Date: Sat, 29 Aug 2020 12:09:03 +0200 (CEST)
From: jonkent69@tutanota.com
Subject: A YEAR TO REMEMBER - GAY - YOUNG FRIENDS -  JON KENT

Just when I thought I'd retired from writing stories, along comes the
CVirus that has given me time to consider some areas that interest me and
get a story done. This is one of the best.

Imagine how helpful the Nifty archives have been and are during these
months when we've been more or less locked down.

DISCLAIMER

A YEAR TO REMEMBER by Jon Kent

Everyone should accept the laws of his country, reserving the right to
strive democratically to change those he disagrees with. Therefore, if the
laws where you live say that you should NOT be reading stories like these,
you are legally obliged to leave now and read no further. It does not
matter if these stories are fiction, made-up, only written to entertain,
instruct, engage, and inform. If for any reason, the law where you live
says you are NOT allowed to read them, you have to go. So off you go.  Live
a healthy and happy life, and come back, if you want to, when your laws
say you can.

And remember: these are only stories. They are made-up. They did not
happen. And the writer does not believe they should happen. The first
responsibility of adults is to protect children and their innocence. It
doesn't mean some adults won't enjoy reading stories like this, but it
doesn't mean they should go out and do things like this. Who knows? maybe
reading stories like this will actually stop them going out and doing these
things.

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A YEAR TO REMEMBER

1

My year of living sexually began in September 20..... , and I didn't burst
into tears until I watched mum drive down the avenue and out of the grounds
of Amity Boys School.

I stood at the window and looked out at my new home - the world where I was
to live for a year. I turned at looked at our room - the dormitory room I
was to share with three other boys in Camperdown House.

We were the juniors. Boys from seven years old to thirteen years old. As a
twelve-year-old, my dormitory corridor was on the top floor of the
three-storeys that had once been the stable block. Nobody ever explained
how they got the horses up the stairs.

There were six dorm rooms. Five that held six boys, and one that held
four. Actually, our four-bed room could easily hold six beds, but our
Housemaster didn't like empty beds, I was told, so two had been taken out
meantime.

There was a flat with a bedroom, bathroom, and study for the assistant
housemaster who lived in. On one side of the corridor was a huge bathroom -
4 huge claw-footed baths and 6 shower cubicles that had no curtains.

Opposite was a huge common room where the furniture looked as if had been
salvaged from the local tip. We were boys. It had huge couches and a huge
TV screen, and that was good enough for us - it took me a couple of weeks
to realise that.

I'd learned the word 'spartan' in our history lessons at my junior school,
and spartan is best word to describe the Victorian block that was
Camperdown House. Wooden floors more arthritic than my granddad. A tattered
carpet in the common room. Rag rugs scattered round the dorms where we
shared one wardrobe, had a side chest at each bed, a huge wicker basket for
our 'smellies', huge windows hung with blackout curtains - originals. We
were allowed one poster each on the cream-coloured walls. The posters had
to be 'appropriate', though explained appropriate for what.

There was a sticker on the head of each bed. I found mine. 'Zachary
Flood'. It was near the windows. That was good. I always sleep with a
window open I hoped my neighbour wouldn't mind. My neighbour - 'Ben
Bishop'. That made me smile. A boy bishop. Imagine going through your life
as a 'Bishop' when you weren't a bishop at all. Please let him be nice. Our
beds were only two feet apart. Please don't let him snore like granddad.

On a bed nearer the door the sticker read: 'Toby Winterbottom'.

'Toby' was funny, too, in a very English way I'll explain later. For the
moment, I wouldn't like to go through life addressed as 'Toby' - think
'Prick'. I sniffed back my tears and smiled again. And two feet away, a
sticker read: 'Oscar Dunn'. Couldn't think of anything funny about that
name, but I wondered if he would be 'Oscar' or 'Osc'.

Then I realised by own surname wasn't unfunny. Zachary 'Flood'. I was glad
I didn't wet the bed!

I spent the next half hour unpacking what I had, hanging things up in the
wardrobe, making sure my stuff was in my toilet bag, folding my pyjamas and
tucking them under my pillow. Last of all, I sat with Teddy on my knee and
told him not worry. We would turn the year into an adventure. Only a year,
then mum would be back from Gibraltar... and anyway I'd be spending half
term and Christmas in Gibraltar!

Maybe life wasn't so bad after all.

And, I reminded myself, I was a big boy... and Big Boys don't cry.

I was thinking about going for a wander round the grounds that surrounded
the junior house. From the window I could see sun-bleached lawns sweeping
away towards a small wood. Later I'd discover the little lake behind the
woods.

The lawns flowed into sports areas. The cricket area fenced off until
Spring. The hockey goals already set up. We'd passed the rugby pitches on
our way through the school grounds. No sign of football - soccer - that I
knew was not played at schools like this. I knew there was an indoor
swimming pool - half Olympic size - and first class tennis courts. I'm a
swimmer and I can hit topspin well, so that cheered me up a bit.

Before I could make up my mind to wander or not to wander, the dorm door
flew open and in staggered a boy. He dumped his cases on the floor. Ignored
me. Checked the beds. Then lay flat out on the bed headed 'Ben Bishop'.

His head on the pillow, one arm up in the air, a hand stretched out, he
groaned: "Fuck it. I'm fucking knackered." Followed by "Hi. You must be the
new boy. Zachary something, isn't it? Hope you don't fart in your
sleep. Toby does. If you light one his farts, you have to stand well
back. Don't be so fucking rude. Come here and shake hands."

Taken aback but relieved, I stepped over to my bed neighbour and shook the
outstretched hand. It was warm, dry and pleasant.

"Sit down and tell me about yourself."

I sat down.

"Not on my bed, you silly fucker. On your own bed. Tell me about
yourself. But keep it short. We've been driving since 7 o'clock and I'm
knackered. So keep it short. I want to get some shut-eye before Dunn and
Winterbottom get here. Then there'll be no sleep for anybody."

I took the step to my bed, sat down and began the story of my life. I'm
sure Ben was asleep before I got to the third paragraph. So I stretched out
on my bed, hands under my head on the pillow and wondered what Dunn and
Winterbottom would be like.

I say Dunn and Winterbottom, and I should refer to Ben as Bishop, but Amity
is a private/independent/public/fee-paying boarding school, and it's the
done thing to refer to each other by surnames. Unless, of course, you are
'bum chums'.

'Bum chums' doesn't have a sexual connotation. It means you're close
friends, so eventually I was one of Dunn's bum chums because it was Oscar
who ran the dorm. I say 'Oscar' because nobody but nobody called Oscar Dunn
'Osc'. Oscar didn't like it, so nobody used it - at least never to his
face.

Generally, only surnames were used, except, for some obscure reason, I was
always referred to as Zac - except, of course, by the staff in the school
who always referred to us by our surnames - except, of course, Mr. C. who
never used our surnames - even when he was taking the House or class
register.

Rules, spoken and unspoken, written and unwritten, in public schools are
complex, Byzantine. You pick them up very quickly, you accept them, and you
apply them. That's why we won the Battle of Waterloo, the Crimea, World
Wars 1 and 2, and defeated the Spanish Armada. What a load of bullshit, but
when you're in Rome - speak Latin.

Ben is cute. Not a word I'd use for a boy, but girls, and women, some men
would call Ben 'cute'. He is. But not in a girly way. A bit taller than
me. Well built - maybe a bit better than me. No. I've got a swimmer's body,
so I'm going to say we were equals. Ivory skin that glows when we're out on
a cross-country or something like that.

Thick, dark hair, shaggy as he lies on the bed, but he'll get that cut
tomorrow on Major Payne's orders. Long eye lashes, double lashes. Features
regular, teeth regular. Wide hipped. Long legged.

School uniform usually unkempt, or as unkempt as he can get away
with. Foul-mouth but not nasty. Sometimes a yob. Which is odd because he's
a scholarship boy, probably the brightest boy in junior school.

Kind, generous, caring - and he took an interest in me.

I fell asleep.

In fact, when Dunn and Winterbottom barreled into the dorm, Ben and I were
both asleep, and both rudely awakened, as the new comers picked me up and
squeezed me into the space on Ben's right, took his right hand and stroked
my groin with it!

I woke up first and looked sleepily around.

Their giggling woke Ben up.

I felt something down there. Looked down... and saw Ben's hand stroking my
crotch, stroking my hard-on, stiffie, erection!

I froze in embarrassment.

Ben looked at me. Looked down. Kept on stroking.

"Aw, for fuck's sake, Dunn. You wanker, Winterbottom," he yawned. "I was
having a great dream."

He took his hand away, sat up, his back against the head rest.

"Obviously," smiled Dunn.

"So was he," added Winterbottom. "Who the fuck is he anyway?"

I slid off Ben's bed and stood up.

"Oscar Dunn.  Toby Winterbottom. Let me introduce Zachary Flood."

"Zachary Flood. Let me introduce Oscar Dunn and Toby Winterbottom. They are
our bum chums."

Dunn extended his hand.

I shook it.

Winterbottom extended his hand.

I shook it.

"Major Payne says I am to take in interest in Zac."

"You were certainly doing that," smiled Oscar Dunn.

"And we are to help him settle in. Make him feel at home."

"We'll certainly do that," said Toby Winterbottom.

Now you may have spotted something odd there. Toby addressed me as 'Zac',
not 'Flood', and from that moment on, 'Zac' stuck. I had no idea why. Still
don't. But from now on, I'm going use Osc instead of Oscar, and Toby
instead of Winterbottom - except, of course, when surnames are appropriate.

"Zac stop dreaming whatever you're dreaming."

That was Oscar.

"Major Payne is in the block. Room inspection in half an hour. You know
what a stickler he is. So let's get this room ship-shape before the old
sea-dog gets here. Come on, chums, shift those bums."

"Mr. C.?" asked Toby.

"Not back till tomorrow. The Major's on duty tonight. With Matron, of
course. So the Major will be in and out tonight. Mr. C. should be back for
breakfast, but you know how he is."

Toby turned to Oscar and smiled.

"Right. let's get on with it."

And that's what we did.

For the first time that day I smiled a genuine smile and it stuck.

Maybe a year at Amity Boys wouldn't be so bad after all.

The afternoon and evening passed in a blur though two things are still
vivid after all these years. First was the meeting of the whole House with
House Master Major Payne.

Tall, angular, skinny, somewhere between 60 and 70, Major Thomas Payne had
served in the army - some boys said the SAS (Special Air Service). About
his service, we knew next to nothing because he told us next to
nothing. That surprised me. I expected to hear tales of derring-do and
heroic action. But Major Thomas Payne had other passions - two them.

The first was dismantling, fixing and reassembling practically anything -
from our bikes to our skateboards to our beds when they collapsed - to the
ghostly drainpipes that ran through the House... the list is endless. His
enthusiasm was infectious. He might have been known as Mister Fixit, but to
us he would always be Major Fixit.

His second passion was boys.

He loved boys.

And so did his wife Mary.

They lived for the same thing - to see us grow up as "fine young Christian
gentlemen. And if Major Payne had to slipper our bare backsides, or throw
us into detention, or bar us from our Friday afternoon town shopping, or
exclude us from the Saturday night movie in the Common Room... so be it.

This is what he used to say:

"Grown-ups will tell you that (this punishment) is going to hurt them more
than it hurts you. Not for me. This (punishment) won't hurt me at all, but
it will jolly well hurt you. Because if it doesn't hurt you, what's the
point of it?"

That made sense, so we took it like the boys we were... and, of all the
punishments available, the most popular was the slipper. Drop your pyjama
bottoms. Bend over the bed. Whack! Whack! Whack! (Your bum chums could
watch, listen and count the strokes out loud if you chose.) Whack! Whack!
Whack!

You stood up. Your arse burning hot enough to roast pork chops on. Major
Payne would leave the dorm without a word. There was nothing to be
said. Your chums gathered around to check your bum. Whistles of admiration
and appreciation! You shuffled over to the dorm sink. Ran the sink full of
cold water. Heaved yourself up and plonked your bum straight into the cold
water.

Bliss!

We were all herded into Hall on the ground floor. The hall served for
morning assembly (twice a week), indoor play area (a big sign read 'No
Balls in Here'), and for Prep each evening from 6.30 to 7.30, except
Saturdays and Sundays.

I got into the routine quickly - most of the boys had been at Amity since
they were seven years old - and, since we were in our final year, we got to
sit in the chairs at the back of the Hall. Sit! On real chairs. Not on our
arses like all the other boys in front of us.

Looking a wee bit ahead, we loved it when Mr. C. took his Assembly once a
month. His address rarely mentioned anything about religion, and he always
chose the same hymn: To Be a Pilgrim. Mr. C. played the piano. He started
out at normal speed but speeded up as we went along. By the end, sixty boys
were frantically keeping up and belting out the final verse as if our lives
depended on it.

Then fancies fly away We'll fear not what men say We'll labour night and
day To be a Pilgrim!

Nobody seemed to mind. Not Major Payne. Not even guest teachers. Not even
Dr. Robson, head of the whole school, who actually joined in with
gusto. 'To be a Pilgrim' always gave us the jolliest start to the day.

That afternoon, it didn't take me long to appreciate Oscar (Dunn) was top
dog in Camperdown, and he didn't seem to do a single thing to establish
it. It was all done out of respect not fear, and, of course, he best at
sports in the block. In boarding schools, especially amongst junior boys,
sports count for everything. But there was more to it than that.

If you don't mind, I'll sick in how I described Oscar a few years later.

Oscar is 12, tall for his years, not heavily built but with the elegant
muscularity of a gymnast. Deep chest, narrow waist, rounded buttocks, long
legs, and a face that is already more handsome than cute.  Strong eyebrows
over large, wide-set eyes. Thick golden brown hair flops over one eye.

He effortlessly dominates the block, though I've never seen him talk
harshly or angrily to anyone. It's a bit different with Ben and Toby;
they've been together since they were seven-years-old, and they don't give
a monkeys about Oscar's status. They are the only ones who can be downright
rude to him, the only ones who can tell him to 'Fuck off' and the only ones
who can make him blush. Ben and Toby were Oscar Dunn's 'bum chums' to which
tiny group I was inexplicably admitted.

D'Artganan had joined the Three Musketeers.

There was one thing Oscar wanted me from the week arrived.

Oscar Dunn was fukin' useless (to quote Ben) at Maths, and he discovered I
was a genius. I can't be bothered with false modesty. I was and am crap at
a lot of things. But Maths has always come naturally to me, so I became
Oscar's "maths chum".

He didn't force me into the role. He asked politely for my help. Oscar was
invariably polite. And I enjoyed helping him. Not doing the work for him,
but helping, teaching him. And within a school week, the pairing for
approved and sanctioned by Major Payne and Mr. C.

"May I have Zac?" became a request regularly heard during Prep.

Always a nod from whoever was on Prep supervision, and sometimes wolf
whistles from Ben and Toby. Neither of us batted an eyelid. Pulled our
chairs together, sat close, thigh to thigh, and explored the mysteries of
simultaneous equations. Oscar never became very good at Maths but he became
good enough, and he was happy with that.

And the second image?

Naked boys.

That evening, after dinner and extended free time, came my real challenge
as a boarding boy. It didn't matter if I wanted the Hall clock to stop,
time ticked on with the relentlessness of Captain Hook's crocodile.

It wasn't that I was shy.

It was that I'd never really seen another boy naked before. Thirty four of
them - us. And we'd all be in that huge bathroom where even the cubicles
didn't have shower curtains. And at least there'd be "no horsing around" -
an order from the Major who couldn't "be bothered watching you rascals do
your ablutions". We were on our honour and that was sufficient. And, at
least, as the senior boys in the House, we four and six boys from another
dorm, would get the first fifteen minutes in the bathroom.

