There's another afternoon of car park football coming up, in which we'll get a chance to catch up with Sim and Uzzy and find out how Sim's unorthodox elocution classes are progressing. But first we need to find out whether Neil and Kam have a future together or not...
Kam was a little nervous about going to school next day: he was afraid of how Neil would treat him. And at first Neil did seem reluctant to approach him, but eventually he plucked up his courage and came up to where Kam was leaning on the wall outside his form room.
“Look, I’m sorry about being such an idiot last night,” he said. “I felt a bit strange just after we’d… you know, done it. But by the time I got home I felt fine again. I’d have phoned you then, but I didn’t know your number.”
“That’s okay. So… you’re okay about… you know, what happened?”
Neil nodded. “Yes, definitely. I really liked it, Kam. I suppose it was just… well, you know – it was the first time I’d ever done anything like that, and it sort of messed up my head for a bit afterwards. So… are we still friends?”
“Of course we are. I was afraid I’d messed up – I thought maybe I’d hurt you, or something. So does that mean you’ll come and play football with us this weekend?”
“Yes, I’d like that – as long as I don’t end up having to strip, not on my first time. I’d like to at least get to know everyone a bit before I risk that. And… to be honest, I’d still much rather I never had to at all. I mean, I wouldn’t mind if it was just you, but… well, you know.”
“I think I can make sure you don’t have to this weekend,” Kam assured him. “Anyway, like I said before, I reckon you’re too good to mess up – as long as you don’t end up going in goal, that is… look, give me your number, and I’ll call you as soon as I know for sure when we’re going to be playing. I’m pretty sure it’ll be Sunday afternoon, though – there are usually more people free then.”
Miguel and Andy had suffered none of Neil’s qualms: they greeted each other happily on the Tuesday morning and at the start of break Andy grabbed Miguel and towed him off to a corner of the playground where they could talk without being overheard.
“I hope you didn’t get into trouble for getting home late last night,” he said.
Miguel shrugged. “No, I was okay. I cannot do that every day, but perhaps one day, or perhaps two days a week will be okay.”
“Good. Then you can come round to my house and we can strip again soon. That was brilliant fun… and I started wondering about what the other boys in our class look like. Can you think of a way to make them strip for us?”
Miguel shook his head. “I try to see them when we change for games, but when we play cricket they do not undress. And when we go to the pool they all change in separate…”
“Cubicles,” supplied Andy. “Yes, I know. Of course, sometimes there are too many of us to be able to get changed all at once – I wonder if we can get some of them to share, instead of waiting for an empty one? We’ll have to have a look next time we go swimming. But I was thinking of finding some other way, and I thought… can you play cards, Miguel?”
“I can play mus.”
“What’s that?”
“It is a Spanish card game. I have not heard that it is played in England, though.”
“Can you play poker?”
Miguel shook his head. “At home we only play Spanish games,” he said.
“Then I’ll have to teach you. Once you’re good enough, we can challenge other boys to play strip poker with us.” He saw the question coming and forestalled it. “That’s a version of poker where whoever has the lowest hand has to take something off. I think that if we work together we can probably make sure the third person loses all his clothes before either of us does. What do you think?”
“I think that will be fun. Is it hard to learn how to play this game?”
“Not really. I’ll bring my cards to school tomorrow so I can start teaching you. So that’s two ways we can go. Of course, we could just grab people and pull their shorts down – with two of us it would be easy. But we’d have to be sure we didn’t try that on someone with a big brother, or we might get bashed up. I think the cards would be safer. So let’s see how many of the boys in our class we can strip between now and the end of term…”
On Sunday afternoon the Collection got together in the car park as usual. Today there was a good turn-out: Jeremy had managed to keep his runaway tongue under control for once, and everyone else was there except Kam, though Awais told them he was waiting for a friend to turn up and would be round as soon as the other boy got there.
