CHAPTER SEVEN


In which Chris reads minds, Dwayne tries it on and Kevin turns the tables on the Microbes.


Chris

Checking the cameras later that evening was interesting. They hadn’t actually caught Kevin misbehaving, but I hadn’t expected them to, not with Engel in the house. But at one point Engel had taken a bath, and Kevin had stayed in the bathroom at the same time. Of course the ‘official’ camera was pointing at the shower, and so only caught glimpses as they walked past it, but the clandestine one was at the end of the room and so had seen everything.

“You know what he’s like,” said Kevin when I asked him about it. “We were playing chess, and he had that crappy fountain pen as usual and got ink all over him. I suggested he should have a shower, but he said he’d prefer a bath. And because he thought I couldn’t be trusted to behave while he was in the bath he made me stay in the room with him.”

“Right,” I said. Of course I wasn’t supposed to have seen anything not covered by the shower camera, but I didn’t see why I shouldn’t find out how honest my brother was going to be. So…

“Well, I’m sure you had a good look while you had the chance,” I went on. “Is he your type?”

“Not really. He’s far too thin – even skinnier than me – and of course he’s really too small, too.”

“Ah, so you only fancy tall boys,” I commented. “That narrows down the choice of who in the team you’re after – I can delete anyone shorter than Engel, then.”

“No! I mean… well, not exactly… Look, there’s more to it than just height! It’s just that Engel is small and skinny – maybe if he wasn’t quite so thin…”

“You’re not fooling anyone, you know,” I said. “I’ll be watching you tomorrow…”

The following morning I packed him off to the Microbes’, having once again impressed upon them that they shouldn’t let Kev play with himself this time. They still seemed reluctant, but they agreed on condition that the next time round they’d be free to make him do it in front of them, and I couldn’t see any reason not to accept.

Training went well – there were still a few of the team missing for one reason or another, but Ryan was back, so at least we didn’t have to put up with Kev’s crap goalkeeping this time. And Mr Clifford said that everyone would be back in time for the game on Sunday, so that was okay.

On Friday Kev was going to be away doing the First Aid course Mr Clifford had signed him up to. Obviously I wouldn’t be able to monitor him while he was off doing that, but I had arranged for him to be at home on his own for most of Thursday, and I was pretty sure that he’d be far more likely to do it in the comfort of the living room, or my bedroom, than in a toilet cubicle wherever the First Aid course was taking place.

I spent most of Thursday out of the house – I went into town with Colin and Mark and didn’t go back home until about five o’clock. Kevin was sitting in the living room, innocently watching TV, and I didn’t for one moment believe that he’d been doing that all day. And when I went upstairs and checked the cameras I found that, exactly as I’d expected, he’d used my bedroom, and the photo, again that morning. Not only that, but he’d also had a second go earlier in the afternoon, this time on the sofa downstairs. Excellent, I thought: that makes five.

I went downstairs and sat next to him in front of the TV, and when the program he had been watching finished I turned the TV off.

“Okay, Kev,” I said. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

“Like what?”

“Well, I wondered if you might like to admit to having slipped up and done something you weren’t supposed to in the last two or three weeks.”

“You haven’t exactly left me a lot of opportunities, have you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You were here on your own today, and that hasn’t been the first time, either – it’s so hard to get baby-sitters these days. So, answer the question: have you?”

“No, I haven’t,” he said.

“Oh, dear, wrong answer,” I said. “I make it five times so far…”

And I gave him the time and date of each time he had broken the rule, and his face was a picture.

“But… how… I mean, that’s crap, Chris!”

“No, it isn’t. I can read your mind, Kev – after you’ve done it you get sort of guilty and shifty, and I can always tell. There’s a sort of psychic bond between us, and it’s got much easier to read you since I found out about what you do in your spare time. Do you mean to say you’ve never known when I’m lying? I thought all brothers had that sort of a link.”

