Introduction -- The story is set in the early 1960's. It starts slowly, but bear with it and absorb the peace and love.... It's there most of the time.

There's no one person who was a model for anybody in the book. But thanks to my father who took me sailing. And thanks too, to Stephen, Gerry, John, JP, Lawrence, Geoff, Jon, Mark, and so many others in my life. All straight as dies, but what good friends. I wish one of you could have fallen for me.....

And now, many years since I wrote it, I include Tom, particularly. But also Will, Alex, and others who are more acquaintances than friends. I never transgressed: I want their continuing friendship. I would want their given love: not a moment's passion. I am a respecter: I am not a rapist.

A rapist cannot be, in all truth, a boy lover.

backwoodsman

HOLIDAY

CHAPTER 1

"Oh, MUM!"

"What, dear? I thought you'd be pleased we're going to get a holiday this year, and back to Amberdale, too. I thought you liked it there?"

"But I've put my name down for school camp. We're going to the new activity centre down near Southampton somewhere."

"But you never told us about it."

"But you'd not said anything about a holiday. Dad can never get the time off work to go away. He said so. So I've put my name down."

"You'd not said anything to us about it, or asked for any money."

"You'd not said anything about going away!"

"Well, your father decided we could afford a fortnight off at this time of year, even if everywhere is more expensive in the school holidays. And anyway, we've paid for Amberdale now, for three people. And although you father's business is taking off at last we can't afford to lose the deposit, which is what would happen if you don't go."

"But Mum...."

"It's no good, darling. We can't afford to lose the deposit and to pay for school camp. And we can't leave you at home, before you ask. It's not right. So I'm afraid you're going to have to come with us. It'll be fun -- you enjoyed it last time, didn't you?"

"Yes, but all my friends are going to camp. I'm going to share a tent with Alex and Nick, and Charlie's going to be there, too."

"Well, I'm sorry, but you're not. So they'll have to manage without you."

And that was that. I tried bringing up the argument from time to time, but I knew my parents and once they had made a decision that was it, especially when there was the possibility of wasting money. We'd spent so many years scraping by while my father qualified as a solicitor that it had become almost a religion. And now he had started his own firm we had a reasonable income, I assumed, but things never eased up on the money front. But I had to break the news to my three best school friends, and inevitably got the comments about being a mummy's boy and having to behave myself on holiday with them. It was even suggested that I'd be sharing their room, and that I'd have to wear a blindfold and earplugs at my age, so I wouldn't see them when they had `you know, nookey'. When I told them my parents didn't do that sort of thing they asked my how I came to be here, then?

I couldn't think of a response. We went on holiday.

When we arrived at the hotel I was still seething, as much because of the boredom of the long journey and the overcast weather as with not going to camp. Although it was good to see the place as I remembered it I still wouldn't let my mood lighten: obstinacy had set in. I was known for it. But the thought that I wouldn't be with the three people in my school whose presence made it bearable was still depressing me. And it wasn't just that I liked them as friends, they were easy on the eye, too.

But still, there was the hotel, that big, rambling Victorian house which looked both well kept and ramshackle at the same time. It was probably the way the windows were on half a dozen different levels, few were the same size and many were different styles. Inside, there were changes in level every few feet, it seemed. I had become certain its architect had been drunk. As a place from my past, at that moment I didn't know whether I loved it for being familiar or hated it for not having my friends in it. A thought struck me: why hadn't I told them they'd have to come with me? Surely their parents would have paid? We could share a room, anyway, and then perhaps I'd be able to see a bit more of them than the little extra skin visible as we changed for PE. I almost brightened at the thought. But then, they weren't here, were they?

We learnt which room my parents were in, and I was relieved that I wasn't included in their double (to which might have been added a single bed as it had been until I was eleven, the last time we had come. But I didn't let on about that at school). I bore with fortitude the `my goodness, hasn't he grown' from the owner, who smiled at me thinking he was being complimentary. In fact, I hadn't much. But I never admitted that to anyone, not really even myself. I was small for my age, what they call a late developer, although I had begun to notice that the almost daily measurements I was taking of my erection were slowly increasing, and the bits underneath it had started to get a life of their own too, so to speak. The rest of me was fairly average. You know -- hair (fairish to brown), eyes (never look at them so I don't know what colour), nose (yes, one: rather like my father's), mouth (wide, at other times usually cheerful) and so on, mounted on top of a 5'2" body. By which I mean the whole thing was 5'2" -- oh, you know. Fortunately my parents always thought of me as being sensible, rather than a fly-by-night, and therefore able to be trusted far more than most of my friends seemed to be.

I had accepted the room key off the owner and looked at it in some puzzlement. It was old, different completely from the key he'd given my parents. I'd followed them all upstairs, carrying a suitcase I'd inherited from my mother's youth, and wishing I could have something a bit more masculine and modern. Like a rucsac. The owner had stopped at my parents' door and showed them inside: as old clients they had a good sized room, looking out to the bay and its islands.

Oh yes, the bay. The islands. The sailing. The swimming. The fishing (not that I ever did. Well, just the twice, because everybody else was that year). But the main thing was that I'd been told that if we ever came back again I could have my own little dinghy for the week, and go off on my own within the inner ring of islands. I had learnt so quickly and well how to sail..... I started to feel better, and thought I'd perhaps have something to tell my friends when I got back, after all.

But what was this? The owner was telling me that I had a bit of a walk before I got to my room, and would Mr and Mrs Finch like to see where I was? They would, they decided.

Now, their room was at the south side of the hotel. We walked away from it, along corridors, up steps, along, down, up again, along.....and eventually came to a door in what looked like a large hexagonal pillar. Suddenly my downward mood vanished: they'd finally opened up the old tower, and my bedroom must be in it!

From previous visits I knew that the old tower was one of the old building's main features. It was quite wide, and had a another, smaller, hexagonal tower stuck to one side. That, we had been told, housed the spiral staircase which gave access to two rooms, one on the topmost floor and the second below it. The first few years it had been derelict, nearly, but now....wow! I dropped my suitcase and scurried like a startled rabbit right up the stairs, beating the owner and my parents to it. Surely they'd have given me the room at the top? I reached it and tried the handle. Locked. Voices called me downstairs, and with a little disappointment I realised that mine was the downstairs one. Still, it was nice: a fair size, if a bit low, windows to east and west, and, oh yeah! A double bed! Now I knew I'd grown up. For no particular reason I felt a swelling in my Y-fronts at the thought. Against the east wall where the rest of the hotel joined on there was even a shower room, with a toilet! The staircase was at the north side.

I thought I'd try my luck. "I suppose the room upstairs is taken?" I asked.

"Yes," said the owner. "It's been booked specifically for ages. The son of some other regular clients of ours has it. You'll probably meet him soon."

I hoped not. Not if he had what should be my room. But this room was great, anyway. And it was a long way from my parents. Not that I didn't get on with them, but it'd be nice to have my own private place. I brightened up a bit. The adults left. I remembered my suitcase and retrieved it. As I climbed up to my room I thought I heard a scrambling sound ahead of me and hurried to see what it was. I almost thought I saw a shadow flit across a wall on the stairs above my room, but I couldn't be sure. I put it down to imagination or hunger.

The next half hour was spent unpacking, and I just lay on the bed, daydreaming, probably enjoying myself, but still not really admitting it. I wondered whether to have a shower -- we only had a bath at home -- but thought my parents would get suspicious if I washed voluntarily. I went to the controls, though, and found out how they worked -- carefully, because things sometimes have a tendency to come to bits in my hands. I'm sure they're not built robustly enough. But this one didn't. I fiddled with the taps and looked at the shower rose, and was just thinking how like an old fashioned microphone it looked when the water finally bubbled through it and hit me full in the face.

That was enough experimenting for the moment, but I'd sorted the shower. I dried off both myself and the wall behind me with my recently unpacked towel and looked round the room again. Not bad. Then I heard the door slam above me. Huh! My room thief. Should I go outside and wait for him on the stairs and confront him? Or do I just wander nonchalantly out and pretend it was an accident? What if he was 18 and built like a brick outhouse? What if he was my age? What if he was somebody who I'd like to get to know?

My dithering coincided with the sound of scampering feet down the spiral staircase. I knew from their speed and lightness that this was no 18 year old, and I think my own footfalls would have been heavier. It must be a little kid. My heart sank. Was I going to have a brat as a neighbour for the next fortnight? Did I want to see him now? No, not really. I couldn't be bothered. I went back and lay on the bed.

I listened from my prone position for the footsteps to recede. They didn't. If it had been a cartoon there would have been a question mark hanging over my head. My brow wrinkled. Had I missed hearing him as I lay down? Had he fallen? Struck with this possibility I pushed myself back onto my feet and crossed, ever more anxiously, to the door. As I reached it I heard a noise outside. As I turned the lock I heard an indrawn breath, and the footsteps started their pattering again. The lock stuck. I struggled. All the time the steps receded and by the time I wrestled open the door their owner was well out of sight. The door leading to the rest of the hotel banged shut. He had gone. Cheeky sod, I thought, listening at my door like that. I'll have him.

Hunger soon overtook me and I revisited my parents' room to find it empty. Tea? Perhaps. It wasn't dinner time. I went downstairs and into the hotel's amazing lounge. I say amazing because it was furnished with a bewildering variety of armchairs and tables, all of different styles, and even to my inexperienced eye it looked more like a tidy secondhand furniture shop than a hotel lounge. My parents were sitting in a mixture of armchairs, and as I appeared in the door a slight figure got up from a seat opposite and vanished, hurriedly, I thought, through the french windows. Before I could follow I was collared and introduced to the couple, and forced to have that sort of edwardian afternoon tea that my parents had been brought up with. It was extremely boring, but I was hungry and thirsty, and my full mouth avoided too much polite conversation. It was only when I had stuffed myself that the subject of the son was brought up.

"He's got the room in the tower, you know. Didn't I hear you were up there too?"

"Yes, sir, I am. It's a nice room."

"Yes, very nice indeed, and private, too, well away from everyone else. Have you seen James yet?"

"Not quite, no. I think I came out of my room just after he had passed, but I didn't see him."

"He's a bit shy. I think he has rather a hard time of it at school with the older boys. He's quick, and good in class, and that doesn't always make for easy relationships."

Oh, no, I thought. Not a swot as well. Probably fat and ugly.

"....But I'm sure you'll look out for him, Martin, won't you?"

"Well...."

"Of course he will. He's very good like that."

Damn them. Why couldn't they just ignore me like other parents did their kids?

The conversation turned to schools and how well James was doing, and what I was doing, and how well they expected me to do in the exams....you know, the sort of talk that makes you sound more like a half trained dog than a boy. I almost expected to be told to sit up and beg like I'd been taught..... well, not really, but you know what I mean..... when suddenly, just below the armrest of Mr Evans's armchair I saw the most evil looking, widest grin I'd ever seen in my life. It was set on a face that was unremarkable in most other respects except for the eyes, which were set far apart, and this amazingly wide expanse of mouth. When the owner saw that I'd spotted him, he quickly shuffled back and slid out of sight. I thought he'd gone behind the chair. Then I saw a shadow on the window as he scurried outside again.

This was just too much. I broke into the scholastic conversation about me and as politely as I could excused myself. I went out of the room's main door as if to visit the toilet, but doubled back to the main garden door where I peered round the frame, trying to locate my quarry.

Along by the french windows there were bushes. They were close enough, in windy conditions, to scratch at the glass alarmingly. Now they provided cover for a diminutive figure on all fours, watching the windows avidly. I wondered if he'd see me if I sauntered out into the garden, and decided he would. But just then an elderly couple excused themselves past me: I saw the face look up and then back. As they left the building, I slipped out after them, keeping them between me and my quarry, taking a different course. Once the bush hid him from my sight I doubled back and crossed as quietly as I could to the opposite side of it.

Why was I, at the age of fourteen, taking so much trouble to encounter, on my terms, a kid who was about half my age? I didn't have the faintest idea. Probably because he had got the room that I would have coveted, run away as I came upstairs with my suitcase, listened outside my door and run away as I opened it; but most certainly because he had made cheeky contact with me by grinning at me in my discomfiture. I was going to get even.

Behind the bush I lowered myself to the ground so I could see under its roots. There was a pair of feet sticking backwards towards me.

Do I grab them? Do I kick them? I couldn't bring myself to do either -- after all, I didn't know him. How do I go from here?

I cleared my throat loudly, just behind him.

He jumped, tried to sit up, and hit his head on the sheltering twigs above him. His thrashings around succeeded in lodging him further in the foliage, and he eventually sat there, jammed by his impatience, glaring at me.

"Hallo," I said, as if I'd just discovered his existence. "Is anything wrong?"

Half a minute more of struggling and thrashing around freed him from the bush's clutches, and a small boy stood looking at me furiously. He was about 18" shorter than me, slim to the point of thinness, mousy and ordinary looking, apart from the amazingly wide set eyes and wide mouth, the more noticeable because his face wasn't fat to compensate. He was currently modelling the `hedge backwards' look. Very aptly, as it happened.

"You startled me." It was a very treble voice, but firm and articulate sounding.

"Well, you were laughing at me in there."

"No I wasn't."

"You were."

"Well, you looked like you were going to explode."

"I would if I'd stayed there."

"How d'you get away?"

I put my finger to my lips and jerked my head away from the french window. He followed me a safe distance away where we could talk.

"Said I had to go for a pee."

"You never."

"Well, sort of. Have you got the top room in the tower?"

"Yes."

"I'm underneath you."

"I know."

"Why did you run off when I came to the door?"

"I didn't know you."

"I wondered who it was, listening."

He had the grace to blush at this, then countered with: "well, you rattled my door handle!"

"I thought I'd got the top room. I tried it, but it was locked."

"Yes. I was in it."

"I know that now. Is it the same as mine?"

"Don't know. 'Spose so."

"Double bed? Toilet? Shower?"

"What's a double bed?"

"You know, a wide one, like mums and dads have."

"No, it's the same as mine at home. You've got a shower?"

"Yes."

"I haven't. I have to go down to the hotel and use the one along the corridor."

I was glad I'd got the downstairs room.

"James!" A voice called from the french windows. My companion looked up.

"Ah, there you are, and you've found Martin. Good. But don't bore him, dear, I'm sure he's got better things to do than play with you."

His face dropped. I don't know why, but I called back. "It's all right, Mrs...um....Evans. I'm not bored. To my annoyance my voice failed to reach the slightly lower register that it had achieved only recently, and which I was trying to cultivate. I sounded as treble as her son. Damn.

"That's kind of you, Martin, but anyway we're going to walk round the town now. He'll see you later, no doubt. Come on, James."

He looked back at me. The face that had been so serious as we got the important bits out of the way suddenly livened up again, and the extraordinarily wide, cheeky grin appeared at full brilliance. I swear that if he laughed out loud it'd meet at the back.

"Bye," he said, and was gone.

I rejoined my parents, and was soon wheedling the promised sailing dinghy out of Dad. He was a bit cautious, and we had what they call a meaningful discussion about it. I think I'd won him over, but to make certain I reminded him once again that he had promised me that I should have one to myself next time we came. "You always tell me I have to keep my promises," I finished off.

He looked at me in exasperation. "That was two years ago. You've not sailed since. How do I know how much you've forgotten?"

How could I explain to him the nights -- and days -- dreaming, of feeling the tiller kick in one hand while the sheet pulled the other; of feeling the wind on my cheek to tell me its direction; of that rare and wonderful sense of freedom and independence that I'd learnt from being in control of my own boat?

"But Dad, I'm fourteen now. I know what I'm doing, and anyway you promised."

They looked at teach other. Then Mum's eyes lifted resignedly and I knew the battle was won.

"All right," said the keeper of the purse strings, "but I'm going to spend an hour out with you first so I can make sure you're safe."

I was fairly happy to accept that, although it would have been nicer if they'd trusted my judgement of my own ability and common sense. I dragged them down to the village, to the waterfront where I knew we had hired sailing dinghies before. Half an hour and the exchange of a cheque for a piece of paper later, I had my own boat for a fortnight. Nothing flash, just an old fashioned, conventional little dinghy, two sails -- which I knew I could handle -- and strict instructions not to go outside the outer ring of islands. I asked if I could try her then and there, but was told I had to wait until the morning. Dad wouldn't be so tired then, and could take me out for my trial.

CHAPTER 2

When we returned I went to my room, thinking I'd have a shower. Although I'd only recently had a large tea, I was beginning to wonder when dinner was. I'd forgotten to ask my parents what time they'd be going down. I grabbed a book, and read for a while.

There was a bang as the door to the stairs closed, then the scampering of feet that I now knew. They paused outside my door, and I hoped he wasn't going to come in and annoy me. I really didn't want to get involved with a kid his age, even if he did have the most engaging smile I'd ever seen outside a crocodile. I kept quiet, and he carried on up the stairs. I heard the door of his room bang. Noisy little sod!

I nearly nodded off over the book, and then thought about my shower. I stripped off, tickled myself until it was stiff and measured my erection as I'd been doing about this time every day. But if there was much of an increase I couldn't tell. It always came to about the same figure -- 3 ¼" -- give or take. Sometimes it even seemed to have shrunk by 1/16" and I would get really depressed. I wondered if I'd make medical history by being the only teenager who had reached nearly 3 ½" and then gone backwards for the rest of his life, ending up as a woman. But I decided it'd be far too embarrassing to seek medical help if that happened. I'd just keep quiet and look for men to have sex with. I'd never really seen much future in the girls I'd met so far anyway; most of them hadn't got two brains to rub together -- at least, if you tried to talk to them it seemed that way. It didn't help that my school was a boys only school so I hardly ever got to talk to the opposite sex. On the other hand some of the boys in the place were really quite good to look at. And in the gym I played this game trying to see who had the biggest bulge -- or even any bulge -- in his shorts. I didn't count. Yet.

I flung the ruler and notebook back in my suitcase and went over to the shower. I'd found out how it worked, so here goes.... And a gasp and a curse as a heavy spray of freezing water hit me in the chest. I climbed out again, and juggled with the tap settings until the water felt warm to my hand. Then in again, only to discover that my rapidly cooled body now found it far hotter than my hand did. More juggling. More gasping as first too hot, then too cold water hit me. At last I'd got there and stood enjoying the unusual sensations on my body. It was odd how the nearer the spray came to my crotch, the harder everything became. I nearly got out again to get the ruler, but was enjoying it too much for that. I started fiddling with myself in the spray, and before long there was that feeling as my heart raced, my breathing struggled and my hips and back seemed intent on trying to form a right angles with each other, with the rest of me naturally trying to stop them. My eyes closed, and I sat down rather heavily in the bath, leaning up against its sloping back.

After recovering, I washed myself -- after cursing myself for not checking for whiteness around the affected part before the water washed it away. None left now, that's for sure. Damn. Well, it might have started that time, who knows? I shut off the shower and climbed out, dried roughly, and then lay on the bed to air dry.

