CHAPTER FIVE


In which Kevin meets a humourless chess nerd and finds his freedom restricted yet further.


Kevin

If Sunday evening had been fun, Monday evening was rather less so. I went to chess club as usual and was happy to see that neither Chris nor Mark had turned up this evening, but before I could relax completely I was challenged to a game by Danny Engel.

Engel is in the same year as Chris, though not in the same form, and he’s a strange kid… well, okay, a lot of chess players are a bit strange, including me, I suppose. But Engel is stranger than most, and he’s scary to play against because his eyes never stop moving, scanning the board continuously – you can almost see the cogs in his head spinning round. And he never seems to smile, either, even when he wins: he’s just got this permanent deadpan expression on his face. He’s really scruffy, too: I suppose he must look fairly smart when he leaves home in the morning, but by the end of the day he’s always got ink-stains on his hands (for some reason he uses an old-fashioned fountain pen) and sometimes on his face, his shirt is always at least half hanging out, his shoes are scuffed, his laces are knotted and the knot of his tie is somewhere close to one ear. And I’m sure he has no idea what the word ‘comb’ means, because his hair always looks as if he just got out of bed. He’s got black hair and blue eyes, and he’s thin – even thinner than me – and I think if he made an effort he could look quite nice, but there’s no sign that he cares what he looks like.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him talking to anyone, either in the yard during breaks or at chess club, except where essential to get a game under way. He’s the ultimate loner, and makes the likes of me and Jason Temple look like Captain Popular. But this evening he came and sat opposite me, helped me set the board up, made his first move, hit the clock – and then handed me a folded piece of paper.

“Read this,” he said.

Well, it was my turn to move, so I shoved a pawn forward, hit the clock and then unfolded the paper – and found myself looking at a short note in my brother’s handwriting.

‘Hi!’ read the note. ‘We need someone to keep an eye on you while you’re at chess club or off playing matches, and since Engel is in the team he’s volunteered. So you don’t go anywhere without asking his permission, and then he goes with you. If your game finishes before his you have to stay in the room until his game ends. You know what will happen if you don’t do what he says. See you later, Chris’.

“What’s he told you?” I asked, making my second move.

“Enough. Just play.”

So I played, and he beat me inside twenty-five moves, though I think that was mainly because I was too distracted to play properly. Although he is a decent player – he wouldn’t be in the same team as me otherwise, bearing in mind that he’s a couple of years younger than me.

After the game we both moved on to other opponents, and I managed to put him out of my mind for most of the rest of the evening. I’d been hoping to sneak off to the toilets afterwards, not just for the usual reason but because I needed a dump and I didn’t think it would wait until I got home, but I’d only taken a couple of steps along the corridor when he materialised at my side.

“Where are you going, then?” he asked.

“To the bogs.”

“You’re supposed to ask my permission, remember?”

“Oh, okay, then: please can I go to the toilet?”

“If I said no, would you have to piss yourself?”

“No, I’d probably just ignore you and go anyway and then explain to my brother that you were being unreasonable.”

“He said I’m allowed to be unreasonable, and if you don’t obey me you’ll get punished. But, okay, I suppose there’s no reason to be unreasonable. Let’s go, then.”

“You don’t have to come with me!” I protested.

“Yes, I do – if I’m not there you’ll just do what you’re not supposed to.”

“Look, what exactly did Chris tell you?”

“That you keep playing with yourself, and that he’s trying to get you to stop. And I don’t mind helping him, because that’s a nasty habit.”

“Oh, come on – don’t tell me you’ve never done it!”

“Of course I haven’t!” he replied, looking at me as if I’d just trodden in a pile of doggy-doo. “We’re not all disgusting perverts like you, you know!”

“Bloody hell, Engel, everyone does it – or almost everyone. Do you really mean you’ve never even tried?”

“No, I haven’t. It seems like a pretty dirty thing to do – I mean, why would you want to get germs all over your hands?”

“Well, you can do it in the shower,” I pointed out. “That way you’re washing it at the same time. Assuming you ever actually take a shower, that is.”

“Of course I do! Are you saying I smell?”

“No, not at all, but you do look a bit of a mess most of the time – I mean, you’ve got ink on your right ear!”

“Have I? Oh, well, it’ll wash off. My pen leaks a bit, that’s all.”

