CHAPTER TWO

[Additional author‘s note: if you're not British and of a certain age you might want to skip this paragraph, which is likely to seem like gibberish, and in any case nothing in it makes any difference at all to the actual story — you can consider it purely as a sort of Easter egg... anyway, it took me a long time to find a title for this story. While I was writing it I simply referred to it as 'Kevin and Chris', which is about as boring a title as you could ask for. Eventually I hit on the existing title, which still isn't great, but which will just about do, I think. But I was seriously thinking of calling it Mornington Crescent, not because it has any connection at all with the London thoroughfare and underground station of that name, but because of something which all the juvenile characters in this story have in common (though I readily admit that an ability to speak certain foreign languages, while not indispensable, will make the connection a little easier to spot – French, German, Italian and Greek would all be useful). If you do spot the connection and understand what I'm talking about I invite you to write to me at the end of the story telling me which character would be most likely to win the game, and why.]

In which Kev find out how much trouble he’s in and enters the world of football management.

Kevin

Chess Club went well that evening and I was in a good mood when I got home. I didn’t have too much homework, either, but I dumped my bag in the study and then went through to the kitchen to get my supper. There was a plate already waiting for me – Chris would have had his earlier – so I put it in the microwave and then polished it off quickly.

Once I’d finished I headed back to the study, but before I got there Chris called to me from upstairs, asking me to come up. I decided to keep my specs on – after all, if Chris was with me he could see I wasn’t watching TV in my room or otherwise wasting time. And when I got to his room I found him and Mark sitting on the bed grinning at me.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“I’ve just got a couple of questions,” said Chris. “First, did you wear your glasses upstairs before we agreed you could?”

“No,” I said, firmly.

“And second, what do you think about when you’re playing with yourself?”

I gaped at him: that question would have been intrusive enough if we’d been alone, but with Mark sitting next to him it was unbelievable.

“Mind your own business,” I replied.

“What he means,” said Mark, “is what type of girls you like – blondes, brunettes, what?”

“Oh. Well, blondes, I suppose.”

“And what about boys?”

“Huh?”

“What type of boys do you like?”

I stared at them. Had I slipped up somehow? I didn’t think so, but maybe Chris had noticed that I’d got hard watching him and Colin wrestling the previous morning.

“What makes you think I like boys at all?” I said.

“We know you do,” said Chris. “Don’t worry, we’re cool with it… we were just wondering what sort of boys you find attractive. I mean, suppose you were looking at our football team…”

He got up, walked over to the bookcase and handed me the photo.

“Which of them do you think is best-looking?” he asked.

“Look, what is this? I’ve got homework to do, Chris – I’m going back downstairs.”

“It was only a question, no need to get your knickers in a twist. See, I’ve got this bit of film here, and… well, I’ll show you. Come and see.”

I followed him over to his computer, and he hit a couple of keys – and I just about fainted: I felt a rush of blood, and I clutched the back of his chair for support.

“Where… I mean, how…” I croaked.

“It doesn’t matter how. What matters is that we’ve got it – and we’ve made some copies, too. Whether anyone else gets to see it depends on you.”

I stared at him, not knowing what to say, but I was thinking frantically: was he bluffing when he said there were copies? Could I get onto his computer and delete the film? Somehow I thought I wouldn’t be able to do that, and I also thought he was sensible enough to have made copies, too. And if he hadn’t thought to do that, Mark certainly would have done.

“So what do you want?” I asked.

“Oh, good, you’re going to be sensible. Well, the first thing we want to know is who in the photo you were thinking about?”

“I’m not telling you!”

“You’ll just get punished even worse if you don’t.”

“What do you mean, ‘punished’?”

“Well, you wore your glasses upstairs, despite promising not to. You have to be punished for that. And you went into my room without permission and stole my photo.”

“I put it back!”

“Only after you’d used it for wanking off to. That definitely needs punishing.”

“What sort of punishment?”

“We both think you wank far too much, so we’re going to make you stop. Mark’s going to rig up a camera in your bedroom so that we can monitor you from now on, and you’ll have to be supervised when you use the bathroom. And you won’t be allowed in the house when I’m not here, so you won’t be able to sneak off and do it somewhere other than your bedroom, either. If you’re good we’ll let you do it once a week or so, but of course you’ll have to do it in front of the camera. Any attempt to avoid this punishment will result in the film being shown to someone else.”