“We’ll get a decent game in today,” said Tony. “I still reckon we could do with a couple more players, though – it really needs at least six of us to get a proper game played, and we won’t get that many every time unless there are more of us to start with. So we’ll all need to be on the lookout for new members. So if you know any black kids, or foreigners, or kids whose dads are trade unionists, even…anything to annoy Adolf…”
“There’s a Welsh boy in our class,” Uzzy said. “I’m not sure if he counts as ‘foreign’, though, and he’s not much good at football, to be honest…”
“No, hold on,” interrupted Jeremy. “Sorry, Tony, but that’s the wrong idea altogether. I don’t want all my friends to be foreign, or coloured, or anything like that. Okay, I know it’s just sort of happened like that, but if we start saying ‘we don’t want you because you’re white and English’, we’re no better than Adolf. I mean, I was really happy that Sim started coming, and I’d have been just as happy for him to play with us if he hadn’t turned out to be Jewish. We’re here to have fun and play football, not to form an exclusive club whose main purpose is to annoy my idiot step-father. So if you know anyone who can play football – they don’t have to be that good, even…”
“Like you, you mean,” put in Bilal, grinning at him. Jeremy ignored him.
“...just get them to come along, whatever they look like or wherever they come from, okay? Right, let’s get started.”
He pulled a battered pack of cards from his pocket, fanned through them and pulled out three red cards, three black ones and a joker, which he shuffled and dealt out face down on the wall.
“Joker sits the first game out,” he said. “Reds one team, blacks the other. You all pick and I’ll have whatever’s left.”
They each took a card. Uzzy got the joker and parked himself on the wall to watch, while Tony, Awais and Miguel lined up against Jeremy, Sim and Bilal.
The game was three or four minutes old, with Tony’s team winning one-nil, when Kam arrived, accompanied by Neil. Kam introduced Neil to the Collection and then told him to join Tony’s team, while he joined Jeremy’s.
The afternoon wore on: each game was played until one team had scored five goals, then the teams were changed and they started again. After a particularly heated argument between Miguel and Awais they decided that the one not playing should be referee instead of spectator, and that seemed to work, though it didn’t entirely stop the arguing.
Finally they reached the point where everyone had had a turn as referee, and that seemed to be a good point to stop for a rest for a few minutes. Neil got to tell them a bit more about himself, mainly about the club side he played for in the winter, and one or two of the others wondered aloud if maybe they should try to join a proper club for the following season.
There was a lull in the conversation, at which point Tony said, “What about a game of headers and volleys, then?”
“Only if you’re going in goal,” said Kam at once.
“Yeah, okay. I know one of you lot will give me a catch sooner or later.”
“Right,” said Kam. “Then we’ll split into two teams, like we did that first time when Sim was in goal: we can’t have eight of us playing at the same time, or we’ll just get in each other’s way.”
“However you like,” said Tony, cockily. “Er… does Neil know how this works?”
“Yes, I’ve already warned him.”
“Good, then he can play and take his chance with the rest of you. Who wants to go first?”
Jeremy got his cards out again and they cut for it, with the result that the first quartet was to be Miguel, Uzzy, Bilal and Neil. Neil didn’t look too happy, but he took his place with the others without arguing. The other four sat on the wall and called out useless advice and gratuitous insults, as seemed appropriate.
Neil needn’t have worried: he scored two good goals that Tony got nowhere near, and Miguel added a third, before Uzzy hit the most perfect volley of his life, beautifully timed and hit hard – but straight into Tony’s midriff. Tony held it comfortably.
Uzzy sighed and walked over to the wall, peeling off his shirt, while Sim trotted down to the corner of the L to check that the coast was clear.
“Can I keep my glasses on?” asked Uzzy, when he was down to his pants. “Only I don’t want to do the run and then get told it doesn’t count because I’m still wearing my specs.”
“Yes, glasses don’t count as clothes,” said Jeremy, firmly. “It wouldn’t be fair to make you do it if you couldn’t see where you were going.”
