This is a story about a gay male and may involve sexual activity between males, so if this is likely to offend you, or is illegal where you live then do not read any further.  All the events and characters in this story are fictional and any resemblances to real people are purely coincidental.

The story is copyright of the author and may not be distributed or placed on any web sites without written permission from the author.

I would like to thank my editor, Richard Lyon, for his encouragement and moral support while this story was being written and for his hard work in seeking out errors after it was written.

If you enjoy this story or have any comments about it, please feel free to send me an email .  

Kit
kitzyma@yahoo.com

Prologue

Simon was my first love, long before I even began to associate my feelings for him with the word 'love'. When I was a child that word had been linked only with my family, but my feelings for Simon were very different from my feelings for my family. Thus it's not surprising that my young mind could not grasp the complexities of that simple word. Indeed, even now I doubt that I really understand all its meanings and ramifications.

Although Simon and I had been at the same schools and even been in the same classes since the age of five, I don't have any definite memories of him before we were about nine years old. At that time I had no interest in sex and only vague ideas about sexuality. All I knew about the subject was based on the answer to my question about where babies  came from. I was told that when a man and a woman love one another very much they get married and the man  places a seed inside the woman's tummy where it grows into a baby. That piece of information was vaguely interesting in that it offered an explanation for my own existence, but apart from that it didn't seem to have any direct personal significance for me.

By the time I was nine years old one thing I did know was that I preferred being with boys rather than with girls and that I wanted very much to be close to certain specific boys. One such boy was Simon, who stood out from all the others not only because he was tall for his age but also because of his thick, pale-gold hair and sparkling green eyes. Unfortunately, my yearning to be close to Simon was unfulfilled for many years because although we were in the same class we never interacted socially. He was a talented sportsman and I was far too clumsy to be picked for any teams. He was from a wealthy, upper-middle class family with a large home in the posh part of the school catchment area and I was from a poor working class family in a tiny house where I had to share a bedroom with my younger brother, Andy.

It would be nice to be able to say that I was more intelligent than Simon, but that wasn't true, and in fact much of the time we found ourselves competing for top position in our academic subjects. On the occasions I beat him by a few percentage points he would cast a resentful glare in my direction, and for the most part that was the only attention he ever paid to me. So for several years all I could do was worship him from afar. Then, when we were eleven years of age we both went on to the same single-sex secondary school and at around the same time my vague yearnings became sexual. Simon became the main, but not the sole subject of my masturbatory fantasies.

That was how it was until I was fourteen years old and Simon, about six months older than I, was fifteen. Then, one dreary, damp, autumnal Wednesday afternoon, I was in the gymnasium building, tidying equipment cupboards as a punishment for forgetting to bring my soccer kit. Actually, for me this 'punishment' was greatly preferable to spending ninety-odd minutes on a cold, wet, muddy soccer field while being yelled at by team mates deriding my incompetence.

Furthermore, there was something about the smell of the changing rooms that gave me a mild erotic charge. Maybe I'd learned to associate the subtle olfactory mix of sweat, leather boots and chlorinated water with the chance of seeing naked bodies. Maybe the smells themselves directly stimulated the erotic parts of my brain. Whatever the reason, I half-shamefully knew that I enjoyed being in the changing rooms whether I was alone or not. So I conveniently 'forgot' my football kit as often as I felt I could do so without incurring any real punishment.

Unusually, on this occasion I was the only boy in class without any medical excuse for not bringing my kit and so I was alone doing punishment work in the gym. After about thirty minutes of desultory pottering about I heard the outer door open and close, and thinking it was a teacher coming to check up on me, I tried to give the impression that I was putting some effort into the job. However, when I looked up it turned out to be Simon striding toward me.

"Bloody lace broke," he said, gesturing vaguely toward his right football boot and glaring at me as if it were my fault.

I just looked at him blankly, wondering why he should be telling me about his problem. Exasperation joined the irritation in his glare.

"Mr Thompson said there are some spares in one of these cupboards," he said.

"Oh, yeah," I muttered, embarrassed by my own stupidly, then pointed to a pinewood cupboard on my left and added, "That one, I think.

His glare softened and I was about to return to my work when he spoke again in a slightly friendlier tone.