“But…” I gaped at him. “Come on, Chris, that’s ridiculous! You can’t stop me from doing… you know… in my own bedroom!”

“We’re not stopping you. But every time you do another member of the team is going to see the film.”

“And if I do what you say nobody else will see it?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay, then: how do you know I won’t just do it at school?”

“Good point. We’ll have to think about that… maybe we can find someone in your form to keep an eye on you for us – and until we do you’ll have to come and report to me at the start of every break.”

“But… God, Chris, you can’t do that!”

“I think I can. And you’ll thank me in the end, because I’m sure all that wanking can’t be good for you. You’ll get hairs on the palm of your hand, or something.”

“That’s just an old wives’ tale!”

“Then maybe it’ll make you go blind. Perhaps that explains your glasses… anyway, there’s no point in arguing, because it’s going to happen. And remember, as long as you stick to the agreement nobody else will ever have to find out about it…”

I didn’t say anything else, but I was already trying to think of ways to get around this. Obviously there would be times when I was alone in the house, and provided I stayed out of my room I’d be able to do whatever I wanted. I know he’d said I wouldn’t be allowed in the house when he wasn’t there, but I didn’t see how he could stop me. Okay, I might have to cut down a bit if they actually did rig up a camera in my room, but I was confident that they wouldn’t be able to stop me altogether. As long as they didn’t tell anyone else I thought everything would be okay, and I trusted my brother enough to know that he would keep his word: as long as he didn’t think I was disobeying him everything would still be okay…

Chris

I was pretty sure Kev was already trying to think of ways to get around this, and it was up to me and Mark to make sure that he couldn’t. The first job was to sort out the camera for his room, and Mark was sure he could deal with that because his uncle was in the business of supplying cameras and security systems in general, and Mark was sure that we could pick up some second-hand stuff fairly cheaply. I said I’d leave that side of things up to him, and he grinned at me and told me he was looking forward to it.

Once he’d gone home I went downstairs and Kev and I got on with our homework. I was quite impressed by the fact that Kev didn’t moan or try to wheedle his way around me, but then he isn’t the sort to whinge too much. I respect him for that, but it isn’t going to stop me having a lot of fun with him…

After we’d been working on our homework for about an hour – in fact, I’d almost finished mine – Kev said he needed the loo.

“You’ll have to wait,” I told him. “I’ll have finished this in ten minutes, and after that I’ll be free to come and supervise you.”

“Oh, come on,” he protested. “I only want a pee, so I won’t have time to do… you know, anything else. You can time me if you want.”

“Not good enough. You’ll have to wait, unless you want us to show the film to someone else.”

And, faced with that ultimatum, he did the sensible thing and waited until I’d finished my homework. Once I’d done everything and put my books back in my bag ready for the morning I said “Come on, then,” and led him upstairs. He went into the bathroom and tried to close the door, but I told him he wasn’t allowed to do that from now on.

“Anytime you’re in here you leave the door wide open,” I told him. “That way I can pop in and check if I think you’re playing with yourself.”

He didn’t look happy, but he left the door open, and so as soon as he started peeing I walked in, stood next to him and watched. He looked as if he was going to die of embarrassment.

“Make sure you shake off properly,” I said. “But no more than three shakes, or I’ll think you’re trying to give yourself nice feelings.”

He glared at me but somehow kept his mouth shut, which I thought was quite impressive under the circumstances. Once he’d washed his hands I let him get back to his homework while I went and watched TV, and twenty minutes or so later he came and joined me. I waited until the next commercial break and then hit the mute button on the remote.

“What you were saying on Sunday about coming to watch us play next week,” I began. “I think that’s a really good idea. It means we’ll be able to keep an eye on you, and it also means we’ll pretty soon find out which member of the team you were perving over – we’ll just have to watch who you spend most time staring at.”

“Oh. Doesn’t it worry you, letting me come and watch knowing that… well, you know… that I like boys?”

“Not really. I’m pretty sure it isn’t me you fancy… I mean, it isn’t, is it?”

“No!” he said, a little too forcefully for my liking.

“Why? Do you think I’m gross, or something?”

“No, but… hell, Chris, you’re my brother!”