Okay, it’s utter crap, and 99% of people would have known it was utter crap the moment I spoke. But of course Kevin wasn’t able to think properly right now, and I hoped that by hitting him with this psychic bullshit it would stop him from thinking clearly – because if he did that he’d pretty soon work out that there had to be some cameras somewhere that he hadn’t found out about yet. And I wanted those cameras to remain a secret for as long as possible.

“What, you mean you can really tell what I’m thinking about?” he asked. “Everything?”

“Well, no, not everything. I’m still not sure who you fancy in the football team, for a start. But I can tell when you’ve been playing with yourself. So… five offences means five more people get to find out about you. I’ll let you off the first couple, because that’ll cover the Microbe’s brother and Engel, so that just leaves us with three to find. You know the team a bit better by now, so do you have any preferences?”


Kevin

I simply didn’t know what to think. I really didn’t think Chris was able to read my mind – if he was he’d certainly have had something to say about what I’d been up to with Mark, and the same went for what I’d been doing with Danny Engel in our parents’ bedroom. But I couldn’t understand how he knew about my wanking sessions otherwise.

“Yes, none of them,” I said. “Come on, Chris, be reasonable – aren’t you having enough fun with this without involving other people?”

“That’s not the point,” he said. “You knew the rules, and you broke them. And you knew what would happen if you did. So, if you don’t have any preference, let’s just have a lucky dip.”

He went out and came back a couple of minutes later with a pack of cards.

“Okay,” he said, “you’re going to draw three cards. Each card corresponds to someone’s squad number – so if you draw an ace, that’s Ryan, because he’s number one. Jacks are eleven, queens are twelve, kings are thirteen and if you draw an eight it counts as fourteen, because eight is my squad number and I know about you already, whereas fourteen is Lee Woodford’s number, and he doesn’t. If you draw the same number twice you won’t have to take a different card instead. And if you manage to draw three jacks you’ll be the luckiest bastard on earth, because Mark’s number eleven and he already knows about you. The Microbe is fifteen, so you can’t get an escape card by picking his number because it won’t be in there. So…”

He shuffled the cards and offered them to me. The one card I really didn’t want was a nine, because that was Colin’s number, and I still hoped that I could get out of this without having Colin find out about it. So I closed my eyes, prayed that I wouldn’t get a nine, and drew my first card. I didn’t turn it over straight away: instead I just put it face down on the sofa next to me. I drew two more and lined them up next to the first one and waited while Chris went and put the rest of the pack on the table.

“Okay,” he said, “let’s see who you’ve got.”

I turned the first one over. It was the five of diamonds.

“That’s Dwayne,” Chris told me. “I wonder what they think of wankers in Jamaica? You’d better hope they’re not too fussed about it. Who’s next?”

I turned over the eight of clubs.

“Well, that would have been me, but, like I said before, now it’s Lee Woodford.”

“Which one is he?” I asked. “Oh, it’s the kid with red hair, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s the other one – there are two Lees in the team. Short, dark brown hair, big teeth,” he told me. “He plays at right back when Charlie’s away, or sometimes on the right side of midfield.”

I thought I knew which one he meant, though I didn’t think I’d ever spoken to him. I took a deep breath and turned the last card over, and was delighted to see the jack of spades.

“Lucky bastard,” he said. “That’s Mark, and he already knows about you. So you’re getting off with only two new witnesses. I’ll talk to them on Sunday at the game and arrange for them to join in with keeping you under control – after all, the more of us there are to keep an eye on you, the better.”

Obviously I didn’t agree with that, but I knew it wouldn’t do me any good to argue. Although when I thought about it I would have to say that, so far at least, this hadn’t been the embarrassing and humiliating disaster I had expected it to be. Thus far nobody had given me a really hard time about it, and in fact in a lot of ways my life had become far more interesting. Before Chris caught me I’d never had any sexual contact with anyone else at all, and in fact I’d scarcely even managed to see another boy naked, except for the odd glimpse on Games Days at school. But now I’d had a couple of brilliant experiences with Mark; I’d been naked with Danny Engel, and he had even let me handle him; and I’d found someone to talk to in class, too – even though Jason Temple was a geek like me, well, two geeks are better than one. So perhaps everything would go smoothly with Dwayne and… whatever the other one’s name was.