“When’s your birthday?” I asked.

“July the tenth – why?”

“That’s a bit far off… I was going to suggest you ask your parents for a new pen, because that one seems to leak all the time.”

He shrugged. “It writes okay, and I think that’s what matters. I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

“Perhaps you should,” I said. “After all, you’ll be looking for a girlfriend soon, even if you’re not already trying to find one, and that’ll be a lot easier if you look a bit tidier.”

“I’m not bothered about girls. All right, I suppose that will change, and perhaps if it does I’ll start thinking about what I look like to other people, but right now I couldn’t care less. Anyway, here we are – go and have your pee, then.”

I went inside and opened the door of a cubicle that I knew still had a bolt – most of them didn’t. But the moment I touched the door he yelled at me and came in after me.

“Use the trough,” he said. “Heaven knows what you’ll get up to inside a cubicle.”

“I can’t,” I said. “I need to… you know, do the other thing.”

“Really? Go on, then.”

So I opened the door and stepped into the cubicle, but before I could close the door he pushed in after me.

“I’m not allowed to leave you unsupervised,” he said.

“What! Fuck off, Engel – I can’t have a shit with you watching me!”

“You’ll have to, because I’m not leaving. I can guess what you’d do if I wasn’t here.”

And although I argued for a bit he remained obdurate: he wasn’t leaving this cubicle until I did. And in the end I had to give in, because I could tell I wasn’t going to be able to hold out until I got home. So I lowered my trousers and pants and sat hunched forward with my arms across my lap.

There’s something intensely personal about having a crap – at least, I think so – and it feels hideously humiliating to have someone standing there watching you. I was dreadfully conscious of the splashes, and the smell, and I could sort of feel Engel sneering at me, even though his usual expression didn’t change in the slightest. And then I had to go through contortions to wipe myself without uncovering my front. Finally I got the business over with and reached down to pull my trousers up, but at that point he stopped me.

“Are you sure you’re clean?” he asked.

“What?!”

“I said, are you sure…”

“Yes, I heard you. Of course I’m clean – now shut up and turn round, would you?”

“Please yourself. But once you're dressed I'm going to give you a wedgie and then check for skid-marks, and if I find any...”

“Okay, okay!” I did a bit more wiping and then stood up and pulled my trousers and pants back up, and this time he didn't say anything. He didn't give me the threatened wedgie, either.

I flushed and then went out into the wash-room and washed my hands, and he waited for me by the door until I was ready to go.

“You'd better get used to that,” he said as we walked to the bus-stop, “because that's what'll happen every time while I'm supervising you. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone – except your brother, if he asks.”

“What, and I'm supposed to be grateful for that, am I?”

“It's up to you. I can tell everyone I meet if you'd prefer.”

“No! No, you don't need to do that. Sorry.”

I didn't like having to apologise to a kid two years younger than me, but I thought it would be better than having the whole school finding out about what was happening to me.

I had no idea where Engel lived, but it turned out to be in the same direction as me, though he got off the bus before I did. And just before he got off he took his phone out of his pocket, called Chris and told him which bus I was on, just in case I decided not to go straight home.

“You didn't have to do that,” I protested to my brother, as soon as I got indoors.

“No, I don't suppose I did, but I thought it would be funny. And Engel took it really seriously, too – I don't think you'll be able to sneak off while he's in charge...”


Chris

Now that we had Engel on board we had Kev covered throughout the week: I would be able to watch him at home, the Microbe's brother would deal with him during the day and Engel had chess club covered. So now all we had to do was make sure he had no chance to sneak off anywhere and then just wait for him to collapse under the pressure. Mark reckons that when a boy is in Kev's stage of development he needs to wank fairly often, because if he doesn't he's going to start having wet dreams all the time, and so of course the next thing for us to do was to forbid those as well. So...

“I think we've got you covered now,” I said. “I know you're not happy, but you'll thank me in the end. Now, I know you, and I'll bet you've been practising doing it really quietly in bed, so quietly that the microphone can't hear it and carefully enough for the camera not to pick up any movement. So from now on I'm going to check your pyjamas and sheets every morning, and if I find any trace of spunk it'll count the same as if you'd jerked yourself off in broad daylight, okay?”

“No, it's not okay!” he argued. “I promise I won't do it in bed, okay? You don't have to check me out every day!”