There was a knock on the door. My eyes flipped open and I noticed it had got darker. How long had I been there? I was also cold. No clothes!

"Wait a minute," I called, and found my way to the door where my dressing gown hung. With it safely round my shoulders I unlocked the door, expecting to find a parent.

It was James, the grin preceding him. "Your mum and Dad think you've missed dinner. They asked me to come and dig you out."

"Oh," I said, rather bemused, having just woken up. "Wassertime?"

"Half past seven."

"Oh, blimey. Can you tell them I'll be down in a minute, please?"

"Can I stay?"

"No. You won't be able to tell them if you do."

"Okay."

And he was gone. I wasn't sure I wanted him standing there while I put on underwear and everything, anyway. I got dressed and hurried after him. My parents were at a table near to the Evanses, and as I entered the room to the exasperated stare of my father I looked quickly over to James who gave me a look, as I thought, of compassion. I was given a swift and quiet lecture about meal times, and ate in silence.

Afterwards we gravitated together, he and I. We were the only kids in the hotel. I didn't want the company of a young kid all the holiday through, but at least he was pleasant. We played cards, and he was sent to bed at 9.00. I'd forgotten just how early kids have to go to bed. I was sent up at 10.30.

He knocked on my door at some ungodly hour of the morning, but I didn't answer. He had woken me up, and I was in no mood for sociability. I dozed on, but suddenly remembered the dinghy. I looked at the clock and thought that I'd better get going as soon as I could -- I didn't want to annoy Dad when he was taking me out in her.

There were no parents anywhere to be found. The first few people were drifting down to breakfast, but not mine. Nor him, nor his parents. I was wondering whether it would be a good idea to wake them up when he came flying down the stairs and barged straight into me as I stood at the door.

"Sorry."

I just looked at him, straight faced. The headlight smile faded as if its battery was running down.

"I said I was sorry."

"Humph."

"What's the matter?"

"I was woken up too early."

"Oh. Sorry. I thought you'd be awake. I wanted the toilet."

"Oh."

"What're you doing today?"

"Sailing."

"Sailing? What, a boat?"

I wondered what else he imagined I'd be sailing, but just nodded.

"Can I come?"

Did I really want his company? Not to start with, that was certain.

"I'm going out with my father to start with, then I need some practice on my own. Then I'll see." Now when Dad said "I'll see", it meant no. When Mum said "I'll see", it usually meant yes. I wasn't sure what I meant by it. But I would see. It seemed to pacify him, though. His eyes lit up.

As good as Dad's word, my parents and I went to the boatyard again after breakfast and were introduced to my boat. I couldn't wait to sail her: she was the best thing that was going to happen to me for ages. In fact I think if it was a choice between sailing on my own for two weeks and waiting another six months for my penis to grow, I'd still have gone for the boat.

Dad and I found our way round her, then rowed out a bit and hoisted sail, all under the critical eye of the boatyard foreman. When he saw we really did know what we were doing he visibly relaxed and went back to work.

We sailed for about an hour. Dad, I could see, was really enjoying himself and relaxing, and I hoped he wasn't going to change his mind about letting me go out alone. Eventually he said regretfully: "I suppose we'd better head back and I'll pacify your mother. She's on her own, poor thing. But do you know...." He paused and looked down. It looked almost as if he was going to say something which embarrassed him.

He looked up again, and held my eyes. "Of all the things I looked forward to when you were born, sailing with my son as an equal partner in the boat was one of the greatest hopes I had. Take me out again?"

I was speechless. I just nodded. We each looked in opposite directions, suddenly embarrassed. I sailed on, back to the boatyard, and as skilfully as I knew how, manoeuvred the dinghy in so he could disembark. He crouched on the steps, hanging on to the gunwale. Once again his eyes bored into mine.

"Have fun, Martin. And don't do anything to get drowned -- I want to go sailing with you again, remember?"

And with that he was off. I set sail again, and bore away from the yard with a warm glow around me.

I didn't go far away, just enough to say that I'd gone out of sight of the village. For some reason apart from hunger I wanted to be back in time for lunch. Something to do with my father.....

It was a quiet meal. Afterwards I was about to go back to the boat when I saw James kicking a ball around on the back lawn. I was still full of goodwill to all, so I waited until it reached the corner of the building where I was, appeared suddenly and kicked it back to him. The grin unzipped, and I found myself smiling back at him, so infectious it was. He gave a "yeah!" of joy, and we kicked the ball to or at each other for the next ten minutes. Then he rushed over to the hotel's apology for a children's playground and sat on one of the swings.

Why did I have to go and join him?

For ages, it seemed, we swung and twisted and jumped and got higher and laughed. And all the thoughts about the school camp I was missing were wiped out. Then I looked at my watch.

"I'm wasting sailing time, James. I'll have to go. See you tonight."

Abruptly the grin zipped up again. I felt almost lost without it.

"M-Martin....." I waited. "Martin...can I come with you? Please?"

I looked at the pleading in his face. Something touched me inside. He was so young, and had the eyes of a half frightened young animal caught in the stare of a human for the first time. Why did I suddenly say "Yes, I suppose so, if your parents agree."?

He let off what I can only describe as a whoop, and rushed indoors at an incredible speed. Five minutes later I was wondering if he'd forgotten me and was almost on the point of going when he reappeared with his parents and my mother. I heard a last "PLEASE, Mum," as they came into the garden.

She came over to me, smiling, and I could see where James got his mouth from. "I'm told you're a safe sailor."

I was expected to say something.

"Yes, I certainly try to be. Dad seems to think I am."

"But I'm sure you don't really want to be followed around by a nine year old all day."

So that's how old he was. "I don't mind, Mrs Evans, really."

The grin was slowly unzipping again. I wondered if I could play with it.

"But...." I started. It zipped up a little. "It might be a good idea if he had a life jacket." It zipped a bit further shut.

"Oh....yes. I see what you mean. It's a sensible idea. Are they expensive?"

I hadn't the faintest idea. "Yes", I said, and watched the mouth zip up almost completely. "But the boatyard hires them out, I think."

The zipper reversed, slowly, and I thought I'd have another go. "There's another important thing...." Yes! It zipped up a bit. "He'll have to change into older clothes in case he gets wet."

This time the zip threatened to meet at the back again.

"All right," she said. There was another yell as he flung his arms round her and rushed off to the outside entrance to our tower to reach his room and get changed.

I knew what was coming once he had disappeared.

"You will be careful with him, Martin, won't you? Don't forget he's only young, and Mrs Evans wants him back in one piece. Don't take any chances, or show off, and think about safety all the time."

"Yes mother."

"And if you think he's getting cold, you must come back straight away. I'm sure it's cold on the water. You'd best make sure he's got something warm to wear, Mrs Evans."

How could I point out to my mother in front of someone else that it was early afternoon and about 80o in the shade?

"Yes mother."

"I'm sure he'll be fine, Mrs Finch. I've noticed your son and he strikes me as a very sensible fellow. I'm sure they'll both be careful."

She smiled at me, and I smiled politely back, suddenly wishing that I'd not agreed to have the kid along. But then `the kid' was haring back toward us, clad in a pair of white shorts, a T-shirt and a pair of canvas shoes.

"James, you'll be cold," said his mother.

"Not in a life jacket, Mum."

"Do get a coat, dear."

"Oh Mum, I'm boiling already. I suppose we've got to be back by dinner?"

"You certainly have. You will be back by seven, won't you, Martin?"

"Yes, Mrs Evans, I promise we will."

"Can we go, Martin?"

He sounded as if he was taking over.

"In a minute. Anything else, Mother?"

"No darling, just be careful, and enjoy yourselves."

There was another excited whoop from the kid, and I followed him to the garden's bottom gate which led down toward the village. I felt like a father as we walked along, trying to keep up with him. He got the message eventually, slowed down but started talking, non-stop.

"It's the first time I've been in a sailing boat. What's it like? How's it work? What d'you do if there's no wind? I put on as little as possible in case I get wet, so it doesn't matter. Have you got underwear on?"

"What?!"

"I haven't. I didn't' want it to get wet, so I didn't wear any. That's all right, isn't it?"

"For goodness sake, stop talking so loud. Better still stop talking. Let's just get sailing."

I carried on walking, James at my side like an anxious dog, and we reached the Hard where I'd moored the dinghy before lunch. I climbed straight down into her, but he stood on the edge of the Hard just looking down into the boat. I wondered why he wasn't following, and was about to say something impatient when I saw the look of silent, rapturous wonder on his face. I made my voice gentler.

"Come on, then. She doesn't bite. Step carefully onto that seat here -- that's a thwart -- and then sit on it."

Carefully -- to my relief -- he did as I said. When he had sat down I thought I'd better tell him a few things. His face was very serious, and the wondering look was still there too. It was like talking to a puppy who had just found something new that he didn't understand.

I told him about keeping the boat upright, that sometimes the boom would go over and he must make sure his head was out of the way, and that if we did capsize he must cling onto the boat at all times. Then I remembered.

"Damn."

"What's the matter?"

"The life jacket. We'll sail round to the boatyard to get one."

He stayed in the centre of the dinghy while I climbed round him, hoisting the sails, and his eyes never left me. They just got bigger. At last she was rigged, and we slipped back with the wind and tide until we were clear, then I swung the tiller and pulled in the sheets. The sails filled and we were off.

He gasped.

I looked at his face. Can you visualise that look of sheer joy that kids can give? The lips part, the eyes widen and sparkle, the body's held tense... and then he looked at me and the widest, most warming smile I'd seen yet on his mobile face was there for my sole benefit. He said nothing, but I could tell that this was one of the experiences of his life that he'd never forget, even if sailing became his living.

"Wow."

And that was all he said on the entire journey to the boatyard. I was sailing with as much technical skill as I could muster, firstly to impress him, and secondly because I was very aware that he had no life jacket, and I'd promised. We reached the yard safely, moored, and went ashore. Finding a small jacket was not a problem, although I got another lecture, this time from the yard owner. When he had spoken at length about safety to us both he drew me aside.

"Since you were last here there's been a club who've bought one of the bigger islands in the outer ring. It's the one with the tall trees on it. It doesn't look as if there's anybody on it, but there are. They're round the other side. It's a nudist club, so be careful."

I was silent on the way back to the boat. James said nothing, too, but he was busy looking inquisitively at what the workmen were doing. I was wrestling with the concept of a nudist club. For some reason my underwear seemed to be getting tighter again.

We set off again after we had wrestled with the fixings of the life jacket. It wasn't the simple thing that I had expected. Straps seemed to go everywhere. James couldn't sort it out at all. I had to figure it out, then pass straps round his back to tie at his side... I found myself close to him, and got a funny tingling feeling, being so close. Then there were the two wider straps that seemed to go under his legs. I told him so.

"Can you do them for me, please?"

I took a deep breath and carefully, to avoid touching where I shouldn't, pushed them through and out the other side. The buckles for them hung over his bottom. Fixing them without touching was impossible. I threw caution to the wind and fixed them against the soft flesh.

I felt shaky, and had to take a couple of deep breaths before we took off again. I'd got one of those annoying erections that seemed to be happening to me a lot lately, and hoped he wouldn't notice. But then perhaps if I kept getting them it'd make the thing grow.

We sailed out of the village's waterfront and over the half mile or so to the inner circle, as it were, of islands. James's eyes were everywhere: watching the receding coastline and the advancing islands, watching what I was doing, looking wherever my eyes went.... I decided to head for one of the nearest, smallest islands and land. But to do that I had to gybe.

"James, when I call gybe-o, you must get your head down. The boom will swing over quite fast to the other side of the boat. OK?"

He nodded, the eyes fixed on me wide open.

"Gybe-o." I hauled in the sheet, eased over the tiller: the wind caught the sail and flipped it over, I let out the sheet and adjusted the course, breathing a sigh of relief that he'd done exactly what I told him.

"Right now, you see that other rope, the one going to the jib?"

"What's a jib?"

"The sail in front. Untie it from that cleat -- that's the metal thing it's tied to -- and let it out slowly until the sail's on the same side of the boat as the mainsail.

Slowly, almost trembling with the excitement of actually helping to sail, he did so. The wind nearly pulled the foresheet from his hand, but he controlled it, and when he'd let it out enough I told him: "that'll do. Belay." He looked at me as if it was a foreign language. "Tie it up again."

"How?"

"Put it round this end of the cleat, cross it over itself, then wedge it under the opposite end of the cleat."

He figured it out and did it, giving me his searchlight grin when it was done.

"Right, now go to the other side, untie that, and pull in just enough to stop it flapping around."

There was no problem with that, either. He sat back and looked at me like a puppy waiting for orders.

"That's it for the moment. We'll reach land with the sails as they are. But when I tell you, you'll need to untie them both, then get that other rope -- the one on the left of the mast -- and untie that. That lowers the jib, so it might be a bit heavy. OK? But not till I tell you."

He nodded eagerly and the grin widened. I began to like him.

We weren't too far from the island now, and I thought the best way of approaching it would be to swing right round into the wind, which was almost at right angles to the shore, and row in. The tide was coming in, so we'd be sheltered from what little current there was by the island. At the right time I swung right round so we almost faced the way we had come.

"Let go the foresheets!"

I busied myself with the mainsail and soon had the boom threatening to descend on his head. "Get out of its way, James, to the left....no, to the left! OK, now you can lower the jib. It'll come down the wire right at the front of the dinghy."

It wasn't the best stowing of sail that I'd ever done, but it was certainly quicker with two people, even if one of them didn't know what he was doing.

"Leave it clipped to the wire, and get between the mast and it. I've got to get the oars out and row to shore."

He did. I did. We landed.

"Can you find the anchor?"

"Yes. I've been kneeling on it. It hurt."

"Take it and chuck it onto the sand, then jump ashore and go up the beach with it."

He got the first bit right, but then a wave came just as he was doing the second bit. He got his feet wet, jumped back onto the beach, tripped over the anchor rope and fell on his back into the receding wave. I climbed into the front of the boat, got calmly out, grabbed the anchor and planted it about 10ft up the beach as he got to his feet.

"I'm wet," he said.

"Yes. Don't get back into the boat yet or you'll get it all over the sails."

Ignoring him, I pulled the dinghy up the sand as well as I could, got back in and tidied up. When I got out and looked at him he was hopping from one foot to the other.

"I need a pee. How do I get out of this life jacket?"

"Oh, come on." I crossed to him and released the straps over his bottom and untied those round his waist. He shrugged off the dripping article.

"Where shall I go?"

"Bloody hell, there's bushes all round you. Choose one and pee into it."

"Can I do that?"

"Yes! Where else d'you think you're going to go?"

He went over to the bushes and behind one, out of sight. Well, I needed a pee, too. I went to the same bush and found him climbing out of his shorts. The T-shirt clung to his bottom, and being thin it might as well not have been there.

"What are you doing?"

"Trousers are wet. I can't pee in them." He lifted up the hem of the T-shirt and stood pointing himself at the bushes. Well, I'm curious about how other people are built, so I looked.

It was longer than I remember mine being at nine, not that I could be certain what age I was when I started thinking about it. I went and stood by the side of him, unzipped my trousers and pointed parallel to him, looking sideways all the time.

When we had done, he bent to pick up his shorts, exposing more of his childish bottom to me. I thought it was rather sweet, in a way.

"How do I dry them?"

"Squeeze them out."

"What, like mum does with the washing?"

"Yes. And..." My brain raced, a rarity for me. "....do the same with your T-shirt and shoes."

He trusted me absolutely, that kid. He plonked himself down on the sand, the T-shirt riding up above danger level, and propped one leg on the other to take off his shoes. I needn't have bothered to look at him when he was relieving himself. Everything he was currently equipped with was visible. He stood up again and struggled out of the reluctant shirt, and stood there, a naked savage, looking at me.

I didn't know which way to look. Well, I did, but hell -- I'd known him less than two days. No matter how much I looked away I had to keep swinging my eyes back to him. Inadequately he pressed the shorts between his hands, and a little water dribbled out between them and fell on his middle, making him jump.

"Oh, come on; give them to me or we'll be here all day." I grabbed the still warm, wet shorts from him and wrung them out. Next the T-shirt. The shoes he'd already emptied on the beach. Now what? How do I prolong this? I couldn't really, without it being obvious to him.

"I'll hang the T-shirt on the branches. By the time we've gone round the island it'll be dry. You'd better put the shorts back on"

"What if someone takes it?"

"Nobody comes here, it's too small."

We wandered round the island. On the south side the sun was really hot, and he flopped down on the sand, in the sun.

"This is fun. Come and sunbathe too."

Well, I suppose I could. I took off my shirt and shoes and lay back on the beach.

"Aren't you going to get your legs brown?"

I looked at him. "What, take my trousers off?"

"Yes"

"Ok"

So I did, and lay beside him on the warm sand, dressed in only my Y-fronts. It certainly was nice to get the sun and breeze to my legs, but I wished the bit of me that I hoped would grow hadn't chosen that moment to do so. I closed my eyes, hoping it'd go away.

There was a sound beside me. I looked up. He was sitting up, looking at the outer ring of islands.

"Is that someone over there?"

"Where?" I said, propping myself up on my elbows.

"There -- look, on that island there."

I followed his outstretched finger but could see nothing.

"Try getting up, see if you can see them then."

Well, I got up and walked down to the water's edge to see better. He followed me and stood in front of me as I shaded my eyes and squinted. But I could see nothing.

For the next quarter of an hour we just sunbathed. I kept looking over at him, liking him more and more as I did so. Eventually we got hot.

"Can you swim?" he asked.

"'Course. I wouldn't go sailing if I couldn't." Then the point of the question hit me. "D'you mean you can't?"

"A bit."

"Why didn't you say?"

"Should I have?"

"Yes! If you can't swim, what happens if you fall in?"

"I did"

"No you didn't. I mean, fall in where it's deeper."

"Dunno."

"Well, apart from the jacket, you'd drown."

Silence.

"Can't we go swimming here? You could teach me."

I hesitated. I didn't mind teaching him, 'cos it'd probably mean holding him afloat, and that was a nice idea. But...

"I've got no swimming trunks or towel, and neither have you."

"Can't we manage without?"

"I don't want to get my pants wet, and your clothes are nearly dry."

"Do we have to wear anything?"

"Yes! Somebody might see us." I wasn't going to mention the fact that my body was doing some growing practice again.

"You said there's nobody here."

"There isn't. Apart from me."

"Oh," he said matter of factly. "That doesn't matter."

"What if it does to me?"

"Why should it?"

"Well...I'm older than you."

"So?"

"Well....it just does."

"Not to me."

"Well, you can go in if you want. But really we should be setting off back soon. We don't want to be late, otherwise they'll not let you out with me again."

"Oh! I'd forgotten that. All right. Do you want to start now?"

"I suppose we'd better." Odd. The idea of seeing him bathing naked, or lying next to me on the beach naked, was something that made my heartbeat speed up. I could really feel it kicking in as I thought about it. But the idea of taking my own clothes off in front of him was something that I shied away from. We crossed back over the island.