"Look," he said, "I'm bursting, so why don't you find it for me while I go for a pee?"

Although the words were in the form of a request, the tone had more than a hint of command, and apparently assuming that I would comply he immediately turned and went toward the toilets. Of course his assumption was correct and I hurriedly went and found the box of spare laces. After a couple more minutes he still hadn't returned, so without any real thought and totally out of character for me, I went to the toilets to take the lace to him. When I got there and looked inside I saw him standing at one of the urinals at the far end of the room with the top of his shorts and jock-strap tucked under his scrotum.

He was facing the white-tiled wall with a distracted expression on his face and it took me a couple of seconds to notice that his right arm, which was nearest to me, was moving slowly. Although I couldn't see it, I realised that he was gently stroking his dick, though it wasn't really fast or hard enough to really count as masturbating. Again totally out of character, I spoke.

"More than three shake is a wank," I said, repeating the schoolboy half-joke frequently heard in the boys toilet.

He turned his head quickly and looked at me with a startled expression on his face. Embarrassed by my own audacity, I blushed deeply, immediately turned away from him, and before he had any opportunity to respond to my quip I left the room. It was only then that I realised my own dick was producing an uncomfortable bulge in my dark grey school trousers. When he joined me in the changing room a couple of minutes later I was thankful that the bulge had subsided and while trying to avoid eye contact, I silently held out the boot lace for him.

Wordlessly, but with a brief nod of acknowledgement he took it from my hand and walked over to one of the benches, where he sat down to put the new lace in his boot. Unable to think of anything sensible to say or do and unable to rid my mind of the picture of him at the urinal, I just stood there with my gaze fixed on his boots while he completed his task in silence, seemingly oblivious to my presence. Then he stood up and stamped his foot on the floor a couple of times as if testing the comfort of the new lacing.

After giving me just the briefest of glances he headed toward the door and it was only when I began to relax that I realised how tense I'd been. As I turned my attention back toward the cupboards I'd been working on, I was surprised to hear Simon's voice.

"What're you doing after school on Friday?"

Thinking that Simon was talking to someone who'd entered the changing rooms without me noticing, I glanced toward the door to see who it might be. To my surprise, I saw that Simon was alone and looking at me with a thoughtful expression on his face. Eventually I realised that he must have been talking to me, but by then his pensive expression had become one of mild irritation and he put his hand on the door handle. At first it seemed he might leave without waiting for my answer, but then he spoke again.

"The history project Mr Edwards gave us yesterday... he said we should work in pairs..."

He paused as if wondering whether or not to continue, then seemed to make his decision.

"Apart from me, you're the best in our class at history, so if we work together on this project it should guarantee top marks."

"Er, yeah, I s'pose," I replied uncertainly as my mind began to grasp the situation.

He frowned and his face showed an expression of annoyance tinged with embarrassment.

"Look," he said irritably, "if you don't want to, just say so. I won't have any problem finding someone else to do the project with."

The way he emphasised the word 'I' seemed to imply that others, including myself, might not find it quite so easy to find a partner. Frankly, as we had four weeks to work on the project I'd not given the matter much thought. However, he was right. He would have lots of people eager to work with him and indeed I was surprised that he hadn't already arranged something.

"Y-yes," I stuttered, "Great idea. Of course I'll do it."

"Good," he replied with a grin, "So what're you doing after school on Friday?  I thought we'd go back to my house so you'd know where it is when you came round to work together."

Of course I didn't object to his assumption that I would be going round to work at his house as I would have been ashamed for him to see my cramped and tiny home. Also, I didn't let him know that I already knew where he lived or that during the previous couple of years I'd sometimes found excuses to walk past his house in the hope that I might catch a brief glimpse of him. After all, I didn't want him to think I was some weird stalker type.

That Friday we met as arranged and went to his house, where I saw the inside of it for the first time. Although it was indeed very nice it wasn't as luxurious as my imagination had painted it. However, I did envy his bedroom, partly because it was much larger than mine and half of it was a sort of combined entertainment and study area with a large desk. However, the main source of my envy was that he didn't have to share the room with anyone. For almost an hour we discussed the project then he suggested I return that Sunday afternoon to actually start work on it. In fact that 'suggestion' was made in such a take-it-or-leave-it tone that in effect it seemed that I didn't really have a choice.