“I think I do. Now you'd better go and do your homework, hadn't you?”

And off he went. Yup, I thought, I've definitely got him where I want him now...

The next couple of days passed normally: as far as I could tell Kev behaved himself perfectly, but I was still confident that it was just a matter of time before he slipped up. And then on Thursday at lunchtime I was approached in the yard by the Microbe brothers.

“We were wondering,” said Luke. “When your brother comes round this evening… would it be okay if we make him wank himself off in front of us?”

I thought about that. The problem was that it would greatly decrease the likelihood of wet dreams, and I needed those if I was going to have an excuse to involve other people. On the other hand, I suppose an occasional one or two might not matter, and I was pretty sure Kev wouldn’t enjoy having to do it in front of these two at all…

“Well, okay,” I agreed. “Not every week, mind, because we’re trying to get him out of the habit, but I don’t suppose making him do it occasionally would do any harm.

“Great! Thanks, Chris!”

I watched them walk away, reflecting that I wasn’t exactly feeling sorry for my brother yet – after all, it was his own fault he was in this mess – but thinking that things were certainly moving in that direction. Not that I was going to let that interfere with my fun, of course…


Jason

That Thursday evening started out much as the previous one had: first we sat and did our homework together, then Stratford went and cleaned the Microbe’s boots, and then he brought them back to the bedroom so that my brother could find fault with them – which, of course, he did, finding tiny grains of mud almost too minute to be seen with the naked eye, commenting that the laces weren’t as clean as they might be and complaining that the inside of one of them was a bit damp.

“But you haven’t got to wear them until tomorrow evening!” Stratford pointed out, reasonably enough.

“That’s not the point!” said Luke, which was a bit rough because I thought it was the point. Still, I wasn’t going to take Stratford’s side in this, was I?

“Sorry,” said Stratford, grumpily. “Why don’t you let me take them home next Sunday, and then I’ll have loads of time to get them cleaned before next Friday?”

“Well, next week’s going to be different. It’s half term, in case you’ve forgotten, so we’re likely to have an extra practice or two – so actually it would be a good idea if you keep them after the match on Sunday. But you’d better clean them straight away, just in case I need them on Monday.”

Stratford didn’t look too happy about that, but he didn’t argue, which I suppose ought to count in his favour.

“Anyway,” I said, “how are you surviving? I think I’d find it fucking difficult to stop doing that, so if you’re actually managing not to I reckon you must be stronger than me.”

“It’s not that I’m strong, it’s just that I don’t have a lot of choice, what with the camera in my room and everyone watching me all the time to make sure I don’t sneak off on my own. Sure, I could just do it anyway, but if Chris does what he’s said and lets someone else in on it every time I do… well, it’s not worth risking that.”

“Well, I was talking to the Microbe before you got here, and we’ve decided to give you a chance at a bit of privacy. We’re going to challenge you to a game of cards. If you win, you can have fifteen minutes in our bathroom, behind a locked door, to do whatever you want.”

“That sounds okay,” said Stratford. “What happens if I lose, though?”

“Then you have to do it here with us watching.”

“No, I don’t think…”

“Of course, we could just make you do that anyway,” I interrupted. “If the Microbe doesn’t like the state of his boots he can punish you however he wants, remember? But because you’ve gone along with it without arguing this week I thought you’d like a chance to do it in private instead.”

Of course, he didn’t have a snowflake’s chance of doing it in private, but he didn’t know that yet. See, I went through a stage a couple of years ago when I was interested in doing conjuring tricks, and although it didn't last long I did buy some bits and pieces for it, including a couple of packs of marked cards. The Microbe knows about them because in the end I told him about them (though not before I'd beaten him at pretty much every game we ever played with them), and so when I fished them out to play Stratford at Strip Pontoon my brother just grinned at me and gave me a surreptitious little thumbs up sign.

“Beat both of us and you can have your fifteen minutes in the bathroom,” I told him. “Lose to both of us and you have to do it here with us watching. And if you beat one of us but not the other it's a draw and you don't get to do it at all, unless you want to challenge us to a replay.”