I felt his T-shirt and found it had dried well. "Are your shorts dry now?"

"What? Oh yes, I suppose so."

"Well are they?"

"Yes, probably."

I hardly liked to, but I crossed over to him and grabbed the cloth where his leg came out of it. It seemed dry, and the sensations as my hand brushed his thigh were surprising to me.

"Ok. They seem all right. How about the shoes?"

He tried them, but they were still a bit soggy. We put them on the rear thwart in the sun to dry as we readied the dinghy for her return journey. The wind had shifted a bit, so I had to sail in a combination of long reaches and short tacks. Once again his eyes followed my every move. We were about half way back when he piped up again.

"Martin?"

"Yes?"

"Can I steer?"

I could think of no good reason why not.

"Come into the stern with me -- no, on that side. Move slower. You make her more difficult to steer if you move so fast. It upsets the balance. Now then. The idea is to keep her in a straight line. At the moment I'm steering for that house there, with the sort of red roof. See it?"

He nodded.

"Then if the boat heads to the right of it, I push the tiller a little to the right. If it goes left, the tiller goes left. So if you want to steer right, the tiller goes to the left, and the other way round too. Got it?"

He looked a bit undecided, but nodded anyway.

"Put your hand on the tiller, I'll keep mine on it lower down as well to start with, and I'll talk you through it."

We were sailing straight, as I said. But it didn't take long for the waves to make her head swing.

"Look, the prow's gone to the left of that house. What do you do?"

"Put the tiller to the right." He started to do so. The prow moved even further to port. I pushed it back against his arm.

"No. Wrong. You wanted the prow to head further to the right, so the tiller goes to the.....?"

"Left. Oh, I see. It's opposites."

"Yes. And when it's pointing directly ahead again the tiller goes central again."

"That's confusing."

"No it's not, it's habit. You do it without thinking."

We pulled and pushed that tiller, the two of us, until he got the hang of it. It didn't take long. On the short tacks I sent him to the middle thwart out of the way and to look after the jib sheets as I changed sides, but the rest of the time he was steering, and as we neared the village he was doing quite well.

"Can I take her in, Martin?"

"Not this time. There's too much that has to happen at once. But you can go up for'ard and get the painter ready, then when I say so, jump ashore with it. And no falling in this time!"

It was a copybook docking, and I must say that having someone else to avoid my usual ungainly scramble the length of the boat to take the painter ashore was a pleasant change.

We were in good time to get back to the hotel and change for dinner. I suggested that he should wash the salt off as I was going to.

"Oh good," he said, "I'll come and use your shower."

I was so used to him by that stage that I couldn't see a reason why not. So I lay on the bed and watched surreptitiously as he came downstairs from his room with a towel and wash kit. He stood at the door to the shower and looked at me, the grin at full volume.

"Aren't you going to come and make sure I shower properly?"

Damn. Why did something feel as if it had just kicked me just under the heart? If this went on I'd have to see a doctor. "No, you can wash yourself, can't you? How old are you, anyway?"

"Nearly ten".

Nine! I'd forgotten just how young he actually was. You get so used to someone that you think they're your age, or nearer it than they actually are. But -- hell, he was just a child.

"You don't really want me to shower you, do you?"

"Come and talk to me while I'm in there."

I really don't do as I'm told by every nine year old. But I crossed to the door as he went inside it and watched, totally surprised, as he stripped off his T-shirt again, then without a thought pulled off his shorts and stood in front of me, unashamed, without a stitch of clothing.

"How's it work?"

I crossed to the taps, having torn my eyes away from his thin pink body with the greatest difficulty. I was still amazed that he didn't seem to care less whether his bum was to me or his front. And to cap it all...

His was nearly as long as mine! How could he? He was only nine! I was four years older! True, I had bigger balls than him -- he really didn't have any worth speaking of. But it just dangled and swung in front of him. Why? How long would it be when he was fourteen? How long did it get when he wanked? Then I remembered that he wouldn't know anything about that yet; probably wouldn't for another three or four years.

I recollected that I was meant to be sorting out the shower for him, something I found difficult as I would give myself away if I presented a view of the front of my shorts to him. I adjusted the mix of water, then pulled the curtain across half way, then directed the flow to the shower head. Gingerly he put his hand under the water, found it to his liking, and hopped into the bath.

"We don't have a shower at home."

"Nor do we."

"If you're going to wash me, won't you get wet?"

I couldn't. I really couldn't. There's no way I could take off my clothes at the moment, and I still cringed from exposing myself to him anyway.

"You wash yourself. I did, by the time I was ten."

"I'm not ten, I'm nine."

"Near as." With some relief I saw him pick up the soap. The message had got through.

All through his shower I stood in the doorway and watched, and we chatted about nothing very much. Conversation doesn't flow as easily as the water in a shower. It's difficult for the showerer to hear over the water, especially when he's got soap in his ears. And it's difficult for the watcher to talk when he's having to spend most of the time turning away from the showerer so the bulge in his trousers isn't obvious.

When he had finished I handed him his towel, imagining that he'd put it round himself straight away and then perhaps the cloth of my shorts could hang straight. But he didn't. He just towelled himself everywhere.

Now, when I towel myself briskly after a hot shower, one thing happens. It doesn't matter where I am, and that's why at school I'm glad we have no showers that we have to use after games. I wondered if it was going to happen to him.

Well, it did, but up to a point, if you'll pardon the expression. It grew a bit until it was the same length as mine, and it stuck out from him like a thin, round, pink spirit level.

I was going to have to see that doctor.

Eventually he declared himself dry, until I pointed out his hair was still wet. He vigorously towelled it dry. The spirit level, still doing its job, followed every oscillation of his body.

"Better?"

"Wonderful. I mean, yes: that'll do. You'd better go and change while I shower."

"Oh, I'll stay and talk to you."

Arghh.

"No. If you stand around you'll catch cold...." One of my mother's sayings saved the day. "You go and get dressed, and I'll see you downstairs. You can tell my parents I won't be long."

I will be long, I thought, just as soon as I can get these shorts and my pants off.

"Can't I come back when I'm dressed?"

"No. I'll be downstairs soon."

"All right."

And he was gone. He did have some sense of decency - he listened for signs of anyone on the stairs before darting, still naked, out of the door. The last I saw was a pair of boyish buttocks disappearing up the stairs.

I crossed to the door and locked it. My clothes were off in five seconds flat. I got into the shower -- his shower -- and turned the water on. In my hurry I forgot to adjust the temperature and got alternately freezing and scalded. Once it was comfortable I started the actions that a scant two minutes later had me gasping and jerking my muscles uncontrollably. It was the most satisfying one I'd ever had in my life.

I remembered to check. There was still no white stuff.

CHAPTER 3

"I hear you had a good afternoon, darling. That's nice."

"Eh? Oh, you mean James has been talking to you. Yes, he seemed to enjoy himself."

"He thinks the world of you."

That was a new one. They hadn't ever said that to me before. I wondered if she was laughing at me, and looked at her sharply. No, no trace of mockery, and I knew her well enough to know when..... Not that it happened often.

"Well, he's not too bad himself, for a kid."

"You mustn't let him run your life for you while you're here, dear. I'm sure the Evanses wouldn't want you to start getting fed up with him and then leave him stranded."

"What? Leave him on one of the islands? Mother, what do you think I am?"

"No dear, I didn't mean literally. I meant that if he gets to rely on you so much that you suddenly say you don't want to be with him any more, then it'd spoil his holiday."

That was another new one. I didn't have to worry about things like other people's feelings at school, or whether I was leaving them behind when they thought they should be with me. God knows they never worried about mine. And I had few friends to worry about. No, on balance I was happy to have James' friendship for a week or so. He may be small. But I'd started to think life wasn't quite so sparkly when he wasn't around. Like now.

"I don't think that'll happen," I said out loud. "He's quite mature for his age..." Another of my mother's sayings, usually about me, dammit. "...and not bad company at that. It's nice to have someone else to sail with. Someone smaller than Dad, that is," as I noticed the hurt look come over her. She was partly convinced.

The gong rang for dinner. I'd made it to the hotel lounge to talk to my mother with five minutes to spare.

The Evanses and my father were already in the dining room when we got there. James's grin unzipped again in my direction and I smiled back more sedately. All through the meal he talked to his parents, and wondered what he could find to tell them that couldn't have been said in two minutes. I hoped he wasn't giving a blow-by blow account, or he might tell them about taking off his shorts, and us having a pee together, and me feeling his shorts to see if they were dry, and him having a shower with me watching, and how this lump kept appearing in my shorts..... No! He wasn't that talkative, surely. I only half believed it, anyway. But I was still a bit anxious.

I cornered him afterwards, before he had time to follow his parents and mine into the lounge.

"What were you saying to them? You never stopped all through the meal."

"I just told them about what we did."

"What, all of it?"

"Yes. Why not?"

"And how you showered in my room?"

"Yes. Why, shouldn't I?"

"Well....." But then I thought that the Evanses hadn't complained, and I felt sure they'd have gone straight to my parents if they thought I'd done anything wrong. I hadn't touched him, after all. Well, only the once to see if his shorts were dry. But he was walking again, following them into the room.

"Well, Martin," said Mr Evans. I had stroke of panic. Was this it? "You had quite an afternoon with James, I hear. We've heard twice, in fact!" And he laughed, as did my parents. As did I, although I didn't know what he was talking about.

"You seem to have looked after him very well, and thank you." What? Was he praising me? I went almost weak with relief. "And even letting him use the shower in your room. That was kind. I hope you don't mind. I know he leaves our bathroom in a mess when he uses it...."

"Aw, DAD!"

"Shut up, Jimmy. You do. Where was I ?..... Oh yes. I hope he didn't leave yours in a mess. And I hope you checked to see that he washed everywhere, too."

I didn't know what to say. Anxiety and relief are both strong emotions, and when evenly balanced the brain can't cope. All I could do was to grin at James' -- I couldn't think of him as a Jimmy -- discomfiture.

"Oh....er...no," I stammered. "I had a shower afterwards...." Good. I got that one in. "....and it seemed just as I'd left it."

"That's not saying much," said my mother. It was my turn to get the grin from James.

Mr Evans laughed. "I'm surprised you didn't have a shower with him. That would have left a battlefield."

I couldn't believe my ears. Was he really suggesting it? But why? I realised with a shock that I must be a good actor, or that James' parents were as innocent as their son. The whole family seemed to trust me. I heard myself say: "Perhaps after tomorrow" and smile weakly.

Now at that moment I could no more have stood up than fly, not without my physical state being obvious to everybody. So it was just as well that James latched on to my last phrase.

"I can go in the boat again tomorrow, can't I? Please, Dad?"

"Well, if Martin doesn't mind. I can't blame him if he does. He wants some time to himself. And I know he wants to take his father out too."

The pleading face fell. Then brightened. "Why don't we all go? All six of us?"

"No thanks!" "I'm not going in a boat that small!" These from the Evanses, father and mother respectively.

"James, we'd never fit all six into her. It'd be bad enough with three when Dad comes with us sometime," I said.

"Are you coming, Mr Finch?"

"Not tomorrow, James. His Mum and I are going into the countryside. We're walking. Do you want to come with us, Martin?"

I looked at them, half wanting to be with them and half wanting to be sailing with James. No, in fact it was more ¼ to ¾.

"I'll sail, if you don't mind," I said.

"And me?" asked James.

"I suppose so," I said, mock reluctantly.

I escaped, eventually, and half expected James to follow. I would have been embarrassed and rather annoyed if he had: as he didn't I was disappointed. I went into the garden, and then wondered about walking down into the village. So I went back and half told, half asked, my parents if I could.

"Can I come?" It was inevitable, I suppose.

"No, darling. I think Martin's had his fill of you today, and besides, it's bed time soon."

"Aw, Mum...."

"No, none of your `aw Mums'. And if you moan I'll take you up there now, and get Martin to come up and tuck you in like a good little boy when he returns."

Her son glared at her, not knowing whether she was serious or not. I stood up hastily. "Right, I'll be going then. Goodnight James. I'll come and tuck you in later."

All the adults laughed. I felt double faced. I'd just made him feel small like I'd been made to feel so many times in the past, and I could feel his eyes boring into my back as I walked away. I didn't dare look back.

I was unhappy as I walked down the hill. I had this nagging thought that I might just have lost a friend. I'd lost them before, but that was school and didn't count. Anyway, they probably weren't friends anyway. Really. But I'd started to like James....Jimmy? Could I ever call him that? No! Mind you, I might not have the choice by the time I got back.

I was about three-quarters of an hour, and feeling happier as time got on. I felt sure he'd not have taken it seriously. I looked in at the lounge and found the adults in deep conversation, so I just said "I'm back. Goodnight" as I passed. I got a chorus of good nights in return, then Mrs Evans called to me.

"Martin, thanks again for looking after him. Don't feel you've got to take him with you, you know. I mean that. He's used to being with us as we go round."

"No, it's OK, Mrs Evans. I like his company. Oh....." I swallowed, having just found the courage from what had been said earlier to say what I was about to. "Should I go up and say good night to him?"

"Yes, my dear, of course you can. That'd be kind and I know he'd appreciate it."

My heart leapt. "Goodnight," I said gleefully, and sauntered as casually as I could from the room. But once out of earshot I ran. All the way to the back of the hotel where our tower opened up.... I ran up the stairs all the way to his door.

And then paused, breathing hard. What was I doing here, outside the bedroom door of a kid? Being scared to go in. But why here at all? My brain refused to focus. I was about to tiptoe back downstairs when two things happened.

Firstly I realised that I'd asked his mother if I could come up. And the second...

"Martin? Martin, is that you?"

It sounded frightened, that voice. I couldn't just stay outside. So I pushed the door open and said "Yes" at the same time.

"You scared me. I just heard footsteps, then they stopped, and all I could hear was breathing. Phew!"

He laid back down on the bed again, the grin just starting to dazzle again. I'd been so worried that I'd been horrible to him that his ready acceptance of my being there warmed my heart. I had got to his bedside by now and just stood there, looking at him.

"Well, aren't you going to tuck me in, then?"

"Huh!" was all I could think to say.

"What you could have done was to wait outside the outside door for me, and I'd have gone to bed, then got up again and joined you."

"What, and have your parents worried sick if they came up to check on you?"

"Oh well, if you're going to be like that."

"I'm sorry I was horrible to you." There. I'd said it.

"Were you? When?"

"When I went out."

"Oh, that's OK. Are you really going to take me sailing again tomorrow?"

"Yes." I was so relieved that I forgot to be hesitant.

He bounced up and down in the bed. The springs creaked alarmingly.

"Shhh! You'll wake the bloke below!"

He stopped immediately. The double take took some time. "But that's you!"

And he started bouncing again, even harder.

"Good night, James." He stopped again.

"Good night. Can I use your shower again in the morning?"

"Yes."

"Good night."

I escaped. It took me very little time so get into bed, but thinking of his morning shower made me take some time in getting to sleep. Still no white stuff.

It was cold the next morning. I was woken early by a noisy milkman in his float as it crashed and rattled its way down the hill. My nose was cold and I pulled up the bedclothes to cover it, then tried to get to sleep again. I was just drifting off when I heard the quietest, politest knocking any door has ever received. I had already started imagining the forthcoming shower, and wondering if I had the balls (if you see what I mean) to strip off and get in it with him. So I was quite receptive to the idea of his coming into the room.

Only not at 5.30.

I took my hands away from between my legs where I had been sort of instinctively warming things up, and called "Yes?"

The door swung open and a voice shivered, rather miserably, I thought, "Can I come in?"

"Come on, then."

The door shut, and bare feet padded on the linoleum floor. The mat started just by the bed. I turned my head in his direction, thinking he was just anxious to get going, and saw just a bundle of misery, teeth chattering, red eyed, hugging a blanket round himself.

Now I may have been a hard-nut fourteen-year-old but this small bundle of misery really got to me. "What on earth's happened?"

"I've been awake ages," he sniffed. "My room's freezing and I can't get to sleep. Then the milk thing woke me even more and I don't know what to do."

I didn't either. Part of me was saying `get him into the bed, for goodness sake, and get him warm'. Another part was saying `no. You'll get into trouble, and you're not wearing anything anyway'. I looked at him in indecision, and as I did so and he shivered, a tear rolled down his face. That did it.

"You'd better come in here, then. But I've got no clothes on."

Did he worry? Did he heck. He'd pushed back the covers before I had a chance to make room for him. Damn, that other side of the bed was cold. He dropped the blanket, and I could see that he was wearing just a pair of briefs which slopped around his waist and didn't really seem to touch him anywhere. In his haste he dropped the blanket on the floor and was pushing against me so as to get in and covered as quickly as possible. He certainly was cold. His cold body was making me cold. My nice warm bed!

"You're freezing!"

"I said so."

"Yes, but I mean really cold."

"Sorry."

"Why didn't you come before?"

"I didn't want to be a nuisance."

"Idiot."

Sniff.

"Come here."

And I gave in to myself and put an arm over him. He immediately pushed closer to me and nearly froze me solid. But I could feel he was more comfortable. The arm that was over him felt around for the bedclothes and pulled them over us properly, and right up to my chin. Any higher and he'd probably get suffocated. The arm that was still in front of me was a problem. It was very near to his middle, and I didn't want any accusations of fondling.... Mind you, his hand was near to my middle, and my middle was getting bigger.

"I'm going to put my pants on." I made to move.

"Don't go. It's nice and warm."

"I've got to wear something. It's not...right."

"Why?"

"It just isn't."

He was in no mood to argue. I turned away from him and wondered where I'd dumped my clothes. Damn: the floor, just near where he'd got in the bed. Well I couldn't ask him to pass me my underwear. I carefully got out, making sure my front was facing away from him. But how to get round the other side whilst still doing so? Fortunately the cold solved my problem for me, and although it meant he'd see me completely naked it was better than with a mast sticking up in front. I'd seen him naked the previous day, anyway.

As swiftly as I could I picked up my Y-fronts and clambered into them, then ran back to the other side of the bed. More at home this time, I arranged us so we were in a proper hug, his head just below my chin, and our arms more or less round each other. After a few minutes he sighed gustily, and I shivered as the draft from his nostrils chilled my chest.

"That's better," he mumbled. I could feel him wriggling, and soon he was in contact with my body for more or less his entire length. I hoped he was getting too sleepy to realise there was a bit more of me to rest against than there had been. But it least that bit was warmer than the rest of me.

I drifted off to sleep. He already had.

KNOCK, KNOCK.

I woke up with a start -- unusual for me because I'm usually in a stupor for at least half an hour. I started grasping for the thistledown of my thoughts which, after the second knocking, became cotton wool and then suddenly the reinforced concrete of full awareness.

I was in bed with a boy. He was five years my junior. We were only wearing underwear. I had my arms round him. Somebody was about to come in.

"Just a moment!" My voice, in panic, had regained the high treble of childhood. My bedfellow woke with a start. Something about his eyes told me he was one of those appalling people like foxes, who are instantly fully awake. His wide eyes met mine.

