Now Am I In Arden
A story by Ivor Sukwell and Kyle McKenzie. A story about a boy and a man with all that such entails. The setting is modern and based around the theatre. Not your thing? Sorry about that, we're sure you'll find something that is. Whatever your choice, please remember Nifty needs your donations.
Now Am I In Arden
Chapter eleven
"So how are you Mr Williams?" Mum was finishing a cup of tea in Mr Williams' kitchen, having driven me down to his house straight from school on Friday night. The next week was half term and I would be staying for the whole time, which would be the most time me and Mr Williams had spent alone since Italy.
I had been a bit surprised Mum had agreed to it but she seemed a bit warmer towards Mr Williams these days, even smiling at him occasionally.
"Well," a no longer completely glacial mother said as she got in her car after staying long enough to have an almost sociable cup of tea, "I suppose he's all yours now. For a week, at least," she shoved in, just in case I got any wrong ideas, "Be good to him, won't you." that not a question, but an order.
"Wow," I said to a now naked Brat - he never wasted any time in getting rid of unwanted clothes, even though he was fifteen now - "What brought that on?"
"Oh she's got a new boyfriend." I dropped that news in casually though I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about it. When I was a kid it had just been me and Mum, and while I knew she wouldn't want to be single forever, it still felt weird knowing she had a man.
We had gone out for dinner so I could meet Peter a few weeks before. Mum and him had worked together and he seemed nice enough, and on the way home I had told her I was pleased she was happy. That had got her all emotional, something she had promised not to repeat when I got embarrassed, but it seemed to have made her less frosty to Mr Williams as well.
"I haven't," and I grabbed him and hugged him, "Well happy with the one I've got."
I giggled, and gave him a long snog. "Thought you seeing me in my school uniform would get you randy," I giggled as he pulled me in tight, enjoying his hands on my body.
"God," I said feelingly, "If you walked round school like this, you'd have every boy under fifteen wanking over you, and most of those over fifteen wanting to do more than wank over you!"
No inhibitions now about including his bum in a greeting feel, and his bum never objected either.
I giggled more and he hungrily grasped my bum cheeks. "Yeah we don't all get naked at school, otherwise you'd be a drama teacher I imagine!" I was deliberately talking dirty to him, enjoying teasing him in a provocative way.
"Oh, the thought!" I teased back, "A class full of naked, hormonally ravaged boys to look at." Brat loved being teased, loved knowing that my teasing never concealed that he, and he alone, was the object of my desire. A desire that had not lessened, but grown as he had grown.
I laughed out loud at the idea. "So what have you got planned to amuse me?" I was quite enjoying playing the bratty boy, an act he seemed to be enjoying as well.
"Spliff first, and something to drink with it. I have news for you, my Brat." And indeed, news did I have for him, though how he would feel about that news I wasn't sure.
I rolled the spliff as Mr Williams handed me a vodka mixed with orange juice.
As always he had stayed clothed as I got naked, his eyes rarely leaving my body, and I took a long drag on the spliff and handed it to him.
"What's the news?" I was curious about what he wanted to tell me, wondering if he was being hired for another play.
"Lap first," I instructed, "You should know by now that I can't conduct a serious conversation with you if you're not properly seated." He sniggered and with a show of very pretended reluctance, parked himself where he was needed.
"Had an unusual phone call earlier in the week," I teased him by hanging out what he wanted to know, "From some agency or other based, in all places, America."
He wriggled a little, his agency was, after all, based there. "It seems that a young English director, one of the almost extinct breed who believes there is still a place for live theatre, has a fancy to do a revival of Equus. The news of this has somehow crossed the Atlantic and gone all the way across a continent and reached the ears of some Norwegian film star or other."
Brat was really wriggling now.
"Apparently, this Norwegian has said he'd be an angel and finance the gig, if, and only if, a certain young British actor was cast as Strang. But, and it seems he was most insistent on this, the permission of one Mr Williams had to be obtained first."
Brat was now almost beside himself, wriggling around like crazy.