The first-aid course was interesting. I’d quite liked the idea of having to give one of the team the kiss of life, but after I’d been working with the dummy for a couple of minutes I realised that actually it would be really hard work – though perhaps if I managed to save the team member’s life he’d be prepared to reward me with a rather less strenuous kiss afterwards… anyway, I learned a lot about bandages and splints and how to deal with different sorts of injury, and even though I really hoped I would never see some of the injuries I learned about in real life I still felt confident that I could be useful if anything actually did happen on the pitch. Though, oddly, I didn’t learn anything about the famous Magic Sponge.

I didn’t have any particular plans for Saturday, though I’d been vaguely hoping Mark might volunteer to supervise me for a couple of hours: I was learning a lot from him and would have been happy to get some more practical experience, too. But instead I ended up spending the day indoors with Chris, just moping about the house and watching TV and stuff.

Sunday’s match was at home to Eagleton Rovers, another of the better teams in the league, and at half-time we were losing 1-0 and I thought I was going to see the team lose for the first time. But Mr Clifford did his impersonation of Sir Alex during the half-time turnaround and the second half was a lot better: Colin scored shortly after the second half started, and in the last five minutes we scored twice more, the first a rather fluky own goal and the second a hard shot from the edge of the area by the little winger Silvio. I thought he was trying to cross, but afterwards he swore it had been deliberate, and I suppose he’s the only one who would know. Anyway, Mr Clifford was a lot happier at the end of the game, though he still had plenty to say about the fact that it had taken an own goal four minutes before the final whistle to put us in front.

Once he had finished holding forth the team headed for the showers and I did my usual kit-collecting routine, after which I was able to sit and admire the view for a while. The only downside was that everyone generally seemed to get changed in roughly the same place, and in my spot by the door I was about as far away from Colin as I could possibly get, and neither Lee Becontree the redhead nor Grant of the wingnut ears, who were closest to me, offered much in the way of compensation. But at least it meant that for once my body didn’t betray me.

Afterwards, when I got back from taking the kit back to Mr Clifford, I saw Chris talking to Dwayne. From the look the black boy shot in my direction it was fairly clear what they were talking about, but neither of them said anything to me about it – or not then, anyway.

But once we were back home Chris told me that I had an appointment at Dwayne’s house that afternoon. By now I knew there was no point in arguing – and, besides, I was almost looking forward to it – after all, everything so far had worked out quite well…


Dwayne

When Chris Stratford takes me to one side after the game I don’t know what to expect – it’s not like I really know him or nothing. But I’d never have guessed what he wants to say: what it is, he’s caught his brother having a wank – not only caught him, but got it on film too. Can’t see nothing wrong with wanking, myself, but getting caught on film – what a muppet! And it turns out I’m not the only one to find out about it neither – seems that every time Kevin gets caught his brother tells someone else about it. You’d have thought the stupid idiot would have worked out not to get caught by now…

Anyhow, what it means is I can make him do whatever I tell him. Chris tells me the others make Kevin clean their boots and stuff, and that sounds good to me – I don’t know nobody that likes having to clean his boots. So when Kevin turns up at my yard that’s the first thing I tell him to do. I give him the boots and the cleaning stuff and then go back to my room and get on with playing GTA IV. Yes, I know it’s an 18, but so what? It’s not like playing a game is going to make me steal a ride, get a strap and start driving all over killing people and that, is it? I don’t get why some adults think kids can’t tell the difference between a game and reality… anyway, my ‘rents are cool about it.

So I’ve been playing for about half an hour when Sam comes in (he’s my little bro. He’s nine, and he’s okay, for a little kid).