"Someone's at the door!" I whispered.

"So what?" he said, and dropped his head back on the pillow.

"Get up. Go in the shower. Go ON!"

"Why?"

"Because you shouldn't be in here. It's...they wouldn't understand."

"Why?"

"Oh, for goodness sake, just GO! The shower. Start having one. We're probably late for breakfast."

At last the reinforced concrete had discovered its foundations and a coping stone. I looked at the clock. We were.

"We are."

"What?"

"Late for breakfast. It's ten to nine." Breakfast was at 8.30.

He flung himself out of the bed and across the room to the shower. I covered myself up again.

"Come in."

It was my mother. "What are you doing? It's breakfast. We've almost finished ours, and you know we want to go out today."

"Sorry Mum. Overslept. Couldn't let you in earlier 'cos James was just undressing for a shower."

"Ah yes, James. He's in there. Of course. Does that mean you're both going to be late?"

"Not very. But can you tell his Mum and Dad not to wait? We won't be long."

"I think you'd better get in there with him to save time."

Not with you standing there, I'm not.

"Yes Mum."

"All right, I'll tell them. They won't be pleased. Hurry up."

And she went off again.

Now here's a cleft stick. I've just been told to have a shower with James. Half of me wants to, but the other half doesn't want to be seen naked by him. I know I'd just had my arms round him, but.... And what happens if I have an erection?

Damn.

I was having one.

I got out of the bed and walked to the cold linoleum. I dropped my pants. I was very worried. Do I just brazen it out? Do I climb back into bed? What will he say and think?

In desperation I went over to the door of the shower, wrenched it open and walked in. The small pink seal looked at me, wide eyed. Then grinned.

"You've got a stiffie!"

Blast.

"Yes. Men often have them in the mornings."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Are you going to make room for me under there or do I have to push?"

"What, with your stiffie?"

"Just move, will you?"

I kept my back to him as much as possible. It was a bit late, admittedly, but I had to keep some show of good taste going.

We made the breakfast table by a quarter past nine. The bacon was very stiff.

"Just like you," he said, and giggled. I ignored him.

I managed to meet up with my parents before they went, and he did the same with his. After apologising for the oversleep they seemed happier, and I asked if I could take a packed lunch. They told me to arrange it with the hotel, or buy something in the village if I couldn't.

"How about James? Are you getting one for him?"

"Yes. I'm going to see his parents in a minute."

"All right. Have a good day, and be careful!"

"Yes Mum. You too."

I ran the Evanses to earth in the lounge. There seemed to be a discussion going on. I heard the tail end of a sentence. "...but you've got to understand that he doesn't want you with him all the time." James' grin was buttoned right up. I stopped, blinking, not wanting to interrupt.

"Oh, hallo, Martin." Mrs Evans' voice sounded a bit strained. "I hear James was cold this morning and burdened you with his problem. You should have sent him to us."

Oh God. Was I being found out? I stammered, suddenly feeling weak. "Er...well...it was very cold, and it seemed the best thing to do. Perhaps I shouldn't have.....I'm sorry." I'm sure I was blushing furiously.

Mrs Evans looked at me curiously. "No, no; you did exactly the right thing. I'm just sorry he woke you and lumbered you with himself."

Just a minute...that wasn't furious accusation. Was she being sarcastic?

"Well....er....I didn't mind, really."

"It's kind of you. But we've told James he mustn't bother other people."

"He's no bother, Mrs Evans. In fact I was cold too, and it was like a hot water bottle."

I don't know why I thought of that, but she laughed suddenly. "Well, he mustn't get into the habit of it. It's not fair. Now darling, are you ready?"

"Oh!" I said, my heart suddenly sinking a little. "Is he going with you?"

"Yes. We've been talking, and it's very nice of you to think of him, but you don't really want him with you. It's wonderful to find someone who'll put themselves out like you have for him, and perhaps if he could go with you now and again that would be nice. But you need your freedom. No, it's best if he comes with us today. 'Bye"

She was just ushering James and her husband out of the door when I thought of my trump card.

"But Mrs Evans...I've just ordered a packed lunch for us, so we can spend all day sailing and going round the islands."

She paused. I still wasn't sure if she thought I was `after' James, or even if she thought I was the sort of boy who would go `after' other boys. But she looked at me, then at her son's unhappy face, then at her husband. And she sighed.

"Well, I tried to give you your freedom, Martin, but if you're really sure and you're not just being kind, then so be it. Go on then, you. Go and get changed, but mind you're back in time for dinner. Showered first, if you're salty.

Once again the whoop of unexpected joy, and the hug for each parent, and I think he'd have hugged me, too. They laughed and said their farewells, and we were alone. He just looked at me. I raised my eyebrows.

"Come on then. We've got some lunches to order." The eyes went big.

"D'you mean you haven't got them yet?"

"I never had a chance."

"But you said..."

"Look, do you want to go sailing or not? And bring a towel this time, will you? We might go swimming."

It was another perfect summer day, quite a change for England in August. We visited another island after we'd sailed around a bit to give him the hang of using the tiller, and he wondered about lunch. I had the feeling that it wasn't lunch time yet (I never wore a watch on the water) and said we'd better wait a bit. He eyed the lunch bags hungrily.

"Look, we've moored in the shelter. Let's walk across the middle of the island and see if it's OK to swim on the other side. Then we can have lunch afterwards. It' safer that way, too. You know you mustn't swim after eating. You get cramp."

"What's cramp?"

"Don't know, but it hurts and stops you moving."

"Oh."

So we set off into the woods. I thought he'd crash about like any young kid, but he was surprisingly light on his feet and attentive. He pointed out some red squirrels which I'd have missed. I was glad to see them because we only got grey ones where I lived. Eventually the southern beach opened up in front of us.

Luckily all that coast is sand, except near streams where it's mud. This island had sand, I'm glad to say, which made life a lot more pleasant. I flopped down onto it, having spread my towel out first. He did the same, then started taking off his shoes.

"Come on!"

"What? Just rest a bit will you?"

"I want you to teach me to swim."

"Teach you....? But I thought you could swim a bit."

"Not very well. I only started learning last term, and we only got two lessons."

He shouldn't have been sailing at all.

"For goodness sake, why didn't you tell me? I should never have brought you with me. Even with a life jacket."

He was straight faced again.

"Please?"

"Oh, come on then. I hope you've got some swimming things this time."

"No. Why, should I? It's only us."

"We've been through this before. What if somebody else comes here?"

"I rush up the beach and get my towel while they're looking the other way."

I didn't answer. Something was nagging at my mind....Yes. I knew where my towel and swimming trunks were.

On my bed in the hotel bedroom.

I looked at him. "I can't teach you today."

"What? Why?"

"'Cos I haven't got my trunks."

"Good. You can swim in the nude."

"No I can't."

"Yes you can. Look, it's easy." And without a care he pulled off his shirt and threw it onto the sand, then pushed down his shorts and stepped out of them, standing deliberately just in front of me. I gave a sort of short whimper.

"I can't do that."

"Yes you can. Look. I'll show you. Stand up."

"Why?"

"I'll do it for you."

"You won't!"

"I will!" He danced round behind me, and I had to bend to see what he was doing. He did a sort of war dance behind my back, dodging first one side then the other so I had to keep bending one way then the other. I got fed up with this, and stood up so as to face him. With one swoop he had his hands on my shorts waistband and had pulled them to the ground.

I bent immediately to pull them up again, but he had rushed round the back of me again and had pulled my underwear unceremoniously off my bum. I tried to grip them with my thighs, but he just pushed me. I went sprawling; the shorts round my ankles saw to that. While I was off balance on the ground he somehow got my shorts completely off my feet, and stood there laughing while I lay panting on the sand with my bare bum in the air.

"Give me my shorts!"

"Come and get them! If you don't get undressed and come and teach me to swim I'll throw them out to sea."

"You dare!"

He walked down to the water and waded in, holding aloft the only piece of clothing I had with me that wouldn't get me laughed at or worse as I walked up the hill and into the hotel. Any erection I had when he was wobbling his way round me was long gone with the anticipation of the shame of that.

I called him some choice names which I'm sure he'd heard before, and then made up my mind. He'd seen me naked before. There was nobody else around. It wasn't a big deal, was it? It felt like it. His nakedness was hidden by water and mine wouldn't be.

"All right," I called. "Come back and put my shorts on the beach and I'll come in with you."

"Yeahhhhh!" Like a line from the Beatles. He waded ashore, but stopped at the edge of the water.

"Come on then."

"What?"

"Take 'em off."

I called him some more names and stripped off my underpants. He crossed to my towel and carefully dropped my shorts on the beach.

"You rotten little sod," I called him, as the breeze blew at parts of me it had never done before. " I've a good mind to drown you."

There was a silence at that. I looked at him. He was very serious.

"You won't duck me, will you." It was a statement, not a question.

"I might."

"I....I ....oh."

He sat down with a bump.

"What's wrong."

"I don't like getting my head wet."

"But you have to when you're swimming."

"That's different."

"Well you weren't very nice to me."

"Well....you wouldn't play."

I realised that I was standing in full view, nude, holding a conversation. "Come on. I won't duck you, but let's just get in the water."

I made him show me what he could do. Doggy paddle, and that was it. I took charge again. I was still a bit sore about the ease with which he managed to get my clothes off. I mean, I'm not a fighting type at school, never have been. But I should be able to control the activity of a 9 year old. But I'd said that I wouldn't duck him, and I'd stick to that. But he was going to work hard.

Remembering when I was taught, I got him to hold his arms in front of him, bring his legs up behind, and kick. This put his head in the water, and he collapsed, spluttering.

"Don't be a baby. It's only water. Look, bend down and just put your face under water."

He did. It stayed there for half a second.

"No, longer. Count to ten."

He looked at me and took a deep breath, the blurted out "You're not going to hold my head under, are you?"

"I promised that I won't. I want you to be able to swim, remember? Come on."

Another breath. The body bent, the face went in. I counted to ten and he still didn't come up. I let him stay there, and at last there was a gurgle and up he came, breath and water blowing in my face as if he had been drowning.

"That's twenty," he shouted when he'd recovered.

"Good. Now you can do that, give me your arms, I'll support them, get your feet behind you and gently kick."

"How?"

"Like this."

I swam a few strokes away from him, hopeful there was nobody else around to see my bare bum sticking up out of the water.

"See?"

"OK." I took his hands again, and his bum came to the surface. I thought again how trusting he was. Nice.

He made a good show of the leg movements, but I made him keep going until he collapsed spluttering again.

"Every few moments you have to bring your head to the side and breathe. Try and breathe out one side, then a second later breathe in on the other."

He mastered it eventually.

"Ok, not bad. Next, you've got to lean forward in the water and I'll support you on my right arm, then I'll put the left one under your waist. Just hang in the water with your face under it again."

I held the arm out, just under the water, and he leant against it. My left one went under his middle, and I slowly took his weight on it, lifting him onto his feet. I had him totally at my mercy, and the knowledge sent a thrill through me. If the water had been less cold I'm sure I'd have reacted. He still had complete trust that I wouldn't duck him, and I didn't have the heart to.

The next step was the obvious one of doing the same, but having him do the movements of the crawl. I told him he'd have to go on doing this for a long time, and as his co-ordination improved I felt it more and more difficult to stop him from moving in the water. At last he stopped, panting.

"How'm I doing?"

"Swimming, more or less. Get your breath, and we'll have another go."

It took him no time at all to resume, and he was now pulling so strongly that I lowered my arm slowly into the water. He started to move, and I felt his willy push over my arm......wow......and hurriedly put my right arm under his middle to keep him upright. He stopped.

"What did you do that for?"

"What?"

"Let go."

"I didn't. You swam off."

"What?"

"You were swimming."

"I wasn't."

"You were. Look. Do it again. This time I'm going to lower my arm, but it'll still be under you. OK?"

We got to the same stage as before, and I lowered the arm as I said I would, after letting him trail his willy over it again. Well, I had to have some perks. To my surprise he just kept going! I launched myself after him, catching up easily. On one of his breaths he saw me by his side and immediately stopped.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm trying to keep up with you."

"D'you mean I was SWIMMING?"

"Yes! What else?"

"Blimey."

We decided to quit while he was ahead and have lunch.

CHAPTER 4

I was so excited that I'd taught him to swim so easily. He was excited, too. I led us out of the water, and it wasn't until I turned round to make sure he was following me that I remembered we were both naked. I rushed up the beach to his towel and wrapped it round me. He laughed when he saw.

"Why're you doing that? It's only me!"

"It just feels...wrong."

"You keep saying that. It doesn't to me, it's nice and free. And you don't mind me being naked and I don't mind you being naked. So that's enough."

I could see his point. The towel stayed firmly round me.

He dropped down next to me, lying on his back in the sun, shielding his eyes.

"Are we going to eat?" I asked.

"Hmmm, yes! What is there?" He sat up.

As we ate, and I kept my eyes sweeping over his thin little body and its accoutrements (I thought of the word at the time, and was proud of it.), I slowly came round to the idea that perhaps it was all right not to hide myself away. Here. Just here. Nowhere else. The shower in my hotel room didn't count. As it was the towel was damp from being wrapped round me, and was hot and uncomfortable anyway. In an unsought fit of abandon I unwrapped it, laid it on the sand and lay back down on it, forgetting it was his. It was still uncomfortable so I moved to one side -- his side -- and lay just on the sand. I expected some comment.

"That's better," he said.

We rested afterwards, for about half an hour. It was very hot and we were both drowsy. Eventually I thought of sunburn, and told him either to turn over or we could go back into the sea. Immediately he jumped up.

I had to start him off again by supporting his body with my hand, but strangely I didn't mind that. As he did more and more starts he was managing increasingly on his own, and was soon managing to swim a reasonable distance unaided. I had to be careful not to let him get out of his depth, because I remembered getting into a panic once myself when something went wrong and I couldn't touch bottom. I gave him strict orders about that, but showed him what to do if he was in a panic.

"Look. If you fill your lungs with air..." we both did, "...and then just let your body lie on the water, arms and legs apart, you'll float." I suited the action to the word and he nearly drowned laughing. I stood up indignantly.

"Your willy sticks up like a periscope!" he laughed.

"Huh. Well, it's time for you to play submarines, then. I'll support your weight to start with."

It took a few goes, but he got it. In fact he very quickly found he could stay afloat as long as me. I warned him not to do it too long, or the current might wash him away. But he was right about one thing.

It did look like a periscope.

I found I liked watching him play submarines.

The drawback with leaving your watch safely on land is that you don't know the time. We were once again soaking up the sun when I realised that I had no idea at all how the day was going. We hadn't checked on the boat since we anchored her, and I was so absorbed with having someone else to play alongside, someone who enjoyed my company and treated me as an equal despite being so much younger, that thoughts of anything else had been driven from my mind.

"Bloody Hell." In the '60's that was fairly strong, especially if you were 14 and had an Edwardian upbringing.

"What's up?"

"I think it's getting late, but I don't know the time. If we're late....."

"What?"

"Well, they won't let us sail together again, that's certain."

"Had we better start back?"

"Yes, we jolly well had." I'd caught some of the Edwardian exclamations from Dad as well.

"I dare you to cross the island with no clothes."

"What?"

"Well, we're wet now, we want to be dry, and we will be by the time we get to the boat."

It was certainly common sense. But it had taken me an hour or more to get comfortable with the idea of exposing everything I'd got (Everything! Me! I must be mad!) for an entire afternoon. It had taken me another 30 minutes to stop myself raising my head every few moments to check there was no one else around. I did actually feel at ease now, though, but the idea of walking through the woods to the side of the island that faced the village was daunting. It was a long way off being out of the question, though, and was a bit of a dare. And he was right, we would be dry by the time we got there.

Once again feeling exposed, I gathered up my clothes, as did he, and I walked smartly to the wood's cover. He followed more casually. We made good progress, and once the open northern shore was in sight I stopped to get dressed, although I didn't put on my underpants. My body was still salt-sticky. I was glad he did the same.

It felt very odd to be covered again.

When we got within sight of the village church and its clock we saw that we were actually a bit early. It was only 5.00. As I'd insisted on doing all the boat handling on the way back I decided to give him some more practice, and then we berthed in the usual place and climbed the iron ladder up to the quay. Hard ground underfoot was also strange. We climbed the hill, feeling tireder and tireder as we went, reported in to my parents who were sitting at the bar and told them we were going to shower. At least, I did: I assumed he was going to do the same.

He followed me to my room as if it was his right. I was strangely excited. He just seemed to assume that we were `together' somehow. He went straight to the bed - my bed! - and flopped down on it, closing his eyes.

"Come on. You can't go to sleep. We've got to shower and get down to bed...I mean dinner."

"Too tired."

"Come on!" What do I have to do, shower him?

He stayed motionless.

"Do you want to go sailing tomorrow?"

"Don't care."

"Look, if you don't get downstairs on time they'll come up here and find you. And....they'll find you naked." Why did I think of that?

"What?" He sat up.

"They'll find you naked because I'll strip you and hide your clothes."

"You wouldn't dare...."

He never really finished the sentence. And yes, I did. He was so tired he hardly resisted. I almost carried him naked over to the shower and dumped him in there. About to turn on the water I realised that I was still in shoes, T-shirt, shorts and underwear, so I hastily stripped off, this time with no thought or embarrassment at all.

I got it wrong. It was freezing on our still-hot bodies. I shouted and he just burst into tears. I pushed him out of the way of the spray and held him there, still in tears, while I carefully adjusted the taps until the temperature was better.

"I'm sorry."

"Let me go."

"Look, you've got to shower. It's all right now."

"'S not."

"It is. Try it, put your hand in."

Cautiously he did so, then stepped into the water without a further comment. He reached without enthusiasm for the soap and just rubbed it on his chest, but didn't seem very anxious to do anything else. As he was emotional already I felt I couldn't hurry him up as I would normally, so I wondered if I do something that I really wanted to do but just didn't really dare...

"If you're tired, d'you want me to wash you?"

Without hesitation he nodded.

I don't know if you've ever showered another human body which attracts you. Did you feel, as I did then, that you hardly dared touch, even though you'd been told you could? I stood behind him for ages, soap in hand, water dripping into my eyes, indecisive. Eventually he looked round to me.

"Please?"

Doing his back was a treat, his muscles hardly formed but still present, the skin both soft and yet firm. No....not the bottom.... His legs the same, and he lifted his feet one at a time, only jerking away once as I washed the sensitive soles. Still kneeling behind, I washed up his calves and thighs.....and once again stopped. I went round the front and soaped the chest, under the arms and neck, and then wondered about the belly. Tentatively I put a soapy palm against it and washed....then round the sides, to the back.....and realised that I was actually feeling the top of his cleft. No, that would never do. So I stopped.

"You'd better do the rest." I was almost gruff about it. I didn't want him to think it had affected me. Strangely I wasn't physically affected in the usual way.