On the Sunday I arrived at Simon's house precisely on time, freshly showered and dressed in my best casual clothes. As he ushered me up to his room he mumbled something vague about his parents being out and Robert, his nineteen year old brother, having gone to visit a friend. When we got to his room I was surprised to find that the normally confident and self-assured Simon seemed to be almost as nervous as me and after an uncomfortable attempt at conversation we sat down at the desk and started work.

We both enjoyed history and quickly became engrossed in the project so it seemed no time at all before I looked at the time displayed on his computer monitor and realised that more than an hour had passed. As if reading my mind, but more likely noticing the direction of my gaze, Simon sat back in his chair and spoke.

"Well, it seems like we've got the layout about right and we know who's going to do what, so all we need to do now is fill in the blanks."

"But there's an awful lot of blanks," I pointed out.

"Yeah," he said, "but we've got tons of time yet, and I've had enough for today."

Somewhat disappointed that my time with him had apparently come to an end for that day, I slowly stood up.

"When will we do some more on this?" I asked, trying to hide my disappointment.

I expected that he too would stand up and escort me from the house, but to my surprise he just pushed his chair further from the desk and leaned back with his arms folded.

"Do you have to rush off now?" he asked.

There was a hint of tension in his voice and his posture seemed a little less relaxed, but I couldn't detect any emotion in his facial expression.

"Er, no, not really," I replied, "I'm not expected home at any particular time."

"Good," he said and smiled, "We have time for a chat. Why don't you sit back down?"

"Chat?" I said a little apprehensively as I lowered myself back in the chair, "What would you like to chat about?"

My nervousness was increased as his smile turned into a grin that seemed to be more than a little predatory.

"We could start with Wednesday afternoon when you accused me of wanking in the bog," he said, making my heart skip a beat.

"No I didn't!" I protested, "I just made a joke... lots of lads make jokes like that."

His smile broadened and he was obviously enjoying my reaction.

"You're the only one who's ever said that while they were staring at my dick..."

"I wasn't!" I protested even more defensively, "I wasn't staring at anything... I couldn't even see your dick."

"Ah!" he said triumphantly, "So you admit you were trying to see it!"

"No, of course I wasn't!"

My heart was pounding so hard and fast that I thought my chest would burst and I stood up so quickly that my chair almost fell over. Simon, still in his chair and clearly enjoying himself, raised an eyebrow and gave me a look that made it obvious that he didn't believe me. Although I wanted to flee, I was frozen to the spot in terror.

Whether or not I'd really been staring at him didn't really matter. If he told anyone else that I had been then everyone would certainly believe him and my life would be over. My school was a most unpleasant place for anyone even suspected of being 'queer' and being denounced by a popular guy like Simon would give rise to more than just suspicion. Suddenly all the energy seemed to drain from my body and I had to lean on the desk to support myself.

"Please," I said weakly, not really knowing what I was pleading for.

His expression softened and his amused smile faded.

"There's no need to get your knickers in a twist," he said quietly, "I was just winding you up. Being curious about another lad's tackle isn't so unusual."

The urge to run away faded a little and I collapsed back into my chair, where I sat in silence, staring down at my shoes and feeling slightly nauseous. Gradually, the thumping in my chest subsided and eventually I was able to speak.

"So you don't think it's queer then," I said without raising my head, "I mean, just being curious?"

"No, of course it isn't," he replied with conviction, "I'm sometimes curious and I'm not queer!"

We both sat in a silence that seemed to me to be dragging on forever, though it probably lasted only a couple of minutes. Although I'd thought a lot about the possible significance of the slow stroking movements he'd made at the urinal that Wednesday afternoon, I thought it best not to mention it just then. Also, I hoped that  if he'd seen the bulge in my trousers before I left the toilets then he'd be equally discreet and wouldn't mention it. When he eventually spoke, his words took me completely by surprise.

"If you're still curious," he quietly with a small conspiratorial smile, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Thus it began.