“It’s there and back twice, remember,” Tony pointed out, grinning at him. “That’s how everyone else has done it so far.”
Uzzy scowled at him but didn’t answer, and once Sim had called that it was clear he pulled his pants off and jogged off towards the far end of the car park.
The others cheered him on, encouraging him to run faster, and he sprinted the last leg at top speed, barely managing to stop before he ran into the fence that formed the end of the car park. Then he bent forward with his hands on his knees for a few seconds to get his breath back.
Kam noted that Neil was staring at Uzzy’s groin with undisguised interest, which he thought was a good sign: it looked as if Neil had fully recovered from his doubts of last Monday evening.
“Is that what you look like?” Neil whispered in his ear, confirming his impression.
“Well, there’s a bit more of me than that, but otherwise… yes, more or less.”
Uzzy straightened up and got dressed once more. “Who’s next?” he asked, but there were no volunteers, and Jeremy looked at his watch and said he ought to be going anyway, and that signalled the end of the game.
Sim and Uzzy had left their bikes at Kam’s house as usual, and so had Neil, so they all walked back that way together. Sim had been quiet for a while: he was expecting another poetry test when they got back to Kam’s house, and he wasn’t looking forward to it.
Sim had a bad lisp, and he had until fairly recently not made much of an attempt to get rid of it. But a few weeks ago Uzzy, who was his best friend, had told him that he hated the way people made fun of Sim’s voice, and that he was going to do something about it. He had told Sim that he was going to give him some poetry to read aloud, and every time Sim failed to pronounce an ‘s’ correctly he was going to get a pin jabbed into his bum. Uzzy had enlisted Kam’s help, and the test had duly been administered, and Sim had not enjoyed it at all, though he had to admit it really helped him to concentrate on what he was saying. Since then he had undergone two more such sessions, and each time he had made fewer mistakes, though the pin didn’t seem to get any less sharp with each new jab. Nevertheless, he continued to go along with it, both because he knew he could probably eliminate his speech impediment if he wasn’t so lazy about it, and because Uzzy was his closest friend, and for him he would have been prepared to do virtually anything.
They were working their way through the poetry of Lewis Carroll: they had started with ‘Jabberwocky’, and this week they were going to be using ‘The Mad Gardener’s Song’, which Sim had been looking at during the week in an attempt to learn it, complete with all the s’s.
“’He thought he sssaw an elephant’,” he muttered under his breath. “Come on, I know I can do thith… damn, this!”
But when they reached Kam’s house it appeared that a reprieve had arrived: Kam’s mother stuck her head out of the kitchen and said, “Usman, your mother just called. She says you have to go straight home – your uncle and aunt from Leicester have arrived, and she wants you there now.”
“But they weren’t supposed to arrive until this evening… oh, well, I suppose I’d better go. Sorry, Sim, we’ll have to put off your reading until next week… unless Kam wants to do it?”
“No, it’s more fun if you’re there too,” Kam told him, and Sim breathed a sigh of relief, which was quickly extinguished when Awais asked, “What are you talking about?”
“We’re training Sim to stop lisping,” Kam told him. “We make him read poetry, and if he gets it wrong we jab a pin into his bum. But we can’t today because Uzzy’s got to go home.”
“I don’t mind doing it,” said Awais, eagerly.
“No, you don’t have to,” said Sim, quickly. “I don’t mind thkip… skipping a week.”
“You won’t get better if you keep ‘thkipping’ weeks,” said Awais, cheekily. “Come on, Kam, let me do it. I expect you want to talk to Neil and stuff.”
Kam hadn’t thought of that – he’d been expecting to be busy with Sim and Uzzy, but now here was an opportunity to have some more fun with Neil instead. “Okay,” he said. “You look after Sim – you can use Safa’s room, she’s gone out with Dad. Sim, you do what my brother tells you, unless you want me and Neil to have to come in and help him, okay?”