But I was trembling like a badly set sail.

I watched as he soaped his hands and rubbed it around his front and back, and wished I'd had the courage to do it for him. It was over in a second or two. If only he wasn't so tired and we'd had more time....

He rinsed off, slightly more awake by now, and climbed out to dry himself. His turn to use my towel! Damn, I'd forgotten. But I didn't send him upstairs to get his own, I didn't have the heart.

But now I had to shower, and quickly. No time to do what my body was starting to press me to do. Firstly he was standing there and secondly we had to get downstairs. I was soon after the towel, but found he was just slowly dabbing himself with it, still wet.

"Come on, you. You'll be here for ages. Let me."

This time it was a command rather than a request. He just looked at me and handed over the towel. I smiled at him, and got a smile back. Thank goodness. I stood in front of him and told him to put his hands against my shoulders. The towel went round his back and I pulled it briskly to and fro.

"Owwoowwoooww...." He moaned as the towel scrubbed his back, his bottom, the back of his legs and, once I had knelt again, behind his calves. I looked back up at him and caught, once my eyes had struggled round his midriff area, the start of a grin on his face. Swiftly I went round his back and dried his front in the same way. I made sure I released some tension on the towel as it passed over the sensitive bits....

"Thanks," he said when I'd finished. "S'pose I'd better go and get dressed."

"Yes. And quickly, too. No going to sleep up there or I'll take you down to dinner naked." I swear he was going to say `you wouldn't dare', but he thought better of it and rushed upstairs. Did I have time for one? With all that nakedness and touching I needed to more than I'd ever done before. But no....later. He'd not be visiting me tonight if he was that tired.

He was vary quiet at the table, and kept getting asked if he was all right. Once it was over he just dumped himself in an armchair and curled up. His father beckoned to me.

"What have you done to him? He's never been this quiet!"

I reddened, then realised what he meant.

"Oh. We spent all day sailing and then I taught him to swim, and then we sunbathed, then I was letting him sail the boat."

He stared at me. "You...taught him to swim? But how...what...I....Doreen!" this last was almost a shout. Several people turned their heads sharply and one man spluttered his coffee onto the saucer, I was intrigued to notice.

She came over, almost at a run.

"Martin, tell Doreen what you've just told me, will you?"

"Er...well...yes....But what have I done wrong, please?"

"Wrong? You've done nothing wrong. We've been trying to get him to learn properly for ages. He's always said he hated getting his face wet."

"What?" said his wife, "you don't mean he's been teaching him to swim?"

"Well, Martin?"

"Er...well...yes. I mean, it was so hot, and he should be able to if he's on the water, and it was a safe beach, so ...well, yes."

"But that's marvellous! Thank you so much. How many lessons do you think he'll need when we get home?"

"Well none, really. I mean he was swimming on his own this afternoon."

"What?"

"Well, we started off the way I was taught, you know, getting your face wet and that, and then I held him up while he did the movements, them he swam off my hand."

He just looked at me. Then I got his hand. To shake. And a slap on the back that made me lurch.

"Martin, you're a marvel. Thank you. Can we come and see him swim, please? Tomorrow?"

I thought hard. We'd better take some trunks..... "Yes, I...er...yes. We could go to the island, I suppose, and swim there. Why don't we all go? Could you and Mum and Dad hire a motor boat, or Dad could hire a sailing dinghy? And we could meet up there."

Doreen -- what a name! -- looked a bit doubtful, but he was all for it. And so, over the head of their by now sleeping son the adults plotted. I said that it would be best if they gave us some practice time in the morning, and they said they'd bring a picnic lunch over, enough for six.

So that was our day planned.

They noticed that James was out of it by now, and his father lifted him gently and carried him off. He woke up just as the man turned his back, looked startled, realised what was happening and smiled lazily at me, then closed his eyes again.

I didn't stay long myself. I found that I was getting increasingly impatient with their small talk. It seemed so small that I just couldn't see it. I excused myself, and amidst a chorus of `good night's and `thanks for what you did today', all of which rang round the quiet hotel lounge and embarrassed me, I went to bed. My brain wasn't really with it -- probably too much food, or the hotel was too hot.

I slowly climbed the stairs in our tower to my room. I paused outside my bedroom door and listened. Could he be there? No. I went in and checked, half expecting to find only half a bed available. I was really disappointed when he wasn't. Should I go up to his room? No. He'd be asleep. Pointless.

So I climbed quietly up the stairs and listened outside his door.

Softly: "James?" No answer.

I slowly turned the handle and gently pushed. It opened. In the dim light I could see the bed was immediately above mine. Silently I crossed to his sleeping form and stood there, looking, wondering at my daring, heart thumping against discovery.

Even to my inexperienced eyes he looked like an angel asleep. The smooth forehead, the untroubled expression, and familiar features. Familiar! I'd only known him just over two days! And he had slept with me for three hours this morning! What was I doing?

Common sense was tearing me away, lest he wake or his parents come to check on him. The touch that this little angel who I loved was giving my heart just by being there was the stronger, and kept me watching.

Love.

Love?

Was that it?

No, of course not. I was a boy. I didn't love other boys. I found their bodies fascinating, and his too, and he'd become a good friend very quickly and I wanted to be with him, and I wanted to keep him as a friend after the holiday..... But I would soon get to grips with girls. Literally, I hoped. The sooner the better. It was just a question of finding one who attracted me. No, if I loved him, it was as the son I'd one day have. Nothing else.

I resisted the temptation to stroke his hair, or to get really close to him as I had been in bed this morning, turned, and tore myself from the room.

In bed I was conscious that he was immediately above me. I tried projecting what I regarded as my spirit upwards, to be with him, to watch over him, like a father should.

When I woke, someone was hammering at the door. I didn't remember going to sleep, or having my usual nightly fiddle, or measuring, or inspecting to see if there was any flour paste coming from me. I was totally awake, and it was light.

"Martin! Martin!"

"Hallo? Come in."

It was Dad. He came in. "Martin, it's nine o'clock. What on earth's the matter with you?"

I looked at my watch. He wasn't wrong.

"You're usually good at getting up. Well, at waking up. And here it would be nice if we could all have breakfast at the same time.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I just slept right through. I only woke when you knocked."

He looked a bit less annoyed. "You must have been very tired."

"I s'pose we spent a long time in the water yesterday, and I'm not used to the fresh air after so much school."

"Hmmm. Well, we've got them to keep some breakfast for you, but an apology to them won't come amiss. And before you do anything, go and wake that young friend of yours, will you, and drag him down to his parents. He was well away last night, so I suppose you're as bad as each other."

He ruffled my hair and smiled. Funny, I didn't mind him doing that.

I pulled myself from the bed and threw on a pair of underpants. The door downstairs closed, so I knew he'd gone. I was at James' room in a moment. Knocking. Nothing. Knocking. Opening. And he was still asleep. Once again I just watched him, and felt the same as the previous night. So innocent. I smiled, and knelt by his head.

"James?"

He was there, instantly. A look of fear for an instant, it seemed, and then recognition and relief and The Grin. I felt warm inside. He was a nice kid.

"Breakfast," I said.

"When?"

"Twenty minutes ago."

"You could have brought mine up."

I stared at him. "James, it may surprise you to know that I don't usually go to eat dressed like this."

"Just as well if they're serving sausages."

I just looked at him.

"Can I use your bog?"

"S'pose."

The bedclothes were thrown off. He wasn't wearing anything.

"Thought you wore pyjamas?"

"You don't."

He had worn them before he had met me, and learnt that I didn't. I felt quite proud.

It was a strange, almost triumphant, feeling, following him down the stairs and into my bedroom, with myself wearing underpants and him completely naked. It was even more so when he came out of the toilet, still bare of clothes, as I was by then fully dressed.

I had to be. I needed to hide my triumph lest he saw and made even more rude comments.

When we arrived in the dining room we found our usual tables had been cleared. Looking round we noticed a small table, set just for two, in the alcove overlooking the bay, and moved uncertainly to it. Two of the hotel's friendly staff appeared as if from nowhere...

"Gentlemen! How nice! Please sit at our best table..... Cereal? Coffee? Tea? Fruit juice? No, no....we shall wait on you this morning....completely. Bacon? How would you like your eggs done?....." And so it went on. They may have been trying to embarrass us for being late, but by the huge grins on their faces I think they were enjoying themselves too. James entered into the spirit of the thing immediately and asked for all sorts of things that he knew he'd never get, and I found myself at ease soon after. Before long we were all laughing and joking about it, and we were being treated like kings, spoilt rotten, and loving it. They played by the rules, though, and gave us a really good, big, cooked breakfast.

When we had finished we thought it only right to pile all the crockery up and take it through to the kitchen to say our thank you's, and got a rapturous welcome from the cook and his staff.

"But you'll forgive me if we don't offer to do the same every morning, lads, won't you?"

"We'll be on time tomorrow, promise," said James solemnly.

It was very late when we arrived at the boat, and almost eleven when we had dragged her up the sand of the island.

"Well?" said James.

"What?"

"Do we do what we did yesterday?

"What? Walk through the woods naked?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You wouldn't dare."

"I know you would."

"Well, there's no one here."

"There's no reason to."

"No. But it's fun."

"I've got my bathing things."

"So've I. So what?"

"Well you can."

"Oh, come on."

"The parents'll be here in a minute."

"So what?"

"I don't let mine see me naked!"

"Why not?"

"I just don't."

"Mine do me. I see them, too. We all wear nothing when we get up."

That explained a lot. My parents never did -- at least, not in front of me. A corner of my brain was wondering why the difference.

"Come on. I dared you."

"I know, but...."

"Come on!"

Why did I give in to him? It was going to be more awkward to carry our clothes than to wear them, particularly as we were already carrying bathers wrapped in towels. But for him, self-consciously, I stripped off. But I made sure he was ahead of me.

Once my bottom was out of any possible viewing from the empty bay behind us I felt happier, and began once more to enjoy the breeze against me. The fact that I wasn't alone, playing dares with myself, but was with a real live boy who was affecting me more and more as the days went on, was one of the reasons I felt totally at ease within a few minutes. It also helped that he was ahead of me on our walk, and I was following the babyish cheeks of his bottom through the trees. I was getting this odd electrical tingling in my chest.

When we reached the south of the island he just flung down his clothes and towel and dived straight into the water. I was certainly not going to stay out on my own, exposed to all the world.

He swam. I helped. He spluttered. I encouraged. And eventually, WE swam.

And eventually, there was a chugging, and a motor boat appeared round the edge of the island, containing four people. Parents. I panicked immediately. I was naked in the water with a nine year old and his and my parents had come and must now discover everything. My voice was very shrilly childish as I answered their greeting.

Calm returned enough for me to suggest that they moor on the northern, sheltered side of the island and walk through the wood to join us. I think I mentioned something about tide and wind and not wanting the boat to be dragged away. At last the motor pulled them away from us, giving us the chance to get ashore and get into our swimming trunks.

"Phew!" I said, once our midriffs were hidden. "That was a bit close."

"What d'you mean?"

"Them coming so soon. Are they early?"

"Dunno. You don't like being nude, do you?"

A long pause followed that.

"Yeees, I think so, but not in front of parents."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I suppose ever since Mum stopped bathing me and let me do it myself I've not wanted either of them to see...you know."

"No?"

I couldn't go on. I knew what I meant and couldn't tell him.

"So you don't like it?" he persisted.

"It's OK with you, when there's no one else around or looking."

"Oh, that's all right then."

And then we were interrupted by Their appearance, laden with food and drink.

"You were skinny dipping just now, weren't you?"

"Er...what?"

"Skinny dipping. You know, swimming without wearing trunks."

So there was a name for it, was there? "No. Why, should we have been?"

"Well," said my father, "I wouldn't blame you if you were. It's a super place for it with no one around. You're young, it doesn't matter, so I should if I were you. It's a lovely, free feeling."

He hadn't, had he?

"Have you been, er...skinny dipping, Dad?"

"In the Navy, yes. We all did. But then you come home and get old and respectable, and...well, it never really crops up.

The subject changed to food, fortunately. They spread a really good meal on the sand for us all, and James and I made pigs of ourselves, forgetting the embargo on swimming after a meal. Eventually I had finished, and as I was in trunks and not allowed in the sea I excused myself on the grounds that I needed to find a bush.

"Just thinking the same," said my father. "I'll find one nearby."

We walked off. Once we were out of hearing range he cleared his throat in that way he had of announcing that he was going to say something slightly embarrassing.

"You know, Martin, there's not many things you'll do throughout your childhood and adolescence that I haven't done. Very few indeed. In fact as I've been in the Forces I think it's likely I'll have done more than you by the time you're my age. So when something you believe is wrong or that you're nervous about comes up, there's only one way to find out if it is wrong, and that's by asking. Now, I'm a man like you'll be soon, and I know things that women don't about my own body, and therefore about yours too. So there's no need to tell me a lie when I ask you about something like swimming naked, although I can't blame you, I suppose, as the question was asked in public and you didn't know if it was OK or not."

He paused for breath.

"Usually, if something feels right, it is right. If you're not sure, ask me. I promise I won't bite your head off if it's wrong, but I'll tell you whether it is, and why. And skinny dipping, if you can do it in private like this, is absolutely fine. In fact I'm jealous."

This was another long speech, the second this holiday. I wondered if he thought I was growing up.

"Yes, Dad." Then as I thought that that was a pretty short answer when he'd gone to so much trouble: "It's nice, isn't it?"

"Mmm. One day I might....but then, your mother wouldn't understand, and you probably wouldn't want me to."

Every now and again a parent says something that makes you feel sorry for them. I felt sorry for him. It was a risky thing we'd be doing, and the more so, for some reason I didn't understand, for him. But if we did, James couldn't come with us, could he? I didn't ask the question.

"We will, if you like, Dad, but I'd better finish teaching James to swim first."

He laughed as he shook the drops from his willy. I did the same. We walked back in companionship, somehow closer than we had been during all the time he was working hard studying for his wretched exams.

It was a lazy afternoon. I think both James and I were still a bit short changed on sleep from the previous day, so we were both quite happy to lie side by side and sunbathe. He slept. I kept looking at him, fascinated once again at how vulnerable he looked.

At last we were allowed in the sea.

"Are you two going in in the nude again?" asked my mother.

"Certainly not!" I said before James had a chance to say anything.

"It doesn't matter to us, you know, does it Doreen?"

"No. If you want to, you just go ahead."

"Not likely," I said with feeling. "Not with you lot here."

"It's up to you, darling," said my mother. "I mean, it's not indecent for you, yet. After all, you haven't started puberty."

I stared at her, completely flabbergasted, speechless. A heavy weight sank to the bottom of my stomach, and my throat constricted. How could she say such a thing? And in front of strangers, too! I felt humiliated beyond words, although nobody sniggered or laughed or said anything or even looked at me and smiled. My father looked sharply at her and seemed about to say something, but didn't, and failed to meet my eyes when I looked at him for help.

"That's a horrible thing to say," I said at last, hotly. "I would never say anything like that to you!"

She just laughed, lightly, but had the grace to look embarrassed. At that moment I hated her -- at least, not her, but the shadow she'd made to fall on my mood. I didn't want to get up or to co-operate in any way. James helped a bit with the clearing up, but I lay on the sand and sulked, fuelling my own fury. It faded a bit, eventually, but I was unhappy about talking to my Mother. At that moment she was beneath contempt.

"Now," said James' father. "How about this swimming, then?"

That was the reason they were all here, but at the time my wound was still smarting. I wanted to get back at her, but couldn't somehow with everybody around. I supposed I'd better make the best of it.

My mood had rather put away from my mind the feelings I had for James, but as he wandered around as if there was nothing amiss I lightened a bit. He was quite ready to exhibit his new skills, and so I rushed into the water after him, as quickly as I could lest any of them was busy looking at me to see if my mother was right.

He did well, I must say, and really impressed both sets of parents. He swam alone, he swam with me, and once, to see if he could still do it, I told him to turn onto his back and lie flat on the water. With his arms and legs forming a sort of cross, he floated.

"Well, I did it!" he said when he'd recovered, "but how's it work?"

"You've got enough air in you normally to make your body lighter than water. So you float," I said. "Simple."

He floated again, then a second and third time. In fact he floated for so long, his ears under water, that he didn't hear us shouting to him to come in. I had to go and get him.

They left eventually, having congratulated him for his swimming and me for my teaching. I made no sarky comments about not being into puberty but still being old enough to teach swimming, although I felt like it.

Once they had gone he turned to me, grinned that ear to ear grin, and said "we shan't need these any more, shall we?" And without hesitation he untied his trunks and pushed them down his legs.

My mood had reached equilibrium, more or less, although I was still a bit down. My mind couldn't decide whether to do things `by the book', in other words stay covered, or whether to rebel against the adult world and join him. I still felt angry. "Fuck it," I said, but so that he couldn't hear, and violently tore off my trunks. I felt that if an army had marched round the corner at that moment I would brazen it out in the nude, just to show the adult world how horrible they'd been to me.

We swam some more.

When we got back to the hotel that evening I told him to go ahead and have a shower, and I'd join him later. He wasn't very happy about that, but walked on obediently. I had an assignment with my mother. I was determined to let her know how she'd hurt me and get an apology.

They were both in the room.

"Mother, You were horrible to me this afternoon."

She looked nonplussed. My father looked embarrassed.

"When you said what you did about me."

She still looked as though she hadn't an idea.

"When we were talking about swimming without trunks."

"What," she said at last, "When I told you it didn't matter as you've got nothing that'd cause embarrassment yet?"

"YES," I shouted, more to try and stop her saying any more than in anger. "That was horrible. And in front of other people, too."

"Well, you haven't, have you, darling? You will, and soon I should think. But you haven't entered puberty yet."

"HOW DO YOU KNOW?

"Well....you haven't.....I'd know."

"How?"

"Well.....er.....there are signs."

"What?"

"Well....er....it's embarrassing."

"I KNOW IT IS," I shouted again, "and it's me it's happening to. Remember?"

"I think what Martin is saying, darling," started my level-headed father, "is that just as you find it embarrassing to talk about the size of his body and the appearance of hair and a breaking voice, he found it embarrassing that you should talk about it in front of his friends."

She looked at me, her mouth open.

"Oh......"

But I'd made my point and didn't see why I should stay for more. So I just left the room and stalked up to mine. I felt the point had been made, but sorry not to get an apology. I felt better about things, anyway. And Dad understood. That helped.

I found him, inevitably, in my room. He was sitting on the bed dressed in just a pair of underpants. My sole thought as I entered the room was that I was satisfied with having won with my mother, but that changed rapidly and, for me confusingly, to one of marvelling that he was `here for me'. I'd started regarding him as my property, almost. When he had taken off his only item of clothing I noticed for the first time as I was ripping off my own, just how small his pants actually were. I could hardly understand how anybody could get into them. Yet they were quite loose on him. Once again I realised just how small and vulnerable he was.