He agreed to that and we started playing. We teased him a bit by making sure we both lost a few hands, and it was interesting to see his reaction: he definitely seemed to like it when either of us lost, and not just because it took him a bit closer to his fifteen minutes of privacy, either: the way he looked at us as we took things off almost had me thinking that he wanted to see us naked. Well, I suppose he probably just wanted to be able to take the piss out of us, because you'd need a magnifying glass to see what my brother's got, and I'm scarcely any bigger – God knows nobody could fancy either of us for our bodies. Anyway, Stratford didn't get to find out because he lost before either of us got too close.

“Best of three?” he tried, hopefully.

“Er, no,” I replied. “Lie on my bed and get on with it.”

So he did, while Luke and I pulled our chairs up next to the bed and watched him. It was interesting and sort of exciting, too – at least, I suppose it must have been, because I got hard and had to hunch forward so that it wouldn't be obvious. Not that anyone was looking at me: my brother was staring at Stratford's prick, and Stratford himself had his eyes closed – I suppose he was trying to pretend that we weren't there.

It didn't take long at all – no more than a couple of minutes, I'd say.

“I'm nearly there!” he told us.

“Good. Keep going,” I said, watching closely.

Stratford tensed up, gasped, arched his back and shot onto his stomach, three good spurts of the stuff. I'd never seen this in real life before: sure, I'd seen the odd bit of online porn, but seeing a real person do it from a distance of no more than a metre was way better. Obviously I can't do it myself yet, so it was interesting to see what I had to look forward to.

“Neat!” said Luke. “That's pretty cool, huh, Jase?”

“Pretty cool,” I agreed. “Okay, Stratford, you can go and clean it off. Mind you come straight back, though – no trying for an encore in the bathroom!”


Kevin

Having to do it in front of an audience was embarrassing, especially since I still didn’t know Jason very well and hardly knew the Microbe at all… and yet at the same time there was something sort of exciting about it, especially since they both obviously enjoyed watching. I’m pretty sure Jason had an erection, anyway. And I’d already decided that it would be better to do it with an audience than not to be able to do it at all, and if I had to have an audience, at least this was a small one. In every sense.

After I’d cleaned myself up they let me get dressed, and we sat and talked about this and that for a bit longer until I had to go home. I was definitely starting to like Jason by now – okay, he swore all the time, which took a bit of getting used to, but he had a wicked sense of humour and was very sharp – his off-the-cuff comments during lessons often made me crack up. And I was pretty sure he wouldn’t tell anyone else about my situation.

When I got home Chris collared me and told me that he’d arranged a few things he wanted to do during the week of half term, and that consequently I’d be on my own for a lot of the time.

“I’ve been trying to arrange for someone to come and baby-sit for you, but I haven’t managed to cover the whole week,” he went on. “Now, I could just lock you in your cupboard while I’m out, because at least then I could be sure you wouldn’t misbehave, especially if I tied your hands behind your back first… but I won’t do that unless I think it’s absolutely necessary. So I’m going to trust you. Have you got any plans yourself?”

“Not really,” I said. “I told you Mr Clifford wants me to go on the First Aid course on Friday, but that’s about it. I thought I might go out on my bike if the weather’s decent, but otherwise I was just going to lounge about. Except you said something about extra football practice, didn’t you?”

“Yes, and I expect we’ll find out about that tomorrow evening. Okay, I’ll talk to the Microbes and Mark, and perhaps Engel, tomorrow and find out when they’re available, and then I’ll sort out a timetable for you.”

I didn’t really like the idea of that, though at least it sounded as if I might be left unsupervised for some of the time, and that was the most important thing. I only needed fifteen minutes a day, and I was hopeful of getting that.

I didn’t get any time to myself at all on the Friday, of course, because we went straight from school to football practice, but on Saturday morning Chris said that he was going shopping with Colin – he’d saved up enough for a new video game – and that I’d have to look after myself until lunchtime. I waited until he had been gone for ten minutes, since I was fairly sure he wouldn’t turn round and come back after that, and then I went into his bedroom, stripped off, lay down on his bed with the photo in easy reach and let myself drift off into a fantasy, though on this occasion both Colin and Mark featured in it.

After I’d cleaned myself up, got dressed and put the photo back where it belonged I went downstairs to watch TV. I was a bit surprised by the way Mark had popped into my mind like that: after all, if Colin is my dream boy, Mark is almost the complete opposite, physically. Colin is tall, blond, blue-eyed and slim; Mark is a midget with black hair and dark eyes, though he certainly isn’t fat. Perhaps it’s that contrast that makes the idea of doing bad things with both of them at once so exciting, though I don’t suppose I’ll ever get a chance to find out what that would be like for real.

