out walking along one of the marsh footpaths or find a field to sit in. At some stage or other we would find a place where we wouldn't be disturbed.

During our walks I told him my story and he told me his. Needless to say, Robbie loomed large in what I had to say and Max has made me sufficiently confident in our friendship that I felt I didn't have to hold back in any way. I let him have it in all its detail just as it happened. Along the way, Max asked questions which, as I answered them honestly, enabled me to rationalize the whole experience. It turned us both on. Safe somewhere, and away from any disturbance, we delved into the images and feelings of the past and began the ritual process of mutual satisfaction. Two boys meet on holiday. They get on well at their first meeting. Both boys are interested in what the other might have to offer. Once the ice is broken, they are free to enjoy each other. It happens all the time, and the holiday comes to an end and they say goodbye. There is no guilt....just a gentle warmth to be savoured and remembered. That's how it was.

After our little sessions together we would go back to Max's house. He had mentioned a friendship that his mother had with an artist who had a place in the village. Max had told me that he and the artist were also friends. Max was reticent to go into detail about what their friendship involved, but I had already gathered that Max was a boy who liked the attention of older boys, and young men. On the wall in the living room was a full length drawing of a nude boy which was instantly recognizable as Max. I had to ask him....

`Who did the drawing Max?'

A pause.

`The artist friend of my mum's. Do you like it?'

`Umm.....yes I do, very much.'

`Would you like to meet him? He's really nice.'


The next day we found him working not far from the quay, standing at his easel painting the creek that runs off the main channel. We stood beside him as he worked, seemingly not noticing us. In fact he had noticed us.

`Hello you two. What are you up to?'

Max answered.

`We're just walking to Morsten. Tom wanted to see what you do.'

`Did he indeed.'

The artist put the brush in his other hand and turned towards me.

`So, what do you think? Any good?'

`Er, yes, it's nice. I like it.'

`Excellent. Do you paint?'

`A bit.....well, I'm trying to. I'm doing my GCSE in art this coming year.'

`Ah. So you're one of us then?'

`Yes, I suppose so.'


There wasn't much conversation on our walk to Morsten. I had the feeling that Max regretted introducing me to the artist. I had an odd feeling about it.

`So, are you going to tell me then Max, or is it a big secret?'

He never did tell me.


The three weeks had gone so fast. On the last afternoon, my mother told me to take Hala somewhere...anywhere...so she could get everything together for the drive home the next morning. She had spent quite a lot of time with Hala to give me, she explained, a decent break from school work and coaching our new friend in his reading and so on. She said she was really pleased that we had both made friends, and of course that gave her time too to sit and read another of the pile of books she had brought with her in the hopes that she would have some time to read them.

Max and Henry came round about two. They both wanted to spend some time with us, and to say their goodbyes. The four of us set off to the quay, Hala and Henry leading the way.....Hala with his arm around Henry's shoulder.

`Look at those two Max.'

`Umm...that's nice isn't it.'

Indeed it was. It was a good decision to bring Hala with us, and as the days passed, his confidence grew visibly as the sad memories of the past gradually fade, at least we're hoping so.

There was a seat free on the quay. A couple had just vacated it, wandering off with small dog on a lead. It accommodated the four of us nicely. Henry sat next to me, his brown legs almost touching mine.....hands together in his lap. I looked sideways at him and he noticed.

`Thanks for looking after Hala. That was kind of you Henry.'

`That's ok. I like him.'

He looked down , fiddling with his fingers, and kicking out his feet. I shall miss max, but I'm going to miss Henry too, with his ready smile and unkempt curly fair hair.

Max was at the far end of the seat with Hala to his left. We watched as two girls just in their knickers slid down the mud slide on the bank opposite us. This is a favourite activity at low water. Parents are not in favour as the slimy and shiny ooze stains clothes beyond any kind of restoration. You sit at the top of the bank and gently slide down the six feet or so of mud into what's left of any water in the river. Hala and Henry were entranced at the two girls' antics.

`Can we please?' Henry asks.

Max looked at me for a reaction to Henry's question.

`Are you serious Henry?'

`Yes. We can leave our stuff here with you. Can we?'

Max told the boys how to reach the opposite bank by crossing the river, now no more than six inches deep, at the slipway just a few yards to our left. Luckily both boys had bothered with underwear this morning.