“Okay,” agreed Sim, unenthusiastically. He said goodbye to Uzzy, took the poetry book from him and followed Awais upstairs to Awais’s little sister’s bedroom. Kam, meanwhile, took Neil up to his bedroom, gave Awais a pin and ordered him strictly to stay out of their room until he was told he could come back in. Then he closed the door firmly.
Awais trotted across the landing to his sister’s room, closed the door behind him and came to sit next to Sim.
“Do they really stick the pin in you if you make a mistake?” he asked.
Sim nodded.
“Why do you let them do that?”
“Becau… because I want to get better at talking,” Sim explained. “Uthy’s right, I hate it when the kidth at thcool… I mean, the ki… kidsss at ssschool, laugh at me. It hurtth… hurts, but it’ll be worth it if I can talk properly.”
“Okay. I mean, you know I enjoyed it when they let me spank you, and I’d like to do this, too – but only if you don’t mind.”
“I wouldn’t put it like that. It hurt… hurts, and I’d prefer it not to happen, but I’ve agreed, tho I ought to do it.”
“Good. So, what do we do, exactly?”
“Well, I take my clotheth off, and then I read the poem, and every time I get it wrong you jab my bum with the pin, okay?”
“What, you have to be bare? Brilliant – I like seeing you like that. Go on, then, get stripped.”
So Sim took his clothes off while Awais sat on the bed and giggled at him; and once he was naked Sim lay down on his stomach on the bed and opened the book of poetry. Awais sat down next to him and ran his hand across Sim’s bum, trying to decide where to stick the pin.
“Okay?” asked Sim, and Awais nodded happily.
“’He thought he… sssaw an elephant that practisssed on a fife',” Sim began. “’He looked again, and found it wath’…ouch!”
“First mistake,” announced Awais, unnecessarily.
“I know. ‘…found it wa… was a letter from hi… his wife. “At length I realithe’ – eek!”
“Two,” said Awais, blithely. “If you get five wrong I’m going to spank you as well. That’s fun, that is.”
“’”At length I realise”’,” Sim resumed, glaring over his shoulder, “’he said, “The bitterne… bitternessss of life!” He thought he ssaw a buffalo upon the chimney-piethe… bloody hell, Awaith!”
“Get my name right, or I’ll do it again,” said Awais, grinning at him.
“’Upon the chimney-piece. He looked again, and found it was…” He swallowed, and resumed, slowly and with immense care, “his sister’s husband’s niece’.”
“Brilliant, well done!” said Awais.
“’”Unless you leave thith... this houth’… oh, bugger!”
“Take it more slowly,” advised Awais. “You do it better if you don’t rush.”
“’”Unless you leave this house”, he thaid – ow!”
“Oh, dear, that’s five,” said Awais, happily. “I tell you what, though – get the whole of the next verse right and I’ll let you off the spanking.”
“’”I’ll send for the pol…police,”’” said Sim, blackly. “’He thought he – he saw a rattleth… rattlesnake that queth’ – wait! – ‘questioned him in Greek. He looked again, and found it wa… was the middle of nectht week’… okay, okay I know that was wrong – OWWW!!”
“That’ll do for today,” said Awais, putting the pin down on the bedside table. “Look, Simmy, you can do it if you try. Look at that difficult line full of s’s – you got that right. Speak a bit more slowly and think what you’re saying and I bet you can do it. You’ve just got to keep practising. ‘Cept now you’re getting spanked. Stand up.”
Obediently Sim stood up and Awais took hold of him the way Uzzy had taught him, which was to say that he gripped Sim’s cock and balls firmly in his left hand, pulled him down over his lap and squeezed. Sim didn’t mind this half as much as being jabbed with the pin, even though it was extremely humiliating to be held like this by a boy two and a half years younger than he was. In fact, the humiliation somehow made it more exciting for him: Sim had found that he enjoyed it when Uzzy undressed him and did things to him while he was naked, and having Awais control him like this was just as thrilling, if not even more so.
Almost at once Sim began to get an erection, and Awais laughed and squeezed a bit harder, until what he was holding was as big as it could get.