A bell jangled at 7.30 sharp: the two-minute alarm to get stripped, get
your washing stuff, get a towel around you - some boys couldn't be arsed
about wearing a towel - and get into the bathroom.

Clothes came flying off Oscar, Ben and Toby.

I began to undress rather primly.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," yelled Ben. "Hurry up, Zac. If we're not in first,
those bastards from Dorm Three will grab the showers and we'll be stuck
with the baths."

To be honest, I'd sneaked a peek at the other boys' genitals and was
relieved to see that if I wasn't the biggest I wasn't the smallest.

Oscar came first - it dangled flaccidly between his legs. I thought for a
moment he had a hard-on but he turned out be one of those boys whose cock
is much the same length soft or hard. I was next - just over three and half
inches to Osc's four (told you I'm good at Maths). Ben was much the same
but he had hair! Hair down there! And in his armpits. I only had four in my
armpits and I'd already pulled them out. Toby's looked the youngest, maybe
touching three inches, but he made up for it one of the most beautiful bums
I'd ever seen.

That's weird, isn't it?

Till then I'd never thought about arses in terms of whether they were
good-looking or not. But Toby's were high and rounded, perfectly
symmetrical, and not a single crease. And his cheeks swung a little as he
walked - nothing too suggestive but just enough to...

"Right, let's get in there," said Toby.

Two boys from Dorm Three were already there, but you can't go in until your
whole dorm is there, so we strolled past them as to the manor born. Within
two minutes, six of us were in the showers, four in the baths. I'd even
forgotten my shyness - at least until I felt my penis harden and lengthen
as I washed it with a soapy hand a bit too enthusiastically. It took me two
minutes imagining throttling hens on our farm to become acceptable again.

"Zac, you finished yet?"

That was Toby.

"Nearly."

"Come and do my back for me, please?"

"Pardon?"

"My back. Soap my back."

"Pardon?"

"Soap his fukin' back!"

You don't need three guesses.

If I'd had an Adam's apple, I would have swallowed it.

I stepped from my cubicle and moved towards Toby. As I did so, I saw Oscar
was in Ben's cubicle, soaping his back! And in the next cubicle a boy from
Dorm Three was soaping another boy's back!

I stepped into Toby's cubicle. He handed me a bar of Wright's Coal Tar over
his shoulder. Tentatively I began stroking his back with the soap
bar. Gently does it.

"For fuck's sake, Zac. I'm not made of glass. Get stuck into it."

Throwing caution out of the cubicle, I began to rub his back
enthusiastically. He had skin like silk - but at that age we all did. Up
and down, round and round, up and down... My hand was getting perilously
close to the most beautiful bum I'd ever seen - or touched for that matter.

"Yeh, do my bum."

I started doing his bum.

"But keep out of my crack. We were only introduced this afternoon."

My face went on fire, but I relaxed as I heard the laughter around me, and
voice from a bath shouted: "Told you Dorm One are all homos!"

Everyone joined in the laughter - even me, though later that night, in bed,
lights out, I wondered if Dorm One was for homos. My hand slid downwards
from my belly, and before I knew it - I was sound asleep.


2

When I woke up in the morning, the sun was streaming through the window. It
wasn't the sunshine that woke me, it was mum stroking my cheek.

I grunted and turned to face the wall.

Mum gently shook my shoulder.

Mmmm....

She persisted - as mums do.

I turned and looked up into her face.

It wasn't mum.

It was a man.

A man I didn't recognise.

He gently shaking my shoulder.

I gave him a puzzled frown.

He smiled and turned to Ben's bed.

"Shaky, shaky, wakey, wakey, Ben."

Grunts.

"Fuck off,"

followed by

"Oh, sorry, sir."

Light laughter.

I lay and watched as this stranger - a man in pyjamas - moved across to
Osc's and Toby's bed and carried out the same procedure before he strolled
out of Dorm Three.

A stranger in pyjamas had stroked my cheeks - if that wasn't Stranger
Danger, I don't know what it was? But it was nice.

Ben swung himself out of bed, fished out his penis with "Gotta take a
piss," and for a moment I thought he was going to piss in the dorm sink,
but he wandered out and headed in the direction of the loos.

Church bells told me it was Sunday morning.

Morning showers passed in a bleary blur. No one asked me to do his back or
his bum. I was to sleep to care. We dressed in civvies and headed for
breakfast in the dining hall across the lawn. Not much conversation.

Around 120 juniors wandered into the dining room. We, the senior juniors,
got the top table. The man - the stranger - no longer in pyjamas - was
sitting at the top table. Every single boy made his way round the table and
gave the man - obviously a master - a cheerful "Good morning, Mr. C."

In reply, each boy got a cheerful "Good morning, .........." and his first
name. The atmosphere got cheerier and chirpier as each table settled down.

Oscar (Dunn) ushered me to the top table, sat down opposite Mr. C., patted
the space beside him, and I sat down across from Mr. C., too. Ben sat to
the left and Toby to the right of the teacher who also happened to be our
live-in Assistant Housemaster.

"Good morning, Mr. ...... "

"C.," he finished for me , adding

"Good morning, Zachary Flood," he said, adding "Which do you prefer,
Zachary or Zac."

"Well, mum calls me 'Zac'," I said, blushing as I realised how dumb that
sounded.

"Zac it shall be," he said, adding, "Now, let's devote our attention to
this bacon," too late for Ben who was already up and away in search of
seconds.

Fried eggs, bacon, black pudding and toast done, Mr. C. turned to me again:

"Now, Zac, perhaps I should ask you to tell me something about yourself."

I nodded - what option did I have?

"To tell the truth, I can't be bothered. Instead I'll tell you about me -
and, if I miss any of the juicy bits, I'm sure the table will fill them in
for you."

Every boy within earshot of our table turned to our AS (Assistant
Housemaster) and nodded.

Mr. C.  - the mystery man unmasked.

"I'm a new boy, too," he began. "I arrived at the beginning of the summer
term last May. So I'm still sort of feeling my way. I like the place, so I
promised to come back and do a whole year. I like this place, and I like
you lot.. But I like travelling round the world, so we'll see what happens
next year.

"I'm Major Payne's assistant so I live in Camperdown with you lot and
matron. My door's always open to you lot... unless it's closed. I teach
English in junior school. I help with sports, mainly swimming and rugby. I
support Arsenal Football Club..." There were more groans than cheers around
the table.

"And that's about it."

He stood up.

"Before you go and change for Church, I have an announcement to make. -
Head Boy."

There as an intake of breath, though we all knew who was going to be
Headboy, and we all approved.

"Headboy this year is... drum roll on knees, please."

Palms drummed on knees.

"Oscar Dunn."

Pause.

Osc stood up.

"And Deputy Headboy is..."

Silence.

Apparently there'd never been a Deputy Headboy before.

"Zachary Flood."

Stunned silence, with no one more stunned than me.

"Major Payne and I decided that since we have ten new boys in the House
this year, it made sense to appoint one as the Headboy's deputy. That boy
will the best understanding of what it is to be a new boy at Amity School -
and that boy will be... Drum Roll..."

Palms drummed on knees.

"Arise Zac Flood."

I stood up.

Mr. C. shook Osc's hand.

Mr. C. shook my hand.

Osc and I shook hands.

Mr. C. turned the dining room.

"Now get your backsides out of here. Get ready for church. Inspection in
ten minutes...  and if you aren't ready for Major Payne's inspection, NO
football this afternoon."

There was a general stampede out of the hall.

"Oscar. Zac. Congratulations. Off you go."

Together Osc and I strolled out of the hall, then belted across the lawn to
the House like lemmings rushing to the edge of a cliff.

Mr. C. didn't do Church. He wasn't a Methodist, so he was under no
obligation to go. I wasn't a Methodist either; I was an Episcopalian
(whatever that is) but as deputy Headboy I felt a responsibility to go; not
that I had an option. So off we went.

For the record, Mr. C. wasn't that old - late twenties I guessed. He was
middle height, freckly, built like a swimmer - he gave me half a length and
almost beat me very time - he'd swum for a county - he spoke English,
French and Italian, and taught the most-fun English classes I'd ever had.

He could be strict but he was always cheerful when he had to punish a
boy. He never used corporal punishment. He had his own
methods. 'Standing-out' in a chilly, dark corridor in your jammies ith only
a gob stopper for company was ten times rose than a half a dozen whacks
over the arse with the Camperdown slipper.

At the end of the month, I was able to write a cheerful letter to Gibralter
that would put mum's mind at ease.

I was becoming a real Camperdown boy from Dorm One.


3

My year of living sexually began on September 30th 20..... , and it started
by accident. I remember the words that started it:

"I really like having a hard-on."

It was Saturday night.

We'd had Saturday shopping in Cambridge in the morning.

In the afternoon, we'd had a rugby match away to Orwell Park in the
afternoon. I was playing No. 6 at stand-off where, according to Mr. C. I
could do least damage (to our side).

"All you have to do is get the ball from stand-off and move it along as
fast as you can. You've got good hands, a quick mind, and you know how to
release the ball as early as you can.

"You've also got a good sense of preservation. If you hang around on the
ball, you're going to get clobbered. So nothing fancy - leave that to
Ben. Get it - get rid of it. Capisci?"

"Capisco, signore."

Mr. C. was teaching us Italian on the side.

I wasn't particularly fond of rugby, but all my friends played for the
team, and we were the strongest team in the area. I liked their company, I
liked trips out, and, even when I was lying face down in the mud, there
were the showers to look forward to.

Boarding schools have their good points and their bad points. One of the
best is they come in all shapes and sizes.

Although we were senior juniors, the 11 to 13 crowd, some boys had the
genitalia of seven-year-olds. Others, like Ross MacDonald, was well into
adolescence. A moustache. Hairy armpits. Hairy on his belly trailing down
to his pubes spread like fan. A thick, low-hanging cock, easily over 6 or 7
inches, that flopped his big hairy ball sac.

Nobody cared... or at least nobody showed they cared.

These boys had grown up together since they were seven year olds. Only we
newbies were interested, fascinated, but that wore off, and we became more
interested in what you could do with your equipment than its size and
shape. I had a 'thing' for boys' bums. I couldn't understand why, so I
tried to suppress my interest - and usually failed miserably... without
feeling at all miserable.

Saturday - early - evening - free time - an impromptu football (soccer)
match on the playing fields at home. Early dinner. Forty minutes prep -
more to give us a rest than serious work - early showers - pyjamas,
bathrobes - trips to our tuck boxes - then settled on the couches and
carpets - then the movie.

I was great when Mr. C. was on duty. None of that Bambi shit. Mr. C. chose
real movies for us, though he stuck to the rules: 12 and 12A
max. .... Jaws; Never Ending Story; The Princess Bride; The Outsiders; The
Mask; To Gun.

Mr. C had his own collection and he knew what we boys wanted.

Over 100 boys squashed into the Common Room, sprawled in jammies on couches
and carpets, lots of bums in the air, and farts aplenty, ignored by
everyone. Mr. C. didn't attend the movies. He was up in his third-floor
flat. We knew where he was and where to get him if necessary. It was rarely
necessary.

The movie ended just after 10 and by half past we were all in bed. Though
it was the last night in September, it was warm enough to leave the
curtains and windows open. Lights out at 10.30 and by 11 everyone in Dorm
One sound asleep - except me. I had a slight headache - at least I
convinced myself I had - and lay there looking out at the stars.

To tell the truth, I was feeling a bit restless, not for any particular
reason. Maybe because it had been such a fun day and I didn't want it to
end.

Anyway, I convinced myself I had a headache and needed an aspirin, and I
knew where to get one. Mr. C. was great about that. I'd never done it
myself but I knew boys went along to his study now and again to get an
aspirin, or maybe just a chat or reassurance about something.

I'd been in his flat before. We all had. It was pretty well open door. And,
of course, Osc and I had a weekly 'conference' with Mr. C. to check how the
House was running. Ben, as captain of the rugby team, visited now and
again, and where Ben went Toby was sure to follow.

There was usually a huge bowl of mixed sweets on the coffee table, and, if
your luck was in, Mr.C. was in what he called "the giving mood". There was
also a four-seater couch stretched along one side of the wall and he didn't
mind at all if we stretched out on it.

I slid from the bed, edged the door open, and padded bare-foot along the
darkened corridor. No fear of Matron Grange hearing me. Her flat was on the
first floor - amongst the youngest boys - and have conked out on a couple
of gins by now. Rumour was she was getting an assistant but that was yet to
happen.

I reached sir's study door.

Great!

There was light under the door.

I'd raised my hand to knock quietly when I heard voices - or at least one
voice.

I know it's not polite to listen but it could be Mr. C. and Major Payne
having a blether and a night-cap and I didn't want to disturb them, so I
put my ear to the door.

"I like having a hard-on."

I recognised the voice. It wasn't Major Payne. It wasn't Mr. C. either.

It was Headboy Oscar Dunn!

But had I really heard what I thought I'd heard?

I should have turned and tip-toed away.

I didn't.

I slid to one-knee and peeked through the keyhole.

Remember this was a Victorian building. High ceilings. Tall doors. And the
original huge keyholes in the doors. View restricted. Lamplight. But enough
to see...

To see a pair of hands edging down Osc's pyjamas - old, frayed, white light
blue stripes - down over his bum and letting them slide down his legs to
his ankles, though I could only see the area around his crotch and bum.

Osc was standing side on. I could see half his bum. I could see his
stiffened penis and the fingers working it. One hand. A thumb and fingers
edging back his foreskin. In the showers, Osc's cock looked around four
inches; here it was at least six... and the purple head of his knob was
bulbous.

The fingers ran up and down his erection. It was easy to imagine the other
hand playing with his balls, gently squeezing and manipulating them. His
cock was pale pink with two or three veins entwining his erection.

Then a face came into view. Not a whole face.. A chin, mouth, lips, and
lower part of a nose. The mouth opened. Osc's hard-on slipped between the
lips and into the mouth. The shaft was taken in deeper and deeper, then
slid out again, then taken in, then...

Oscar Dunn was being sucked off!

You learned all the right terms for sex within a week of becoming a
boarder, especially amongst the older juniors. Sex was as popular as sports
- well, almost.

"Put two in, sir. Please, put two in."

That was Osc's voice again.

I wasn't sure what he wanted put in, but then he made things clear as he
grunted:

"Two fingers, please, sir. Up my jacksie."

Jacksie is the word we boarders use for bumhole, arsehole, anus,
rectum. Like someone will say, "Why don't you take that hockey stick and
stick it up your jacksie?"

I'm sure we boys stuck our fingers up our own jacksies now and again -
Doesn't every boy? - but I'd never imagined someone sticking his fingers up
my jacksie. Once that thought was in my head it was hard to get it out.

My own hard-on was out of my jammies now and between my fingers. I was
gently jacking off as I watched the man sucking off the boy, the teacher
giving his pupil a blow job.

I had started cumming a few months earlier. I wondered what Mr. C. would do
when Osc came. Would he find a paper hanky? Would he catch it in his hands?
Would he swallow the boy's cum? That's what I did. It was less messy than
doing anything else, so when I came - I didn't cum that much yet - I just
squirted it down my throat, or onto my tongue if I wanted to taste it
first.

Osc's legs were shaking now - shaking not just trembling. Both of the man's
hands were round the boy's hips. Pulling him in deep, letting him almost
slide out, then pulling in deep again till the boy's erection disappeared
into the man's mouth.

Then the man was holding the boy still. Only the boy's hips and knees
shaking. The boy's groans and gasps louder now. I didn't have to see to
know the boy was cumming, squirting, spitting into the man's throat.