"Come on then, hurry up," said the small and vulnerable one. "I'm hungry. I don't want to be late."

I know I've said a lot about sharing a shower with him. But after being interested in other boys' bodies at school I felt it a real privilege to be able to be really close to one, and to help bath it. And to like the owner, too.

Once again we both went to our rooms quite early that night, him before me. I was very tired, though, and slept like a log. But at least I had time to measure myself and check on the liquidity situation.

It was very good indeed, that check. But there was no change in the outcome.

CHAPTER 5

The first thing I remember in the morning was a perfunctory knock on the door, bounding footsteps, and the bedclothes being thrown back.

"Wasseremarrer?"

"It's time to get up."

"Go 'way."

"Come on, or I'll tickle you."

"Go 'way!"

The next minute I had doubled up, gasping, as two surprisingly strong arms had dug into me half way down my sides. He was tickling me unmercifully and my semi-comatose brain couldn't cope with getting free. Eventually I managed it, and held the marauding hands away from me while I recovered, panting. That wake-up was the quickest that had happened to me for years. I released his hands.

Big mistake. He was on me again in a flash, and was pinning me down on the bed by lying on top of me. But for the nerves which were telling me that he was attacking my sensitive sides again, having his body lying on mine was.....so wonderfully friendly. It was really the closest I'd been to him. I couldn't get much closer. His pants clad body was pushed against mine, his face just inches from mine, and his laughter rang in my ears until I was dizzy. Or was that the tickling?

I felt the result before I could do anything about it. Fortunately we were both quite sweaty after the warmth of the night and a little more humidity around our nether regions went unnoticed. By him. I realised what had happened and it made me act. I pulled myself together and grasped his arms again, this time holding them, then transferring both to one hand, holding his wrists down in front of him. Too bad if the back of my hand was resting against his rather damp pants.... The free hand wondered what to do. But it soon discovered he was even more ticklish than me, so the lightest touch on his chest and stomach caused severe giggling from the other end.

I was as unmerciful to him as he had been to me. Under arms, stomach, sides...I was trying for his feet, but obviously couldn't get near without rearranging my grip.

Eventually I went for broke.

"Are you going to give up, or do I have to tickle your willy?"

He was still gasping, giggling, half crying with laughter, from my last onslaught.

"You wouldn't dare....."

Silly boy.

It wasn't actually very pleasant, as he, too, had lost control for a moment. But he wriggled and bucked and tried to break free as I found it and traced its length under the damp clothing, then put my finger lightly on his balls. The eyes widened and he drew in his breath. I released hurriedly, fearing a scream. But he just lay still on top of me, breathing as heavily as I was.

"Are you awake now?"

I just looked at him. There is a moment when you just can't stop what you're about to do, and this was mine. I released the wrists from my hands, put both arms round him and squeezed gently. Yes, a hug, I didn't kiss him. Kissing was something you did to girls, wasn't it? But I held him in a gentle embrace, his head face down on my left shoulder, his breath blowing gustily still on me, and the length of his body still on top of mine.

I could have stayed there all day. But he would move soon, I knew.

"I think we'd better have a shower, don't you?"

"That's two in one day."

"Well? Do you want to go round smelling all day?"

He stood up. I was naked, of course. I put my hands on the waistband of his pants and pulled down. He stepped out of them, and I threw the rather unpleasant things towards the door.

"Not clean on, were they?"

"No. Yesterdays."

"Good."

We had another leisurely shower, washing each other without shame. I even soaped over his waist in the front and for the first time washed over his little willy and half-formed balls. He didn't bat an eyelid, just accepted it as if I'd been a parent. Which is how I viewed myself: as a part-time parent or an elder brother. I certainly felt the love of a brother for him, even though I'd never experienced it, being an only child myself. But that must be what it was. It couldn't be anything else -- he was a boy, after all.

The day was the hottest so far. We sailed to a different island this time, in case the parents thought to follow us, and although it was smaller it was better. On its coast, and opposite the village on the mainland, but far enough away to be private, was a small inlet which gave even more shelter than the main bay did. As the inlet curved sideways from its mouth the privacy was greater too. But we explored it fully clothed first so we shouldn't be surprised. I had wondered if he'd go naked immediately out of devilment, but he made no move to. The south side, when we got there, had the remains of a small stream which had flowed into the sea. It was muddy, and the mud had caked and split. We put down our towels some way from it, as it looked as if it smelt.

As usual we stripped off. We didn't even discuss it by this time, it just happened. I didn't even check to make sure he was naked before me.

We swam for ages. Then we had lunch and lay in the sun, sweating. At last I couldn't stand it any more and thought I'd go and have a look at the dry stream bed.

Actually it didn't smell too bad. Earthy, yes, but not revolting. Carefully I put a foot onto the cracked almost black surface and pushed. No problem. I thought I'd walk over it to the other side, took two steps and was immediately up to my knees in soft goo.

After the initial panic I decided to wade further: the next step had me on my face in it. It was wet, very sticky, and clung on, as my uncle used to say, `like shit to a blanket'. It was also cool. I wallowed, which, in the nude, was absolutely glorious. It was one of those things that mothers would hate on the grounds that it was unhealthy, dangerous and above all dirty. Which means to their sons that it's tremendous fun and an expression of freedom. To do the thing properly I made sure it was in my hair, round my mouth, just inside the cheeks of my arse, and certainly all over my willy and balls and under my legs.

I must have looked like a pygmy. At least I hoped so. I climbed out and walked the hundred yards or so to the sleeping, skin-reddened James.

"Hrumphhh."

He opened his eyes in my direction. Quicker than it takes to describe it, they opened so wide I thought he'd lose them, he gave a sort of wail and scrambled to his feet as if he'd just seen a raging tiger. He backed away fast, and when he saw that the raging tiger wasn't following he turned and ran. And, which I thought was sweet, yelled my name.

The effect was a bit too good. I yelled after him.

"It's me, you fool! Come back!"

He slowed, then stopped and looked back, still very unsure. I raised an arm. Rather, I tried to raise an arm, but the heat of my body and the almost oppressive warmth of the day had all but set the mud, so it was a feeble effort and a bit painful.

"It's ME, James. I'm covered in mud. Come back, do. It's great."

Slowly he walked toward me, completely straight faced. As he neared me he paused and looked hard, and gave a sheepish grin.

"You scared me." He sounded very shaky.

"I saw. It's good, isn't it?"

"I was really scared. What is it? Where did you get it?"

"Come over here. It's mud from a dried up stream."

Almost reluctantly he followed me to my wallow, and I showed him where I'd been. Tentatively he put a foot on the solid bit, as I had done, then tried walking over it. He broke through the crust and sank in to his thighs.

"Ugh! It's horrible!"

"Come over here, and splash about a bit."

"No. It's horrible."

"Oh, come on James, it's only mud. Look."

I picked some up and plastered it on my already black chest.

"I just want to get out."

"It's lovely. Just give it a try."

He tried to walk toward me, but was in too deep to make any headway. He looked a bit worried. I thought I'd better intervene. I crossed over to him, and yes, the mud was thicker there. I put two black arms round his waist and pulled upwards, over balanced backwards and fell into it with him on top of me. Fortunately he rolled off immediately, otherwise I think I'd have vanished under it. As it was my face was almost covered. We got up, he found he could stand, and gave me a shaky smile.

"You look awful."

"Yeah. Good. You don't look so clean, either."

He was heavily smudged. Not covered like me, but quite filthy.

"Come on, get it all over you."

I don't know why I wanted him to get covered. It just seemed like a good idea. To give him credit he started picking at the mud and smearing it on, but I wanted him to wallow like I had. I encouraged him over to where I'd rolled around, and did it again.

"Like this. Come on!"

He came over and sat in it, still smearing his legs. I grabbed some handfuls of mud and rubbed them over his back and neck. After much coaxing he got his face dirty, and I told him where the uncovered bits of skin were, so he could cover them. When he was done we both looked like pygmies, and I led the way back over the beach at a run. I no longer felt naked. The mud was my clothing. We went into the thin woods and played tracking games, although we never found anything apart from our own boat, so I made up a sort of Robinson Crusoe story for us and we tracked on...

When we got back to our towels we were both uncomfortable because the mud was really hard and flaky, and the edges of the flakes were inclined to stick in a bit. So we looked at each other and said, almost at the same time: "Swim?"

It melted off eventually, but getting it out of our hair took some doing, and I swear his looked a bit darker than it had started. It was good to get back into the cool water. The afternoon seemed to be heating up, and mud or no mud it was quite uncomfortably hot. I climbed out of the water and looked at my watch which I'd made myself wear for a change. It wasn't really time to go, but I thought we were both getting a bit red because of the sun.

We walked back to the boat, still naked, drying off as we went. Pulling her down to the water was a hot, sticky affair. She wasn't built to be hauled about by a 14 and a 9 year old. We were so exhausted by it that I waded into the water again to cool off. He followed suit, of course.

The voyage home was spent in just our shorts. It was too hot for anything else and we were both wet from that last dip. I was beginning to long for a cool drink and a shower. We moored, and the haul up to the hotel was hard work for us both.

"I don't blame you for coming back early," said one of our waiter friends from the previous morning's breakfast. "It's hot enough to boil the bay and make tea. And there's going to be storm. It's forecast for tonight."

I felt more than saw James stiffen and looked at him. He appeared uncomfortable. The grin was zipped right up. We left the man, got our drinks and headed off to the tower and my room.

"I hate storms."

"That why you looked like you did?. What don't you like about them?"

"Dunno. Everything."

"I love 'em. They're exciting."

He looked at me as if I was mad. "Well I don't."

It was too hot in the room to do anything active, even with the windows open. I lay on the bed, the drink at my side. Of course he did the same. And there we stayed, sweating, taking an occasional swig, until I thought it must be getting on for dinner time.

Cautiously I stood up, as slowly as possible to avoid strenuous movement.

"I'm going to have a shower."

He looked at me. "Can't be bothered."

"Come on. It'll be great."

"Don't want to move,"

Well, he had got me that morning, and despite the mud incident I thought it was time I got one up. I climbed onto the bed and grabbed his ankles, and lifted straight up until he was just holding himself up by his hands and head -- a sort of involuntary handstand. I ignored the calls of `stoppit....stoppit....' and put my right arm round his calves to hold him up. The other hand descended to his shorts. How to do this? It was a bit daring, but by now I was getting careless with intimacy. After all, it was him who started going over the island without clothes. I carefully gripped the leg of his shorts by his thigh and worked my hand underneath, making sure not to touch anything. When I had a good grip I let go with the other hand. He saw what I was doing and flailed about, trying to support himself on the bed and hold his shorts up at the same time.

I won. I had the satisfaction of watching his rude bits and his legs sliding away from me, and he lay panting on the bed. I was left with a pair of shorts that I could no more get into than fly, so I dropped them on the floor and stood there looking down at his naked body. He had a sort of half smile, so it was all right.

He could move quickly when he wanted to, even if too hot. And before I knew it his hands were grasping at the front of my shorts. He wasn't as circumspect as I had been and grabbed a lot more than he should. I bent over, trying to get the delicate bits he was holding away out of his grasp, and eventually succeeded, although he didn't let go cleanly.

"Ow!"

"Well you did it to me."

"I didn't touch anything."

"Nor did I."

"You flaming well did. You nearly wrenched it off!"

"I didn't touch it, though. All I got was cloth."

"You know what I mean."

"Well, are you going for this shower?"

"Yes, and I'd better make sure you've not damaged anything."

Unselfconsciously I dropped my shorts, sat on the bed and looked at it, and checked the other bits all round. It looked all right, and it didn't hurt now, but I wasn't about to tell him that.

"Just as well."

"Why's it bigger than mine?"

"'Cos I'm older than you."

"Yeah, but it's thicker, and your balls are bigger. And why's it get stiff sometimes?"

"It all gets bigger when you get older. And it gets stiff on its own. I don't make it." I didn't say that was often a lie.

"Yeah but why?"

"So you can get it into a girl."

"What!?"

"When you have a girl, you stick it in to her pussy."

"What's a pussy?"

"It's the hole girls have under their legs. Where we've got balls."

"Why?"

"'Cos that's what makes them girls."

"I mean why d'you put your willy in there?"

"When you love her and want to start a baby."

Biology, human relations and morality, all care of Martin. I felt proud of myself answering his questions. I must have known the answers myself for all of three months. And I wasn't embarrassed at all: quite an achievement for me. It must have given him something to think about. He was silent after that.

"Are we going to shower, or are you going down to dinner like that?" I asked him when I realised we'd finished off that bit of conversation.

"It's so hot, I just might."

"You wouldn't dare!" I said, and I knew he wouldn't. I'm glad he didn't dare me back, 'cos I wouldn't either.

We showered, same as before, and felt better for it. I was growing quite bold, and washed him everywhere, even telling him to separate his legs so I could do under there. I think the only place I didn't do was between the cheeks of his bottom. He started work on me and did the same. I reacted when he washed my willy, and he giggled as it grew in his hand and stood up. He washed it carefully, realising it was as tender as his, but without any special attention or overdue regard for it.

It was just nice knowing that we trusted each other, were happy with each other naked, and neither of us was scared of touching the other's body. Anywhere. It was real friendship.

Although the shower was cool, by the time we reached the dining room we were both hot. I had decided that I couldn't face the normal long grey trousers I was meant to wear to dinner, and put on as smart a pair of shorts as I could manage. My parents weren't too happy about it, but as I had coincided with the dinner gong there was no time to make me go back and change.

We all had salads, and I don't think any of the guests had anything afterwards except ice cream. We certainly didn't. The heat was still almost overpowering, although the evening was drawing on.

The lounge, for both our families, was out of the question. We sat in the garden, the adults talking in a desultory way and James and me just lying on the grass trying to keep cool as the haze seemed to gather round us all and make it feel even hotter.

He fell asleep first, and was woken up to be told to go to bed. What a silly thing to do! If you're asleep, sleep, especially when there's no way you're going to get cold. And in that temperature....

I lasted about another hour or so, and then they woke me too. I'm fourteen! If I want to sleep on the grass I'm entitled to! But there was no way round it, and at least if I was on my own I could check for signs of physical progress.

Which I did. There was none. But it was always very good trying.

I lay on the bed by the open window, trying without success to catch any slight breeze. Bedclothes were out of the question, as were any other sort of clothes, but then I never did.

I woke in the pitch black of night. All the street lights were out as it was past midnight. There was no moon. But in my disorientated state I had no idea what had woken me. My stomach was cold, and I felt it. Wet. My brain raced on. I'd heard of wet dreams, but never had one. Was this a first? Had my constant exercises finally persuaded my body that it was time I was enabled to start a family?

Then another raindrop came through the window and landed coldly on me.

Damn.

This was not pleasant. I pulled myself together enough to get to my feet and pull the window up a bit, even if that did mean even less chance of a breeze. I turned away from the window.

The flash lit the room with a blue flicker which tricked the imagination into seeing things move. The suddenness brought a gasp from me as my senses overloaded and my heart beat faster. The thunder, about ten seconds later, was less of a shock. I love storms, and turned again to the window to watch. The long gap eventually persuaded me to get back to bed, although the raindrops weren't so much falling as plopping, they were so big. I lay back and wondered If it was going to be as exciting a storm as the day had been hot.

The next flash startled me less, and the one after even less. Thunder rolled across the bay. Gradually nature built up her forces and the artillery gained strength. The noise was rumbling around, with the occasional louder crash as it all hotted up.

Suddenly there was what I could only describe as a near miss. The lightning seemed to be in the room itself and the noise was instant and mind-bogglingly loud. It scared even me, who knew and liked storms.

I heard a noise from above, a treble sound, just as another flash and crash shook our tower. This time the sound was recognisable as a wail, almost a scream, of terror. James.

Ignoring the need for clothes I flung myself across the room and bounded up the stairs. As I neared his door I could hear him crying like a young child. I knew I was right to be there and I knew I had to do something. I went in and switched on the light. He was under the bedclothes, shaking with the sobs off terror which had engulfed him.

"James....James...." I called. There was another crash from outside as if in answer and another wail came from under the sheet. I crossed to the bed and put my hands on his shoulders. He tensed for a moment, then went limp.

"James!"

"I'm scared!"

"It's all right, I'm here now. It's safe."

"Can I come down to your room?"

I thought. He'd been in with me before, and this was a better reason.

"Won't your parents mind?"

"I go in with them if there's a storm."

I had a mental picture of a four year old in bed with his parents, and then a nine year old doing the same. Well, if they did it I supposed it was all right.

"Come on then."

We were about halfway down the staircase when the door from the main part of the hotel opened. He was in front, and froze. Quite understandably, as we were both naked. Steps started up the stairway toward us. We turned as one and scrambled upwards again.

No sooner than our bare footfalls restarted than a voice called.

"Who's there? Is that you, James?"

It was his father. Thank goodness. Or should I? Here I was with his son, late at night, both stark naked. The thunderclap shook the hotel. James squeaked again.

"James, it's all right. You can come in with us. The steps came upwards again. He turned. His father's expression when he saw his son naked on the stair was quite a picture, but before he could say anything James spoke in a scared voice.

"I'm Ok, Dad. Martin came up to be with me and we're going down to his room."

"Oh....er....is he there?"

"Yes, he's just behind me."

"Thank you Martin....um....do I understand you've got nothing on, either?"

I gulped. All he had to do was come up a few more stairs or follow us into his son's room which he had every right to do and he'd see for himself.

"Yes, sir."

"Oh. Right. In that case I won't come up and embarrass you. But thanks for going to him and being with him. I wouldn't dream of lumbering you with him all night. We're used to it and he can come with me now."

"But Dad, I want to be with Martin.....ahhhh!" as yet another crash echoed round the tower.

"It's not fair on him, James. Now come on."

"But Mr Evans, I really don't mind. And.....and he can't go round the hotel now or in the morning with no clothes."

"Martin, you're a great guy...." Here it comes, I thought. ".....but it's just not fair on you. You need your sleep too."

"I can't sleep with all this going on. But when it ends I shall, and so will James. I'm all right with him, really. It's....company for me, too." Well, that was true, although not in the way he thought I meant.

"Well....if you're sure."

"Yes, I don't mind a bit."

"All right then, and thank you once again. James, you behave yourself, and if you wake early you're not to wake Martin. I don't mind what time you're down in the morning, and I'll suggest to your parents, Martin, that you probably need to catch up some sleep too. Good night, the pair of you."

"Good night, and thanks," from both of us.

I waited for him to go and then came back down the stairs to James who was by then looking really scared to be left on the staircase on his own, even with me so near. Quickly I pushed him into my room where we were welcomed by another tremendous flash and clap. The boy just turned round, flung his arms round me and buried his face in my chest, sobbing. What could I do but hug him back?

"It's all right. There's no danger. You're with me now, and your parents know you're safe."

The last bit was for me, really. I was so relieved that the Evanses were happy that we were naked together and were about to share my bed together. Between thunderclaps I guided him over to my bed and put him by the wall. I climbed up on the bed, leant over him and shut the window completely to keep both rain and noise out.