Over the next few weeks things developed from 'show and tell' to wanking together, then to wanking one another, each stage in this progression being initiated by Simon. Of course he always had my eager acceptance. Each time he initiated a new level of physical intimacy he made it clear that we were just 'two lads exploring, helping one another out and having fun'. He said that it was only queer 'if we did soppy stuff like kissing' and at the time I accepted that assertion uncritically. Thus secretly and deep inside myself I began to realise that my suppressed longing to kiss him meant that I must be queer. He also made it clear than any touching of bums was not only queer but completely sick, and at the time that point of view didn't seem unreasonable to me.

For the first month the excuse for our meetings was that we were working on the history project, and indeed at least half of the time we spent together we did spend working on it. When the project, for which we both got an A+, was completed a couple of weeks before Christmas I continued to visit him, initially under the pretext that we were studying together, but after a couple of months we didn't even bother making excuses. Much of the time during my visits we'd chat about school, TV programs, family and the usual schoolboy stuff. A couple of weeks after Christmas, when we'd graduated to oral sex, we even began talking about more personal topics.

At school he no longer ignored me though he was never as friendly to me in public as he was in private. Initially his friends seemed to resent my presence at the fringes of their circle, but after a while they began to accept me, more as they might accept the presence of a piece of furniture rather than as real part of their group. Adrian, Simon's best friend, occasionally referred to me as "Simon's puppy" and at first I took it as an insult but when I later thought about it I accepted that the description wasn't totally inaccurate. When I realised that Simon never invited me to visit at the same time as his other friends I was relieved rather than offended.

A few times, more by accident than design, I met his parents who seemed distant but not unfriendly. Simon told me that their jobs kept them very busy and that as long as he did well at school and didn't get into any trouble they left him very much to his own devices. One thing that soon became obvious was that Simon always seemed to avoid having me round to visit when his brother, Robert, was at home. A couple of times he altered our meeting arrangements at short notice because Robert had for some reason or other changed his mind about going out.

Although I often wondered why Simon apparently took such pains to avoid me meeting his brother, I never had the courage to ask him about it. I speculated that perhaps he was ashamed of me or ashamed of his brother, about whom he was dismissive, refusing to talk about him even after we'd been chatting about my brother. When I mentioned having to share my bedroom and jokingly suggested that he should imagine having to share a room with Robert, his eyes widened in a brief expression of horror before he quickly changed the subject.

Sometimes I caught a brief glimpse of Robert, who was only a coupe of inches taller than Simon, though considerably bulkier. Both of them had similar golden hair, but Robert had his cut much shorter. In appearance they were obviously siblings, though Robert's features were not as fine as his brother's. Of course I was biased, but it seemed to me that Robert was a somewhat crude prototype model and that Simon was the expression of the perfected final version.

The only time that I saw Robert close-up, and the only interaction I saw between the two brothers, occurred one Saturday afternoon shortly after I'd arrived at Simon's house. Robert had gone out before my arrival but returned unexpectedly, fortunately while Simon and I were still fully clothed and before we'd started anything sexual. In fact, we were in the kitchen just about to get drinks out of the fridge when we heard the front door bang and heavy footsteps going upstairs. Simon gently closed the fridge door and motioned me to keep quiet.

After a couple of minutes there was some banging noises from above followed by the thud of feet descending the stairs, then Robert burst into the kitchen. After casting a dismissive glance at me he glared at Simon.

"Ah, you're here!" he said, "Have you got any of my CDs? I promised Sarah I'd take some over today and they're not in my room."

"Why would I want any of your CDs?" Simon responded defiantly, then he added contemptuously, "They're all such crap!"

>From Robert's face and the tension in his body I could tell that there was a lot of anger smouldering just below the surface and I feared that at any moment the anger might burst out and find physical expression. Perhaps Simon also feared this because he spoke again in a placatory tone.

"Anyway," he said, "didn't you take lots of CDs to that party last weekend? Maybe you left some there."

Robert's anger appeared to decrease a little as he considered this suggestion but then for some reason, maybe to save face in front of me, Simon risked igniting the situation again.

"After all," he muttered almost inaudibly, "Sometimes you come back from parties so drunk you hardly remember your name."

If Robert heard that he chose to ignore it and instead quickly glanced at me before returning his gaze to Simon.

"Who's this then? One of your little friends from school?" he said contemptuously, "Remember I told you to be careful with your friends there. These all-boy school are full of queers... I'm glad I got out of the place!"