I struggled to my feet and pattered down the corridor, my stiffy sticking
straight out. That would be hard to explain if the assistant housemaster
suddenly opened the door.

"May I have an aspirin, sir?" wouldn't quite cover it.

I got into bed and pulled the duvet over my head.

My hard-on collapsed in fright.

I lay there worrying if they'd heard me.

I needn't have worried.

It was around half an hour before Oscar entered the room. I heard him slide
onto his bed. I heard him breathing deeply for a few minutes, and then I
heard only the silence of sleep. Then I heard nothing.

Morning.

Fingers on my cheek.

"Mmm.... yes, sir," I murmured.

I woke felt the wetness of the front of my jammies.

A fucking wet dream.

Though I knew it was no dream.


4

In the morning (Sunday) we had our extra half-hour lie-in and woke to
sunshine and the kind of light breeze that makes everyone feel more
alive. Matron took shower duty and at first I found it a little strange
showering naked in front of a woman. I realised no one was paying Mrs
Grange (ancient/widowed) the slightest attention and remembered she'd
probably been with most of the boys when they arrived as
seven-year-olds. She'd become part of the furniture.

The usual routine, but we all cheered when Major Payne turned up saying
there would be a scavenger hunt for senior juniors (us) in Badley Woods
after church, followed by a picnic lunch round the lake, followed by a
do-as-you-like afternoon.

I wondered if Mr. C. would turn up. Oscar casually mentioned he wouldn't be
back till classes on Monday morning. He was refereeing a rugby match - a
charity event - in Cambridge and staying there overnight. He (Oscar) seemed
cheerful and relaxed.

Nobody asked him how he knew this stuff. This was Oscar. If he showed no
interest in a topic, nobody bothered asking. I relaxed too, though I'd
slipped into the toilets for a quick wank before showers which helped. I
won't bother describing the pornographic images that played in my mind but
I came within 30 seconds, so that should give you some idea what aroused me
so quickly. I didn't even have time to shove a finger up my jacksie.

A quick slurp.

The evidence was gone.

And off to the showers I went.

With Matron Grange there, I didn't have to worry about springing another
stiffy.

Church was a real bummer. We were sermonised by an elderly Methodist
minister who might as well have been a Roman Catholic priest. His topic was
venial sins and how to avoid them. His first example of a venial sin was
something about giving an obscene gesture to another driver while in
traffic. From there it was downhill all the way.

Our ears pricked up only when he mentioned masturbation.

"Now, we must ask ourselves if masturbation is a venial sin or a mortal
sin," he mused.

We heard every adult in the church shuffle their bottoms on the pews while
our hands slid south under our Methodist hymnals.

"Oh, some might say masturbation - self-abuse - to be a mortal sin must be
done deliberately, knowing that it is not what God wishes for us."

He paused to give us time to work out what it was God wished for.

"Perhaps at your immature age you have not yet realised abusing yourself is
not what God wants."

I waited for Ben to yell out: "Does God want us to have a partner?"

Thank God, he didn't.

"And some might say it's not a sin if it's just a habit, you've got
into. You're not deliberately trying to upset the Almighty."

Yay!  We're safe then.

Not quite.

"But, if a boy is masturbating and knows full well that it is wrong, and
does it willingly - and with gusto! - without doing anything to resist his
impulses, then he or she is guilty of a grave sin....."

And here he all but shrieked.

"that can be classed as mortal - and for which you will go to Hell!

No, ifs and buts..."

Major Payne sprang up.

Signalled to our organist - a 17-year-old Sixth Former known for his
virtuosity on his organ, and very probably the organs of other boys.

"Do Not Pass Me By," the Major barked... and we leapt to our feet, though
lots of the hymnals were held suspiciously low. My earlier mortal sin saved
me from embarrassment.

Without being told, we knew what do to.

We belted out the hymn while Major Payne guided the minister to his seat of
honour and made sure he stayed there. I doubt whether the Reverend Devine
was invited to preach to Camperdown boys again.

Out of the church, into jeans and t-shirts, and off to Badley Woods we
trooped, some of us discussing whether we'd fallen over the edge of venial
into mortal sin yet. I'd already learned that in boarding schools, boys
become casual talking about sex, even when they're not sure what their
talking about. When it came to masturbation, most of us did, and those who
didn't faked it.

It was a mile to Badley Woods. They were owned by the school. Gifted by an
alumnus. And there we paired off. Ben and Toby were glued at the
hips. Oscar was as happy to be with me as I was with him.

Each pair was given a picture sheet of things we had to find on our Nature
Walk. We had to tick each one off as we found it. We were on school honour
not to cheat. As far as I know, nobody did. It was that kind of
school. Major Payne was that kind of man.

The list included small pictures of a four-leaf clover; dog 'pooh' (shit);
nuts (not specified); a hornet (wasp or bee not acceptable); a blackbird's
feather (forbidden to touch a live blackbird); urine (the major had a
wicked sense of humour); a spider's web; an owl (it was daytime for fuck's
sake); an adder (Oscar counted 1-2-3, and we ticked the box); a bush with
berries; a puddle (we manufactured that ourselves)..... totalling 30 items.

"He should have put a picture of a cock or hen," said Oscar as we wandered
down one of the many trails that criss-crossed Badley Woods.

Oscar took the hunt as seriously as me - not very much, but pleasant
wandering along the trails keeping an eye open for anything on our
list. The woods are so extensive that once we'd dispersed you could wander
for ages without bumping into any other team. This was probably the last
burst of our Indian summer, and we wanted to make the most of it.

I loved the chance to natter with Oscar on my own. In a boarding house, you
can go for ages without having the chance to have a one-to-one conversation
with anyone. Living as boarders is like living in a family of meercats -
your business is everyone else's business.

Mostly we talked about sports, and what we would do next weekend - our
first Exeat weekend. Exeat weekends are weekends when boarders are allowed
to go home for a long weekend: Friday 4pm to Sunday 6pm.

Osc was going home to his family in London. I was one of the handful who
had to remain in school because they weren't able to visit their families
or relations for whatever reason. My mum was in Gibraltar on an assignment
and I wouldn't get to be with her until the half-term holiday.  Osc said
not to worry. Major Payne always made sure those who had to remain in
school had a great time. In fact, he envied me a little. The only thing
that bothered me was being the only senior junior but things are as they
are, as my granddad is fond of saying.

As we strolled along, Osc spoke to me more in half an hour than he had
during my first month at Amity. I was beginning to think he really liked me
- though I was nothing special, and he was Oscar Dunn.

I know I'm quite good-looking, though it annoys me that I can pass for nine
years old despite the twelve years that I am. I've got straight, black
hair. Mum always give me a bowl cut, which doesn't help. Black
eyebrows. Black pupils with, mum says, a touch of purple in them. An
ovalish face. Quite a lot of freckles across my nose. A small nose that
twitches when I'm anxious. I can't help it. And lips so ret it sometimes
looks like I've been sucking a raspberry pop.

Nicely built whatever that means. To be honest, just a tiny bit plump with
a roundish tummy. No hips to speak of. A sticky out bum. And legs - a pair
of them. I'm usually happy because I've been taught not to take life too
seriously.

Oscar kissed me!

We'd found a sunny, grassy clearing, lay down and stretched out under a
silver birch to have a bit of a rest. I'd almost fallen asleep when I found
something touching my lips. Maybe I was dreaming. I opened my eyes and
found Osc's face against mine, his nose against mine, his lips against
mine.

I jerked away - more of a reflex than anything else - and sat up.

"You don't mind, do you?" he said.

Pause.

"No, I don't really... but what's it for?"

"It's for last night... and it's because you're you."

Pause.

"You know I was there."

I blushed.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"I wasn't completely sure, but I am now," he smiled.

"When I got back to the dorm, I knew you weren't sleeping. You make a funny
clicking sound when you're sleeping, and I didn't hear a single click."
(pause) "You also left a slipper in the corridor - you dumb fuck."

And now Osc was more than smiling; he was laughing.

"So do you mind if I kiss you?"

"No, not really."

We were sitting facing each other in a grassy, sun-dappled clearing. He
pulled me into him and kissed me full on the lips. He held his lips on
mine. Then I felt his tongue probing my lips. I opened them and his tongue
slid into my mouth. Hot and wet and alive. He was trying to reach and
tickle my tonsils. It was nice, lovely, yummy.

He opened his lips, and my tongue slid into his mouth and copied what he
was doing to mine. Although it was a warm day, I felt us exchange
saliva. Sweet. Almost bubbly, almost frothy. No one outside my family had
kissed me before, they certainly didn't kiss me like Osc did. My penis
hardened and lengthened in response.

Breathless, we broke the kiss... Osc looked at me and laughed... I looked
at him and laughed.

I had to say it.

"Are we going to have sex?"

Osc laughed louder.

"Fuck no. Not here. Not now. Just imagine if Ben came by and saw us - doing
69."

"69?"

"You are a baby," Osc said. "69 is when we suck each other off at the same
time."

"Oh," I said, not sure how two boys could manage that.

"Ben would never let us forget it."

He paused.

"Mind you, Ben and Toby..."

Osc didn't finish the sentence.

He hauled himself up, then hauled me up. We brushed ourselves down, and I
was glad, relieved, and not a little proud he had a hard-on too.

"Come on," he said. "We've still got a dozen things on our list to
find. Let's at least pretend we're looking for them."

And down the trail we went.

It was only later I realised Oscar had mentioned nothing about what
happened in Mr. C.'s study or if he knew I'd been peeking through the
keyhole. I was grateful for that because it was his private business, and
because it would have gone into area about my reaction to watching them.

Was I homosexual - a homo - gay?

I didn't know... and I wasn't ready to explore the possibility.

I loved being held and kissed by Oscar Dunn... but what did that prove?

Not very much.

So meanwhile let's just get on with life.

Being a boarder has its drawbacks, but routine is reassuring. Monday rolls
seamlessly towards Friday, with highlights for me of Swimming Club on
Tuesdays and a rugby match (home or away) on Wednesday afternoon, though
these would end when darkness set in early after half-term.

I loved swimming sessions taken by Mr. C., though I wasn't thrilled by the
eight-year-old who beat me over a length. Mr. C. smiled and reassured me
Frankie Doyle was a phenomenon, and even he was pushed to beat the little
blighter over that distance. An exaggeration, but at least I was the
fastest in junior school and could swim freestyle, backstroke and butterfly
equally well. Mr. C. promised me extra coaching and might enter me for the
Independent schools' tournament in Cambridge in October.

Wednesday's rugby match away against Sandhaven was incredible. Ten minutes
before the match started, the skies opened and we were hit by torrential
rain. The match went ahead. Boys will play in anything. The rain battered
what was left of summer's burnt grass and, within fifteen minutes, we were
sloshing or wading through mud up above our ankles.

Our coaches wanted to abandon the match at half time, but both sides
protested so vociferously the match went on until it became a fabulous
farce. It became difficult and then impossible to distinguish which side a
player was on. Ben and Gabriel Hardy decided to tackle whoever had the
ball. This cunning tactic spread through the ranks and within minutes any
boy who tried to carry the ball was splattered by half a dozen boys from
both sides.

The rules of the game were ignored, but to our credit no boy tried to
injure any other boy. Our coaches must have spotted this because they let
the free-for-all mayhem go on for half an hour before they blew and blew
(the whistles) and declared the game a tie.

This was just as well. The boy keep the scoreboard and had abandoned his
duty and disappeared. And funniest of all, two boys staggered off the pitch
having lost not only their short but their underpants too. Fortunately for
them, they were completely unidentifiable.

We were all thrown in the showers together, then allowed 15 minutes in the
heated pool before we have cucumber sandwiches and hot milk. Every boy
agreed it was the best match they had played in their entire lives.

Thursday rolled into Friday. School finished at 3, so that those on Exeat
could pack and prepare to leave at 4, while we Remainers were summoned to
the Common Room to receive our instructions.

Mr. C. waiting to receive us.

My heart leapt.

We settled down on the couches, and I was delighted to see I wasn't to be
the only senior junior - Gabriel Hardy was only a Remainer. Gabriel is
nicknamed 'Bushbaby' because of his eyes. They aren't buggy but they're
definitely the first thing you notice about Gabriel. I didn't know him
well, but what I did know I liked a lot.

Mr. C.

Gentlemen, here's my cunning plan. There are eleven of you and one of me. I
have no intention of skipping up and down the stairs. You will all be
housed on the third floor as follows:

Year 6 - Gabriel and Zac - Dorm One.  Year 5 - Thorsten, Harry and Theo -
Dorm Two.  Year 4 - Michael, Frankie and Freddie - Dorm Three.  Year 3 -
Zac, Jasper and Peter - Dorm 2.

The Exeaters depart between 4 and 4.30.  We will have a snack at 4.30
sharp. At 5 o'clock, we will leave school on the minibus for Herringswell
to play Pitch and Putt on the nine-hole course. Here are the rules. One: If
you lose a ball, you get another one from me - to a maximum of three balls
each. Then pay for lost balls. Two: You do not a golf ball in my direction
- even if you accidentally hit it backwards.

(We were loving this.)

We will return at 7 'clock sharp. As far as you are concerned, it will be a
Saturday evening. Straight into the showers. Then pyjamas, Then dressing
gowns. Then into the Common Room by 7.30 sharp where snacks will be waiting
for you. These snacks will go into you - not all over the carpets or
couches.

(It was getting difficult not to giggle.)

The movie runs for two hours, including a piss-stop at the half time. You
will all be in bed by 10pm sharp. Lights out for all will be 10.30 sharp
unless a dorm agrees to put out their lights earlier. I don't care if you
talk all night after lights out but I will not be disturbed.

This weekend I shall function as Major Payne and Matron Grange. I shall
attend Church on Sunday morning to attend to your spiritual needs as well
as your physical and intellectual.

(By now the seven-year olds were utterly lost but utterly happy.)

And now, if there are no questions, you will go and organise the
possessions - your things - you are going to bring up to the third floor
after 4 o'clock - not before. (pause) That's my bit done.

(And off went.)

"One moment Gabriel - Zac..."

"Yes, sir."

"As the only two seniors in the House this weekend, I'm depending on you to
help make sure everything runs smoothly. If there's anything you think I
should know about, don't hang about - come and tell me. Get it?"

"Got it, sir."

"Good."

"And, Zac, let's see if we can squeeze in a coaching session sometime over
the weekend."

"Yes, sir," I beamed.

And off we trooped.

For the record, the movie turned out to be 'Chicken Run'. It was made by
the same people who made 'Wallace and Gromit' and to be honest I thought it
was funnier. The yung'uns loved it too, even though it was a bit luvey
dovey. The story was about a romance between Rocky the Rooster and Ginger
the chicken who tried to help their fellow chicken escape from a fate worse
than death.

The movie was quite short, so Gabriel and I had plenty of time until
lights-out arrived at 10.30. Even after that, Mr. C. wasn't bothered if we
chatted all night, and I got the chance to know Gabriel. He'd been at Amity
since he was six and a half, and he'd never had an Exeat!

His mother and father were both in the diplomatic service and didn't want
to drag Gabriel round the world. He wasn't much bothered. For him, like for
all the boarders, this was the way life was. You accepted it and got on
with it.


5

Saturday morning broke bright, clear and still warm.

Mr.C. surprised us again by saying no showers, no breakfast!

Straight to the swimming. Shower there, then everybody into the pool.

We spent about an hour, no more, "never have too much of a good thing",
said Mr.C. who focused his attention on the non-swimmers and weaker
swimmers. Four of us were strong swimmers, so we organised our own
competitions. I could have won them all, but what would be the point of
that? They swam free style. I swam anything except free style. That made it
a lot more fun.