"I don't suppose you have any idea whom this Norwegian might be, do you? Or why he should insist that Strang had to be you?"
"Doesn't sound like anyone I know," I sniggered.
Kasper and I had spoken a few times since doing the siege of Troy and we had met up when he was in London. He was into virtually anything sexually and had loved Romeo & Julio and wanted me to do something similar for him.
"Mate, they're saying I'm only in shit romcoms. You've gotta do something serious with me. Like some of that Shakespeare shit your man loves so much." I pointed out that he was known for mostly shit romcoms making him laugh.
"But they pay me like so much money!" He had offered me a line of his coke which I had politely declined.
"Weird isn't it," Mr Williams was clearly not falling for my feigned innocence which was half of the fun.
"Very," I agreed, seemingly taking Brat's feigned ignorance of who the angel was at face value. "He also insisted that the gig had to be in a proper theatre, not, as I believe he put it, 'some provincial shit house', so I suppose that means somewhere up West."
"And before permission can be granted, I needed to obtain the agreement of the young British actor in question. There are nude scenes, Jacob, and you have to get it off with a girl as well. Do that?"
"Well I think I can handle the nude scenes," I was surprised by saying, thinking it was a good idea to do a controversial piece, though it would keep my profile high after Cannes.
"Think you can cope with seeing me kiss a girl?" I knew I was teasing him a bit far with that, but wanted to see his reaction.
"The play requires a little more than kissing," I managed to keep a straight face, "And, as you're fifteen, you'll have to do the nude scenes in a flesh suit. No dangly bits allowed." That, I felt, was possibly more embarrassing than doing it actually nude. Why I should think that I had no idea.
"That's annoying," I had been looking forward to doing the play as it was written but guessed they wouldn't be able to have someone my age nude without getting closed down.
"Might do some rehearsals in the nude in private though. Not sure where yet." I giggled, pretending that it might not be his house.
"Probably a good idea," I pretended to muse, "Help you get the feel of the part."
I was, by now, also getting to feel his part, but that was an inevitable consequence of him sitting naked in my lap.
"I believe Justin Delaney is to be Dysart." Justin Delany was a year or so older than me, was married and had produced four daughters. He had also, if rumour was to be believed, assisted a whole school full of sixteen year old boys in the discarding of their virginity.
"Jill is planned to be an eighteen year old in her first year at RADA who, it seems, the young director has developed a close and intimate relationship with."
I grinned wickedly at Brat, "I suspect that investigation and experimentation in a female direction would be definitely out of bounds."
"Well, have to see what happens," I wasn't particularly interested in hooking up with the girl but wanted to tease him a bit.
"What's Delaney been in?" I had vaguely heard of Justin Delaney but couldn't really place him.
"Whatever pays." Legitimate work was rare and getting rarer, so actors took what they could get. "Done some Dr Who, not as the Doctor of course."
"Oh right," sounded pretty boring to me but I guessed he had to keep the money coming in.
"So are you going to get a ticket?" I grinned at him, thinking he would be in the front row.
"It's a serious piece, Brat. Shaffer isn't Shakespeare but he most certainly isn't easy. This will be the hardest thing you've done, make no mistake about that. And," I pointed out, "You can't afford another Troy. Do it though, and I'll be in the front row for every performance."
"Ok, ok, jeez," I knew he was right about Troy but didn't like to admit it.
After Romeo & Julio I was flavour of the week again and still basking in the adulation, but the Troy experience had taught me how quickly that could all change.
"You'll help me prepare right?" I knew I could rely on Mr Williams to help me, but thought it was only polite to ask.
"So is permission granted? Where's it going to run anyway?"
"Aldwych, I believe. But say no, if you think you're not ready for it. You have to BE Alan Strang, any weakness there will stand out like a virgin in a brothel, and a couple of very good young actors have been there before. Comparisons are inevitable."
"I want to do it." It sounded like it would be the most challenging part yet, but I thought I was ready for it.