When Chris got back he found me innocently watching TV. I’d made sure I’d left his bed exactly as I had found it, so I was confident that he wouldn’t find out what I’d done, and indeed he didn’t say anything about it. After lunch Colin came round and we all spent most of the afternoon playing video games, though a fair bit of wrestling took place as well. And because I’d managed to relieve my frustrations that morning I even managed to wrestle with Colin without going hard.

Although it was half term there was still a football match on the Sunday morning. We were away this time, playing on the far side of our local town against Boarmead Arena, a mid-table team that Chris said we would normally beat, though this time it would depend on which team had most players absent, because there were always people who went away during school holidays, even the mid-term ones.

It turned out that one of the people who was away was Ryan the goalkeeper. The team didn’t really have a second specialist keeper, so today the job went to a boy called Jamie Leyton, who sometimes played in defence when his goalkeeping skills weren’t needed.

“We’re going to lose,” commented Colin quietly when he saw Jamie pulling on the keeper’s jersey. “He’s rubbish on crosses.”

“Then we’ll have to make sure they don’t manage to put any over,” said Chris. “Or you’ll have to do your job for once and make sure we score more goals than they do.”

“What do you mean, ‘for once’?” retorted Colin. “I’ve scored in every game this year!”

“You didn’t score against North End.”

“That’s because I didn’t play against North End, you muppet! I was on holiday that week, remember?”

“So? You still didn’t score.”

“Oh, okay, then: I scored in every game I played…”

I left them to it and went to find Mr Clifford, who handed me a flag and told me I was running the line. I was a bit nervous, but he told me not to be.

“At least you’ll be better than the man who does it for them,” he commented. “He just stands near the halfway line and guesses whether someone is offside or not. The ref will probably just ignore him. Anyway, do your best – and if you have to give a decision, look confident and don’t get into arguments. It won’t be the kids who shout at you, it’ll be the parents – you just have to learn to ignore it.”

To be fair I quite enjoyed the game. I didn’t get shouted at all, and nobody argued with any of my decisions, either. And we won the game, too, by four goals to two, even though three of the regular players were missing.

I didn’t take a shower – I hadn’t had to do that much running – and so I was able to sit by the door with the dirty kit bag as usual, which gave me a chance to check out a couple of the boys who got changed near me – and I managed to do that without getting hard, too, which was good news, especially since Chris was keeping a careful eye on me…


Chris

It was a really good match – Colin and I got a goal each, and Lee, the kid with the bright red hair who doesn’t even start most games, got the other two, which made him very happy. And Jamie didn’t have a bad game in goal, either, even though he did fumble their first goal into his own net. Even Kev made a decent job of running the line, though he didn’t have to run very much because we spent most of the match in their half of the field.

I knew Kevin had used my bed, and the team photo, on Saturday morning, of course, but I didn’t say anything about it because this seemed to be much the best way to bring a few more people into the game – and so that’s why I went out on Sunday afternoon, leaving him at home on his own. I didn’t want to make it too easy for him, so before I left I told him that I had locked my room because I didn’t want him perving over our team photo. He was watching TV at the time and didn’t react, but when I got home again at tea-time and checked the cameras I was rewarded with a nice film of him lying naked on the living room sofa and bringing himself off. Excellent, I thought: that’s already two.

My strategy for the first half of the week was to make sure he got no further chance to play with himself before Thursday: I’d arranged for him to be supervised full time from Monday morning until Wednesday evening. I intended to leave him unsupervised on the Thursday, by which time I was sure he’d be unable to resist the temptation, and that would give us a third new recruit. Good old Kevin – he’s so predictable…

He didn’t go over to Mark’s on the Sunday evening because Mark had volunteered to keep an eye on him on the Monday while I was round at Colin’s house. We had a football practice booked for Tuesday morning and I’d invited Danny Engel to come round on Tuesday afternoon, and on Wednesday the Microbes were going to look after him in the morning before our second extra football practice in the afternoon. I’d impressed upon them that this week they should not allow Kev to wank himself, and even though they were obviously disappointed by this they agreed.