“That boy says he’s done your boots,” he says. “Can I get him to do mine?”

“Sure,” I say. “Get him to do anything else you can think of, too.”

“Cool!” he says, and off he goes. Suits me – apart from cleaning my boots I can’t think of nothing for the boy to do anyway. So I’m happy to leave it to Sam for a bit while I get on with the game.

About another half hour goes by and Sam comes in again, only this time Kevin is with him, so I pause the game to see what they want.

“He’s done the boots,” says Sam. “And I thought… well, you know how Mum is always on at us to tidy the room? I thought he could do it for us.”

“’Kay, why not?” I say. “Just do it quietly, ‘cause I’m trying to concentrate here.”

So I get back to the game while Sam tells Kevin what to do and what goes where and stuff, and I’m kind of aware of him moving about doing stuff, ‘cept I’m busy with the game so I don’t take a lot of notice. And next time I look up – I’ve messed up and Niko’s in hospital again – I see them both standing behind me and watching.

“So, you finished?” I ask, pausing the game.

“Yeah, what do you think?” asks Sam.

It looks clean. I’m pretty sure Mum’s going to like it, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to find my stuff – I know where it is when I just put it down on the floor. Still, I guess it’s worth it to get a bit of peace from Mum’s going on about it.

“Yeah, looks good,” I say. “So what else do the others make you do, then?”

He shrugs. “I help the Microbe’s brother out with his homework sometimes,” he says. “There’s nothing else really.”

I wonder why he isn’t looking at me as he says this. It makes me think he’s lying.

“Yes, there is,” I say. “You’d better tell me, ‘cause I’ll just ask around next time we have training. Course, I don’t know who to ask, so I’ll just have to ask everyone. I guess that means ‘nuff kids who don’t know about you yet gonna find out...”

He looks unhappy, and he glances at Sam and then back to me, like he don’t want to say in front of Sam or something.

“Don’t you worry ‘bout my bro,” I say. “He’s safe. So let’s hear it.”

“Well… see, a couple of times they’ve made me do it while they watch – you know, what it is I’m not supposed to keep doing.”

“What’s he talking about?” asks Sam.

“Tell him,” I say.

It’s obvious Kevin’s not happy talking about this in front of some little kid he don’t know, but I just stare at him until he gives in.

“Well… you know, playing with… with myself,” he says.

“Huh?” says Sam.

Sam’s not stupid and he knows ‘xactly what it’s about, but he keeps a straight face.

“Playing with… with my penis,” says Kevin, blushing all over.

“Huh?” says Sam again. “Why you do that, then?”

Like he don’t know – I know Sam wanks himself because I’ve caught him sometimes, and I can hear when he does it in bed, too.

“Well, it feels good,” says Kevin, blushing some more.

“Really? Show us, then!”

I wait for Kevin to tell him to get lost, ‘cause that’s what I’d have done. But instead he just looks at me.

“Come on,” he says, “I can’t do that in front of a little kid like Sam.”

“Why not?” I say. “He’s already getting sex education at school – this’ll just help him understand it better.”

“Yes, but…”

“But nothing. You already said you had to do it for some of the others. ‘Sides, Chris said to tell him if you don’t do what you’re told. I think you’ll be in for it if I do that.”

I still reckon he’s not going to do it, but then he starts to undo his belt. Sam’s about to crack up, but somehow he holds it back.

“Take everything off,” he says. “Then we can see properly…”


Kevin

I really wasn’t happy about this. I hadn’t been all that keen doing it in front of the Microbes, but this was far worse because Sam was so young. I didn’t know anything about this stuff when I was his age – it only came up in sex education in my last year at primary school. I thought it might shock him, and then he’d go asking his parents questions, and then I could be in real trouble.

“You have to promise not to tell anyone about this,” I said.

“No, I don’t!”

“Yes, you do – if you go telling your parents ‘Guess what happened today’ I’ll be in serious shit!”