The two figures of the boys soon matched the girls in terms of their total filthiness. They were covered from head to toe in the dark slimy mud, to the considerable amusement of the passers-by. I wondered what my mother would think if she knew. Oh well, we'll have to deal with that in due course. Hala and henry stood up on the bank triumphant, wiping the mud all over their bodies like two savages from Lord of the Flies, their underpants, previously pristine white, now a deep shade of brown. Max thought they had enough fun.

`Come on Henry, that's enough now....please?'

I agreed. Max walked the few yards to the edge of the quay and yelled instructions.

`Go into the deepest bit of water and wash it off Henry.'

They both did as they were told, but they were a long way from succeeding.

The four of us walked back up the High Street to our cottage. Mum saw us.

`In the bath please. I'll take those things.'

I don't think she was best pleased.

Max and I sat the boys in the warm water, less than half full. Hala sat between Henry's legs. Max, using the detachable shower head, started on Hala while Henry worked on Hala's back. With the worst off, we disposed of the murky water and replaced it. Henry lay back with the top half of Hala resting on his chest. Henry placed his hands on Hala's tummy, while Max and I sat on the edge of the bath looking at the boys.

Hala looked tired, and Henry was quiet....unusually so. Max and I held a towel each. I helped Hala out of the bath onto the bath mat where he stood dripping gently. It must be some maternal instinct in me because I enjoyed drying him as he stood there. I feel proud of him and I'm not sure why really.

Max saw to Henry who had found bath time with Hala stimulating. I'm not surprised. Of course I had wondered what he would look like, and now I could see for myself. Max turned Henry towards me while he dried the boy's hair and back. Henry looked at me while I looked at him.


My mother had sent Hala into our bedroom to lie down for an hour. He was clearly tired and it made sense to make him rest. Henry went with him. Within ten minutes both boys were sleeping, open mouthed and barely separated.

Mum knew that we wanted to rest. It was our last chance to be together, Max and I. We undressed quickly. We were both excited...almost breathless in anticipation. I got in first and held the duvet open for Max.

We looked at each other wondering who would speak first. It was Max's suggestion.

`Can we do something we haven't done before please?'

`What Max?'

`Come here Tom.'

I put my head closer to his. I felt his breath in my ear, and then his lips, and then his tongue. I felt his fingers in my hair and then his mouth on my neck.

`Can I please?'

I must have nodded. I don't think I said anything, just nodded. That's all I did. Then Max started.


I looked at the clock when I woke up. Five past five. Max was still asleep. I put my hand on his shoulder. His eyes opened.

`Hello sleepy head.'


Max smiles at me. I felt his breath on my face.

`Take a look at those two. Aren't they sweet?'

`What, our Henry? I wouldn't describe him as sweet.'

`Can you see where his hand is?'

`Umm. Shall we have a look?'

We both got out from under the duvet.

`Bloody hell Max.'


I didn't say anything.

I drew back the sheet that covered the two boys. Henry was fully up and resting neatly between Hala's buttocks, but Hala wasn't at all moved. I gently moved Henry's hand that had strayed between Hala's thighs, appearing to be trapped between them and very adjacent. Henry rolled onto his back, his hand gravitating to his penis. Hala didn't move.

I remembered Robbie lying there that night.

Max remembered the story.....my first real encounter with Robbie.

`Did Robbie look like that?'

`Pretty much.'

`Do you want to?'

`No. Are you going to?'

Max put his hand where Henry's was. Henry's head turned towards us. His eyes opened slowly and then his head turned away. He moved his hand from his penis and put Max's in its place. Max and I knelt on the floor beside Henry.

Max carried on for a short while after Henry had come.

`Do you want to kiss him goodbye Tom? He'd like that.'

I did kiss him goodbye, and in the same way Max and I had kissed goodbye an hour or so before.


I told Max not to come and see us off in the morning. As we leave the public car park opposite, I imagine him at Blue Cottage. Maybe he's thinking about us at this moment? Maybe he's with Henry.


Mum decided to take the country route back, avoiding the city. The village signs drift by....Brinningham.....Guist...North Elmham, and then the town of Dereham. The back seat is packed up on one side so Hala is sitting tight against me with his head resting on my shoulder....a head full of happy memories hopefully. I wonder what the future will bring him, or me for that matter?

It was an odd sensation...being home again. Everything to do, but nothing to do. Perhaps a walk would be best. They'll be flying their kites on Parliament Hill.





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