"Do you think I'm ready?" Mr Williams always gave me good advice and I was interested in his opinion.
"Can you find something within yourself that would lead you to blind six horses? Really blind them, stick a spike in their eyes?"
I thought about it long and hard. It was a horrible thing to do, really horrible, and I was a bit scared of going into that headspace.
"You would have to be really dark and angry to do that, but I think I can get there." It would be a stretch, certainly the hardest thing I had done, but I wanted to try.
"If you can blind horses, Jacob Brat, then I never want to see you again!" I pushed him, almost brutally from my knees I wanted his reaction, that alone would tell me if he could, truly, find something within himself that could lead him to do such a desperate thing, utter such a scream for help.
"But that's not fair!" I scrambled off my knees and followed him.
"I will have to get to that place for the part, you can't tell me I have to live the part, then not see me because you don't like what it shows." He walked away from me and I angrily grabbed his arm.
I shook him off. It hurt to do it, but he had to get to a dark place, a really dark place, and do that now, before he started working on the part and kidded himself he could imagine being in that dark place.
I picked his clothes up from the floor, threw them at him.
"Cover yourself, I snarled, "Get dressed and fuck off!"
"Fuck you," I threw the clothes back at him.
"You're just bored of me aren't you? Liked me when I was 14 but now I've grown a bit I'm not the sexy little schoolboy anymore and you want me to fuck off. Got a year seven boy lined up for your bed?" I gave him a furious look and, to spite him, pulled on my underwear to cover my nakedness.
Anger, but anger wasn't enough. He needed more than anger, he needed to taste despair.
"What difference would it make to you who I had lined up for next?" I snarled again. "You've had enough of me, haven't you! Seduced the poor old virgin fool, and now you don't want him anymore. Time to move on for you, isn't it? Look for some other idiot to wiggle your arse at."
"That's really all you think of me isn't it!" I couldn't believe that after trusting so much, revealing myself to Mum for him and thinking I loved him he could think that.
It cut me like a knife and I wanted to burst into tears, but I was determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
"You better have this back then," I pulled his ring off my finger and held it out, looking straight at him. I knew my face must show how hurt I was but I wouldn't cry, definitely not cry.
"If you can't cry, Jacob Brat, then you've not gone deep enough into darkness to play that part." Soft words now. I had hurt him. Not as much as I'd hurt myself, but still driven a knife into his emotions "But maybe, just maybe, you've got something to work on now."
Brutal? oh, yes, horrifically brutal, but if he'd never had any taste at all of rejection and despair, he could not play Alan Strang and get away with it.
"That was a really shitty thing to do." He had been hard on me before, yelled at me and reduced me to tears in front of other cast members, but what he had just done had really hurt me.
Angrily I pulled a pair of tracksuit bottoms out of my bag and put them on. I was furious, feeling hurt and used and wanted to spite him in any way I could.
"Getting dressed do it for you?" I asked, watching the desperation with which he pulled on his trousers. "Wouldn't you rather stick a spike in my eyes?"
"Oh, right now I would," I told him sarcastically, "So maybe don't tempt me."
Despite myself my eyes watered a bit and I angrily wiped the wetness away.
"And I thought you said you loved me," I sighed. Nothing more. That cut should go deep enough if there was anything in him to slice open.
"I did, and I thought you loved me." I had to cry at that, the thought of him rejecting me so brutally hurting like nothing else. It was worse than when my dad had left, something I only had a vague memory of anyway, and I cried in earnest unable to stop myself.
"Oh, I do, Jacob Brat. Love you enough to risk losing you to find out if you can play a part."
I wanted to hold and cuddle him, comfort him, but he wasn't ready for that yet. Instead I closed his fist over the ring he was still holding.
I pulled my hand away from his, though slipped the ring back on my finger.
I was too angry to cuddle him, and I knew if I did that I wouldn't be able to stop the tears, so lounged in the chair in silence.
"Cruel, my Brat, I know it was cruel. But there was nothing inside you that hurt enough to let you find the hurt and despair that Strang must feel. Now, though it was contrived, perhaps there is."