“I’m not stupid,” he said. “Obviously I’m not going to tell my parents. And anyway, if you did get into trouble we would too for making you do it. So get on with it.”

I still thought this was a really bad idea, but I couldn’t really see a way out of it, at least not without annoying Chris, and if that happened there was a risk that some of his pictures of me might end up on the net somewhere. And pretty much anything would be better than that. So, unenthusiastically, I started to get undressed, and once I was naked I lay down on the bed.

“That hair looks weird,” said Sam, staring at me. “How old are you?”

“I’m fourteen,” I told him.

“His dick’s not up to much for fourteen, is it, Dwayne?” he asked.

“It’s not, at that. Still, give him a chance to get it hard.”

Obviously this sort of critique wasn’t doing a lot to help me get it hard, but I did my best, trying to shut out the younger boy’s giggles, and eventually I got it hard – at least, hard enough to make a start. I took hold and started to rub it.

“That’s not very hard,” commented Sam. “Mine gets a lot harder than that.”

“Give me a chance,” I said. “I’ve barely started yet.”

“Get on with it, then!”

So I got on with it, I was just getting settled into a rhythm when Sam made me stop and let go again.

“That’s still too floppy,” he said. “You need to make it harder, or we’ll think you’re not trying.”

“Look, you try doing it in front of an audience sometime. I bet you couldn’t get properly hard either.”

“Bet I could!”

“Well, I can’t,” I said. “It’s hard enough for you to get the idea, anyway. So can I get dressed now?”

“Course not, you haven’t finished yet. I wanna see you spunk up.”

I stared at him, because I certainly hadn’t known that word when I was nine. I supposed that sex education at his school was a bit less clinical than it had been at mine. That, or his older brother had been teaching him stuff. In any event it was obvious that I was going to have to finish the job, and so I lay down again and got on with it. But it was really difficult, far harder than it had been doing it in front of the Microbes, and that had been difficult enough. But at least I knew Jason a bit, whereas I didn’t know these two at all. And then there was the whole different culture thing: I knew that Jamaicans really don’t like gay people, and I wondered if that extended to boys who play with themselves a lot. So it took a very long time.

Finally I could feel it building up, so I told them I was getting there.

“About bloody time,” said Dwayne.

A few more strokes brought me over the edge and I spurted three or four times.

“Is that it?” commented Dwayne. “Hardly worth waiting for, was it? That’s pretty pathetic for fourteen.”

“Oh, and you can do better, can you?” I asked, stung.

“I’m twelve,” Dwayne pointed out. “But, yeah, I reckon I could do it faster than that, and get a lot more out too.”

“Don’t lie!

“I never lie. Next time you come round we’ll time you, and then I’ll be able to tell you how much faster I can do it.”

He handed me a tissue and I cleaned myself up, and then he told me to get dressed.

“I’ll sort out with your bro when you’re coming round here next,” he promised me. “Maybe next time we’ll film you.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “That would be well gay.”

I’d hoped that would make him think again, and it seemed to. Instead he just told me I could go and went back to his video game. So I said “Goodbye” over my shoulder and headed for home.

When I got home Chris asked how it had gone.

“It was embarrassing,” he said.

He seemed to be waiting for more details, but I saw no reason to oblige. I supposed that if he really wanted to know he could always ask Dwayne about it next time he saw him.

“You’ll have to wait to see Lee Woodford,” he said. “He goes to some private school somewhere and he isn’t allowed to do anything on school-nights. We’ll have to sort something out with him next Friday.”

That didn’t bother me too much – there were already too many people involved for comfort.

“Am I supposed to be going over to Mark’s this evening?” I asked.

“No, they’ve got guests. So you’re lucky – you can stay in and watch TV instead.”

To be honest, I wouldn’t have minded going to Mark’s at all. But I could hardly say so without making Chris very suspicious, so instead I managed to look enthusiastic about watching crap on TV.