The whistle went, and we gathered round sir.

"Gabriel - "

"Sir."

"Get everyone upstairs, please. Into the showers. Jeans and T-shirts. Free
time till Zac and I get back. You're in charge. Stand-out any boy who
crosses the line." He looked around. He didn't add anything. The look was
enough.

"Zac - "

"Sir."

"Zac, you have a chance of winning the individual medley at the county
competition in November, but frankly your breaststroke sucks."

There were giggles all round.

"But, sir," I protested. "I've hardly started the breaststroke."

More giggles.

"How old are you, boy?"

"Twelve, sir."

"Well, it's high time you started. The breaststroke is one of the easiest
once you get the hang of it. It's all a matter of technique."

Gabriel collapsed into laughter.

"Hardy - " Mr. C. rarely used surnames.

Hardy leapt to attention.

"Set an example, boy. Set an example. Now get your squad out of here - and
check behind their ears."

Blushing but grinning, Gabriel led his squad.

For the next quarter of an hour, my coach introduced me to the
breastroke. It was easier than I imagined. I wanted to practice more. but
"a little at a time" he said and climbed out of the pool. I followed.

We stood at the edge of the pool.

My coach, my teacher, our assistant housemaster pulled down his Speedos,
stepped out of them, threw them onto a bench, and trod off to the showers.

I was stunned.

What was I meant to do?

Amity is a boys' boarding school. You were used to naked boys, young men
even, lots of them around you. The shower area was open. Fifteen shower
heads. No cubicles. We often shared showers.

But Mr. C was a man - a full-grown man - I'd never seen that before - never
heard of it before - I'd been at Amity for six weeks - not once had a naked
man shared showers with naked boys.

Maybe with Major Payne it would be all right. That would be like showering
with your granddad. Maybe that would be all right. But Mr. C. was young. He
was good-looking. He was a swimmer. And he was having sex with Oscar
Dunn. He liked having sex boys. Well, maybe only with Oscar.

"Zac!"

I heard my coach's voice over the shower.

"Yes, sir. Coming, sir."

I pulled down my swim shorts, stepped out of them, threw them onto the
bench, and tip-toed naked into the showers.

Mr. C. was under Shower 5.

He'd turned on Shower 7.

He was facing away.

I got under Shower 7.

I turned away.

It took a few moments to realise I was disappointed.

I let the water batter from the shower head batter down on me for a couple
of minutes. The water in the school pool is chlorine saturated with a tang
of piss. It doesn't matter how many times you warn boys not piss in the
pool, they're gonna piss.

I reached for the soap bar in the wall holder.

No soap bar!

I fumbled around a bit. I looked down on the floor, I looked around Showers
8 and 9 - no soap bar. I would have to risk turning round to look at Shower
6.

I didn't have to.

An arm and hand reached over my shoulder. There was a bar of Wrights coal
tar in the hand. The hand reached down my chest and rubbed small circles. I
closed my eyes and stood there. The circles grew larger - wider.

At the same time I felt kisses on the back of my neck. Not so much kisses
as lips run up under my hair then down to my shoulders. Lips kissing then
licking the lobes of my ears.

Now hand and soap were doing the right side of my chest, seeming to
concentrate on my nipple. Now they moved to the left and continued the
circular motions. My nipples began to harden. They'd started doing that
since I was eleven. My chest seem to become more sensitive, too, almost
like I was growing little breasts. I worried a bit until I watched other
boys in the dorm showers. Some of them seemed the same.

A hand lifted my arm about my head and washed my armpit - first the right,
then the left. The bar moved to the back of my neck. I was so sensitive I
shuddered, The hand slipped round to my front and slid down to my tummy -
circles again - but the bar was gone and it was soapy fingers, big soapy
fingers, a man's fingers, making circle after circle round my belly button,
and sliding lower and lower.

Something hot and hard was pushing into my back. Hard and soft at the same
time. It gently pressed against my lower back - pressed, pulled away -
pressed, pulled away. It could only be... and it was big, far bigger than
mine, far bigger than Oscar's. Hot, hard and wet, it reached well up my
back. Could a man really put that inside a boy?

I looked down.

Oh, God, no!

I had a hard-on too, a stiffy, an erection.

When did that happen?

My scrotum had pulled up tight - my balls were like little walnuts.

"Please, please don't let me squirt ."

I was bright-red with embarrassment, and that only made me more sensitive.

St. Christopher was listening.

I think I was too hard to cum.

One hand held my tummy.

The other drift round to soap my back and my bum.

Mr. C. was soaping my bum!

The bar of soap wiggled its way in between the cheeks of my backside.

Oh, God, my coach was going to wash my bumhole!

I prayed again, but I'm not sure I was praying for him to do it - or not to
do it.

Then both hands were on my head giving me the kind of hair scrub that mum
used to give. Massaging the soapy bubbles into my scalp. Massaging my hair
until my head shook from side to side. I didn't have fucking nits then; I
don't have fucking nits now. Take it easy!

Some of the soap ran into my eyes even though they were squeezed shut.

Oh, you muther fuckers!

(I must spend less time listening to be Ben.)

Then they were gone - the hands and the man they belonged to.

I know that because by the time I cleared my eyes, turned round and managed
to focus, sir was gone, so were his Speedos, his towel, and his
clothes. Only the soap bar remained, squatting innocently in its holder.

I looked down.

I still had a stiffy.

Waste not want not.

It was breakfast time, and I was ravenous.

As the saying goes: time, tide and Sugar Puffs wait for no boy.

I managed to grab a bowl of puffs and two half-eaten slices of toast before
we were summoned to find Major Payne, Mrs Payne, Mr. C. and the minibus
standing outside the block. That weekend was full of surprises. We could
understand by the Major was there - on any outings in the minibus, you must
have two adults. We couldn't understand why Mrs Payne was there.

"Gentlemen," said Mr. C. "As you can see, the Major and his good lady have
kindly offered to help us. We are off to Cambridge - to the Science
Centre."

There was a general yelp of glee.

Clearly the Science Centre was popular.

"We'll visit the centre. Then have lunch. Meanwhile, Mrs Payne will drive
the bus home and return to pick us up at two o'clock for the return to
school."

A spontaneous burst of applause.

"I shall not be with you in the Science Centre. You will have the guidance
of Major Payne. You know what a boffin he is."

A burst of laughter from us and from the Paynes.

"Any questions?"

"Sir, may we take some money with us?"

"Yes, you may, Jeremy. As long as it's your own money." (good-natured
laughter) And to a maximum of two pounds (groans)."

"Sir, what are we having for lunch?"

"I hate to break our healthy diet regime, Jasper, but Major Payne ordered
take-aways for us at...." (pregnant pause) "... McDonald's."

Massive cheer.

Mr. C. raised a hand - silence.

"You have ten minutes to organise yourselves. Dress as you please. Collect
your £2 from the office - I shall my distributing your filthy lucre -
your cash - £2 - not a penny more, not a penny less."

The Major raised a hand - silence.

"And do take a piss before we go. Our driver, Mrs. Payne, stops for no
man!"

And off we scrambled.

I won't bother you with our time-out in Cambridge except to say it was
terrific! It was all hands on in the Science Centre, not just looking at
stuff. We even got into a mock-up of the Millennium Falcon and launched
attacks on the Death Star. We got shot down every time. The time just flew
in.

We picked up our Big Macs and strolled across to Jesus Park. Lots and lots
of university students there having a great time. Mind you, there were
couples kissing - French kissing! And they included boys on boys, and girls
on girls, and nobody seemed to mind at all.

"That's not polite," I said to Gabriel.

"At least they're not fucking," he laughed.

"But..."

"Fuck who you like, but not in public, I suppose."

I was taken aback, but the better I got to know Gabriel, the more I liked
him. He was laid-back - in a different way from Oscar - and nothing seemed
to faze him or get under his skin. His dad is a Member of Parliament
(That's why I changed his surname here.) and his mum designs houses
(interior) for rich people - "Screws them," says Gabriel, but he was
referring to how much money she charged not for any other services.

Like Toby, Gabriel was slim and long-limbed. Black hair, longer than mine,
and black hair down there - I peeked in the showers. Thick dick and balls
that have definitely dropped.

I really enjoyed his company. He talks about real things. We got into a
discussion on global warming and Gabriel knew his stuff. He flung our facts
and figures but not in a I-know-better-you way. Like me, he liked books and
reading. He didn't bother with that Harry Potter crap and he thought JR
Tolkien was readable but over-rated. He talked about books like 'Crime and
Punishment' and 'The Plague'. I'd never heard of them but I made a mental
note to get my hands on them.

Gabriel never gave anything away, except once he might have let things
slips.

Can't remember how the subject came up, but at once point I said: "Isn't
Mr. C. great?"

He looked at me blankly and said: "Not my type at all."

I must have looked disappointed or something because he added: "How did
your swimming session go this morning - the private one?"

I felt a blush rise from my neck and race up my face. I looked at my Big
Mac, at the grass, at the spires across the park - anywhere but at Gabriel.

"Hey, if you're not going to finish your squash, can I finish it for you?
I'll owe... I promise."

I passed him the bottle.

"Hey, Zac. Look over there. If that guy had his hand any further up her
skirt, he'd be tickling her tonsils."

The moment between us had passed. We were back on safe ground. Yes,
sex... but the kind of sex I could cope with. Maybe that was the moment
Gabriel Hardy and I became bum chums.

Zachary and Gabriel - bum chums.

That status was confirmed that night in a most unexpected way.


6

We got back to school around half past two, minus Mr. C. who didn't turn up
for the minibus. Major Payne explained he'd be back at school in time for
this evening's movie. The Major ordered to bed for some snooze time. After
that, since the weather was still lovely, had free time outside the block,
though going on or on the lake was strictly forbidden.

I enjoyed having more time with Gabriel.

We lay on our beds and chatted away with no hint of the reference he might
have made about Mr. C.

Gabriel was more interested in my family history and got a lot more out of
me than most would, though he never seemed nosey, prying or intrusive. I
even told him about the air crash my dad had gone down on when I was two
years old, so I had no memory of him. My mum brought me and my sister up -
she's a year older than me - with lots of help from my grandmother and
grandfather.

Mum was/is an architect who specialises in hotels, and, apparently she has
an international reputation. We have a house down in Farnham, a hide-away
place in the Highlands, and her offices in central London. My sister had
gone with her to Gibraltar. Mum wanted me to have the experience of being a
boarder, so, with my hesitant consent, I'd decided to give it ago.

Mum said to look on the year as an adventure.

On his part, Gabriel told me about his dad's work as a Member of
Parliament. By trade he was a barrister who specialised in criminal law:
"That's not so different from being an MP," he laughed.

Gabriel also mentioned his dad was Chairman of Governors at Amity
School. This was my first public (independent) school, and I'd no real idea
what that was.

"They run the school," Gabriel told me. "Of course, the headmaster runs the
actual school, but his bosses are the governing body, and the boss of the
governing body is the Chairman of Governors... and in this school it's my
dad."

The regulation 30 minutes up, we headed for the Games Room in the main
school rather than the lake and played pool for an hour or so. Gabriel
whipped my ass. I hadn't spent my £2 in Cambridge. By the end of our
pool session, he'd relieved me of my money. I offered him a rematch in the
swimming pool to which he grinned: "Fuck off".

Mr. C's choice of movie was a golden oldie that none of us had ever
seen. He assured us it was one of the greatest movie ever made. Quite a
claim. It was 'Zace Bandits', and all twelve of us - Sir stayed to watch it
with us - were absolutely enthralled by the adventures of 11-year-old Kevin
as he whizzed around Zace itself.

At the end of the movie, Mr. C. capped it all by giving instructions in a
voice more like Sean Connery's than Sean Connery could do. It was the same
instructions - except lights-out was 10 not 10.30 - as Friday night but far
more entertaining.

As we left the Common room, Mr. C. tapped me on the shoulder.

"Ah, Zac. After lights out, pop into my study for a moment, please. You
didn't get things quite right at the pool this morning. There's a couple of
suggestions I want to make. Then you can sleep on them. You know you're
away along the corridor, don't you? Ten-fifteen sharp, please. There's a
good lad."

He stroked my cheek and turned away before I could say anything, even if I
had had anything to say, and I left the room - trembling a little as I
remembered those same fingers stroking my tummy only a few hours before.

Gabriel and I had everyone in bed by 9.45, said our good nights and
switched off the lights in the other dorms.

I pulled on the boxer shorts and t-shirt I keep for bed. I don't like
traditional pyjamas. Gabriel pulled on his and got into Osc's bed. He tried
to start a conversation but I couldn't get Mr. C.'s instruction out of my
head. Gabriel switched on his bed lamp, got out of bed, put the dorm light
off and got back into my bed. I switched on my bed lamp. My watch lay
beneath it.

"Nighty night."

I almost forgot to respond, then...

"Good night."

I lay there watching my watch.

At 10.14 I slid out of bed and into my slippers.

Part of me wanted to go - half of me was desperate not to go.

I trod along the darkened corridor and tapped on Sir's study door.

"Come in."

I opened the door and stepped inside.

"Close the door."

I closed the door.

"Come here."

Mr. C. was sitting in an armchair in the middle of the room.

"There, please."

I stood in the spot he indicated. It must have been the spot where Oscar
Dunn stood.

"You did very well this morning, Zac. You're a very quick learner. You take
instruction easily. Did you enjoy this morning session in the swimming
pool?"

I nodded.

What else could I do?

"Do you think you learned something?"

I hesitated - then nodded.

"Ah well, let's see."

He leaned forward from the chair, held me by the hips, and pulled me
between his wide open legs until my groin was in contact with his. Like me,
he was wearing boxers. His were silk. He wasn't wearing a t-shirt or pyjama
top. His chest was bare. I could see tufts of hair in his armpits, and a
line of hair ran down from his belly, fanned out and disappeared under his
boxers.

"Let's see," he said.

He raised my arms and worked off my t-shirt so I stood bare-chested in
front of him. I was still a little sensitive about my nipples being more
pronounced than most of the other boys. He threw away my shirt like rag.

He looked me in the eyes.

I looked down.

A hard column of flesh was sticking out of his boxers. It could only be one
thing. It had to be the hot, hard column of flesh that had been pressing
into my back in the morning. I didn't move. Again I was paralysed.

I'm not stupid. I know that men have much begin penises than boys. I've
seen some porno mags, too. But to me, this seemed huge and hard and hairy
at the bottom where a thick bush stuck out from the opening in the front of
the boxers.

"Oscar says you're a hot kisser. His expression. Not mine. Let's see how
you do at that - for a start." His hands went round the back of my head and
pulled my face into his.

His lips pressed mine - his lips ran along mine - side to side - his tongue
licked side to side on my lips.

"Open your eyes. Keep them open. Keep your eyes on my eyes.."

He pushed the tip of his tongue against my lips. Ran the tip side to side
on the opening. Pushed my upper lip up, my lower lip down. Reflexively, I
opened them. The tip of his tongue ran along the front of my teeth.
Paused.

"Open your mouth. Keep it open."

I opened my mouth.

"Wider, wider, stretch it," he hissed.

I opened wide. His tongue slid in. This wasn't Oscar's tongue. This was a
man's tongue. It was big, and wide and long, and it pushed in so deeply I
couldn't have closed my mouth if I'd wanted to. I could feel his saliva
running into the back of my throat. It had a funny taste. Alcohol? There
was a glass sitting on the coffee table, chocolaty-coloured liquid, half
empty. I gagged.

If I'd known then what I know now, I'd have known he was deep-throating me
with his tongue.