Simon didn't respond so after a few seconds Robert spoke again.

"Well, I'll se ya later, Salmon," he said, with contemptuous emphasis on the last word, then he turned to me and asked, "Has Salmon told you about the clever nickname I gave him cos he's so weird? He doesn't eat fish but he goes fishing all the time!"

"It gives me some peace and quiet away from you!" Simon muttered angrily.

"Salmon-Simon!" Robert taunted.

Then, apparently feeling that he had scored some points, Robert smirked at us and strutted out of the room. A few seconds later we heard the front door banging shut. Simon and I looked at one another and I could see that he was both irritated and embarrassed. For a few seconds we both stood in uncomfortable silence until Simon regained his composure and spoke.

"What was it you wanted to drink?" he asked quietly.

"Coke, please," I replied, then hoping for some clarification I added, "I didn't know Robert used to go to our school."

"Yeah," he replied as he opened the fridge door, "but he left just before we started there."

His tone made it clear that the subject was closed, so I didn't pursue the matter. However, a bit of mental arithmetic told me that Robert must have left the school when he was about fourteen or fifteen and I couldn't help wondering why.

The following Tuesday lunch time it was raining and so I paid one of my occasional visits to the school Chess Club. There I saw an older boy with whom I'd played a few games over the past couple of years, though I knew little about him apart from the fact that his name was Gary and that we were relatively evenly matched in our playing abilities. I was still curious about Robert and it occurred to me that Gary would probably have been at the school long enough to have known him.

"Gary, I was wondering..." I said as we set up the pieces on the board, "Did you know someone at the school called Robert Stratford?"

"There was a Robert Stratford a couple of years older than me, so I didn't know him... why do you ask?"

"Oh, I'm a friend of his brother, Simon, and I'd heard that Robert left here when he was about fourteen or fifteen... and I was just wondering why..."

"So why not ask your friend?" Gary asked, looking mildly puzzled.

Feeling a little foolish and not wishing to give anything away, I just shrugged my shoulders, so I was relieved when Gary, after a brief pause, spoke again.

"Like I said, I didn't know him personally, but he did have a bit of a reputation as a bully. All I really know is that he beat up another boy in the gym changing room and was suspended from school. Then instead of coming back after the suspension he transferred to another school."

Over the next few months Simon became the centre of my life, and all my plans and activities revolved around him. He was not only the main object of my teenage lust but also the sole object of my romantic feelings, which were made almost obsessive by the raging hormones of adolescence. I made sure I was always available whenever he wanted to meet up and I even took up activities that I didn't really enjoy just so I could spend more time with him. I did everything in my power to ensure that I had the approval not only of Simon but also of his parents. Looking back, I feel rather ashamed at the way I behaved so much like a little puppy, following and worshipping its master. However, if I had the chance to do it all over again, even now I'm not sure that I'd do things differently  .

My submissive behaviour with Simon was very much at odds with my general character. Usually I wouldn't hesitate to stand up for myself and I wasn't averse to having heated arguments with anyone, including parents and occasionally teachers, if I felt I was being unfairly treated. With Simon, however, it seemed as if I had a totally different personality. Since that time I've noticed that love often makes people behave oddly and I've frequently wondered if being in love isn't a type of temporary insanity.

My mental aberration at that time was probably made worse by the fact that I not only wanted to be with him but, if it had been possible, I would have liked to be him. Not only was he amazingly good looking, with his sparkling green eyes, golden hair and aristocratic high cheekbones, but he was everything that I wasn't. He was popular, relatively wealthy, good at sports, could easily start a conversation with anyone, and it seemed to me at the time that he was totally self-confident. 

So I was Simon's willing puppy for more than eighteen months. Then just after my sixteenth birthday in June came the first time I was asked the question that I eventually learned to dread. Simon and I had rushed back to his house after our last exam before the summer break and while we still had the house to ourselves we had celebrated with a swift but enjoyable sixty-nine session in his bedroom  After we got dressed again he escorted me to the front door and as soon as I stepped through the doorway I paused and turned to face him.

"When shall I come round this weekend?" I asked.