School got straight back into the normal routine on Monday, so I went to chess club after school as usual. Danny Engel was there, but he was already playing someone else when I got there, and I didn’t get a chance to speak to him until shortly before we went home.

“Sorry I was ignoring you,” he told me, once we were outside. “I thought that we shouldn’t look too friendly, because if your brother finds out he won’t let me babysit you again.”

“I’m not sure that ‘babysit’ is quite the right word,” I pointed out. “But that’s probably good thinking. How’s the pen working out?”

“I like it,” he said. “I don’t look messy today, do I?”

His clothes were still untidy, but at least now there was no ink on his hands or face.

“Well, not as much as usual,” I conceded. “Now we just have to find a way to stop your shirt coming untucked and your tie ending up under your ear.”

He shrugged. “I fidget when I’m thinking,” he said.

“Well, it’s a bad habit. It makes you look untidy. Maybe I ought to try to get you out of the habit – after all, you’re helping me deal with my bad habit. Perhaps if I beat you up every time I see your shoelaces knotted or something…”

“No, thank you. I can manage on my own.”

“Bet you can’t. Anyway, I don’t know when Chris will need someone to keep an eye on me again. Saturday morning when he goes shopping is about the only time I’m likely to be at home without him.”

“I can’t do Saturdays. Saturday is a family day, and I have to go to synagogue, too.”

“Pity. Well, you could come round one evening after school if you like. You could tell Chris you want to practice playing chess with me.”

“Could I?” he said, his face lighting up. “That’d be great! I’ll ask permission when I get home. It should be alright as long as I don’t have too much homework.”

We walked to the bus stop. I thought it would be nice to have an evening playing chess with Danny. Of course, Chris would be in the house, and that, together with the camera in my room, would probably prevent us doing anything we shouldn’t, but that didn’t matter too much – it would be fun just playing chess together.

In the event, we were out of luck: the only evening Danny was free was Thursday, and that was my night for going round to the Microbes’ place. Danny was disappointed when I told him but said he might be able to fix a visit for Tuesday or Wednesday of the following week.


Jason

By now the Microbe and I were used to having Stratford round on a Thursday evening and we had a proper schedule for him. First, while my brother and I were eating supper, he took Luke’s boots out into the back yard and cleaned them. Obviously my mum offered supper to our guest, but he declined on the grounds that he’d be eating when he got back to his own place. And tonight he did such a good job that even the Microbe couldn’t find fault with it, and you can bet he tried. He’d even taken the laces right out and washed them separately.

Then we did our homework. First we did the science stuff, and then I tried doing the French on my own, writing the answers on a piece of scrap paper. Once I was finished I got Stratford to check it for me, and where I’d got it wrong he explained why and got me to do it again. Yes, obviously I could just have sat back and let him do it all for me, but you’d have to be a fucking moron to do that, ‘cos at the end of term we’ve got an exam, and I’ll have to do that on my own. So I needed to know how to do it.

Once I’d finished I copied it into my exercise book (leaving in a couple of wrong answers, obviously), and then I looked at my watch.

“You don’t have to go yet,” I told Stratford. “Fancy another game of cards? I mean, your brother said we weren’t supposed to let you have a wank this week, but I reckon you’ve earned a chance. What about it?”

“Yes, okay,” he said. “I brought my cards, just in case.”

And the bastard pulled a pack of cards out of his briefcase.

“It’s okay, we can use our cards,” I said.

“Nah, I’ve got these out now. I thought if we use the same pack every week they’ll get manked up before too long. This way both packs will last twice as long.”

“How do we know these aren’t marked?” I asked.

“Look for yourself,” he said, handing them to me. “Come to that, how do I know yours aren’t marked?”

“Don’t be stupid. Where would I get a set of marked cards?”

“So why would you think I could? Satisfied?”

I had a cursory look at them and handed them back, knowing I couldn’t really keep arguing without making him suspicious. And of course if he examined our pack closely he’d see that they were marked, and I couldn’t risk that.