“So? Sometimes people do fancy their own family. I mean, it’s pretty sordid, and I’m glad you don’t, but… anyway, we’re pretty sure it isn’t Mark, either… no, I can see that it isn’t. And as we’re the only ones who know about you – so far, at least - nobody else is going to care about you being there while we’re getting changed…. So you don’t think I’m gross, then?”

“No! I reckon you look okay, to be honest… I mean, I’ve never looked at you… you know, that way, but you’re still pretty good-looking.”

“But not as good-looking as someone else in the team?”

“Sorry, Chris, but I’m still not telling you. You’d tear me to pieces if you had a name.”

“I’m not sure that I would… well, it would depend who it was, of course. If it turned out to be Grant I might.”

“Which one’s Grant?”

“The little one with wingnut ears.”

“It’s not Grant.”

“I didn’t think so – even someone as blind as you couldn’t fancy ears like that. Don’t worry, sooner or later I’m going to find out, and when I do… well, it will depend who it is. If you’ve got good taste I won’t rip you apart half as much as I would if you fancied Grant. Anyway, you can come to training with me this week and tell Mr Clifford that you want to help out. I’m sure he’ll find you something to do, even if it’s just cleaning everyone’s boots for them… just kidding, we all do our own boots. Still, perhaps you could do mine for me from now on – after all, I think you should get some penalty for sneaking uninvited into my room.”

Again he didn’t argue, and that made me very happy, because cleaning my boots is a chore I really don’t enjoy very much.

For the next three days nothing much happened: Kev came to see me at the start of each break at school, and on the couple of occasions he said he needed a pee either Mark or I went with him to make sure he didn’t do anything more. I left the webcam rigged up in his room and kept him from wearing his glasses upstairs, and every time he took a shower I went to the room with him and supervised him. He seemed to find that highly embarrassing, but when he complained I said I’d get Mark to come round and do it instead if he preferred, and that shut him up.

On the Friday Mark told me he’d found a complete set of surveillance cameras, and we arranged that Kevin would raid his bank account to provide the money – after all, they were for his benefit, I told him – and Mark would then rig them up at the weekend. And after school Kev came with us to football practice and I introduced him to Mr Clifford…

Kevin

Mr Clifford turned out to be exactly what I had imagined: a middle-aged guy who looked like a school PE teacher, all muscles and short haircut. But when he opened his mouth he didn’t sound at all like a teacher – he was polite and friendly.

“So how come you want to help?” he asked. “Has your brother been twisting your arm?”

“Well, maybe a little. But I like watching him play, and just because I can’t play myself – obviously – it doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t like to help in some way, even if it’s just answering the phone or running errands and stuff.”

“Oh, I think we can do better than that. Do you know the rules of football?”

“Sort of. My school plays rugby, but I played a bit at primary school, and I like watching on TV.”

“Then perhaps we can get you running the line sometimes, or even taking a proper referee’s course – everyone thinks refs are blind anyway, so the glasses won’t be a problem. Of course, you’d get some stick from the players, and probably from their parents, but if you can learn to handle it you might find you even enjoy it after a bit. Otherwise you can help me sort out the kit, or perhaps you could take a first aid course and learn how to use the magic sponge. There’s plenty of ways you could help.”

I particularly liked the First Aid idea, since that was exactly what I had fantasised about, but even being a linesman would give me a first-class view of the game.

“The only thing I’ll say is this,” Mr Clifford went on. “If you decide you want to do this I’ll want to see you regularly. You won’t be any good to us if we can’t rely on you. And that means you turn up any time your brother does, even if it’s tipping it down with rain or blowing a gale. If that’s okay with you I’ll be glad to have you helping.”

In view of the weather we’d had so far this year – quite a lot of snow at the beginning of January, with more on and off since, and rain when it wasn’t actually snowing – I wasn’t sure how keen I was about that. On the other hand, I knew if it was too bad the games would be called off, as had already happened a couple of times because of snow on the pitch, and I assumed that, unless I was linesman – which I didn’t think would happen until I’d learned the rules properly – I’d be safe and dry in the dug-out anyway. Of course, that just showed how little I knew, because I eventually found out that at this level there weren’t any dug-outs: trainers and supporters just stood at the side of the pitch and got wet.