He hands moved from the back of my head. I was too scared to move. They
slide down my bare back. They reached the top of my shorts. A thumb on
either side started to edge them down - millimetre by millimetre.

The image of Osc deep in Mr. C's mouth was vivid.

I wasn't as big as Osc down there. Would be take my penis and testicles
inside his mouth? Would he push his finger up my bum while he was doing it?
Would it hurt bad?

Rap! Rap! Rap!

The door.

Everything froze.

Rap! Rap! Rap!

"Go away."

Rap! Rap! Rap!

"I said 'Go Away!"

Rap! Rap! Rap!

"Hold on. Just a moment."

Mr. C. released me, threw me my t-shirt, shushed me to put it on, grabbed a
dressing gown from beneath him and put it in. Signalled me to sit on the
couch. Stepped to the cabinet above the study sink, and called:

"Come in."

The door opened and

Gabriel Hardy stepped inside.

"Excuse me, sir, I'm sorry to disturb you. I've got a bit of a
headache. Matron's not here. I wonder if you can let me have a
paracetemol. I know Oscar Dunn sometimes comes here and I thought you might
help me, too."

Gabriel turned towards me.

"Oh, sorry, sir. It's Zachary Flood. I didn't realise you had company. I
thought Flood was asleep. I didn't hear him get out of bed. Has Flood got a
headache, too? Were you about to give him one - a paracetemol, I mean?"

Mr. C. still said nothing.

"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting. I'll just go back to bed if you like. Or
maybe I'll catch Major Payne before he leaves the building. You know how
sometimes likes to check that all is well. If I see him, I'll tell him
we're in safe hands."

Mr. C. finally spoke.

"No need for that, Palmer. I'll get you an aspirin. I was just about to
give Zac and aspirin."

"Oh, thanks awfully," said Gabriel beaming a smile that lit up the darkened
room.

"Then I daresay you want to get back to bed."

"I'm. sure we both do," beamed Gabriel. "We've had a busy day - and thanks
to you it's been great fun... a day to remember."

During their conversation I sat there frozen. Mr. C. hadn't smiled
once. Gabriel wouldn't stop smiling.

Mr. C. stepped to the cabinet above the sink. Took out a packet and
extracted two foil-wrapped paracetemols. He lifted a glass and ......

"Oh, no, sir. Don't bother about that, sir. We'll have them in our room,
and then pop straight into bed. We've disturbed you enough as it is."

Without waiting for answer, Gabriel held out his hand to me. I took it and
stood up holding it. He reached out to Mr. C. who dropped the silvery
little packet into his hand.

"Well, sir, we're off to bed. Sorry for disturbing you. Sleep well and
we'll see you in the morning."

Outside the housemaster's door, Gabriel paused.

"You okay?"

"Fine."

Gabriel looked at the twisted foil in his hand, then dropped them on the
floor right outside the door.

"We won't need these," he said.

"Come on, let's get back to bed."

In the dorm room, I slid into bed. I was about to pull my duvet over when I
felt Gabriel slide in beside me.

"You don't mind, do you?"

"No," I said.

He flicked off my bedside lamp.

He put his arms round me.

"You don't mind, do you?"

I put my arms around him.

"No, I don't," I said.

"That's fine," he said, and kissed me on the lips.

I kissed him back.

Neither of us said anything.

We probably fell asleep kissing each other...

and I woke up to Gabriel kissing me.

"What time is it?" I murmured.

"Eight o'clockish. It's Sunday lie-in. We've got an hour."

"Mmmmm," I murmured, kissing him.

Looking back, I wonder why I was so uninhibited. Lying there in bed on a
Sunday morning, kissing - more than kissing - having sex with Gabriel Hardy
seemed natural, even when it got into areas I'd never imagined.

As Gabriel raised my arms to get my t-shirt off, I glanced at the door and
saw he'd stuck a chair under it. I laid my head back on the pillow and felt
his bare chest against mine. Sex seemed to involve a lot of licking. I felt
his lips and tongue caressing then sucking at the little rosebuds of my
nipples - then returning to my mouth as I opened for him.

If it hadn't been so early in the morning, I would have guessed he'd been
sucking raspberry sherbet. That was the taste of his saliva. My first shock
came when he whispered, "Is it okay if I spit in your mouth? Please spit in
mine. I want to really taste you"

Gabriel rolled to the side. I was above him now, looking into those big
bushbaby eyes. His lips looked like he'd been sucking sherbet. He opened
his mouth wide. I gathered as much saliva as I could and spat into his
mouth - more down his throat than mouth. He gagged a little, but that was
replaced by a smile and we kissed again.

"Spit in mine," I whispered.

He made sound like he was grunting up phlegm - not the most romantic sound
- and spat it down my throat. I knew it! He'd been sucking sherbet, though
where the fuck he'd got it from I have no idea.

While I was swallowing, his lips ran down my chest to my belly. He bit my
belly button! Not quite bit it, but he was definitely chewing on it. His
lips slid across to my hips - not that I had much in the way of hips - and
edged down my boxers with his teeth! First the right side, then the left. I
raised my bum. He got my boxers down to me knees, then used his hands to
push them down and pull them off.

Gabriel lay full length along me and we looked into each other's eyes. It
wasn't romantic. Young boys don't do romantic. Little smiles, more
comforting than anything else. I felt his nakedness along me. Chest to
chest. Stomach to stomach. Genital to genitals. Erections slide on and off
each other as we wriggled to feel the contact.

Then he was down on me.

His fingers felt the shaft of my erection - all four inches of it - as his
tongue licked round the head, then took it between his lips, sucking and
pressuring as the same time. I didn't know the term then, but I was getting
my first blow job.

He had mine in his mouth.

I wanted his in mine, but it seemed so far away.

Then I discovered the meaning and joy of '69'.

I'd read that 42 is the meaning of life.

Maybe it's not.

Maybe it's 69.

Gabriel manoeuvered us around. We were still full length along each other,
but now we were heads to toes. I'd topped and tailed before but never like
this. And never with a hard-on and a pair of balls at my mouth.

You'd think a twelve-year-old boy would hesitate first time, but we
don't. Gabriel's cock was at least five inches hard and the head was bigger
than mine. "Open wide. Stretch those. Get the whole head and as much of the
shaft in as you can. Keep it relaxed and comfortable. It's not a fucking
hot dog. Enjoy the taste, the texture, the smells. Squeeze the shaft
gently, rhythmically.

You like it.

No.

You love it.

You love making love to a boy's genitals while he's making love to yours.

No point trying to remember how long; time doesn't matter; we had a whole
hour; I wanted to spend the whole hour; him in me, me in him.

Gabriel slid his mouth from my hard-on.

Damn it!

I couldn't keep his cock in my mouth.

He was pushing my legs up higher and higher, making my knees bend, forcing
my bum further down the bed, kissing, licking, sucking my balls..... then
shock..... widening my legs open.... getting his head and face low down
between my cheeks...

Pulling my cheeks apart - wide apart -

and the tip of his tongue was licking my anus.

Gabriel Hardy was licking my anus, my bumhole, my - shithole.

I was in a state of shock until, with another shock, I realised I liked it,
I liked what he was doing down there, really liked it. I reached down and
used my hands to pull my cheeks even wider, even more open.

The tip of his tongue probed, the flat of his tongue washed the area around
the opening... a boy was making love to my anus... trying to get his tongue
inside, inside my rectum!

My bum started to tremble,

The shakes ran up my body.

My head began to roll,

I was cumming!

Gabriel wasn't touching my hard-on.

I wasn't touching my hard-on

but I was cumming.

How did Gabriel know that?

Suddenly he was gone from my bumhole.

He was up my body.

His mouth was round the head of my cock,

his fingers round the shaft,

and I was squirting myself into his mouth,

his throat..... and it would run down into his belly.

Gabriel was kneeling on either side of my shoulders,

he was jacking off,

jacking off into my open mouth,

and I wanted it.

I felt his spurts hit the back of my throat - he could cum a lot more than
me - he was 13 - I was only 12 - I used my tongue to swirl his cum around
my mouth - it didn't taste of much - but it felt just right.

Then we were kissing again - French kissing - exchanging and mingling our
semen - licking the sweat from our faces - pushing the damp hair back from
our eyes -

"I'd better get into my own bed," whispered Gabriel.

"Why?"

"Because we'll probably fall asleep... and I don't want to share what we do
with anyone."

I kissed him.

He slid from the bed, removed the chair from the door, and got into his own
bed.

"Gabriel," I called.

"Zac," he called back.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Go for it."

"Have you been sucking raspberry sherbet this morning?"

Gabriel laughed. Slid open the drawer of his bedside table, took out a tube
of sherbet, and threw it across the room. I caught it.

Yep.

Raspberry.

"I'll have this later," I called.

"Bet you will," Gabriel called back,

and pulled his duvet over his head.

Morning had broken.

For the first time I could remember I was not woken up by Mr. C. stroking
my face, though, apart from that, he was much the same and asked both of us
if your headaches had passed. We both said "Thanks, sir" but as there
didn't seem much to say I didn't say anything more. Neither did Gabriel.

I was a little scared he would ask if I wanted another breastroke session
and I was relieved when he didn't. We - all the Remainers - were pretty
well left to our own devices after Sunday service and lunch. We decided on
a five-a-side football (soccer) tournament with every boy taking a turn at
being referee and sides picked at random. Nobody took the scores seriously
and it was good fun.

Around three o'clock, Major Payne turned up and relieved Mr. C. for a
couple of hours. The Exeaters would start drifting back from give
onwards. They all had to be back by six o'clock, and the usual Sunday
evening routine would kick in.

The Major took all of the younger boys down to the lake for a bit of
fishing. Gabriel and I grabbed the chance to have some time in the dorm
before the House filled up, and I was building up the nerve to ask him a
couple of things about sex that puzzled me. It was only when we were going
up the stairs - three flights - I noticed he was grimacing a bit.

"What's up?"

"Twisted my back a bit in that last match. It should be okay after I get a
lie-down. I've had it before. It comes and goes."

We were still in our shorts and rugby tops but we lay down on my bed
anyway. It wasn't easy to carry on a conversation across the dorm. I had an
idea, but I promise you nothing was planned.

"I can give you a back rub if you like?"

"Do you how to give them?"

"When you swim as much as I've done, you get back aches. Our district coach
gave us tips about easing back aches, mild ones. They're like having a
massage but you don't dig so deeply into the tissue."

"Cool. Have a go. But if you make it worse, you have to.... mmm.... suck me
off.  Deal?"

I wish Gabriel hadn't said that.

My dick heard him and started to thicken.

"Okay. Deal. Turn over onto your front."

With another grimace, he rolled onto his front. I slid one leg over his
legs, so I could kneel comfortable and work on his lower back. I didn't
brother about his neck, shoulders or upper back. That's not where the pain
was.

I spread my hands around him, just above his hips and squeezed until I
found a gentle rhythm. I spent nearly ten minutes on that area. I've a
feeling Gabriel was falling asleep but his occasional sign told me I was on
the right track.

"I'll have to go a bit lower," I whispered.

He lifted his bum, get his hands beneath him and undid the clasp of his
shorts. I eased them down and was surprises to see he was wearing no
underpants.

"What's the point?" he said.

"Your shorts are going to get filthy, smelly anyway, and you're going to
throw them into the washing after every session, so what's the point of
getting your undies smelly, too?"

That made sense.

His bum was beautiful.

I never thought I'd ever use the word beautiful to describe an arse, but
since I'd come to Amity I'd learned bums can be beautiful - and sexy. I
began to work on the pressure points in the indentations in Gabriel's
cheeks. Not strictly his back, I admit, but I was horny. I gave in and
pulled his shorts down to his knees. Again Gabriel's rising bum told me I
was on the right track.

I began to work instinctively rather than by any plan. I moved my knees
further down his legs and worked blatantly on the cheeks of his
bum. Squeezing, kneading, pulling them apart and pushing them
together. It's hard to describe the pleasure it gave me. And it was working
for Gabriel too. His groans were closer to moans.

One of the things I had wanted to ask Gabriel was why he licked and kissed
my bumhole. I began to have some sense of the answer.

Maybe it was the smells that did it. We'd been playing football for over an
hour - and five-a-side gets pretty intense. We were sweaty all over. We
smelt of puberty. And, of course, there were natural bum smells. You'd
imagine they're offense. Somehow they're not. It's a musky odour, really
deep, that goes up your nose and straight into your brain. Like the smell
of whisky. It knocks you back, then you want more of it.

I lowered my face between his parted buttocks. Pale, creamy skin got darker
and browner as you reached the centre. - an almost invisible mouth, a
delicate hole, glistening, hairless - and - there's only one word that fits
- magnetic. The smell that rose made my mouth water, and I understood why
Gabriel made love to my anus.

I gave in. I tickled his anus with the tip of my tongue. Salty sourness
with a hint of something else. But not
offensive. Attractive. Magnetic. Could I get the tip of my tongue inside
him?

"Are you sniffing my bumhole?"

"No, no..." I squeaked. "Just want to see what needs to be done."

"Well, get on with it," came his muffled voice as he pushed his bum up
until face was squashed between his buttocks. My nose was pressed against
his hole. I could feel the warm radiate from it. The bag of his scrotum
brushed my chin. The smells from deep inside him made me dizzy. No matter
how much I got, I wanted more... and that's what I got.

Gabriel let rip a series of farts straight into my nose a mouth.

There was no escaping that odour.

I jerked away.

"You muther fucker!" I yelled.

My yell was drowned out by laughter that left Gabriel helpless, rolling
round the bed, holding his stomach, tears welling in his eyes, then running
down his cheeks.

"You fucking pervert!" I added,

which only reduced him to hysteria.

As my head cleared, I saw the funny side and stood hands on hips grinning.

Gabriel pulled himself together.

"Hey, what about a shower? The place is empty. We can have a good shower,
and you can finish what you started."

I gave the idea 30 seconds thought.

"Okay, come on."

In the showers, I realised something else. The half-term holiday was only
two weeks away. Then I'd be without Gabriel for ten days. I realised how
much I'd miss him. You can't fall in love when you're twelve, but you can
make deeper friendships than you've ever been able to make before.

Compensation came unexpectedly. It came on the last Friday before the
holiday. I was flying to Gibraltar on Saturday morning. Major Payne called
us all into the Common Room and gave us some news that had surprised. Now
it would surprise us.

"Now, boys, here is some news. First, we have two new boys - both senior
juniors - joining us after half term. This means some dorm room
adjustments. Dorm One will return to being a room for six. Those who are
already there will remain there, including Gabriel Hardy who has settled in
there during Exeat.

"One of the new boys - Nicolas Arslan - will be joining Dorm One to
complete the sextet. The second new boy - Hamish McDugall from Edinburgh -
will replace Gabriel Hardy."

"Any questions?"

None.

"Second I'm afraid is disappointing news for all of us. It concerns Mr. C."

I glanced at Gabriel - poker-faced.

I glanced at Oscar - frowning.

"As you know, Mr. C. joined us in the Summer term. We did not expect him to
be back with us in September. But he was... because he felt to at home
here... and because we, the school, wanted him back very much.

"Mr. C. returned in September. He hoped and expected to be with us for a
year. Unfortunately - for us - this will not be case. Mr. C. is leaving -
in fact, Mr. C. has left us. By Sunday morning he will be in Sydney, which,
as you know from my Geography lessons, is in Australia. Mr. C. has been
offered a wonderful position in Sydney that he feels he could not turn
down.

"And, ipso facto, Mr.C. is gone, with us no more, but we will fondly
remember him. Three cheers for Mr.C."

Three cheers rang out.

I noticed no cheers from Gabriel - no cheers from Oscar - and there were
none from me, distracted as I was.