"This weekend?" he echoed vaguely as if his mind had been far away, "I won't be here this weekend."

"Oh," I said, trying to hide my disappointment, "When will you be back?"

"End of August," he said, then obviously seeing my shocked expression he added, "Didn't I tell you?  I'm going to spend the summer with my dad's cousins at their villa in France... near Nice."

"B-b-but," I stuttered, too stunned to speak properly, "B-b-but that's almost three months! I won't see you for three months!"

"Yeah," he said with a slight smile, "I s'pose it might interrupt our fun for a bit, but I'm sure something will turn up."

Hardly able to believe what he was saying or the casual way he said it, and made speechless by my dismay, I just stared at him.  He looked at me as if he were seeing me for the first time and his brow furrowed into a confused frown, then after a couple of seconds it seemed that something occurred to him.

"Do you love me?" he asked without any discernible emotion.

Now if I'd been less naive I might not have been so shocked and disappointed by the announcement of his trip to France. If I hadn't been so stunned I might have taken time to think about his question and I might then have been more circumspect in my response. As things were, the truth issued unedited from my lips.

"Of course I do!" I said, and immediately regretted it.

A wide range of emotions, all negative, flickered quickly across Simon's face, then his expression fixed into one of stony disdain.

"You're sick," he said quietly, and shut the door in my face.

I didn't see Simon again until the beginning of September when the new school term started. All through my long miserable summer break there had been no communication from him, not even a postcard, and I hadn't had the courage to try to contact him. Every day I thought about him and cringed at the memory of our last meeting. Every day I mentally kicked myself for the way I'd answered his question and rehearsed all the ways I should have answered it or at least avoided answering it. I longed to see him again but I also dreaded it.

The thought of being hated and despised by Simon was unbearable and always, gnawing away at the back of my mind was the worry that he might make my 'sickness' known to others. This fear of exposure was intensified because the previous year my brother, Andy, had started attending our school, so if I got a bad reputation at school then my brother would be certain to hear of it. Thus I was also afraid that my family would find out about me, thus totally ruining my whole life.

Sometimes I was angry at Simon for the way he'd treated me and sometimes I was angry at myself for spoiling our fun by admitting that I loved him. Sometimes I hated myself for being weak as well as for being 'queer', but I could never, ever bring myself to hate Simon. As the summer dragged miserably on and on, I withdrew deeper inside myself, and from being merely a relatively quiet boy I became a total recluse. When my parents and even my younger brother occasionally made concerned enquiries I blankly denied that there was anything wrong.

On the first day back at school, when I saw Simon in the hallway, he looked right through me as if I didn't exist. Later, when he was passing out books in one of the two classes we shared that term, he avoided eye contact with me and just dumped the book on my desk. A couple of days later he was with a group of his friends when I passed by him as I was leaving school and he performed the remarkable feat of apparently not seeing me yet seemingly deliberately turning his back to me. Somehow I doubted that it was a coincidence that just at that moment, in a slightly raised voice, he began describing a particularly gorgeous French girl he'd met during his vacation.

So it was for the rest of our time at school together. He pretended that I didn't exist and I didn't have the courage to approach him. His circle of sporty friends went back to their old habit of completely ignoring me, which didn't bother me at all. In fact their lack of interest in me was a relief because it showed that Simon hadn't told them that he thought I was 'sick'.

Shortly after Simon's return from France I heard that he'd got himself a very attractive girlfriend and a few times I saw him around the town centre with his arm draped over a girl's shoulders. Eventually, we both left school, went to different universities, and never saw one another again.

Of course I often wondered why Simon's attitude toward me changed so radically and so suddenly. Although he had never been actually affectionate with me, he had occasionally showed signs that he cared about me, if only as a friend, so I was shocked as well as hurt when apparently to him I suddenly ceased to exist. Clearly it was caused by my admission of love, but I still couldn't really understand why that admission should have had such a dramatic effect.

Then about a year after we left school I read in the local newspaper about three men arrested for 'gay-bashing' another man one night in a pub car park. When I saw that one of the arrested men was Robert, it occurred to me that maybe that was a clue as to why Simon had been so paranoid about the possibility that anyone might think he could be 'queer' and why he'd taken such pains to avoid me going to his house when Robert was there.