I didn’t have a lot to do that evening, though: instead I was able to watch the team doing some physical training – running, passing, heading, more running and so on – and then playing a practice seven-a-side game in which you weren’t allowed to touch the ball more than twice before passing or shooting. Unfortunately most of the boys wore jogging bottoms that covered their legs – it was still only February, after all – and that meant I didn’t get to admire Colin’s legs. And at the end of the training session I had to leave straight away, because Colin’s mother wanted to get back home, and that meant I didn’t get to find out whether anyone used the showers in the changing room, or whether instead they went straight home and showered there, as Colin and Chris did.

Once we got home Chris went and had a shower and I went to my room, shut the door and masturbated – after all, if Mark really had found some cameras and would be fitting them up next day, as Chris had told me, this might be the last chance I got, at least without having to find somewhere else to do it. I didn’t draw it out because I wanted to be downstairs doing my homework by the time Chris got out of the shower, but it still felt good. I thought helping with the team would probably give me plenty of material to think about, but I wasn’t sure it would be quite so easy to find an opportunity to actually do it.

I cleaned up and went downstairs to the study. Okay, you’ll say that I should have checked my room before doing it, especially since I’d already been caught on a camera I didn’t know about, but when your penis is doing the thinking you don’t always stop to think about things like that. And I think, too, that I was distracted by the thought of cameras being set up next day: somehow I equated ‘cameras tomorrow’ with ‘no camera today’, which, as I discovered half an hour later, simply wasn’t true.

“Oh dear, Kev,” said Chris as he came into the study. “Now you’re in real trouble. You know you’re not allowed to play with yourself, and yet there you were half an hour ago, lying on your bed and thinking about… well, we’ll find out eventually. You know what that means, don’t you? So who should we tell first? We could do it by squad number – that would make Ryan first – or alphabetically – that would be… Charlie, I think. Or I could just pick a name out of a hat. Unless you have any preference, of course…”

“No! I mean… come on, Chris, please? I can put up with you and Mark knowing, but please don’t tell anyone else…”

Chris

It was fun seeing Kev get into a state about it, but I’m not really cruel and – as I’ve said before – he’s still my brother, and I didn’t want to go overboard on him. Or at least, not yet…

“Tell you what,” I said. “We have to tell someone, because that’s the rule, but as it’s the first time we’ll tell them about catching you wanking but we won’t tell them you’re gay, or about the photo. That seems reasonable. And I think we’ll start with Colin, because, after all, he knows you already and I don’t think he’ll be too shocked. And I can trust him not to tell anyone else, too: after all, he thinks you’re okay. Of course, if he’d still think that if he knew about the photo is another matter, but we won’t tell him that. But this is your last warning: the next person we tell gets to hear everything.”

“Please, Chris, don’t tell Colin,” he begged. “I mean, he’s round here quite a lot and… well, I don’t want him laughing at me.”

“Sorry. He’s my mate, and I share good stuff with my mates. So – shall we get on with our homework?”

He didn’t look at all happy, but again he didn’t argue, and for that reason I decided I was not going to tell Colin about him being gay. Actually I don’t think it would have bothered Colin at all – he really does think my brother is okay, and he was quite pleased about Kev coming to help out at football. He says some big brothers are complete bastards, and that I’m really lucky to have one who’s basically pretty decent. Still, having people find out you’re gay must be scary, and so Mark and I have agreed to keep that part of things to ourselves. And now we’ve got a film of Kev wanking without the team photo beside him there’s no reason to tell anyone that bit just yet. Of course, if Kev starts messing us about I could easily change my mind…

Anyway, next morning Mark came round carrying a big box, and by the time Mrs Jordan called to say that lunch was ready he had finished rigging things up. I kept Kev downstairs with me while Mark was working upstairs and then supervised him in the bathroom while he was washing his hands ready to eat, and that left Mark free to pop another camera into the living room. We wanted to make sure all avenues were covered, after all.

Once we had eaten we took Kev back upstairs and showed him some of the cameras. Well, obviously we didn’t show him all of them – we only showed him the two that look like cameras, one in his bedroom and one in the bathroom pointing at the shower. Nobody else uses the bathroom that he and I use, so there was no danger of it accidentally filming our parents (which would have been really gross!).