"Any questions?"

Several hands few up.

"Thorsten?"

"Sir, can you tell us who will be taking Mr. C.'s place after half term?"

"Indeed I can, Svensen. Indeed I can." (pause) Mr. C's place will be taken
by Corporal Morrison who was my batman during our army service. And a fine
batman he was. Corporal - you will address him as Mister - Morrison may be
rather long in tooth but he is robust and reliable, and it will be a
pleasure to have him with us."

Batman!

Most of us were well lost by this time.

"Ah, one other piece of information. Matron Grange is to have an
assistant. She is rather young, but I'm sure with the right guidance she
will fit in at Camperdown very well. She will not be living in, except one
weekend every month when Matron Grange will be having a weekend off - to
spend as she likes. ... Any final questions?"

Svensen's hand flew up.

"How old is Matron Grange's assistant, please, sir, and what is her name?"

"That's rather personal information, Svensen, but no harm in you knowing, I
suppose. The young lady bears the name of Nancy Truscott. You will all
refer to her as Miss Truscott. You will never address her as Nancy. I
believe she is 15 going on 16 - rather young, but I found her very willing
in the interview.

"Now go and get yourselves prepared. I want no panic - either this evening
or tomorrow morning. That is the first rule in the armed services - Don't
panic!"

The Major about-turned and left us to absorb what he had newly learned.

On the way to our dorm, I gave Hardy a quizzical look.

"Mr. C. gone..."

"Apparently so."

"Do you know anything about it?" I dared ask.

"No. Nothing. ...... Except that the 'C' stands for Cunt."

In the dorm, I was surprised to find Oscar light-hearted, and more
interested in going home than the departure of Mr.C.

"Nicolas Arslan... what kind of name is that?"

No one hazarded a guess.

"Nick or Nicky?"

"Nick", by general agreement.

Ben, as ever, had the last word.

"Hope Nancy's got big tits."


7

The term started with a bang - two bangs actually - but we'll get to that,
but first....

Nancy did have big tits, but we'll get to them in a minute.

Batman, as he was bound to be nick-named, was best-described (by Ben) as a
sweet, old duffer. Mr. Morrison was no Mr. C., but he was very likeable in
his own way, especially as he showed little interest in the senior juniors.

We didn't see much of him. Partly because of his arthritic knees that made
the three flights of stairs an Everest for him. Partly because his flat was
relocated to the ground floor, while the flat on our floor, the third
floor, was refurbished for Nancy (Miss Truscott). The study was turned into
her day room, and the bedroom only used by her one weekend every month.

Mr. Morrison was partial to small boys.

Not that he was a pervert. He just liked their company more than hours -
perhaps those arthritic knees again - and we rarely saw him upstairs. He
didn't even supervise the yanking of our trunks in the loft above our
corridor, while Nancy stood by and did her nails. It's not easy yanking
trunks up a narrow ladder and keep a watchful eye on big boobs at the same
time.

I wonder how much additional semen was spilled in our dorm during her first
couple of weeks in the House? Ben led the way. He stopped trying to hide
his wanking; we took the lead, and I'm sure they had to order quite a few
more loo rolls than customary.

I didn't use the tissue. I accepted Gabriel's advice and just slurped it
down. On ejaculation of semen contains between 5 and 25 calories per
teaspoon and 252mg of protein. I don't bother with the teaspoon. Thanks,
Gabriel.

Odd, isn't it? When you get older, you like boys or girls. But when you're
going through puberty, you like both - actually practically anything can
arouse you if it hits the spot. Sometimes Gabriel and I would suck each
other then - then fifteen minutes later, coming out of the shower room,
spotting Nancy and her tits, get straight into bed (our own bed) and toss
ourselves off again.

On the third floor, Dorm One ruled the roost.

Oscar Dunn, Ben Bishop, Toby Winterbottom, Gabriel Hardy, Zachary
Flood... and Nicholas Arslan.

Nicholas (Nik) fitted in perfectly. He was Lebanese-Italian and spoke
Arabic, Italian, English and French fluently. He'd been to several
international schools in Europe, including Geneva and Frankfurt. His father
owned 18% of Swiss Air. He was the "best fukin' football player" Ben had
ever seen. He lost his virginity to his nanny - at first Toby thought he
said 'granny' - when he was eight And he didn't have a boastful bone in his
body.

He was also "fuckin' gorgeous" - I thought that.

Nik told us all this stuff in such a matter-of-fact way that you believed
him while he was telling you. He was dropped off at school by a
Lamborghini; that helped convince us, too.

Oscar and Nicholas became special friends within a week. Not suggesting
anything sexual - I was too engaged up in the loft with Gabriel to be
interested in anyone else's sex life. Oscar was Headboy and he was expected
to 'take an interest' in new boys as he's taken an interest in me. The
thought of Osc and Nik frenching gave me a happy hard-on.

Matron's assistant, Miss Morrison, Nancy, was 15 - she'd be 16 at
Christmas. She wasn't fat or anything but she was well built. Big boobs but
they stuck out proudly. Bright blonde hair that hung to her starched
collar. Nice face. Creamy skin. Blue eyes. And a bum that was tracked by
boys' eyes every time she swayed along the corridor.

Miss Morrison didn't take showers as such, but she strolled in and out of
the bathroom to collect wet towels and underpants that had been dumped
their for laundry. She smiled at us as if we weren't bollock naked. We
learned to smile back and eventually didn't bother to hide our genitals.

Like Matron, she walk into our dorms while we were dressing, undressing,
wrestling on the bed, pretending we were humping each other, do whatever it
was she'd some in to do and stroll out again. "Maybe's she's hear to wipe
out the memory of Mr. Cunt," Gabriel whispered to me. One cunt replaced by
another, as I wish I'd whispered back.

Gibraltar was a great break.

The term had started off brilliantly.

What could possibly go wrong?

Once our trunks were stored in the loft, the trapdoor was lowered and
locked. It took a lot more than that to keep us out. Gabriel discovered by
going up the fire escape at the rear of the building, you could drop in
through the skylight.

Lots stuff of was simply dumped in the loft. Among them were a pile of gym
mats and a vaulting box. Three of the lower sections were missing, so it
was a comfortable size to sit on.

"Do you want to fuck me?"

"Pardon?"

"Fuck me. Do you want to fuck me?"

"I've never fucked anyone before," I said.

"I know that," said Gabriel. "That's why I'm asking. Do you want to fuck
me?"

"Does it hurt?" I asked.

A pretty stupid question since it was Gabriel who was getting fucked, not
me.

"Yes, it does the first few times," he said. "So you have to take
care. After that, you get used it... Actually, the first few times are the
most exciting, especially with a new person."

I hesitated.

"Zac, do you want to fuck me? Yes or no? I'd like you to fuck me, but only
if you want to do it. Don't worry. I'll tell you what to do."

I nodded.

Gabriel leaned over, kissed me on the lips, and slid off the vaulting
box. I slid after him, assuming we were going to get down on the gym mats.

"Get your shorts and underpants off," he said, already pushing his own
down. I did the same. We were both getting erections.

I moved to the mats.

"Where you going? We're going to do it over the box."

The box was just the right height. I took three steps over, used one hand
to pull his cheeks apart, held my hard-on, and poked it where his bum hole
should be."

No luck.

I tried again.

"What the fuck are you doing? You can't shove that up me while I'm
dry. You've got to get me wet - slick - sloppy. Your mouth. you
dimshit. Give my anus a blow job."

There was laughter in Gabriel's voice. I didn't take offence. I dropped to
me knees and prised open his buttocks with both hands. I didn't waste
time. I spat and slobbered on his hole. I probed it with my tongue. I
french-kissed it. I held his anus a little open, worked up saliva, and spit
it into his hole. The smell aroused me so I was rock hard.

"Use your fingers," I heard Gabriel say. "Not just one finger, start with
two. Finger-fuck me. But start gently. Then speed up. My sphincter will
start to relax."

It's amazing how much I'd learned since Gabriel and I became true bum
chums.

I sawed two fingers in and out of his arse hole. Sometimes I took them out
and sniffed them. Between you and me, I sucked them a couple of times. I
could feel him opening up to me.

"Will I try three fingers?" I suggested.

"Will you fuck?" yelped Gabriel.

"Have another go with your prick?"

I got off my knees. One-handedly prised his cheeks open. Held my stiffy
with the other hand. Bent my knees a little... and stabbed!

I was in luck - I was in!

"Fuck me, Zac! Not so hard."

"Oooops, sorry," I said, though I'd started moving my dick in and out of
his rectum, never letting it fully slide out of his anus.  My four inches
of hard cock was clamped by a boy's warm, living flesh... and it was
wonderful.

I didn't need Gabriel to tell me what to do.

I held him by the hips and slid, then drove, myself in an out of him. Slow,
slow, quick, quick, slow. I leaned over so my chest was glued to his back
and missed the back of his neck. Nobody had taught me that. I just did it,
and it felt so right.

I loved the sound of his whimpering.

Was it five minutes or ten minutes?

Suddenly it was on me. The heat at the bottom of my penis. The tightening
of my ball sac. The jerking. The throbbing. The need to drive home faster,
harder. The need to empty myself into this boy.

"Stop! Stop it! Don't cum. Take it out. Take it out."

A few seconds later I couldn't have done that, but I was so startled I
jerked myself out. What was Gabriel going to do? Take me in his mouth?
Finish me that way.

He turned.

"Fucking great," he said.

"Fucking great."

"But why...?"

"Because it's my turn now. You've never fucked before - now you have -
well, nearly. And you've never been fucked. And now you will be. Fair's
fair."

Though I'd only been at Amity for about ten weeks, I knew the honour's
system: Fair's fair.... and I knew that's what I wanted... maybe even more
than fucking another boy, I wanted to be fucked by one. And I wanted it to
be Gabriel Hardy.

I assumed the position. Bent over the vaulting box, pulling my cheeks apart
while Gabriel, kneeling. ate me out.

"ate me out"

That's the best way to say it: Gabriel ate my anus out... and I loved
it. He licked it, kissed it, made love to it with his mouth fastened
against my little 'mouth', twirled one finger, then two fingers in my hole
until he was able to spit in it - and then ate it out.

It hurt. Especially when he was twirling two fingers deep inside me -
turning, twisting. He'd worked on my bumhole before but he'd never gone in
as deep as this. Two fingers, past his knuckles, down to his palm... then
what must have been three fingers... and it hurt... it hurt a lot.... and I
didn't want him to stop... it was a good kind of hurt.

He withdraw his fingers.

"Get on the mat."

"What?"

"Lie on the mat. Get your legs up. Bend your knees. Further
back... further.... pull your legs back and hold them."

"Why?"

"Because I want to be looking at your face - your eyes - while I'm fucking
you. I want to see what you're feeling. I want to be in control. Trust me."

I got onto the mat, did what Gabriel asked. I'm very flexible, maybe
because I'm a swimmer. I pulled my legs up and back, widened them, and held
my feet. I felt open and vulnerable.

Gabriel lay along my body until he was able to kiss me. He pulled my
buttocks apart. His fingers worked my hole again. I didn't hurt so
much. Tight... but sort of squishy as well. His fingers were gone and he
was rubbing the head of his cock against my anus.

Gabriel's bigger than me - and his cock's fatter. His foreskin slides back
easier than mine. He pushed at my home. At first it resist. Then he was
kissing me, sticking his tongue so deep in my mouth, french-kissing, that I
could hardly breathe, hardly think or feel of the pain down there.

With a sudden push he penetrated me - it felt like all the way in!

My head wanted to roll from side to side, but I was pinned down by his
tongue in the back of my mouth, and his fat cock up my arse. He was fucking
my mouth and my arse at the same time.

Hard and fast.

My own erection had collapsed.

My sphincters collapsed.

My resistance collapsed.

The pain had gone. The hurt had gone. There was only pleasure.

As he pushed deeper into me, I pushed back into him. As he speeded up, my
bum speeded up. I could even feel his balls as they squashed into my
buttocks. His tongue fucked my mouth. I swallowed him.

We shuddered and shook together.

I was hard again. My sperm shot onto my belly in squirts. I didn't feel it
but I knew he was shirting into my rectum. My red-pink flesh must be
splattered by his cream cum. We held on to each other like we'd never get
go... until I was exhausted as if I swum 20 lengths at my top speed. Sweat
and cum glued our skin together. How long we lay like that, I don't know.

My next memory is us lying on our backs, looking up at the blue sky above
the skylight. We lay with our hands cradling our heads. The loft was cosy
and warm. We had half an hour before dinner time.

"When was your first fuck?"

An hour ago I wouldn't have dared asked Gabriel that question.

"That would be telling," he laughed.

I changed the topic.

"What do you think of Nik - Arslan, I mean?"

"There's only one Nik in the House, so I guessed you meant Arslan."

He paused.

"I really like him. I'm glad Nik and Osc have adopted each other."

"Adopted?"

"Like equals, I mean," he said.

"Osc can be pretty domineering without meaning to... but he respects Nik as
well as liking him. But you still do Osc's maths for him, don't you?"

"I don't 'do' them," I corrected him. "I'm really trying to teach him,
tutor him."

"I know, I know... and Osc really appreciates it."

"Do you think they're having sex?"

"We're all having sex," Gabriel laughed... "especially since Nurse Morrison
got here."

"No, with each other, I mean... though they do spend a lot of time
together."

"Well do you think...... "

"I think, I know I'm starving. All I've had since lunch is that cum off
your belly. What time is it?"

"I looked at my watch and realised I'd been fucked with my watch on."

"Sugar 'n shit," I said.

"Ten minutes till dinner time."

"Right! Up, up and away."

We were into our shorts. t-shirts, sock and gym shoes in record time, and
climbed onto the box to reach the skylight. I looked down and saw something
at the back of the box. I reached and picked it up.

A school tie.

I looked on the back of the tie.

There was a name.

Ben Bishop.

"Hey, Gabriel. This is Ben's tie. Wonder how it got up here?"

"You really are a dimshit, Zac," he laughed.

"We're not the only ones who use this loft?"

I was gob smacked.

"For sex, you mean?"

"Hey, did you hear that penny dropping?"

"You mean, Ben has sex with someone else?"

"Duh!"

"Who?"

"When you think of Ben, who else do you think of?"

I thought - for all of three seconds.

Toby Winterbottom!


8

In boarding schools routine is everything, and, as the term wore on through
the autumn, Mr. C. was less and less missed. Boys are less concerned with
the adult world than you might imagine. We missed the extra activities he
organised for us but the House was more relaxed, less frenetic, and
Mr. Morrison was utterly dependable.

He was always available, but his study door was not always open. There
wasn't an endless parade of boys going in and out, he took the showers with
perfunctory efficiency, he didn't personally wake us up in the morning - a
bell did that - and his instructions were given in such a polite, gentle
manner that you could not help follow them. It was like having a granddad
around. There when you needed him, but never in your face.

In your face.

That was one of Mr. C's specialities - called it 'face fucking'.

That's what Gabriel called it.

How did he know?

It was strange how much Hardy did know, and I never did get to the bottom
of how he knew so much, but to be fair to Gabriel he wouldn't name names -
"far too personal", he said.

"Did he fuck your face?" I asked him.

He squeezed my balls really hard.

"Shit! That hurts. Stop it!"

We were lying our backs - naked - on the gym mats in the loft.

"No, he didn't. He only touched me once. He got the message: No. He knew
who my father is. He backed off. Said I'd misunderstood him. I smiled and
left the study. He never invited me there again."

"So how do you know...."