“Now keep still or I’ll twist it right off,” he said, and he began to spank the older boy’s bum, quite gently at first but getting harder and harder, until Sim was yelping and gasping at each blow. Soon it was really hurting, but he couldn’t do anything about it because each attempt to wriggle or to put his hand in the way was rewarded with an agonising wrench to his genitals. So he had to lie there and take it until Awais finally decided he had been punished enough, by which time he felt as if his bum was on fire.
“Stand up,” Awais ordered, and Sim got to his feet, holding his sore bottom. His erection, however, was undiminished, and Awais reached out and stroked it gently.
“It’s really big, Simmy,” he said. “I reckon it’s bigger than the last time I saw it all hard. If it goes on getting bigger every time I spank you, it won’t fit in your trousers by the end of term! How’s your bum?”
“Ssore,” said Sim, carefully.
“Good. If it wasn’t I’d have to hit it some more. So, do you think you deserve to be allowed to get dressed yet?”
“Up to you,” said Sim, shrugging: he actually quite liked being bare and stiff and having Awais looking at him.
“Well… I suppose you have been good and done what I told you. But maybe we’d better wait five minutes, just in case where I stuck the pin in you starts bleeding all over your pants. I’ll just keep playing with this big thing for a bit, I think.”
In fact the pin had barely drawn blood at all, and the only little drops that had appeared had already dried up, but Awais liked playing with Sim’s erection, and as Sim himself didn’t seem to mind he thought he might as well keep doing it for a bit. So he stroked the balls and ran his fingers along the length of the stiff penis, fascinated by the way it curved upwards, and Sim stood still, enjoying the feeling of being entirely under the younger boy’s control.
Finally Awais told him to get dressed, though only because he was afraid that it might not be long before Kam came to find out what they were doing, and he thought it wouldn’t be fair on Sim to be caught in the state he was in. Reluctantly Sim pulled his clothes back on.
“Next time we’ll do that when my brother’s out, or we’ll find somewhere else to do it,” promised Awais. “Then I won’t have to let you get dressed for hours if I don’t want. Come on, let’s go and see what he’s doing.”
But when they crossed the landing and knocked on the bedroom door Kam told them to go away, so instead they went downstairs, took the football out into the garden and practised taking penalties for a while, until eventually Sim said that he ought to be getting home. Awais walked down the path with him.
“Simmy… I suppose I was a bit cruel to you upstairs,” said Awais. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”
“Of courthe not. If I get it wrong, you’re allowed to do thtuff to me.”
“Good. ‘Cos… I like you, Simmy. You’re fun.” And he turned and went back indoors, while Sim got onto his bike and headed for home.
As soon as he had packed his brother off to listen to Sim’s poetry-reading Kam closed his bedroom door, wedged a chair under the handle to prevent anyone from bursting in on them, and then turned to Neil and smiled.
“So – what are we going to do now?” he asked.
“Well, perhaps I should practise getting undressed again, just in case I have to do it out there in the car park,” suggested Neil.
“Okay. Off you go, then.” And Kam sat down on his bed to watch.
This time Neil had no qualms at all, and this was obvious from his condition when he had removed his pants, which was stiff and twitching. Kam grinned and reached for it, and this time Neil moved towards him to make it easier for him. He allowed Kam to play with it for a minute or so, and then asked, “What about you? Don’t you think you ought to get in a bit of practice at getting undressed too, just in case?”
“Oh, I’m not going to lose out there, so I don’t need to,” replied Kam, grinning.
“Maybe not, but I still think it would be a good idea to practise. Please?”
“Well, if you put it like that…” Kam stood up and started to undress, and Neil’s face lit up. He watched eagerly as Kam removed his clothes, but when he had reached his underpants Kam stopped.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he said.
“No, you haven’t,” replied Neil, shoving him onto the bed and jumping on him. Kam wriggled a bit but didn’t make any serious attempt to stop Neil grabbing his underpants and pulling them off.