In theory the odds were that he’d beat one of us but not the other, and if that happened it would just be a draw and he’d be able to go home without giving us another demonstration. But instead it looked like fate had decided to give us a kick in the pants for stitching him up a couple of weeks previously, because after a few fairly even rounds I suddenly hit a losing run and found myself in my boxers while the other two were close to fully dressed. And my sodding little brother looked as enthusiastic about getting me naked as Stratford did.

“One more!” said Luke, happily. “Come on, Kevin, let’s finish him off!”

Oh, so suddenly it’s ‘Kevin’, is it? I thought. I decided I’d have to talk to my brother about family loyalty once Stratford had gone home. Well, not so much ‘talk to’ as ‘thrash the living daylights out of’.

Luke lost the next hand, and I made a rude noise at him as he took his shirt off, and Stratford lost the one after that, but it couldn’t last and thirty seconds later I lost again. I hesitated: after all, I was supposed to be in charge of Stratford, so if I told him to go home now he’d have to do it. But I realised that I couldn’t do that, not unless I wanted him to think I was a bottler, and so I stood up and pulled my boxers off. And of course the moment I did that my bloody prick betrayed me and I started to get an erection. I sat down with my hands over it, but I didn’t expect to be able to get away with that, and of course I didn’t.

“Stand up and show us,” said my brother, the little sod. Yes, I was definitely going to give him a smack later, I decided. But there was no getting out of it, so I stood up and moved my hands away.

I’m small for my age. I already know that. But somehow standing here like this and knowing what Stratford’s got made it seem even smaller, even though it was as big as it ever gets – which is exactly three inches (yes, I measure it. I keep hoping all the attention will make it start growing at last) - and twitching with it. I braced myself against the torrent of snide comments I was expecting. But Stratford surprised me.

“That looks good,” he said.

“It looks pathetic,” I replied.

“No, it doesn’t. It’s really hard, for a start. Mine never gets that hard.”

“Oh, right, so going hard in front of other boys is okay, is it?” I demanded.

“You can’t help that. You’re naked and people are looking at you. It’s almost impossible not to go hard in those circumstances. But, seriously, it looks okay. Look, Jase, you haven’t really started growing yet, so it’s no surprise if that hasn’t started growing either – in fact if you were four feet eight…”

“Four feet nine,” I interrupted.

“Sorry, four feet nine, then… and had a massive knob and big hairy balls you’d look gross. As it is everything looks just right.”

“Sure,” I said, bitterly. “I’m thirteen and I look eight, but that’s okay because I’ve got an eight-year-old’s prick, too.”

“You’ll grow,” he said. “In another couple of years you’ll probably be bigger than me. Anyway, you can sit down if you want.”

“Let’s make him do it to himself!” said Luke, suddenly. “Come on, Kevin, let’s – after all, when you came last a couple of weeks ago you had to do it!”

If looks could kill my brother would have exploded at that point, but before I could started tearing into him Stratford beat me to it.

“That’s not what we agreed,” he said. “I mean, yes, I’d quite like to watch, just to find out how it feels from the audience’s point of view, but it wouldn’t be fair, because we never agreed that before we started. What we agreed was just that if I come last I have to do it in front of you, and if I beat both of you I get to use your bathroom instead. How would you have felt if you’d lost and Jason had said that about you?”

“I didn’t lose, though.”

“Well, okay then: suppose we say now that whichever of us two loses has to do it in public? I bet you wouldn’t be so keen about that, would you?”

He thought about it. “Well, okay,” he said. “At least that means I’ve still got a chance of watching you do it. And… let’s say Jason has to keep playing too, and if he loses four more times before either of us does, then he has to do it too. That way I might even get to watch both of you doing it.”

I wasn’t too keen on that, but then I thought that I just had to avoid losing four times before one of the others did, and then I’d either get to watch my brother making a fool of himself, or I’d get to watch Stratford spurting all over himself. And so I agreed.