"Listen, dumbshit..." (That was Gabriel's term of affection for me.) "Most
of us have been at Amity, in Camperdown, for four or five years. We've
grown up together. Most of us share lots of whatever's happened. For some
reason, people like to share with me. Maybe it's because people need to
share. Maybe it's because they trust me. They don't bother me, and I don't
bother them."

"But when I was in the room with Mr. C., it was you who..."

Gabriel wasn't listening. He was sliding down my body. He was sucking me. A
finger was wiggling its way into my bottom.

Now I wasn't listening either.

Looking back, I think I fell in love with Gabriel Hardy. Boys don't fall in
love. Boys can't fall in love. I read somewhere that young boys are cruel,
heartless creatures. When it comes to sex, I think they are. They take it
where they can get it, but it's lust not sex - even though they don't know
what lust is.

Boys' boarding houses become hothouses.

Sex becomes just a fact of life.

It's not even that important.

And around them there are men for whom it is important, for some of them it
is the most important thing in their lives, for them it is everything. They
may never touch a boy 'inappropriately' but in their minds they want to
make love to a boy, swallow him whole, turn him into them, so they never
have to give him up. But every boy - except one - grows up.... becomes a
man... and in men they have no interest.

Why did I fall in love with Gabriel Hardy?

Because I loved being with him - sex or no sex. He was the first boy I
could talk with - or maybe just listen to - all night long. Actually, we
didn't talk about sex all that often, we just did it - then we got on with
the hundred and one other things that went on in school - including
lessons. We were heading for senior school, and we didn't want to arrive
there as 'dumbshits' back at the bottom of the ladder again, so we worked
our socks off - as well as working each other's underpants off.

For the record, Gabriel and I tried most of the stuff we saw on porn videos
- not the really dirty stuff, so once, when we got the showers alone, we
had a piss fight - yep, pissing all over each other has hard as we
could. Great fun! Once was enough. But we both like face-fucking, though
deep-throating was too uncomfortable to try more than a couple of times.

Remember the two bangs to this term?

You've had one.: Gabriel Hardy and Zachary Flood.

Here's the second: Ben Bishop and Toby Winterbottom.

The second wasn't just Ben and Toby.

The second was Ben and Toby and Gabriel and Zac!

It was unexpected but predictable since both pairs used the loft for the
same thing.

So when Ben and Toby dropped through skylight to find Gabriel and Zac
entwined naked on the gym mats what happened was inevitable.

It's nearly impossible to disentangle four twelve-year-old boys having
free-for-all sex on the dusty, old gym mats in a school loft lit only by a
blue skylight, but, as far as I remember, it was roughly like this.

I was flat on my back. Gabriel was sucking me off and finger fucking me
with two fingers. A few inches away, Ben was doing the same with Toby. I
couldn't see how many fingers he was using, but Toby was moaning and
groaning so it was probably three - at least. I'd discovered how elastic
the anus can be. I wanted Ben, too, but for the moment I wanted something
else.

Reaching down, I pulled Gabriel up my body until he was straddling my
chest, his cock only a couple of inches from my open mouth. I pulled him
closer till I could take his balls inside my mouth and roll them around
with my tongue. Now and then, I let them slide and lowered my mouth until I
was able to lick his perineum; that's the bit between the sac and the
bumhole. Gabriel liked to massage it. That's what I was doing with my
tongue.

Slowly, down to his bum crack my tongue slid, licking and kissing as it
went. Gabriel was looser down there and I knew I'd be able to shove my
tongue into his anus and open him up to the world.

Suddenly, I felt my cock taken into a hot, wet place. I felt pressure up
and down the shaft - lips - I was being sucked off. At the same time, a
pair of hands jerked my legs apart and a tongue was probing my hole.

I was making love to Gabriel's anus.

Ben - or was it Toby? - was making love to mine.

Toby - or was it Ben? - was sucking me off.

I strained to see who was doing what, but the light was too dim to see.

My first foursome.

My legs were raised high. The mouth was still at the hole. The tongue was
replaced by a finger. Then another finger. They twisted and turned and
opened me up. There was a leg on either side of my head. Someone was
parting my lips. Opening my mouth. Sliding their cock in. When had my mouth
left Gabriel's hole? Was Gabriel down there between my legs? Who was
face-fucking me?

The tongue left my hole. Something bigger was running up and down my crack
- probing, pushing, penetrating my anus - millimetre by millimetre. It
burned. Head of his cock pushed harder. My sphincter relaxed. The head was
inside. It burned.

I tried to yelp.

You can't yelp when you're being face-fucked.

I heard a grunt.

It wasn't mine.

Another grunt - my sphincters relaxed.

"Fuckin' in. Fuckin' all the way in."

Ben!

"Cummin! I'm cummin!"

Toby!

I sensed rather than felt Toby Winterbottom cumming into my mouth - the
back of my throat.

Where was Gabriel?

It's only later I figured it out.

Gabriel was eating my ass out. Sucking at my hole. Sucking out Ben's
cum. Holding it in his mouth. Raising his mouth to my mouth. Letting Ben's
semen dribble in to join Toby's semen already there.

I came - and - came - and came.

Maybe the hardest ever.

And the boys - Gabriel, Ben, Toby - were licking the cum from my belly...

How long it took me to recover, I don't know.

When I looked up, my bum chums were tangled so tightly together, it was
difficult to figure out who was doing what to whom. And, as I sat there
watching, I felt myself getting more and more aroused, hornier and hornier,
I wanted in there. And, when I lay down beside them, hands reached out to
pull me.

Toby's beautiful bum was in the air...

and I wanted it.

9

The days rolled on. The dark drew in. The nights grew longer.

November 10th and Major Payne called me to his office.

"This weekend, Flood. The County Schools' Swimming Championships."

"I'm not entered for those, sir."

The Major turned the big diary on his desk towards me.

I leaned over in my seat and looked, and there it was in block handwriting:
Swimming Comp. Zac Flood. Freestyle and Butterfly. Under 13s. And scrawled
beneath - the signature of Mr. C.

"But, sir, I didn't know I was entered. I haven't done any practices
since... "

I didn't finish the sentence.

"Be that as it may, Flood. We do not raise quitters in Camperdown
House. You are entered. You will swim. I don't give a jot if you come in
last in both competitions, but you will swim in them."

This was said kindly but with the Major's customary finality.

"Yes, sir," I mumbled.

"And don't mumble, Flood. We do not breed mumblers in Camperdown House."

"But, sir, I've had no practice for weeks."

"But me no buts, sirrah. We have the good fortune to have a swimmer amongst
us."

I gave him a puzzled look.

"Mr. Morrison - known to you as Batman, I believe."

Blushed.

"Mr. Morrison will be your Batman, and you will be his Robin, so to
speak. He will take you for one hour in the morning, one hour in the
afternoon, and one hour in the evening." (pause) "And, Zachary, do not
over-exert yourself for the next few days. Avoid activities that may
exhaust you."

My face fired up.

"Zachary," the Major sighed. "You may find this difficult to believe, but I
was once a boy myself, once a boy your age. At your age, the flesh can
be..."

I didn't interrupt as much as dive in.

"Sir? When will the sessions begin?"

He looked at his watch. He looked at me.

"It is ten to ten. That gives you ten minutes to gather what you
need. Batman may already be waiting for you at the pool. Now off with
you. Try your best. That's the best anyone can do. Good luck."

"I'll need it," I thought, as I took the steps up to the dorm two at a
time, grabbed my kit and headed to the pool. "This is ridiculous... What
the Hell does Batman know about competition?"

"Flood - no, I shall call you Zachary - no, I shall call you Zac - Zac, we
shall start with freestyle. Give me four lengths. Don't try for
speed. Don't try for style. Just do what comes naturally. I'll give you the
whistle."

I put on my cap and goggles, and took the stance.

The whistle went and in I went.

Funny, but when I'm swimming, everything goes. I mean I stop thinking. I
stop remembering to breathe. I just do it. I stop trying to remember what
I've learned. I just do it. I just swim.

Four lengths and I pulled myself out of the water.

"On the bench, please, Zac."

I sat on the bench.

Mr Morrison sat too.

"Okay, Zac. I'm not going to pile you with changes or advice. It's a bit
late for that. Here's a couple of things when you get back in the
water. Three actually. Keep your head in line with the rest of your body,
and look directly at the bottom of the pool. Look down. Not forward."

"Sir, don't I do that?"

"Yes, you do. You do it perfectly. That's the point I'm making."

I'd no idea what point he was making - I do now.

"Press your buoy. That means..."

"I know what that means. Press your chest down. So you remain horizontal
because..."

"Well, if you know it, I won't waste my time explaining it. You do it most
of the time anyway, but just for a few seconds, every now and then, you
raise your chest. Don't."

"And the third?"

I was almost rude.

"Ah, the third - the dreaded third. What do you think the third is? No,
don't try to guess what I think it is. To be honest, I'm not thinking about
it all. I don't really care what it is. What do you think it is?"

"Silly old fucker."

That was not said out loud.

This was.

"Exhaling out of the water. I sometimes exhale out of the water. I know I'm
doing it but I can't help it."

Silence.

"Sorry, sir, that was stupid. If I know I'm doing it, I can stop it."

Goggles back on.

Stance taken.

Whistle.

Another four lengths.

No exit. No comments. No analysis.

And another four lengths.

I lost sense of time.

All I was doing was swimming.

Goggles.

Stance.

No whistle!

I turned and look at my coach.

"Sir?"

"That's enough."

I glanced at the pool clock.

"But, sir, we've still got fifteen minutes. I can do a lot more."

"You're 12, you can. I'm 65, I can't. Go to the canteen. Get a hot
chocolate. I'm not asking you. I'm telling you. And tell them it's on
Batman... no, better say it's on Mr. Morrison."

"Thanks, sir."

And for the first time that morning I was smiling.

And by the time I got to the canteen I was laughing.

Mr. Morrison cancelled the afternoon session. I was disappointed until he
explained pushing too far, too fast, and too early caused more damage than
it was worth. He'd seen what I could do and he knew what I had to do. My
disappointment leapt to delight when he informed me the evening sessions
would take place during prep time during the week, and I was close to
delirious when he said I could bring along any friend I chose!

When I told Dorm One the news, there was no shortage of willing
volunteers. You'll expect I chose Gabriel, but no, I chose Oscar. I'm not
sure why, but Osc had taken me under his wing back in September. He was the
first boy I'd ever kissed, and he taught me french-kissing. Plus he was a
good swimmer whereas Gabriel avoided the pool almost as much as he'd
avoided that man.

We turned up at the pool at 6.20, our dinner postponed till after the
session. Changed and waited for Batman. 6.30 on the dot. And into the pool
for a loosening up session of swim-as-you please.

"The Butterfly," said our coach.

"Well, you've both got the shoulders for it. The butterfly is tough, maybe
the toughest. But Flood is in for it, so let's help him make the best of
it."

Osc nodded.

"We'll do a couple of lengths to start. It's not a race. It's style I'm
looking at. Keep your head steady. No upsy, downsy, or you'll get a neck
strain in no time. ..... Channel your inner dolphin. You heard me. You're a
couple of dolphins. Let your hips and lower back do the work. Your arms
will follow. And stay close to the surface of the water. No deep-sea
diving.  Now take the stance."

We got ready for the 'ready', and the whistle.

"And one more thing. Forget everything I just said. Just swim. Swim because
you like swimming. Nothing else really matters."

The whistle blew and in we went.

The morning session must have helped me. I stopped thinking before I hit
the water. I forgot Oscar was there. I swam on the surface of the water. Of
course I didn't, but that's what it felt like. And I was stunned when I
finished the lengths, lifted my head, looked round and saw Osc was almost
half a length behind me.

Osc congratulated me by spouting a whole mouth of water in my face! Then
started laughing.... as did Mr. Morrison.

"Well, who knows Flood. We might make a swimmer out of you yet."

We worked hard. Coach piled on the pressure, gently. We ironed out a couple
of things. Kick from the hips. Breathe when your hands have completed the
stroke. Don't anticipate. Finish the session early. "Go and get your
dinner. See you tomorrow - both of you."

In the pool showers Osc and I kissed deeply. Nothing was planned. It just
came naturally. French-kissed, erections pressed together. Then we dried
each other off and headed for the dining room.

So went the week - no sex, I was in training - and round came Saturday and
the schools' competition. Mr. Morrison drove the minibus. We six from Dorm
One, and six more senior juniors from the third floor.

We were surprised when Miss Truscott got into the front passenger
street. It was Nancy's weekend on duty, in house, but she'd never come on
an outing before. Seems Camperdown was short-handed for staff and Miss
Truscott had volunteered. I was seated between Mr. Morrison and Miss
Truscott on the front seats. The envy behind me blistered my neck.

There must have been 400 boys at the Swimming Centre. Mostly spectators of
course. My races were in the first half hour. Great. We wouldn't have long
to wait, and I'd have less time to get more nervous. Nancy led 'my'
supporters off to out allocated seats with boys tripping over each other
behind her. Mr. Morrison and I headed for the changing rooms where only
swimmers and coaches were permitted.

Saturday was for juniors; Sunday for seniors, so the changing room was busy
but not over-crowded. No cubicles, just benches with hooks above
them. Nobody cared about being naked. We were all too excited about the
races to bother with anything else.

I was pulling on my swimsuit briefs when I felt a slight tap on the
shoulder.

I turned.

It was him.

Mr. C.

"I knew it was you Zac. I recognised you immediately. You are a growing
boy."

I struggled into my briefs a pulled them all the way up.

I glanced around.

No Mr. Morrison.

I stammered out the first thing that came into my head.

"I thought you were in Australia..." then remembered to add "Sir".

"Obviously I'm not. And this is my team from my school."

He looked to his left where stood three boys. All of them looked around 14
years old, but, of course, they couldn't be. This was the juniors.

"And what are you swimming in, Zac?"

"Freestyle and butterfly, sir."

"Freestyle," he mused. "That makes sense, but hardly butterfly." He raised
a finger to 'his' boys and waved one over. The tallest boy strolled over.

"Zac meet Eric. Eric meet Zac. You'll be meeting each other in the
butterfly."

"Best of luck," said Eric.

"You too," I said.

I looked down, thinking of something to say. I quickly looked up. Eric
might only be 13 but the bulge beneath his briefs showed he was way beyond
me - past puberty and into adolescence. Wisps of hair on his tummy.

"Flood. Flood. Freestyle's on first. They changed the programme. We're on."

Mr. Morrison hardly glanced at Mr. C., who showed no interest in him. He
turned to his boys again: "Harry, you're on. Freestyle time. Let's get out
there and get that medal - a First. Leave the others for the others."

He swept Harry past me, leaving Eric and his other boy standing.

"Best of luck," he repeated. "And I mean it."

"So do I," I said. "So do I."

In the event, winning the Freestyle was far easier than I'd expected, if
I'd expected to win at all, though I have been swimming front crawl since I
was three years old. I was in and out of the water before I knew it was
over and won by half a length. I didn't notice where Harry
finished. Mr. Morrison had me straight back into the changing room, dried
out, and sitting amongst my 'bum chums' and Miss Truscott while he went off
to collect my medal.

It's too embarrassing to record the heaps of praise they gave me, though I
can't forget Ben giving me the "you wanker" signal, making sure Miss
Truscott saw it.

Nancy smiled.

Fifteen minutes before the Butterfly, Batman had me back in the changing
room, stripped and ready - briefs on - rubbing me down gently with a bath
towel as if I were a sweating pony. He didn't bother to explain what he was
doing and I didn't bother to ask. I did feel fresh, relaxed, tingly, and
up-for-it, so I guess coach knew what he was doing. It also gave me a
semi-hard-on but I'm sure that wasn't intentional.