“Wow!” exclaimed Neil, looking at what he had just revealed. “You weren’t kidding about there being more of you… that’s amazing, Kam! Can I… can I touch you, please?”
“Go ahead.”
Neil wriggled across so that they were lying side by side on the bed and then tentatively reached out and ran his fingers across Kam’s abundant pubic hair.
“Gosh, that feels really soft,” said Neil. “And there’s so much of it – are you really only thirteen, Kam? You look much older…”
“When’s your birthday?”
“March 27th.
“Then I’m about two months older than you – my birthday’s January 24th.”
Neil laughed. “Does that mean I’ll have that much hair in two months time?” he asked.
“Probably not, unless you cut some off your head and glue it on round your cock. I reckon it’ll take a bit longer for yours to grow that much properly – mine started growing when I was about eleven and a half.”
“And you’re quite a bit bigger than me, too. How long is it?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t measured it. About five and a half inches, I suppose. There’s a ruler on my desk if you want to make sure.”
Neil couldn’t resist that invitation and went and fetched it. “Five point seven,” he reported. “That’s really big for thirteen, Kam. I bet the girls are impressed. Have you ever… you know, done it with a girl?”
“No, I’ve never even been out with one. You don’t get much chance to meet girls when you’re at an all-boys school like ours. Of course, the GFs are only just down the road, but we don’t really get a chance to talk to them – and, anyway, I don’t think I’m ready for going out with girls yet. What about you? You’re really good-looking – I reckon you’d have no trouble getting a girlfriend.”
“You think so? I reckon you are, too.”
“Maybe we should go and hang around outside Gordon’s and see which one of us they come after first, then.”
“No, thanks. I don’t want a girlfriend yet, either – and I reckon if I did it wouldn’t be the Gordon Foundation I’d be hanging around outside. I think I’d prefer the grammar school. GF girls are supposed to be rough.”
“Who told you that?”
Neil shrugged. “It’s what they say, that’s all. I don’t know if it’s true or not, and I don’t really care, either, because I’m sure I won’t be going out with any girls in the near future. I can’t be bothered with it – and I’m sure having a girlfriend would get in the way of playing football.”
“That’s probably true. Anyway, you don’t need a girlfriend at the moment, because you’ve got me, and I reckon I can make you feel as good as a girl could, any day. Like this, for example.” And Kam took hold of Neil’s erection and began to caress it, very slowly.
Neil rolled a little closer and took hold of Kam in the same way. “Can I make it happen to you this time?” he asked.
“Yes, but not yet: we’ve got plenty of time. I’m sure Awais will be busy with Sim for a while yet. Let’s just do it really slowly and see how long we can make it last.”
So they fondled each other, stroking each other’s bodies all over and generally exploring each other, until eventually Neil pushed Kam onto his back, took hold of his erection and started to rub it properly. Again, it didn’t take long: both boys were by now very excited, and Kam could feel his orgasm rushing towards him like an express train. He held it back for as long as he could, but that really wasn’t very long.
Neil was amazed by the amount and consistency of what came shooting out of Kam’s penis, splattering across his chest and stomach: he just stared at it, lost for words.
Kam managed to reach the box of tissues on his bedside table and started to wipe himself down. “What’s the matter?” he asked, seeing the look on Neil’s face.
“Nothing – it’s just… there’s so much of it.”
“Oh, you’ll get that much before too long – say about another ten years!” teased Kam.
Neil hit him, but not hard. “I bet it doesn’t take that long,” he said. “I didn’t have any at all a couple of months ago. I expect I’ll catch up with you soon.”
“Well, let’s see how you’re doing,” said Kam, rolling Neil onto his back and taking hold.
There was a knock at the door, and Neil jumped so hard he nearly fell off the bed.
“Go away!” called Kam, adding in a whisper, “Don’t worry, that chair will keep them out. Anyway, Awais is okay about keeping out of the way when I’m doing something.”