I sat, lit a cigarette and waited for him to recover a little.
"You didn't have the right to make me feel like that without warning me."
I knew he was right, that if he said I would need those feelings for the part then I would need them, but the brutal way he had given me them still hurt. I was smart enough to understand there was no other way he could have given me them, but being manipulated like that still hurt my pride.
"Won't want to cuddle for a while," I told him coldly from the other side of the room. Normally I sat in his lap naked but right now being fully dressed felt like a victory. "And think I'll stay dressed for a while." I knew that was cruel, that he wanted to see me naked but I wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine.
"My fear, Jacob Brat was, and is, that I'll never see you naked again." That was the risk I ran, but a worthwhile risk if it helped him be the actor I knew he could be.
"You'll see it," I couldn't stay angry with him long, but also didn't want to lose face in front of him by forgiving and getting back to normal too quickly.
"We're going to go downstairs in a bit and play with whatever I choose." I gave him a challenging look, daring him to say no. I had to get rid of some of the hurt inside me, and, downstairs, there was a way I could do that.
"Strang tries to find himself, salve his hurt, by digging out horses' eyes. Your method is a little less extreme, though many, I fear, would be inclined to disagree." Make him understand, understand why he was asking now what he was asking for. Almost there. Jacob Brat, almost there.
And if he demanded the cane, reluctant as I was to use that on him, then he'd be all the way there. Internal pain can only be salved by physical pain. Mediaeval monks knew that.
I tutted and feigned indifference but knew what he meant. Strang did a terrible thing so he could feel an emotion, any emotion as powerful as those he felt already.
"So we should go now, then," I told him coldly.
"Choose your salvation." I said when we were downstairs, the mock log fire turned on. Mild October it may be, but air is chill in a basement.
I took off the t shirt but left the tracksuit bottoms and underwear on. He would have to take those off, I decided, I would make nothing easy for him.
Looking through his collection of toys I picked up a few items and took them to a small steel table by the couch before returning for a few more.
"You can decide what you're going to do," I told him coldly. The table contained a coil of black rope, the larger of his gags, the hood, the collar and the cane. "If you want to get your paddle out, be my guest, don't give a shit either way."
"I also need salvation, Jacob Brat," I picked up the cane and swished it. He knew, of all the things we'd chosen, that was the item I wanted least to see used, that I hated the thought of the hurt it would inflict. The paddle was a challenge he threw at me; it would hurt, but not hurt like the cane would hurt. If I chose to use that then I would be chickening out, playing and pretending, and Jacob Brat was neither playing nor pretending now.
"The gag, I don't want you biting your tongue," I said as matter-of-factly as I could manage, "The hood so you have no idea what is coming next, and the rope I will use to fasten you to the frame. And," I added, trying again to sound casual, "I will strike the cane only onto exposed skin."
"Well then you'll need to take these off." I indicated to the bottoms with a shrug. He never undressed me now, always letting me strip as he watched, but I wanted to see him pushed him into places where he would have to experience new feelings like he had with me.
"Waiting for something?" I baited him a bit, not wanting to let up.
I knew he was trying to punish me, make me regret how cruel I had been to him. He had no need to, but then, perhaps he did. For the very first time in our relationship I had acted outside his script, reversed the roles, been puppet master and not puppet. He needed to regain control, to dictate the action, make me obey his will. But if that happened, then his dark place would fade away and be no use to him.
Without a word I put the hood on him, led him to the frame and fastened him to it by his wrists. I showed him then that he no longer held the strings by tugging down his tracksuit bottoms, freeing one leg and then fastening his ankles to the frame. I left his briefs on, his tracksuit bottoms humiliatingly round one lower leg, and picked up the cane.
"As you wish," I said.
I pulled against the ropes which tethered me to the frame. They were tied tight around my wrists and ankles and there was no give, and with the hood over my head I couldn't see the knots to try and undo them if I could reach.