Mark appeared shortly after breakfast, and he seemed surprisingly enthusiastic about having to baby-sit my brother for the whole day. I wasn’t sure that Kev was going to be quite so happy, though, because Mark had brought a bag with him which turned out to contain his boots, which were definitely in need of a clean.

“Sure you’re okay about doing this all day?” I asked.

“Yes, it’ll be fine. We can play games on your console, can’t we? At least, once Kev has cleaned my boots we can. I’ll see you at… what, around five?”

“Probably. If it’s going to be later than that I’ll text you.” And I got on my bike and left them to it.


Mark

I’d been looking forward to this since Chris had first suggested it – me and Kev, alone in the house for an entire day! And we could do anything I wanted!! Of course, I’d have to be careful about the cameras, but I knew where the control box was, so I could simply turn them off if I wanted, or block them off if I wanted to leave them on. I didn’t think Chris would check on them, not with me being here all the time, but maybe it would be better not to turn them off… although I could quite easily reset the clock, which would make it harder for him to tell that I’d turned them off…

I decided to leave them on for the moment and to try to avoid doing anything in front of any of them – which wouldn’t be difficult: all I had to do was to stay out of the two bedrooms, the TV room downstairs and the toilet next to Kevin’s room. I didn’t foresee any problems doing that.

I have to say that Kev seemed to be quite looking forward to the day, too – he greeted me enthusiastically, though he waited until his brother had gone before he did so.

“What are we going to do today, then?” he asked.

“Are we likely to be interrupted?”

“Not once Mrs Jordan has gone. She’s out doing the shopping at the moment, and she’ll only be here for an hour or so when she gets back. After that we’ll have the house to ourselves.”

“Cool! In that case let’s go and play video games until she goes, and then… I’m sure we’ll think of something else to do.”

So we went up to Chris’s room and played on his games console for an hour and a half or so, and once the housekeeper had gone (Kev went downstairs to check) I took him into his own bedroom and ordered him to strip.

“There’s no reason for you to wear anything for the rest of the day,” I pointed out. “And if you’re naked you won’t forget which of us is in charge.”

“Aren’t you going to get undressed too?” he asked.

“Why, do you want me to?”

“Well, yes. That way we could do… stuff without having to wait for you to get your clothes off.”

“So you admit you want to do ‘stuff’, do you?”

“You know I do – and I know you do, too, so you don’t have to pretend otherwise!”

I remembered the microphone under the bed.

“Well, get undressed and then wait here,” I said. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

I went to Chris’s room, turned on the computer, connected to the surveillance program, found the sound recording and erased the previous couple of minutes, and then I went back and beckoned Kevin out into the corridor.

“There’s a camera pointing at your bed,” I said. “And Chris’s bed is quite small. Can we use your parents’ room?”

“I’m not sure about that,” he said, doubtfully. “I mean, I suppose we could, but we’d have to be really careful about tidying up afterwards, because we’re not really supposed to go in there at all. And my dad might be coming home for a couple of days at the end of this week, and he’d be sure to notice if we messed everything up.”

“I’m sure we’ll be okay,” I told him. “I’ll take a photo of the bed before we start, and then we can remake it exactly the same afterwards.”

So he led me to his parents’ room on the other side of the house, and I got my phone out and took a couple of pictures of the bed. And then I got undressed and we got into bed together, because I wanted to find out how it would feel to actually share a bed with someone. And it felt really nice: we spent the next half hour or so kissing and cuddling, and by the end of it I was starting to think I was going to be one of those people who likes boys and girls, because having Kev lying on top of me and kissing me felt incredible. I’d have been quite happy to stay there all afternoon, but after a bit Kev decided he wanted to move up a stage, because he wriggled down in the bed and began to suck me, very slowly.

“I didn’t tell you to do that,” I pointed out, though without trying to stop him.

“I know,” he replied, and promptly started doing it again.

“So you like doing this?”

He didn’t take it out of his mouth this time, so his response was unintelligible, and I’m sure that was intentional. I didn’t mind too much: I could always ask again later when his mouth was empty – and I was pretty sure I knew the answer to the question anyway.

I let him get me close, but stopped him before he pushed me too far.

“We’ve got all afternoon,” I said, pulling him up to lie beside me again, “so there’s no hurry, is there? Now, tell me again whether or not you liked doing that – and tell me the truth.”