"That's better," I was saying, when right outside the window there was the most amazing flash I have ever seen in my life. It lit the garden and, according to James later, the interior of the room as if by full summer sun, but blue. But the thing that stayed in my mind for days afterwards was the sight of a mature tree, just at the far side of the hotel's tree lined garden, exploding. There's no other word for it. It just shattered into shivers of wood and bits of branch. There was a strong smell of burning and another smell which I couldn't recognise.

I made a strange sound and supported myself on the window ledge. The violence of the bolt had scared even me rigid, and my instinct was to get down and lie in bed, shaking. But the incredible sight of the tree just glued me to the scene.

I was aware that James was really crying loudly beneath me now.

"Come and look at this, James, you'll never believe it."

I don't think my weak, scared and annoyingly high-pitched voice gave him much confidence, because he just continued wailing and sobbing so much that I decided that his needs were greater than my curiosity. A last glance round the scene showed me there was no fire, just a smoking, shattered stump which was being very effectively damped down by the torrential rain. So I dropped down to the bed, joined him under the sheet and put an arm protectively over him. Immediately he turned towards me and once again buried his head against me, the free arm round my waist. Another crash outside, but not quite as violent as the first. I felt him tense, and the keening increased a bit.

I rearranged us so I had an arm round underneath his, so we were in a sort of joint bear hug. If it had been an ordinary night I think it may have been embarrassing for me and puzzling for him, for I should have been so affected by his nearness and dependence on me that I should have.....grown. But as it was, he was scared and I was, well, not unaffected by what I'd just witnessed that it was for mutual comfort we were together.

Every time the storm spoke our hug tightened. He did everything he could to get as close to me as he could. But about five minutes later there was a knock on the door.

"Damn," I said, and made to release the hug, although we had just had another major crash. The door opened anyway, and the light went on. I looked over my shoulder. Dad.

"Martin. Thank God you're....Oh, and James too. Good. Are you both all right? We've just had a near miss and your mother and I were worried. Are you sure you don't want to come into our room? We don't mind, you know. I know you're too old really, but if you're worried..... What the....?"

Another figure had appeared behind him. Mr Evans. Great.

Now I had a nine year old boy in my arms, we were both naked and our bodies were pressed together, and the fathers of each of us were at the door, watching. Apart from the thin sheet which covered us and the lack of the audience of the rest of the hotel's guests and staff it was just about the most embarrassing thing that could have happened.

"I had to come back. That was such an awful crash that I thought the hotel had been hit. Are they OK?"

"Yes, Pete. I think they're looking after each other."

I could see my father's face soften, with a smile that I'd not seen for years. I used to notice it every time he took me on his knee when I was really small, and we used to talk: he would talk and I would come out with some words and some baby stuff as if we were having a conversation. Then I outgrew that, and he was away a lot, and I missed him. But I still remember that smile and love it.

Now I knew that I was really all right.

"You know, I think they're OK together, don't you?"

James' father came over to us, just as another flash and almost immediate thunderclap rent the night. He looked at his son, whose face was still buried in my shoulder.

"James? Do you want to come in to our room?"

The head shook, wiping his nose on my chest. I don't think he even looked up.

"Well, if you're sure. I think the worst's over now, anyway, although it's still bad. But if you do want to come, just come in. Perhaps Martin could go with you, although I hardly like to ask him to do anything else for us. But if you need....well, it's up to you both."

They turned the light off and left us. I heaved a sigh of relief.

As he had said, the storm was dying down a bit, and as time passed our grip on each other eased, we found comfortable positions and drifted off to sleep.

We were still in a comforting, close embrace though. Comforting to him, that is. I didn't need it of course.

I woke up first to find the sun streaming into the room. In front of me, his back to me and pressed firmly against my front, was James. We were rather intimately touching, and as I awoke I found that my body was intent on pressing against him even harder. As I was in contact with him everywhere, any movement was bound to wake him, so I just let the pressure against a particular spot on his thigh grow.

I had never woken feeling as good as this, as warm, as right, as aware of someone else, before. This must be what it's like when you wake up with your wife, I thought. But now, at fourteen, it was James who was my most intimate friend, not a girl, and I smiled happily to myself. I felt like kissing his sleeping head. But that was between man and woman, wasn't it? Not between boys. But he was so much younger than me, and I did look on him as a young brother.

Very gently I drew near to his head and softly kissed against his hair. It seemed a bit impersonal, when I was feeling so close to him in mind, so I bent my head and kissed his neck too. Then I settled back and happily closed my eyes again.

He was next to wake, and his wriggling woke me up too. To my disappointment he moved away from me, then seemed to come to a bit, and turned over. He looked at me with no expression on his face.

"Hallo," I said, tenderly.

The grin unzipped a bit, tiredly. The eyes closed again. I remembered the night and how he'd needed that cuddle, how nothing else seemed to matter except physical comfort. I felt like that now. Timidly I put out an arm to go round his shoulders, and wriggled towards him. He looked at me as if surprised.

"Wassermarrer?"

"Nothing," I said, wondering whether to withdraw. "I'm feeling a bit cold, that's all."

"Oh."

I left the hand there.

"You OK?"

"Mmm. Warm. Comfortable. Nice."

It certainly was. I'd have liked him closer though.

"You tired?"

"Mmm."

"Going back to sleep?"

"Mmm."

"Rest your head on me, then."

He looked at me, puzzled once again. I wondered if I'd gone too far.

"You don't have to."

The smile returned. He wriggled again, toward me and we got our arms out of each others way by putting them round the back of each other. His breath blew on my chest. My damn body played up immediately.

"Your stiffie's touching my leg."

"Sorry."

"'Salright."

And there we lay, dozing. For the first time ever I just felt....complete. Based on a few days' acquaintance he had accepted me without reservation. I had accepted him the same way. If this was what being a father to a son was all about I couldn't wait for my body to register more than 3 ¼ inches on the ruler, to start getting wet dreams, whatever they were, and start making a mess when I exercised it so I knew I could start a son of my own. Perhaps then girls would start to notice me and attract me.

Steps on the stairs. Knock knock. "Can I come in?" My father.

I rolled over, squashing James' arm so he squeaked. "Hang on!"

I hastily got out of bed and put on my dressing gown over my naked body, hoping the tie would hold and not allow my protuberance to peep out.

"OK!"

"Hallo, you two. You've woken up then? I didn't think you'd want to sleep the morning out. I checked earlier, but there was no reply and when I looked in you were both dead to the world."

So he'd seen us cuddled up together, had he? He didn't seem to mind or think it wrong. But then....he was my real father, whereas I was just James' honorary, part time father. Had he felt the same about me when I was nine as I did toward James now? But then he hadn't been fourteen when I was nine, so perhaps it was different. But he must have felt something along the same lines. My heart warmed to him at the thought, and unusually for me, I went up and gave him a hug. He kissed the top of my head.

"Recovered from last night, have you?" His voice sounded a bit choky, like mine used to before I started to cry. I looked at him sharply, but he was looking out of the window at something. Hmm. If a hug had that effect on him perhaps I'd better do it more often, especially when I wanted something.

We'd missed breakfast by over an hour, but there was coffee and biscuits in the lounge and we made do with that.

"The tree!" I exclaimed, remembering.

"What?"

"The tree in the garden. It exploded last night."

He looked at me, wide eyed, as if I was mad. Then the remembrance of the storm returned, along with how frightened he'd been. I saw it in his face. He shivered.

"Come on!"

I led the way out of doors. The day was fresh and cool and the air smelt clean and washed. It had an effect even on James. The remains of the tree made a sorry sight. The trunk was about six feet high, but ended in shards as if it had been made of glass and I'd knocked it off the mantelpiece. But the shards were blackened and smelt of a doused wood fire, like I knew at camp. There were the remains of branches all around -- for some distance all around -- and smashed twigs covered the ground. We were impressed.

"It could have been the tower." He was right, of course, and the thought silenced me too. What would I have done if he'd got killed by lightning? What if he'd not come down to me, or I'd refused him entry to my room and he'd got killed by lightning? I shook my head and got rid of the if's.

Fortunately the packed lunches were ready for us, and, very late, we started off to the jetty.

He'd got quite good at steering the dinghy over the last three days. I wondered if he'd be strong enough to hold the mainsheet and do the whole job. I looked at him, sitting on the centre thwart and staring ahead, trying to feel the wind on his cheek like I'd told him, so he could judge where exactly it was coming from.

"James." He looked round sharply, thinking I was going to let him steer again.

"Your turn."

Eagerly he made his way to the stern and I swapped sides. We'd got used to doing this, so the boat's trim was undisturbed. He took the tiller like an old hand.

"Here you are. Take this too." I held the sheet so he could reach it. He looked at me wide eyed.

"You mean....sail properly?"

"Yes. So long as you can handle her. Keep her like that. I'll take her if there's a problem."

Like a hawk he'd been watching every move I'd made since we started together. It wasn't surprising that he knew what to do. All he needed was to be able to join up the messages the wind gave him with the amount of sheet to pay out, and keep steering straight as well. He latched on quickly. I had to take her once when a squall hit us, but all the rest of the time he sailed like a veteran. I even trusted him to tack the four times we needed to in order to get to our island. I can't say they were the best manoeuvres the dinghy had ever done, but we got there. He turned her into the wind when I said: I lowered the mainsail and he went to attend to the jib.

I rowed ashore. He had been straight faced with concentration all the time he was sailing, but now the grin had unzipped as far as it could without causing physical damage. We anchored. Immediately he was out, had planted the anchor, had ripped off his clothes and was running up and down the beach like a spring lamb.

"I did it! I did it! I can sail!" he kept shouting. I was caught up in his excitement, ridiculously pleased for him -- even if he'd still got a lot to learn -- and laughing at his antics. As well as his sense of achievement I think now it was also a reaction against his imagined horrors of the night. I stood and watched, until his spring had unwound a little and he ran up to me He stopped about two yards off, and suddenly the face was serious.

"Did I do all right?"

Well, what could I say? "You did very well."

He looked gravely up at me, straight into my eyes.

"Thank you for letting me."

It wasn't the words, but the contrast between how he'd just been flying round the beach with nothing on, like some pale savage, and now was standing in front of me while I was still fully dressed: that and the tone of his voice.

Things suddenly got misty and I felt as if I was starting a sore throat. I looked away toward the village. Damn. It was blurry still. Next thing, I felt his arms round me in a quick hug, then he stepped away, embarrassed.

"Are we going to swim?" he asked, in a tone which was quiet for him.

I nodded, and started stripping off. We gathered up our clothes and packed lunches and crossed through the woods. Soon my sight had returned. I seemed to have fought off the cold, too.

We were walking in companionable silence, as books describe it. It was as we were nearing the shore with its thick belt of trees and undergrowth that we both stopped. He looked at me, shocked. Was it voices we could hear? On our island?

CHAPTER 6

We both reacted at the same moment. We were naked. There was a crowd of people on the beach ahead of us. We could hear children's and adults' voices. As one we dropped our bundles and feverishly searched for our shorts and shirts and shoes, the minimum that would render us decent.

"Leave the lunches here," I whispered. "By that tree stump. We'll find them again later. Come on."

He said nothing, but did as I asked and followed after me wide eyed with excitement. It was fortunate that we both knew how to move fairly quietly through undergrowth. We wormed and crawled our way to the open beach and then slowly lifted our heads above the convenient ridge of jetsam that marked the storm tide's limits. What we saw made him gasp but rendered me silent.

Four dinghies, two like ours and two with motors, lay drawn up to the shore. On rugs nearby were two sets of adults, sitting with their backs to us, watching along the beach. And there, running toward them in what looked like a game of tag, were six children, two girls and four boys, whose ages ranged from about eight to sixteen. Nothing spectacular? No. Except for one thing.

None of them had anything on.

I watched, conscious of my heart thumping, as the oldest one reached the adults, his accoutrements swinging freely, what I could see of them through the bush of dark hair that lay in a triangle above and around them. Two other boys and a girl got there next, and I just had time to register that one was about my build whilst the other might be a bit older and had only sparse hair round his thing, more than mine but nowhere near the forest of the first boy. The girl was well endowed, and pretty, and was bobbing fascinatingly.

Some way behind came a much younger boy and girl, laughing and pushing at each other as they ran. He was the eight year old and she looked about James' size.

They all flopped down on the sand, but to my annoyance facing out to sea. To sit and watch any further was pointless. All we could see were backs.

I started worming backwards, and James took the hint too. Suddenly he gave a sharp yelp of pain.

"Shhh!"

"Aahh.....something's cut my leg."

"Damn. Can't you wriggle back and I'll look at it when we're out of range?"

"No. It hurts." He rolled over and sat up. "Look!"

There was blood dribbling down his leg. A large piece of broken glass had scratched his thigh just under the paler line of his shorts. It had fallen out and I could see none left in. I was looking at it carefully, wondering what to do about it when there was a rustle from behind us. We both looked up in alarm.

"Hallo," said a pleasant, deep but young sounding voice. "You are here then."

"Er....um.....er...." My hesitation wasn't due to the fact that we had been discovered, but to the lack of clothes of the voice's owner. I tried hard to keep my eyes on his face. It was the sixteen year old from the group we had seen. He must have realised my predicament.

"Sorry. I wouldn't normally come over like this, but I heard your friend cry out and I thought there might have been an accident. I'm a Senior Scout, my Dad's a doctor, so I thought we might be able to help."

"I've cut myself on some glass."

"Have you? Badly?"

"Yes."

"No, not very," I said. "It's come out, and it's not deep. But I've got nothing to put on it." It was his matter of fact, down to earth tone that had given me back my power of speech, despite the effect the proximity of his unclothed body was having on me. If he was in the Scouts and his father was a doctor he couldn't be that bad. Despite wearing nothing in front of girls and his mother.

He looked carefully at James' leg. I was just glad it wasn't mine he was supporting and brushing the dirt off. If it had been I know there's no way I could have avoided him noticing a reaction.

"You'd better come back and let Dad have a look," he said. "I don't think there's anything left in it, but it's best to be sure."

"I'll wait here," I said quickly. Although I longed to look at the others I had a foreboding that the next requirement would be that we both strip off so we'd all be alike.

"You don't need to," he said. "We're naturists, not dangerous. So long as you and your friend don't mind it's OK by us."

"Can you come, please?" This from James, who didn't want to be on his own with strangers. At least he's used to seeing adults naked, I thought. I'm not. I never realised it could grow that long. What's his father's like?

Reluctantly I got up and followed the theatrically hobbling James and his saviour. I felt a bit foolish not being able to help him on my own, but we had no first aid kit. My eyes followed the older boys bottom as it walked muscularly through the undergrowth.

We got to the open beach and the other nine pairs of eyes swivelled our way. My head felt hot, I knew I was blushing, and didn't know where to look. If it had been just one other naked person there, preferably male, I think I'd have been all right. But to be presented with so much new visual human biological information at once put my mind into overload. In fact it probably fused one circuit, because my body started to behave itself again. Which was fortunate, because I had no underwear on.

Swiftly the older boy explained to his father what had happened. The man looked at us and grinned, a bit sheepishly I thought. The other younger ones had by this time wandered off down the beach, having seen, I thought, that neither of us was interesting or attractive. The story of my life. Mind you, I was very interested in them, particularly the older ones, whether male or female, because I hadn't ever seen another completely naked body at close quarters. At least, not often enough to be bored. And certainly never adults.

"Better have a look then, hadn't I? I hope you don't object to the naked body, boys. We're naturists, we're staying on the island over there..." He pointed "...and we just wanted to get away for a day. So as this is the nearest one, and as some kids had been seen here recently who were also naturists, we thought it was OK. If you'd rather just go then I'll understand, but you should have that thigh looked at just in case, and before you move it too much."

He waited, looking at us. I should explain that all the adults were face down on the sand at this point, so all we could see was bums.

James looked at me, then at the man, the doctor. "Could you make it better, please sir?"

The man smiled at him, and sat up. To my surprise his was about as long as his son's. But his body was generally hairier, because there was hair on his chest and stomach, a little down his thighs, and a lot on his lower legs. More than his son, although his lower legs were quite hairy too. I felt very inadequate.

James' thigh was examined minutely while I stood and stared over the bare bottoms in front of me to the happy scene further down the beach where the two girls, the endowed elder and the thin younger, were playing quite unconcernedly with the two boys about my age and the little boy. I wondered if I could ever do that. It looked like fun.

But the doctor was talking to James. "It's clean. But it needs washing. The best thing you can do, rather than have me put TCP on it, is to go and swim. It'll sting to start with, but I'm sure you could put up with that if you really try, and it'll stop hurting and get better much quicker if you do."

"It's kind of you, sir," I put in. "But we've got no swimming things." Even as I said it I was realising how damn stupid I was being.

He laughed. "You really don't need to worry about that, do you? There are two lads here your own age, and girls, all running round as we do, so two more aren't going to make a difference. You don't need to worry about us at all. We're just two normal families who are all friends, who enjoy the freedom of not having to wear clothes. We believe that the human body, like most animals' bodies, are things of beauty. Look at the sleek elegance of -- what -- a panther. Can you imagine an animal as pleasing to the eye as that in a suit of clothes? Well, the human body, properly looked after, is a beautiful thing and certainly nothing to be ashamed about, or dirty. It's just that society....." he tailed off.

"Sorry. My soapbox. In fact it's probably just as well that most people do keep their clothes on, because they've let their bodies get so ugly that what I said isn't true for them. But that's beside the point here. Your bodies will hold no surprises for us and attract no comment either. Even if yours, young man," this was to me, "reacts in the way that most boys of your age react by having an erection. It's entirely normal, all males have them, and those two down there are no exceptions. So don't worry, especially as you're not used to others being naked round you. But if you'd rather sit there clothed while your friend swims, that's fine."

"We've bathed naked here before," burst out James. "In fact we do it every day." I looked at him with annoyance. I still hadn't made up my mind what I was going to do.

"So it was you two we saw the other day. We were looking through the glasses and we saw some boys playing in the mud, and they had no clothes on."

"Weren't you on the next island along on Monday?" asked his son's deep voice. "Tim and I saw two boys playing there then."

I admitted that it was.

"It's really your fault we're here, then. Because we saw you playing and swimming here the last few days, naturist style, you made us think that some others from the island were using it."

"Well, yes, we were," I burst out at last. "But we're not naturists. The first day I forgot my swimming things, and it just went on from there."

"So quite naturally you see no problem in swimming together with no clothes?"

"Well.....er.....no. It was a bit odd at first, but I got used to it. He doesn't mind at all!"

James giggled.

"Well, just as you don't mind between yourselves, we don't mind with our friends either. These are our family and friends. Because we think the same way as you two swimming and playing with no clothes is natural to us. There's no hidden problem with it, and just as you two do we find it natural."

"But.....er....you've got girls with you....er..."