I could breathe through the hood but it kept me in complete darkness, and my breath soon made it hot and stuffy.
"What are you doing?" My voice sounded weird and muffled, and I twisted more as he left the bottoms around one lower leg.
He tried to say something but no way could he articulate with that gag in his mouth.
He was spread-eagled, fastened to the frame and had he been naked it would have been a sight to raise a dead man's cock, but he wasn't naked and my cock didn't rise.
Slowly I traced the tip of the cane down from one shoulder, tapping a nipple gently when I reached there, before continuing on down, Slowly, sensuously the tip traced round his lower stomach, fractionally above the waist band of his briefs, before, avoiding cloth covered boy, continuing down a thigh.
He was quivering, perhaps trembling, not knowing what was to come next.
I moaned into the gag more. It filled my mouth and made sure I could only make muffled sounds which were completely unintelligible.
The cane traced its way down my body and I whimpered and trembled in anticipation. The hood made sure I had no clue as to what would happen next, but I knew the cane would hurt and was beginning to regret asking for it.
What came next was pain. The sound effects were a swish, a clear crack as cane met flesh, and a muffled, high pitched noise from behind the hood. A vivid red line bloomed on the outside of Brat's left thigh.
All was repeated when a backhand slash to his right thigh landed.
Imagine my surprise when what had been soft, slowly filled to hardness, pushing out the front of his briefs.
As I watched a tiny damp patch appeared.
The pain was worse than anything I had ever experienced. The cane left a white hot burning stripe across my thigh and as I was howling into the gag he delivered another to my left thigh.
I shook my head but could only make unintelligible grunts, and with the hood over my head I couldn't even make eye contact with him. Suddenly I realised I hadn't told him how many times he could hit me with the cane or how hard, and with me tied up like this he could just continue as long as he wanted.
My body shook and I thrashed around in terror, but strangely I felt my cock rise and tent out my underwear. I was hard, really hard, hard enough to leak a damp patch on to the front of the white material. He wasn't touching me and I realised it was the cane which was making me feel like this.
I stared, mesmerised by the unmistakable evidence that Brat's cock was leaking! Two swipes of the cane, admittedly far from gentle swipes, had turned him not only from soft to hard, but made him leak as well!
A third blow, delivered so as to land across the front of both thighs at once, high up, barely an inch below his briefs, and again that muffled howl, and a contorting of his slender body, twisting and writhing as the very real pain surged through him.
To my utter amazement then, he stopped writhing, thrust his hips violently forward and the tiny damp patch became a much larger, and very much damper patch!
Brat had spunked! Three strokes of the cane and he had spunked!
I had licked him and eaten him to, cock untouched, spunking before, but this orgasm came from just three swipes with a cane!
Something about my Brat that I knew not of. There were secrets in his mind that lay concealed from me even though we had spent hours together in bed, even though I knew his naked body probably far better than I knew my own, there were things about Jacob Brat I had no idea of.
The next stroke was even harder and landed across both thighs at once making me thrust my hips forward as I arched my back.
It was worse than anything and I screwed my eyes closed and tried to scream through the gag, but as the pain shot through me I felt my cock twitch then suddenly spunk. It wasn't just a small jizz like you got from a quick wank, but a huge heaving cum which seemed to fill my underwear with hot sticky fluid.
When it finally finished I hung there, panting around the gag and unable to see what Mr Williams was doing.
Carefully and gently I took the hood off, eased the gag from his mouth and undid the ropes binding him to the frame.
He was crying now, not surprising after that wicked cane, but they weren't just tears of pain, they came from somewhere else, somewhere deeper.
A director doesn't just order actors about; a good one is something of a psychologist as well, and I was just about a good enough one to realise that those tears came from, not just physical pain, but from the pain of some sort of, up till now, deeply hidden something in his mind, in his psyche, in his soul.
I couldn't look him in the eyes, the tears he was shedding were private, not to be noticed or commented on by me.