We didn’t show him the covert ones: the one hidden inside a desk-light in my room (I thought he might well try doing it there on the assumption that I wouldn’t bug my own room), the second one in the bathroom hidden in a sponge-bag identical to mine, or the one in the living room hidden in one of the bookshelves. And nor did we show him where the receiver box was (it was actually in my wardrobe).

“Now,” I told him, “when you’re in your own room you’re not to try moving outside of the camera’s range. It’s a wide angle, so you probably couldn’t anyway. And nor are you to try moving it or putting anything in front of it. If you do that we’ll assume you were breaking the rules and punish you.” And, I didn’t add, we’ll probably still see you anyway, because I intended leaving my webcam hidden in his bookcase. “The same in the bathroom, and in any case you’re not allowed to close the bathroom door.” And if the overt camera didn’t catch him, the covert one would, because that covered the whole room including the toilet. “And there’s a microphone under your bed, too, and if we pick up any rhythmic sounds on it – you know what I mean – or even think you’re trying to do it in bed, we’ll find a way to stop you. Tying your wrists to the headboard, perhaps. And I’ll be checking your pyjamas and sheets for stains, too. Face it, Kev, your wanking days are over.

“You won’t be here at any time when I’m not – you’ll be coming to football with me anyway, and while our parents are away my friends will be coming to visit me instead of me going to them. And between me and the cameras you’re going to be covered at all times.

“You’re not allowed to visit any of your friends, either, but you can invite them over here if you want – though you’ll have to think of a good explanation for the cameras if you do.”

Actually Kev didn’t have a lot of friends, and he hardly ever went to other boys’ houses, so I thought this wouldn’t be too great a hardship. But he still didn’t look at all happy when I finished explaining what his immediate future looked like…

Kevin

This was worse than I had expected, and it got worse still when Chris went and locked the spare bedrooms and took the keys away, because I’d been intending to use one or other of them – I figured he wouldn’t have enough cameras to cover those rooms, because, even second-hand, they weren’t what I would call cheap. I could only hope he’d get lax about keeping track of me after a week or two, and then maybe I could sneak off to the attic or somewhere.

Of course I still had Monday evenings: Chris went straight home from school on Mondays, whereas I stayed behind for Chess Club or matches, and that meant that at least I could count on nipping off to the bogs to masturbate after the match or at the end of club evenings. But once a week in the school toilets wasn’t what I was used to at all. Still, I didn’t complain, because I knew there would be no point, and I thought that if I made a fuss about it things might get even worse.

The following morning Colin arrived with his mother to take us to the game, and I got my first job as assistant manager… oh, okay, then, let’s be honest and call me the club dogsbody – by handing out the registration cards to the players when they lined up before the game. The cards all have a photo on, and the idea is to stop teams playing unregistered players, because each manager inspects the other team’s cards before the game and makes sure the photo is of the player holding the card. Anyway, Mr Clifford thought this would be a good way for me to get to know the players, and so I gave them out to our players and collected them again once the Ravensbourne manager had checked them.

Once I’d done that my official duties were over until after the match and I was able just to stand near the Ravensbourne goal and count the goals as they went in because, as Chris and Colin had warned me, this was a very one-sided game. I’d brought a little notebook with me to keep track of who scored, and the team kept me good and busy with it. I hadn’t learned all the names yet, of course, so I just jotted down the shirt number of each scorer, and after the match I totted up the totals.

“Come on, then,” said Chris, as the players clamoured round me, “who scored most goals?”

“Colin,” I said, trying to keep my voice from giving away my satisfaction. “He got five. Then Number Ten got three, Number Seven got three, Dwayne got two, Mark got two, and Chris, Ryan and Number Fourteen got one each.”

“Hah!” said Colin. “In your face, Stratford!”

“Shut up,” said Chris, mildly enough. “I set you up with two of them, remember?”

“Bet you were trying to shoot. And even the goalie got as many goals as you did!”

“That’s ‘cos we let him take the penalty,” Chris pointed out. “Next week I’ll play up front and you can drop back into midfield, and then we’ll see who scores most.”

“Yes, okay – we’ve got the Royals next week, and they’re top of the league, remember? I bet you don’t score five against them.”

“Bet you don’t score at all!”

“Well, neither will you.”