Of course, that was a mistake, because I’d lost four times before either of them was even in his underwear, and at that point Luke bounced about as if he’d won the bloody lottery.

“You’re going to look so funny!” he crowed at me. “I’m going to film it on my mobile and show everyone in my form!”

“No, you’re not,” Stratford told him. “We never agreed to that. And if you try and Jason beats you up, I won’t try to stop him. And the same goes if you try filming me, too.”

That kept Luke quiet for a moment, but when he won the next hand he got lippy again. And then Stratford won three hands in a row, and that was enough to win the game. Of course at that point Luke shut up.

“Come on, then,” said Stratford. “We’re waiting.”

Luke hesitated, but to be fair to him he doesn’t chicken out of stuff, and after a moment he stood up and pulled his briefs off. And, like me, he had an erection.

I haven’t caught more than a glimpse of him undressed recently, and I was surprised to see that it was bigger than I had thought – in fact it probably wasn’t a lot smaller than mine. As you can imagine, this didn’t exactly make me feel good – after all, I’m five inches taller than he is, and more than two years older.

Come on, then,” said Stratford. “Who’s going first?”

“You could let us off,” suggested Luke, hopefully.

“Yeah, like you let me off last time, you mean? But you can both do it at the same time if you prefer. Stand and face each other.”

Luke looked at me, and then he grabbed his prick and started to rub it.

“Bet I get there before you do!” he challenged, and so of course I had to try to make sure that he didn’t, because that would have been too shameful.

For a minute or so Stratford just sat on the bed and watched us, but then he told us to stop and take our hands away. Seeing Luke’s twitching the same way mine does was sort of interesting, although knowing mine was doing it too was a bit of an embarrassment.

“Okay,” said Stratford, “I’ll make you an offer. At the moment I’m going to have fifteen minutes in your bathroom on my own, but… would you prefer me to do it here instead?”

“Obviously,” I said. “I don’t see why you should be spared the shame if we can avoid it. So what do you want in exchange?”

“I want to watch you two do it to each other.”

“Fuck off!” I said. “I’m not touching my brother’s dick. That would be seriously gay.”

“You can wear gloves if you like. Then you wouldn’t have to touch it.”

“No way!”

“I dunno, Jase,” said Luke. “I wouldn’t mind doing it. That way we’d get to watch him spurt again, and that’s well funny.”

I thought about it. Okay, it had been fun watching him spunk up and I would have liked to see it happen again, but if anyone ever found out I’d tossed my brother off…

But before I could object any further Luke reached out, took hold of me and started to rub, and when I got over the initial shock – I must have jumped about a foot into the air when he took hold, because nobody has ever touched me like that before – I realised that it felt good. Physically, at least – mentally it still felt weird.

“And you, Jase,” said Stratford. “Do it to him, too.”

So I took hold of my brother, though I didn’t start to rub it straight away: instead I just felt it. Like mine, his balls weren’t very big, and like mine his prick was small but very hard, and stroking it felt sort of interesting.

“Lie on the bed and do it to each other,” said Stratford, and so we did: we got into a position where we could get hold of each other and got on with it. And as long as I didn’t actually think about what I was doing it felt good, and when I finally came it felt pretty amazing. Finishing my brother off afterwards wasn’t quite so good, but at least once we’d both got dressed again we had the fun of watching Stratford shooting all over himself. At least when Luke and I do it there’s no mess to clean up afterwards. That’s not to say that I don’t wish I could come like Stratford can, but still…

I thought maybe I’d feel a bit awkward being with Luke after that, but in fact once Stratford had gone home he just grinned at me and challenged me to a game on his PS2, like he usually did, and within five minutes or so I felt that he and I were completely back to normal. But it had definitely been an interesting evening…

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


Kevin might not be happy that his fame is spreading, but at least it's no longer just one-way traffic.

By now you've probably got the message that my mail address is gothmog@nyms.net but that isn't going to stop me from mentioning it again!

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