I gestured towards the divan, "Rest a bit, Brat," I made it soft so as not to upset him further. I heard him stumble once behind me as I made my own way across the room, and when he sagged down beside me, still crying, I couldn't help but notice his briefs were gone.
I gratefully sat down, shedding my sodden underwear which I left on the floor.
Mr Williams pretended not to notice me crying and to take my mind off the tears I looked at the stripes on the front of my thighs. There were four angry red lines, two on each thigh, and I winced in pain as I touched one.
The tears slowed but didn't stop, and tentatively I buried my head in his neck so he could hold me if he wanted. I was scared of how he would react to what had happened, would he think I was weird and perverse for like, liking this stuff?
I unstoppered the little bottle of 'After Spank' that the online assistant at the toy shop had told me a boy usually needed after a 'punishment session', and gently applied some of the mild local anaesthetic to his wounded legs.
He tried to shove my hand away at first as though he wanted to keep the pain, but relaxed more into my shoulder when the anaesthetic began to work.
He was still crying, but more leaking tears now rather than shedding them, and, after waiting a few minutes, I whispered to him that it had all been about Equus, about finding a way into Alan Strang.
He shocked me by snuffling into my shoulder that he knew that already and did I think he was a complete fool?
Too good an opportunity to miss, so I told him what I knew of the play, of how Alan was a seriously mixed up boy, of how he hadn't shagged Jill when she seduced him because he couldn't get a hard on, of how he felt that all the time when he thought of sex he felt he was being watched by something and that he'd transferred that something to the horses and done what he did so they couldn't watch him any more.
"Finding a watcher to relate to shouldn't be that hard," I said, thinking his mother would fit the bill nicely.
"Won't be," he snuffled, and then burst into tears again, such a flood of tears I thought he'd be in danger of becoming dehydrated.
I thought I heard him, between sobs, snuffle something like, 'You watch me all the time,' and if he had, I assumed he meant I never took my eyes of his body when I had the chance to admire it.
But he didn't mean that at all! Though that I didn't understand till much, much later.
I snuggled into his neck, not wanting him to let me go, and as always Mr Williams was more than happy to oblige.
Increasingly over the last few months I had come to think of myself as `his boy', and more and more I felt strange and lonely if I didn't get to be with him for an extended period. The holiday to Scotland had been ok, but by the end of the week I felt that I was doing something wrong by having been away from him too long.
The same went for sex. When I wanked I now thought mostly of him, when I thought of other men or boys I couldn't really get properly hard, so moaned loudly when he gave my sensitive cock a stroke, safe in the knowledge I was back where I belonged.
I couldn't touch his legs, the bit of him I always wanted to touch more than anything else - the stripes were too angry, too red. So I settled for second best, which was not really second best at all, but first best in so many ways; I felt and fondled his cock. And, as it always did, it fitted my hand with perfection.
I moaned loudly as he took my cock in his hand. "So good," I uttered the words, not getting fully hard as my cock was still soft, but still feeling it inflate slightly.
"I'm your boy," I had screwed my eyes closed and was moaning whatever came into my head, enjoying being surrounded by the scent and touch of his body.
"If you're my boy after what I just did to you, then you are the world's most wonderful and amazing boy." Trite words, but words of my own usually are. I twiddled his slowly inflating cock with one hand and stroked his hair with the other. Just a chance actions, not words this time, may convey what I thought of him.
"Of course I'm your boy!" I was genuinely shocked that he could ever think otherwise.
"You're the only man I want to be with, even when I wank I just think of you."
His response was so vehement that there was no denying he meant it. Some of it, anyway. No way, I believed, could he think only of me when his cock was in his hand, as I imagined it was three or four times most days.
"Suspect you not got much interest in girls, my Brat, but the world's full of boys," I gave him a smile, 'not taking the piss' my smile was supposed to say, "Some of them must tempt you. Bit weird if they didn't."
"Just you," I reassured him, snuggling into him. I wanked at least three times a day, sometimes more, and had regular wet dreams, but the last was the only time I didn't think about Mr Williams.