“I liked it,” he admitted. “I like it a lot, in fact. Obviously it helps that we’re friends – I wouldn’t want to do it for just anyone – but I’m pretty sure I can trust you not to tell anyone else about it. And, besides, I like making you feel good.”

“Good,” I said. “I’m glad you’re being honest. When I did it for you last week I wasn’t sure whether I really liked doing it or not, so I suppose I ought to do it again to help me decide. What do you think?”

“Yes, please!” he said, enthusiastically.

“Okay, then. But stop me before it happens – like I said, we’ve got ages yet.”

To be honest I’d already decided the first time that I didn’t mind doing this, and doing it like this, in complete privacy and in a comfortable bed, only convinced me further that this was fun. Kev warned me when he was getting too close for comfort, and at that point I stopped and returned to my place lying beside him.

“Kev,” I asked, “how would you feel about us…trying something else?” He didn’t seem to get it straight away, so I put a hand on his bum, stroked it a little and then let my middle finger press gently at his hole. And at that, daylight dawned.

“Oh!” he said. “You mean, you want to… to put it in me?”

“Well, partly. I thought we might both try putting it in each other. What do you think?”

“Well, you’re in charge…”

“No, you’re not getting out of it that easily! I wouldn’t make you do something like this. We’ll do it if you’re okay with it, and we won’t if you’re not, so it’s up to you.”


Kevin

I suppose I should have realised that this was going to come up sooner or later, but somehow it just hadn’t occurred to me. After all, I’d never dared dream that I would ever be in this position with another boy, and even after my session with Mark the previous Sunday I hadn’t imagined that things would progress to this situation – at least, certainly not this quickly.

I’d never even fantasised about actual… in fact, even thinking the word ‘fucking’ was difficult for me. But now that the matter had been raised…

I did a quick mental balance sheet. On the plus side, I liked Mark, I was sure I could trust him to keep it private, and he was proposing a proper, balanced, two-way transaction. On the other hand, even though Mark wasn’t too big I still thought it would hurt, and I wasn’t sure about putting mine into him – wouldn’t it be, well, messy? Still, if I really was gay this would presumably be part of my life in the future – and I supposed that people wouldn’t do it unless it felt good…

“Well… yes, I think I would like to try that,” I said. “But I’m not sure we’ll be able to – I mean, you’re quite big, and I think my… my hole, is quite small. And even if you could force it in I think it would hurt.”

“I’ve been watching some porn,” he told me. “In some of the films I’ve seen guys who are twice the size of us manage to get it in fairly easily. You have to use some sort of lubricant – apparently Vaseline works quite well. You can’t really tell from the films if it hurts, but I should think it would be okay if we’re careful… still, perhaps we should use something else to get us ready first. Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course I can!”

“Okay. Stay there.”

He got out of bed and left the room, returning a couple of minutes later with his bag. And inside the bag (apart from his football boots) were a small jar of Vaseline and something that I was shocked to recognise as a plastic penis.

“Bloody hell!” I exclaimed. “How did you manage to get that? I’m sure you have to be eighteen to go to Ann Summers or somewhere like that!”

“Not if you buy it online.”

“But surely you’d need a credit card for that? And won’t it show up on your dad’s credit card bill – God, Mark, what’s he going to say when he sees an entry for ‘Acme Sex Toys’ or whatever the place was called?”

“He won’t, because I didn’t use it there. Actually he probably wouldn’t notice even if I had, but still… he lets me use his card to buy odds and ends for the computer online, and so I know the card details. It’s possible to get a sort of virtual credit card online, so I used his card to set me up a virtual card of my own, and then used that to do my shopping. It’s a bit expensive because there are charges for using the card, but it works and it’s difficult to trace. I mean, I wouldn’t risk using it to buy anything illegal, but buying a dildo is legal, provided you’re over eighteen – and the profile I used to take the card out says I’m twenty-two. Simples!”

I stared at him. Okay, I know he’s a whiz with computers, but I wouldn’t have had a clue about this sort of thing.

“So, shall we try?” he went on. “I only bought it last week, so I haven’t even tried it on myself yet. I thought it would be more fun to try it out together.”

Well, I couldn’t say no to that, could I? “All right, let’s,” I agreed, and his face lit up with a brilliant smile.