Eric and I were given the central lanes. I'd won the U-13 Freestyle and
he'd won the U-13 Backstroke. He was taller and more muscly than me, and I
sighed. But I'd already done better than I'd expected, so I was just going
to swim and enjoy it. I smiled at Eric; he smiled at me; it was only a
swimming race after all.

The Butterfly is a bitch.

If you pause to think for a micro-second, you've lost. Don't try to
remember what your coach said. If you think about it, you've lost. The
cheering's background noise; don't think about it; if you, do you've lost.

I swam, turned, swam back, and touched the side.

It was over.

Eric held out his hand to me.

"Well done," he said.

"You, too," I said.

He laughed.

"You fucking won," he said.

"What?"

"You fucking won... by a finger tip, you little shit."

He ducked his head under the water, moved into my lane, and threw his arms
around me.

It hadn't yet sunk in.

"Clear the pool, please! All competitors out of the pool, please! Now,
please!"

We wandered back to the changing room.

Mr. C. was not there. He was off with his third swimmer.

As we left the changing room, Eric held out his hand again.

As we shook hands, he said: "Thanks."

My team were going berserk. Mr. Morrison had gone to collect my medal. We
couldn't stay for the presentations. Camperdown House was short-staffed. We
had to get back as soon as possible, but not before we'd had our pick of
Big Macs. "Fuck your diet for now," said Mr. Morrison, though not in those
actual words.

Before we left the Swimming Centre, I had to skip to my loo. As I was
coming out, Miss Truscott was going in to the Ladies. She stopped
me. Looked around. Corridor empty.... and gave me a big went kiss on the
lips!

"There... you deserve something special," pushed open the door of the
Ladies and stepped inside.

Footnote:

Zachary: Major Payne, may I asked you a question?  Major Payne: Yes, Flood.
Zachary: Mr. Morrison knows a lot about swimming.  Major Payne: That's not
a question. That's a statement.  Zachary: Major Payne. Is Mr. Morrison a
good swimmer?  Major Payne: You could say that.  Zachary: I mean, was he
really good, when he was younger I mean?  Major Payne: Must have been. He
swam in the Olympics.  Zachary: For England?!  Major Payne: Yes, I'm sure
it must have been.  Zachary: What did he swim?  Major Payne:
Breastroke..... Yes, I believe it was breaststroke.  Zachary: Did he win a
medal?  Major Payne: Yes, he did.  Zachary: What kind was it?  Major Payne:
Well, it wasn't bronze. And it wasn't silver.
			So it must have been that other one.  Zachary:
(dumbstruck) Major Payne: And, Flood, if you mention that to anyone else,
			including Mister Morrison... well, you're not too
			old for the slipper.  Zachary: Yes, sir. I promise,
sir.

And I've kept that promise - until now.



10

The last weekend before the Friday we'd break-up for the Christmas
holidays, and 'flu had already taken its toll. Not of the boys in
Camperdown but of the grown-ups who supported us. Funny isn't it that the
younger you are, the less likely you are to get the 'flu.

We'd lost Mr. Morrison and Matron Grange, and even Major Payne was poorly,
though he supervised us from his cottage. We'd also lost some of the
regular teachers who came in to do duty and Prep was abandoned for the
week.

Miss Truscott had taken over the matron's responsibilities and one of her
friends had been drafted in. Considering they were both just 16, they did a
really good job and - for the interim - we stopped, or tried to stop
behaving like immature pests. 'Matron' Truscott was stationed in Mr. C's
flat while her friend Mini-Matron Suzie (Murray) was lodged in Batman's
flat.

"Nancy really likes you. In fact, she's got the hots for you."

"Stop talking that rubbish, Ben. Anyway, how would you know?"

"It's the things she says about you, Zac."

"Where? When?" I asked.

Ben grinned.

"I've been in her flat a couple of times. Along the corridor. Me and Miss
Truscott and Miss Murray. But it's you she's got the hots for. We could
even visit them - after lights-out, I mean. Just chatting. But you never
know."

"Why did I go?"

Curious, I guess. And we were running into the end of the year. Everything
was slowing down. Everyone was packing up. There couldn't be any harm in
it. After all, she was the acting-matron.

"You've got really nice tits, Suzie."

I couldn't believe Ben had just said that.

Both girls were drinking - alcohol - and it took less than ten minutes to
wander into stuff that was totally inappropriate - a terrifically strong
word in schools - taboo would cover it. Both girls were smoking - the same
cigarette they passed to each other. Ben had had a couple of puffs. I said
no thank you because the smell was sickly and sweet.

"Do you really like them?" asked Suzie. She squeezed them together through
her flimsy cotton t-shirt. "They're still growing. I want a pair like
Nancy's."

Nancy was sitting next to me on the carpet. I blushed. She didn't.

"Would you like to see them? Maybe feel them. Squeeze them."

"Please, Miss Truscott, can we see them... please?"

What Nancy said went.

"Would you like to see them, Zac? Feel them. Squeeze them. Maybe even kiss
them."

"He'd rather kiss yours," laughed Ben.

"That's up to Zac," smiled Miss Truscott - Nancy.

Ben turned back to Suzie: "Just a quick peek, please."

Suzie drew deeply on her cigarette.

"I don't mind, but fair's fair. We've got to get something, too."

"What?" said Ben, a trifle too eagerly.

"Do you and Zac masturbate?" she asked.

Silence fell straight from the ceiling.

"What?"

"Do you and Zac masturbate - wank - jack off - toss yourselves off - spank
the monkey?"

I sat there frozen, though I felt Miss Truscott's gaze on me.

"Do you mean toss each other off?" said Ben.

Both girls laughed.

Flustered, Ben blundered: "Not yet. - But I do."

"You?" Miss Truscott asked.

"Yes," I squeaked.

"That's a start," said Suzie, handing the cigarette to Nancy.

Our assistant matron worked her t-shirt over her head flung it on the
bed. She leaned forwards, reached behind herself and undid her bra. It
joined her t-shirt on the bed.

Suzie's tits were large, round, swung heavily, and were topped with what
looked like red sitting on chocolate.

"38DD," she said, which meant absolutely nothing to me, squeezed them
together, and said to Ben: "Wanna squeeze them - not too hard."

"You bet," said Ben, leaning over and cupping a hand round each breast, not
quite cupping, but holding them with palm and fingers spread wide. Gentle
squeezes, then he bent forward and kissed Suzie's left breast.

"Hey... hold on," said Suzie. "We'll get to that."

Then she turned to me: "Wanna see Nancy's breasts, Zac? Touch them. Squeeze
them. Suck her nipples."

If I could have fainted then, I would have.

"But remember it's something for something."

"Take my blouse off, Zac. Take my bra off."

That's the first time she's spoken in a while.

Without meeting her eyes, I leaned forward and began to undo the buttons on
her blouse - five of them. I tugged the blouse out of her denim jeans and
pulled it up and over her shoulders. Her breasts were in a half-cup bra. I
reached behind her to undo the clip.

"Wait a second," she said.

She leaned over and undid the buttons of my pyjama top. Eased the top off
and dropped it on the floor. As I leaned into her, I felt my bare skin on
hers. I unclipped her bra. She took it from me and dropped it behind her.

Her breasts were not as big as Suzie's but they sat higher up. Beautiful
creamy pink skin. Brown areolas. Reddish brown nipples. She gave my head a
downwards push and instinctively, I suppose, I fastened my lips round her
nipples and sucked.

In the distance I heard a whistle and "Way to go, Zac."

It was a bit like swimming; I wasn't thinking; I was just doing it.

Zace had no meaning until it returned when I heard Suzie say: "You've got a
nice stiffy, Ben. That deserves a little suck too."

I released Nancy's nipple and looked over to Ben and Suzie.

Ben was lying on the bed, his feet touching the carpet. His pyjama bottoms
were at his ankles. When did that happen? He had an erection. Suzie was
masturbating him and kissing the head of his penis at the same time. I
couldn't look away.

Nancy's hand was inside my pyjama bottoms. When did that happen? She was
masturbating me with her fingers. I must have made a sound. She rose
without releasing me. I rose with her. She backed me towards the bed, and
gently pushed me backwards onto the bed.

I was lying side by side with Ben. The teenage girls were between our
legs. Ben and I were both twelve. They were sucking our dicks and playing
with our balls. Sometimes it was Nancy's mouth on my genitals; sometimes
Suzie's. They were exchanging places. At one point, Nancy stood up and
turned my face towards Ben and his towards mine. It was only when we both
began to wriggle and buck that the girls released our penises from their
mouths.

What next?

We were standing at the side of the bed - we were naked.

"You want to kiss our cunts, don't you?"

I don't know which girl said that. One of them had used the taboo word, the
ultimate taboo word, the one word you could never use out loud: cunt. And
the idea of kissing a girl's cunt was literally beyond anything I'd ever
thought of.

"Yes, please," said Ben, who temporarily it seemed had given up
obscenities.

Nancy ran her fingers down my cheeks.

"And you'd like to kiss my cunt, wouldn't you, Zac?"

I was in a state of shock.

Ben spoke for me: he definitely does.

I nodded dumbly.

"Let's play kiss the cunt then," said Suzie.

The girls lay on the bed, side by side, naked, legs splayed wide. Ben and I
knelt on the floor between their legs. For the first time in my life -
well, not quite the first time - I had a close-up look at a cunt. Two
actually, because Ben insisted on inspecting both cunts.

"Wow! Mine's really hairy," said Ben. "Yours is bald."

"That's because she shaves it," came Suzie's voice from the bed.

I leaned over and peered at the triangle of thick dark pubic hair at
Suzie's crotch. I preferred mine - I mean Nancy's.

."Mine looks wet," I whispered.

"That's means they've got the hots for us. When a girl gets aroused, her
pussy gets all wet."

"Her pussy?"

"Her pussy - her cunt - her vagina - her muff - her beaver - her penis fly
trap....."

Ben Child was a veritable thesaurus of filth.

"Shut the fuck up and start playing with them."

For the next fifteen minutes, Ben taught me how to "play with them" but he
was a novice and got some things wrong - to be corrected by a voice from on
high: "Not like that, you dumb fucker...like this...."  Ben and Suzie were
well-matched.

"I've got three fingers up," I whispered to Ben.

"That's fuck all," he said, reverting to type. "Bet I can get my whole fist
up her twat."

Twat - a new word for my vocabulary.

Maybe because she wanted to divert Ben, Suzie made a suggestion: "Would you
like to chew on my cunt, Ben?"

"Huh?"

"Not literally chew on it. Lick it. Tickle it with your tongue. Specially
my clitoris."

Ben's mental dictionary came to his rescue.

"Oh, your clit. - your happy button - your butter bean..."

"Get the fuck on with it."

Slurping told us Ben was getting the fuck on with it.

I felt Miss Truscott - Nancy - pulling my shoulders up until I was lying
her length, my face on hers, my mouth to hers, french-kissing then she
whispered...."

"Put it inside me, Zac. I can feel how hard you are. Put it inside me. I'm
on the pill. I can't have a baby - you're my baby."

I slid down her body. She held herself open for me. Trial and error got me
there. I wiggled the head of my erection, probed for a few moments, felt
resistance, thrust hard... and I was inside her. Her legs went up and
locked round my back.

Fucking is instinctive.

Nobody had told me what to do, but I knew what to do. I began slowly,
sliding my four inches in, sliding out again, but never all the way. I felt
her pull my bum a little upwards - later I learned she wanted me to rub
against her clitoris. We kissed at the same time - open-mouthed - tongue
searching each other's cavities - swapping saliva - tasting each other's
juices.

The grunting and moaning alongside us only made things hotter. Ben was
eating out Suzie, while I was fucking Nancy. They were sixteen years old;
we were twelve years old.

I took my time. Nancy wanted that. Sometimes she whispered in my ear and
gave me other things to try. Even when they didn't work, they made
everything hotter. I tried to push my balls inside her. I couldn't. But
only because they had risen so tightly there was no flexibility. I slid my
hand down and managed to get in two fingers as well as my cock. I used my
fingers on the lower half of her vagina; my cock on her clitoris. I got her
moaning, her eyes rolling, and her head stretched back on the pillow.

At one point, the noise from the other bed got so disturbing I had to look.

Ben had Suzie on her belly and he was fucking her up the ass!

Sorry, to put that crudely but that's what he was doing. Hammering his cock
into her like the dogs did it in the farmer's yard opposite the school. His
language - straight into her ear - was filthy, but she didn't mind. She was
giving as good as she got.

I tried to make it last as long as I could but nature was taking over. Not
only me. Nancy was cumming too, though what that meant for a girl I'd no
idea. But her writhing, wriggling, shuddering, shaking matched my own and I
spurted mine in squirts - I was only 12 - as she spurted onto me. I
couldn't believe how wet she made everything below us.

Ben and Suzie were not far behind us - and far noisier!

"Do ladies like it up the bum?" I asked Miss Truscott.

"Some do, some don't," she said... "but at least they can't get pregnant,"
she laughed.

"Neither can boys," I thought.

It took us 10 minutes to clean and tidy everything up, then the matrons
sent us to bed. They didn't have to tell us not to share what we'd done
with anyone. In fact, it was Ben who confirmed "mum's the word" as soon as
we closed their door behind us - and 'mum' remained the word.

We hoped we could fit in another session before school closed on Friday,
but Miss Truscott and Miss Murray were so busy sorting out 120 boys for
departure, they had no time to spare. We understood - we were Camperdown
boys.

Only once, when Miss Truscott came into Dorm One and I was the only one
there did the mask slip. She closed the door. Stepped up to me, caressed my
cheek and said: "My baby. You'll always be my baby."

And left.

On Thursday there was a phone call for me.

It was mum.

"Change of plan, darling. We're not staying in Gibraltar for Christmas."

"Where are we going?"

"Surprise!"

(I hate surprises).

"Where are we going?"

"We're going to Australia."

Australia!

"Australia?"

"We're going to Melbourne - to stay with Uncle Tom and the family."

"Yay!"

I love Uncle Tom, Auntie Margaret, and my cousins.

"I'll pick you up at two tomorrow. We'll drive to Heathrow and stay in the
Carlton. Our flight's 11am Saturday morning."

"I'll be ready."

"You've had a good time at Amity, haven't you?"

"Yes, mummy. The best!"

"I knew you would. Bye for now, baby."

"Bye, mummy."

And it was the best. Way beyond my expectations. I know I'd love the
holidays in Melbourne. At the same time I was looking forward to getting
back in the New Year - a real Camperdown boy!

NOT QUITE THE END

STORIES LIST

Thanks for your kind comments on some of my stories. Some of you have asked
if I've written any others. I have indeed. Here are the ones I have been
able to locate. Just pop jonkent into the Nifty Archive Search.  where and
He has yet to divulge their whereabouts to me.  By the way, only the email
addy atop 'A Year To Remember'is functional.

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/these-foolish-things

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/of-lust-and-love

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/finding-freddie

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/oscar-my-love/

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/still-life-water-colours

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/rescue-me

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/falling-in-love-again

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/little-miners

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/once-upon-a-time

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/now-and-then

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/sweet-william-mine


https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/preserve-your-memories

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/those-blue-remembered-hills

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/litany-of-love

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/jason-carter/

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/beautiful-game

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/loving-boys

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/loves-of-my-life

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/suddenly-that-summer

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/sweets-to-the-sweet/

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/you-never-can-tell

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/westhaven

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/luverboy

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/jason-carter/


https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/urination/fearless-frankie

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/urination/theo-and-leo-and-me

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/urination/kaleidoscope

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/urination/life-with-the-darlings

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/urination/boys-like-us

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/urination/in-my-secret-life

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/urination/loving-you-loving-me

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/urination/the-learning-curve

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/urination/the-circle-game