Sure enough, a minute or so later they heard his brother’s voice from out in the garden, so Kam restored Neil’s erection – the near-interruption had scared him into losing it – and set to work. Again, it didn’t take very long, but this time the result was merely a spurt and a dribble of something that was almost colourless. Kam wiped it off Neil’s stomach with a tissue and handed him another one to dry himself off with.
“Okay?” he asked.
Neil nodded. In truth he still felt a little strange, but this time it seemed much less of a problem. He smiled up at Kam and said, “Yes, that was brilliant. And I’m sorry about getting all weird on you last time. I won’t do that again.”
“Good,” said Kam, getting up and pulling on his underwear. “I like you much better when you’re not being weird. Come on, get dressed, and then we’d better go and see what my brother’s up to.”
Jeremy walked home from the car park feeling happier than he had for quite a while: it was amazing how just kicking a ball about with his friends allowed everything else to slip into the background. Okay, his problems were still there, but not having to think about them for a while was brilliant.
One of his problems was still with him, though: Bilal lived only a few doors away from him, and so they were walking home together. Jeremy was determined not to ruin the friendship, so he put aside all of his less wholesome thoughts about his friend and just chatted to him about the afternoon, replaying his better goals and fending off Bilal’s reminders about his less positive contributions to the play.
“I’m glad it was Uzzy lost the headers and volleys and not me,” said Bilal, bringing Jeremy back to the root of his difficulty at a stroke. “I’d do it if I lost, of course, but I bet everyone would laugh at me.”
“Why? There’s nothing wrong with you, is there?”
“No, but… look, I wouldn’t admit this to anyone else… it’s just… well, I don’t really want anyone looking at me at the moment. It’s because… well, I’ve started getting hair, and I bet they’d all take the piss if they saw.”
“I bet they wouldn’t – I reckon they’d all be jealous. Well, all except Kam, anyway – he’s practically an adult already, and I bet he’s got loads of hair.”
“Do you think so? Only, I feel sort of funny about it, that’s all.”
“You shouldn’t. You should feel proud that you’re growing up and getting more mature. I’d be more ashamed if you looked like me: mine hasn’t grown at all. I still look about six years old when I’m undressed.”
“I bet you don’t. I bet you look the same as the rest of us – well, okay, yours is white and you’ve still got a foreskin, but you know what I mean. Anyway, they said you had to streak that week I was still on the way back from Pakistan. Did they laugh at you then?”
“Well, no…”
“Well, then. Anyway, we’re your friends, so we’re not going to laugh at you whatever happens.”
“We’re not going to laugh at you, either. We didn’t laugh at Awais or Uzzy when they had to streak, did we?”
“I suppose not. Okay, I suppose it would be okay if I had to do it - but I’d still sooner I didn’t have to.”
This, of course, would have been the cue for Kam, had he been in Jeremy’s shoes, to suggest that Bilal should practise getting undressed with an audience of one, just to get used to the idea; but Jeremy didn’t have Kam’s gall, and so he stayed silent, though the thought of Bilal undressing in front of him had the usual undesired effect, and he was obliged to stick his hand in the pocket of his jeans to try to conceal what would otherwise have been a very unfortunate bulge. Fortunately for him Bilal didn’t notice.
They reached Bilal’s house and said goodbye, and Jeremy finished the journey by himself, and by the time he reached his garden gate his body had stopped misbehaving. But it did serve to remind of how urgently he needed to find a solution to his problem...
So now we know that the Kam and Neil relationship looks pretty solid, and that Sim still enjoys being on the receiving end of relationships – but Jeremy is no further on with sorting his life out than he was at the end of the first chapter. Maybe we'll need to spend a bit more time with him in Chapter Four...
The address is still gothmog@nyms.net and I still like finding stuff in the inbox...
Copyright 2007: All rights reserved. Please do not reprint, repost or otherwise reproduce this or any part thereof anywhere without my written permission.
David Clarke