Somehow spunking without thinking about him felt illicit, and it had got to the stage where I sometimes couldn't get properly hard as I felt I was breaking an unwritten rule.
I held him close when he said that, what else could I do? "You're just fifteen, Brat," a whisper to his shoulder, "And this," fondling his cock, "Should have fifteen year old adventures. Good inch bigger than it was first time I got acquainted with it, so probably needs even more adventures that it did then,"
He wasn't crying now, but that, I could tell, was by sheer force of will, and a touch of attempted penile humour might help him there. "Used to have adventures, you told me that."
"Yeah but since we got together...". My voice trailed off. Since meeting him the only man I had done anything with was Kasper almost six months ago, and that had just been a few quick sucks to relieve him. Kasper would do anything sexually, he was equally happy fucking a girl or older woman as he was having me suck his cock, and there had been no chance our `relationship' would develop any further than him enjoying my mouth.
An older boy I had hooked up with at drama club before meeting Mr Williams had told me I liked older guys because my dad had fucked off. I had always thought that was bullshit, but part of the reason I thought of myself as his boy was due to the way he took an interest in me and supported me in my career. I knew it was the sort of stuff a dad would do, and while I didn't think of him like a dad, my relationship with him was different than those I had enjoyed with other men.
"Mustn't let me stop you being a boy." Being totally inexperienced in the manner in which the minds of teenage boys work, I was nowhere near sensitive enough to realise I was missing what he meant. Okay, I'd got that he had a crush on me, possibly more than a crush, but that was no reason for him not to use his cock where his cock should be used.
"You were fine snogging and wanking with Gino, weren't you?" I crassly asked.
"Yeah we kissed and wanked and stuff..." my voice trailed off as I didn't want to admit what else had happened in Verona, especially the night which had caused me and Gino to stop fooling around together.
Even stupid, ignorant men can sometimes see something if it's shoved close enough to their faces for them to spot it. Brat wanted to say something that he didn't want to say. Christ! It's hard enough for a grown man to say a thing he doesn't want to say, see things he's scared to see. Sis had known that, so she just said them for me.
Problem was that I really didn't know what Brat needed to say and wanted to keep concealed.
"Something else, Brat, isn't there?" I stumbled out the words. "Love you, Brat. Don't matter what it is. Still love you."
"You won't be mad?" I looked at him concerned. I didn't know how he would react to what I was about to say and was scared it would hurt him. Hurt him so badly he would go back to the frozen, sexless man he had been before I met him. That man wouldn't want me in his bed, and I couldn't imagine being anywhere else now.
"Me and Gino tried to fuck in Verona," I looked away so not to see his hurt, "We didn't, so I can still be your boy right?"
"Mad?" I looked at him, incredulous, "Why should I be mad?" Surely he couldn't think I'd be mad just because he fucked a boy? "Gino was, even to me," I admitted, "A very tasty boy. I actually hoped that you were getting the pleasure of fucking him. You seem to like doing it with me well enough," which he did the one time he had done it, "And I thought Gino would," how to say this ...."Be a bit of a treat for your cock."
I squeezed his shoulder, admired his now very soft cock with my fingers, "Lovely cock, I'd hoped it was having some fun."
"I wanted to but..." I trailed off and suddenly burst into tears. Not just tears rolling down my face, but sobs of shame and guilt.
My shoulder felt as though it was in the shower, my Brat was sobbing his heart out so violently.
Why he should be doing that I couldn't conceive. A fourteen year old boy who was, even then, even if not yet fully self admitted, more than a little inclined towards members of his own sex, crying because he wanted to have sex properly with another fourteen year old boy who was most definitely at the time completely cock orientated? It didn't make sense, not to me, anyway.
"What went wrong, my lovely boy? Surely Gino didn't tell you to fuck off? Marteli wanted him to, he told me that. Hoped you'd do the honours for him, get him started properly."
That, naturally, was not the most tactful thing for me to say, but tact has never been a strong point of mine.
All Brat did was howl more tears, and kept on howling them till he ran out of tears to howl.