“Okay,” he said. “I suppose you should try to put it into me first… I’ll kneel against the bed, and you try to push it in. But take it slow, and stop if I tell you to, okay? And put some Vaseline on it first.”

Obviously I’d never tried anything like this before, and I was too scared of hurting him at first – he had to tell me to push harder. But eventually it started to penetrate, and at that point he gasped and I froze.

“It’s okay, keep going,” he said. “Gently!”

And once I got the moulded tip past the entrance it seemed to slide in fairly easily, though he gasped and wriggled some more as it went in. And once it was in he told me to move it in and out, and I did that, and on about the third thrust he gave another gasp.

“I think you just got the angle right,” he said. “There’s supposed to be something it rubs against inside, and I’m pretty sure you just found it. Keep going.”

So I did, and he confirmed that it was doing what it was supposed to do, and in the end he had to tell me to stop and take it out, because he was afraid that otherwise he was going to make a mess on the bedding. And after we’d washed the dildo down in my parents’ en-suite bathroom we swapped places and I found out why he’d liked it: it did hurt a bit to start with, but then it started to feel weird but sort of nice.

I stopped him before I lost control of myself, which I think would have happened if he’d kept going for another ten seconds or so.

“So, did you like that?” he asked, once he got back from cleaning it off.

“Yes, I think so. It felt strange, and it hurt at the start, like you said, but… I suppose that means we could… you know, do it for real, then?”

“I think so. I bought one of the smallest ones they had, but I think it’s still a bit bigger than either of us, so if we can take the plastic one, we should be able to take the real one. Except I don’t want to do that straight away – I’d like to have it to look forward to another day. Let’s just get back into bed for now.”

So we cuddled some more.

“Are you sure this doesn’t bother you?” I asked. “I mean, if you get a girlfriend you won’t end up having anything put inside you, will you? So…”

He shrugged. “I think maybe I’ll have boyfriends and girlfriends. After all, I like you and me being together like this, and I don’t see why I should stop doing it with boys when I start going out with girls – if I can ever find a girl who likes going out with a midget, of course…”

“You’ll grow,” I assured him. “It’s less than a month since your twelfth birthday, so you’ve got plenty of time. Okay, you might not be over six feet when you’re grown up, but I expect you’ll be decently average. I don’t think you’ll have too much trouble getting a girlfriend by the time you’re fourteen or fifteen. And I’ll be around to do stuff with until then – unless I find a boyfriend, of course, but since I’m never going to tell anyone I’m gay I don’t think that’ll happen.”

“It might. And maybe another gay boy might fancy you and try it on with you, especially if he sees you without your glasses. You’ll have to spend as much time as you can not wearing them.”

“Sure – but you’ll have to get me a white stick and a guide dog first.”

“Not really. I know you can get about the house without them, and you could probably get around the school, too – all you’d have to do would be to follow the rest of the class. Just wear them during lessons and try keeping them off between. Although if I’m going to be selfish I hope you don’t get a boyfriend just yet, because that way I get to keep you to myself.”

“I wouldn’t mind sharing myself around,” I said.

“You slut!” he replied, grinning. “Don’t forget you have to do what I tell you, and if I order you not to go out with anyone else you’d have to obey. I wouldn’t do that, though,” he added, seeing my face. “That would be pretty cruel. I’m happy just to do stuff with you until you find someone else. Now, lie on your back.”

So I did that and he threw the bedding back out of the way and then took hold of me and masturbated me steadily until I shot onto myself – four spurts today, another new record. And then I did it to him…

This was the first time I’d actually seen what he produced, and it was amazing – it was thick and white (a lot thicker and whiter than mine) and there were six or seven proper spurts of it. I thought it was no surprise that he had choked me with it the first time I had sucked him.

“Okay, Mark, I admit it: you’re a lot more mature than me,” I said, staring at his chest.

“I’m glad you noticed. Now go and find me something to mop it up with.”

So I did that, and then we got dressed, went and had something to eat and then, after I’d cleaned his boots – and he actually helped me we spent the bulk of the afternoon playing video games, though we did have a couple of games of chess as well. And at least that was something I could beat him at…

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


Kevin's under ever-increasing surveillance, but his sexual education is coming along by leaps and bounds.

Here's a mail address: gothmog@nyms.net . It works, you know – give it a try!

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