“Break it up, you two,” said Mark, getting in between them. “You can talk about it on the way home if you want – right now Cliffie’s waiting to tear into us for not scoring twenty.”

That was almost true, as it turned out: once we were back in the dressing room Mr Clifford said that the team had done well enough, but that they’d missed a whole host of other chances. “Next week you’ll only get a couple of chances, and you have to put them away,” he went on. “Today you missed some absolute sitters. Okay, this was an easy game, but you can’t sit back and take things for granted: you still have to work. Two weeks ago North End put twenty-six past this lot, and they’re not as good as you’re supposed to be…”

And so on, for another five minutes or so. Quite what he’d be like if they actually lost a game I couldn’t imagine. Anyway, then we got to what should have been the good bit: he gave me a plastic bin-liner and told me to collect everyone’s kit while he went and signed the paperwork with the other manager and the referee. Except the next thing that happened was that Chris took my glasses and… well, without them I couldn’t see well enough to see what he did with them.

“No perving,” he whispered in my ear. “You can have these back once everyone is dressed.”

So I stood holding the bag open in the middle of the room while the players stripped off their kit and dropped it in before heading for the showers. And I simply couldn’t see anything… well, you know what I mean. It was really frustrating, but there was nothing I could do about it.

Once I was fairly sure everyone had got in the showers I yelled “Any more kit?” and when I got no answer I closed the bag, groped my way to the bench by the door and sat down to wait for Chris to give me my specs back. And, to my surprise, he came and handed them to me three or four minutes later, while most of his team-mates were still in the shower.

“Here you are,” he said, quietly. “But if you get a boner we’ll punish you when we get home!”

I thought that was worth the risk, and I put them on, noting that Chris had put his own boxers back on before returning them to me. But only a couple of others had reached that point, and more than half the team was still in the showers. So, making sure I wasn’t being too obvious about it, I started looking around.

As it turned out the boy who was nearest to me was Grant, the kid with the wingnut ears, and he really didn’t have anything worth looking at: he hadn’t started to develop at all, and so it was tiny. But beyond Grant was one of the taller defenders – I couldn’t remember his name – and he had much more to look at: he had a substantially larger penis than Grant, and it was circumcised, which I thought made it look interesting. And he was just starting to get a little hair, too…

And of course the obvious result of looking at him was some twitching in my jeans. I hunched forward to make it less obvious, but Chris was already looking at me and shaking his head slowly, so he clearly hadn’t missed it.

And then Colin emerged from the showers with a towel around his waist. Since Chris was already watching me I didn’t dare look in Colin’s direction for more than a couple of seconds, so I returned my attention to the circumcised boy, who was just about to put his boxers back on. And once he was covered up I looked casually around the room, trying not to linger on Colin, who was standing with his back to me on the far side of the room and towelling his hair dry.

As the remainder of the team came back from the showers I got enough glimpses to keep me happy for a long time, though Colin kept his back to me throughout, which was a pity. And once the last boy had pulled his underwear back on I stood up, holding the kit bag in front of my still-tented jeans, yelled “Any more kit?” once more, accepted the donations of a belated pair of shorts and some socks, and then took the bag back to where Mr Clifford was waiting outside.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the bag and handing me a small booklet in return. “Here are the rules of Association Football. There are only seventeen of them, so it’s not too complicated. Pay particular attention to Rule Eleven – that’s about offside – but you’ll need to know all of them before you can officiate properly. I’ll test you next week, and if you’re okay on them maybe I’ll ask you to run the line in two weeks’ time.”

That promised to be interesting – and maybe if I’d been running up and down the line I’d need a shower after the match… although, come to think of it, the idea of sharing a shower with the team was both wonderful and completely impossible, because if I did it was a certainty that I’d react to my surroundings in an unmistakable way, and that would surely get a hostile reaction.

Still, even if I couldn’t risk having a shower, at least it would give me a valid excuse to be in the changing room. I thought I was going to enjoy my Sunday mornings from now on…

****************************************

Already Kevin’s cloud is showing signs of being lined with silver – which is not to say that he’s going to be happy with the developments in the next chapter.

Comments? Questions? Send them to gothmog@nyms.net

Copyright 2013: all rights reserved. Please do not reprint, repost or otherwise reproduce this or any part of it anywhere without my written permission.

David Clarke