"And that makes it wrong? Not really. You see, Alice and I are married, and have been for long enough to have two children we love and respect. We know each other well, as married couples do, and we know each others' bodies so they hold no surprises for us. As our daughter and two sons were born, we said: `gosh, they're naked! Just like us when we walk around the house.' So we continued doing just that, and they saw us, and grew up, and we all got used to each other's bodies. Then we said that if we did this at home, and were very comfortable doing it -- so much so that it was completely natural for us -- why didn't we do it on holiday too.

"So we did. It took a bit of getting used to because we'd never been able to go without clothes out of doors before, or in the company of others. But everybody was the same, we met lots of normal, happy people, and some very good friends, and...well, here we are."

I followed the logic of this completely. It seemed so right, explained like that. But to take off all my clothes in front of them.....? But they were naked, and here was I, clothed in front of them. A corner of my mind started to think that I was the odd one out.

"I'm going for a swim," James announced. "I want to get my cut clean."

I looked at him, desperately undecided. But he took the initiative, as usual, and just peeled off his few clothes. There was no way I was going to let him swim on his own. He was still very much a learner. So I gulped hard and followed his lead, hoping that I was keeping the important bits out of sight. At this stage there was nothing extra to worry about, at least.

"Good lads," said the doctor. "Help your friend get his cut clean, and then see if you have the courage to go and talk to the rest of them down there. We'll make sure nothing happens to your clothes."

It took a lot of doing, turning my exposed bum toward them but I made myself casually follow James into the water. He did so slowly, and gave a cry as the cold salt water lapped against the cut. He backed out of the water in a hurry, jumping to avoid the wavelets as they lapped against him.

"Come on, James. It doesn't hurt that much. He said it'd sting, and that's all it is."

"No, it's worse. It really hurts."

"It'll only hurt for a moment, really. And think of the good it's doing."

"Don't care. It hurts."

"Quick, get under the water. The girls are coming."

He looked back swiftly. By the time he had seen I was wading out to deeper water as quickly as I could. He started to follow me and then stopped with a loud "Aahhhh." There was a splash behind him as the girls waded in. That was more than he was bargaining for. Determinedly he strode out towards me, and I could see him gritting his teeth and screwing his face up as he came. As soon as he got to me it was obvious that the cold salt water had done its trick, because his expression was one of astonishment.

"It's stopped."

"Told you."

"Yeah, but...."

"....And so did the doctor."

"Hallo."

This was from the smaller of the girls. She looked like an undeveloped mermaid, half girl and half boy. With her short hair wet and her undeveloped bust she looked boyish and rather sweet. Her friend was definitely the mermaid, though, and I felt embarrassed at being so near something so sought after. I wondered if this could be my opportunity. She was attractive, certainly, and was looking at me in a friendly way. But I had nothing to offer her. Only 3 ¼ inches, anyway. And with the cold water it was going to stay that way.

"Hallo," we both said back.

"How's your leg?" said the older one.

"Stopped hurting, thanks. Just like your Dad said it would."

She laughed. "That's not my Dad. Mine's the other one. I'm Hannah, and this is Rose."

"I'm James, and this is Martin," echoed James.

"Hallo."

"Hallo."

This was getting a bit monotonous, I thought, and I was wondering how to make small talk when Hannah started again.

"Are you really not naturists?"

"Not really," I started. "The first time we landed here I'd forgotten my swimming things. So James kept me company and we did without. After that, it just didn't seem to matter, and as it was hot and we were going to swim anyway we just carried on."

"I had to take his clothes off the first time," James smirked. "He wasn't going to strip off on his own."

"Shut up," I said furiously, blushing.

Rose laughed. "I like it. It's nice and free. It's funny putting on a costume when we swim at school."

"It's funny putting clothes back on when we get ready to go," said James.

"D'you swim well?" I asked, anxious to change the subject. He'll be telling them he's slept in my bed next.

"I swim quite well," answered Hannah. "Rose only learnt last term."

"Like me," said James. "I only had two lessons, then Martin taught me the rest this week."

"Did he? Let's see, then."

Hannah was quite positive about it, and my suddenly shy little friend forgot all about his body and the fact that his bottom would be visible above the waves as he swam. He just launched himself straight into the crawl and swam splashily away from them. Unfortunately he didn't check his direction and went straight away from the shore.

As soon as I realised, I swam after him anxiously. When I was abreast of him I called out.

"Swim in a curve, will you, and head back to shore."

"Why?" he asked between gasps.

"'Cos you're heading out to sea."

There was a squeak and all the mechanism of swimming left him. His feet went down and touched nothing, and there was immediately a thrashing about in the water. I couldn't get near or I'd have been hit by a flailing arm.

"Lie on your back," I shouted over the splashing. "FLOAT!"

Desperation made him do it. I could see he was scared, but as soon as he had turned onto his back and was lying still on the water he calmed down quickly.

The trouble was that he was playing submarines again, without meaning to. The cold had made the periscope contract, but it was still a visible periscope. I swam round him safely on my front and hung in the water with a doggy-paddle

"Come on, you can swim to the shore. It's just the same as swimming nearer in." I knew he was out of his depth but I wasn't going to say the words.

"I can't."

"'Course you can. You got here. I don't want to have to tow you in, in front of the others."

"Please, Martin.....? I'm scared. I can't turn over again. Please?"

He was getting worked up again. I don't know why but I had to help. With a sigh of resignation I put my hand under his chin, kicked up my feet and propelled us both towards the shore. His back was pressed against my side. It felt good. He was still being a submarine, even more so as he was effectively being supported in the water by my body. We were nearing shallow water when Hannah's voice sounded by my left ear and made me jump.

"That looks like fun! Will you do it for me?"

What?! A girl asking me to tow her? Was this luck?

"All right," I said graciously, and left James there. Fortunately he was in his depth. I followed her out, and she lay as James had done, floating on her back. The wavelets lapping over her breasts fascinated me, as did the mysterious dark triangle of hair...

As I had done with James I swum up beside her, but then hesitated. Could I really do the same tow on her as had on James? I mean, we'd be touching..... but then, she'd asked me to, and if I did a remote tow she'd think I was treating her differently. At least I wouldn't be a submarine, like James. Alongside a....a what? I could only think of `mother ship'. But then, she was naked and unconcerned; why shouldn't I be. I took a deep mental breath, floated alongside and gently put my hand under her chin in the approved life saving manner. My body floated up, touched her side and I towed her to the shore. When we got there I floated, and was quite glad the periscope was not as far up as it might be, despite the unusual partnership, but I put that down to the water temperature.

"That's fun," she laughed when I deposited her in shallower water.

"What is?" asked a light tenor voice from behind me. I swivelled round. It was the older of the two boys of my age. My eyes were held by his. They were dark, so dark as to be almost black, and they fascinated me. The face was pleasing too. I thought I could like this boy.

"Being towed," she answered.

"Towed?"

"Yes. Rescued if you like. He does it well."

"D'you do lifesaving, then?"

"Yes," I answered truthfully. "We did a course at school. I got my bronze."

"How's it work?"

"Well, like I just towed Hannah in. You put your palm under the chin and just swim with one hand and your legs. You have to tell them what you're doing first, though, or they might think you're going to duck them."

"Will you show me?"

"OK."

So once again I swam out to sea with a stranger. He was alongside me, and I kept glancing at this slim, quite tall body at my side with the rounded, muscular bottom....fascinating. Another vision to add to the collection I'd started in school.

"I float, do I?"

"Yes. If you didn't I'd have to try and persuade you to."

He floated. Up periscope.

It wasn't so much the size, but the shape. Actually more torpedo than periscope, and with no perceptible bulge at the end. But what was at the end was the extension of the skin which came together there, and went on for another ¼ inch or so -- not that I measured. It just looked right. And below, despite the water, was a deep hanging -- floating at the moment -- sack with two smallish but beautiful oval shapes clearly visible. Up from it the hair was just growing enough to be there, and further up still was his neat belly button, flat belly, and the signs of good muscles to come.

Wow.

Trembling, I put my hand under the chin, floated up and broke the water.

The periscope could have seen all the shipping from there to France.

There was nothing I could do about it. I just had to tow him in, our bodies touching, mine offering greater resistance to the water than his, until we swam alongside Hannah and James. Hurriedly I let go and stood in the water which was just high enough to cover my embarrassment. He stood too.

"That's good. I'd like to learn to do that. Perhaps our school does it."

"I'll teach you, if you like." Now why did I say that?

"Would you? I'm Mark, by the way."

"Martin. This is James."

"Don't I get to learn too?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Brother?"

"No, friend."

"Hallo James."

"Hallo Mark."

Introductions over, I had to take little Rose a bit further out and `rescue' her too. The captain had finished looking for other shipping by this time and had ordered the periscope down.

It ended, of course, with my having to take Ralph, the other boy of my age, and Billy, the young one to an appropriate depth and rescue them too. None had the same effect on me as Mark, although I could really get to like Ralph as a friend, I thought. But his body was - well -- not as interesting as Mark's.

Eventually we decided we were hungry. I wondered what the time was. As we followed the others out of the water I watched Mark's good looking bum muscles helping him to force his way through the water. So intent was I in the sight that it wasn't until I was walking on the sand that I remembered I wasn't wearing anything and was in the company of strangers. Well, not exactly strangers. I'd towed them all in from the sea. We'd talked. We'd swapped experiences. James had been rabbitting on to Rose and Billy. They'd been playing in the shallows as if they'd known each other for ages.

And nobody was taking the slightest bit of notice of the fact that anyone else was naked, not even we two new boys.

Something clicked with me. With that and a bit of bravado I told myself I was going to be very happy wandering around nude with them all, even the adults. We were all in the same boat, anyway. So I found myself with Mark on one side and James on the other, about to eat our packed lunches as the others were starting on their picnic. A thought crossed my mind, apart from the fact that I was ravenous.

"Excuse me", I asked no one in particular, "but what's the time, please?"

There was some fumbling to my right. "Ten past two", said the doctor.

"WHAT? I mean, I beg your pardon....." I remembered my manners. The man laughed.

"You've been in the water for two hours. You didn't get here until about midday."

"I thought I was hungry. No wonder."

"I could eat a horse," said James. "No, a rhinoceros."

They all laughed. He grinned. We fetched our packed lunches from where we had dropped them and ate.

Afterwards we lay in the sun. I was tired by my frequent trips towing people, James was tired because he'd had an interrupted night. I kept comparing my feeling for James with my attraction to the boy lying next to me. Physically he was the better looking; more muscular, more....mature? Was that the word? Well, he would be -- he was older. But James was.....my little Jimmy, who had shared my shower and my bed, who liked to cuddle up to me when he was cold or scared. I wondered if Mark would ever let me do that with him. And wouldn't it be fun if we could help each other get that feeling. I couldn't with James, he was too young. But Mark was older than me. In fact he would probably produce white stuff. I looked at the instrument he'd use for doing so......

Well, my front was getting sunburnt anyway. I rearranged things to get more comfortable.

When I woke I was hot. The afternoon was getting stuffy again, I decided. Then there was a giggle from down beyond my feet, and why was there a heavy weight on my legs and back? I puzzled for a good few seconds, and then came to properly.

They'd piled sand on my legs and over my back. Deep sand. Only my bum was cool. I nearly twisted my head off trying to see the culprits. Mark was lying facing me, grinning in a friendly way at me. James had gone from the other side, and I was sure it was his laugh I'd heard. Not being a contortionist I couldn't see him or the others.

With some difficulty, but with a strength that came from the desire not to hide my bottom but to have it on the same basis of exposure as the rest of me, I pushed myself up. As I did so I thought how strange it was. It was bare, and the rest of me wasn't. And an exposed bum is less embarrassing than an exposed willy. And all I wanted to do was get everything exposed at once. Odd.

As I got up, the conspirators came into view. James, Rose and Billy. I might have guessed. I looked back at Mark -- the others were in the sea again. He raised his eyebrows and inclined his head to the kids. Cottoning on, I nodded. The next minute we were both in hot pursuit of three childish bottoms which had got a scant fifty feet advantage. They dodged us and ran into the wood. We slowed. A quick start from immobility had left us both breathless and we wondered about following them into the gloom.

"I've got an idea," I said. "We could really give them a shock. James has seen it before, but the others haven't."

So we went back down to the stream with its muddy banks, and really wallowed hard. By the time we'd finished we were both black.

"You've got a thin spot on your lower back," I said, suddenly having an idea. I took a handful of mud and rubbed it on him, just above the start of his cleft.

"And how about your face?" he asked. "Shut your eyes."

I could feel his nearness, even through the mud. Things reacted. I was effectively a captive; if I'd moved he'd not be able to do my face. What the doctor had said about having an erection sprang to mind. Well..... do I trust him? Do I have a choice?

"There you are. That should do. Is it OK?"

The mud was starting to stiffen already. I opened my eyes with some difficulty. My mouth wasn't keen to move either, especially when I laughed.

"I'd better do yours," I said, and grabbed another handful of mud.

Why did being so near him, and gently rubbing the mud over his face, make me tremble? With the shakes came the knowledge that my body was returning to normal. I looked down.

His was starting to react.

Wow.

It beat me. By about two inches. I was jealous as hell.

"That's OK," I said. "Can you open your eyes?"

It wasn't easy for him, either. We waded out. He rubbed some mud over his nether regions, so I did the same. It would have been nice to.....no. Don't think about it.

The youngsters hadn't returned to the shore, so we went into the woods where they had and stood listening. Nothing, only birdsong.

"Where would they have gone?" He whispered.

"Could be anywhere. Would he have taken them to your boat?"

"That's a thought. We'll try there."

He followed me most of the way. It was peculiar to have someone who I really wanted to look at at close quarters following my bare but mud-caked bum. But I put up with the thought, and hoped it wasn't too unmuscular and wobbly.

As we neared the north shore I could hear voices. By this time we were both highly uncomfortable. The layer of rapidly drying mud was acting as an insulator, and the day was already hot. Patches of our covering were starting to flake off, and my forehead felt as if it was already washing itself off, so heavily was I sweating. He came up beside me, having heard the shouts and laughter. His disguise was also falling off in places, and there were rivulets of sweat, pink in black, down his face. With the dark eyes he looked positively demonic.

We indianed our way along toward the shouts, keeping just inside the shelter of the trees. He had overtaken by now. We were in single file, and every now and again I caught a glimpse of up and down pink as his buttocks separated.

It was too hot for my body to react. I had this odd urge to touch, but resisted.

He stopped at last, shortly before the hard mud wore through our skin, and we watched. Tag again? It was rather sweet, two small boys and a small girl playing naked and unashamed so happily. I was on the verge of suggesting that we should leave them, or just watch, when he turned round, grinned, beckoned with his head, and with one bound charged along the beach. I followed, but rather less eagerly.

The sight of two jet black figures running towards you, when you are young and not expecting it, is quite daunting. One of the tag players screamed, the other started, then just stood there as he recognised the make up. But the third, young Billy, amazed me.

He quickly pushed his sister behind him and stood there, fists at the ready, like a guardian. We skidded to a halt about six feet from him.

"What d'you want? You're scaring my sister." The voice was only a little quavery, but the expression in the eyes was what they call in the old books `steadfast'. I was impressed. So, I think, was Mark. Rose was sniffing in the background.

The guardian looked closer at us, and something struck a chord. "Mark? It is you isn't it? I can tell you by the eyes."

"Yes, it is."

"I knew that!" James shouted. "Martin did the same to me the other day. It's scary, but you can see who it is once you know."

I just about followed the logic.

Mark crossed to Rose, who was still sniffing. "Don't be silly, Rose. It's only me. It's only a joke."

"You scared me."

"It was only fun. Don't be silly. Look, it's mud. It'll wash off. In fact it's getting so uncomfortable I'm going to wash it off now. Coming, Martin?"

"I certainly am. The edges start digging into you after a bit and it hurts."

"Serves you right."

"Sorry, Rose. But didn't Billy defend you well?"

"S'pose."

Mark gave his brother a squeeze on his shoulder. The smaller boy grinned up at him.

We got the mud off with the same difficulty as last time. Helping each other was fun, but the force needed to remove the hard-set gunge was not exactly conducive to interesting reactions. The only reaction either of us gave was the frequent `OW, that HURTS!' as one of us rubbed harder than comfortable at a particularly sticky bit. As a way of getting to know somebody well, though, it's beyond compare.

We returned companionably across the island to where the others were now once again in the water. This time both sets of parents were swimming too. We joined them, and by this time all thoughts of being embarrassed by my nudity had vanished.

When at last we were once again drying in the sun which was once again almost too hot for comfort, Ralph spoke to me, for almost the first time.

"You know what you said about life saving?"

"Er....yes."

"Will you teach us?"

I thought. "Well, I want to spend some time sailing, and I said I'd take James with me......"

"I'd like to learn too."

"You need to learn to swim better before you can do that. You need to be able to keep afloat out of your depth."

He looked downcast. Then:

"I could be the rescued one."

"True, I suppose. And it's quite tiring, so we'd only be able to do a couple of hours a day. I could show you, then you could practise together."

"Yeah....we could end up teaching Hannah, and Mum and Dad."

They laughed. "I think you'd find us a bit difficult to tow," his mother said. "We're quite a bit heavier than you people."

"Oh no," I said seriously. "We were taught to rescue anybody. Once they're in the water weight hardly matters. It's just a question of getting them to lie still and getting them moving. After that it's all the same."

The doctor looked at me thoughtfully. "You know what you're about, don't you?"

"I was taught well...sir."

He laughed. "Then this is what we'll do, if it's all right with you. If you come here tomorrow, say about ten o'clock, we'll bring Ralph and Mark over, and you can spend a couple of hours teaching them and using James as the casualty, if he agrees."

The casualty nodded vigorously.

"Then you can sail over to the main island and spend the afternoon with us. They've got all sorts of things there -- table tennis, volleyball, archery, swimming of course, and snorkelling. We'll book you in as guests and you'll be fine. You've settled down well with us without needing clothes, so a few more people in the same condition won't make a difference, will it? Will you come?"

I wasn't sure about the `few extra people' bit. But it sounded good. I liked table tennis, and snorkelling sounded fun.

"I'll have to ask my parents. But we'll come here at ten tomorrow anyway."

"That's good. I don't know what view your parents have about naturists, of course. But if they want to meet us -- with clothes on! -- then you just tell me tomorrow and we'll rearrange it for Saturday. It might be better then, actually, 'cos the people are changing over and it's not so busy. And the newcomers are a bit less used to having nothing on, so if you're still a bit shy you'll not be alone."

I wasn't sure if that was a good idea or not. But I nodded anyway.

The afternoon got hotter, if that was possible. We were in and out of the sea like fiddlers' elbows.

At last I could stand it no longer, and asked the time.

"Five o'clock."

"I think we'd better go, if you don't mind. I feel as if I'm sunburnt all over."

"You probably are a bit," said the doctor. "I should cover your shoulders at least when you get back. It's been good to see you both, and do meet them here tomorrow unless it's raining."

"Thank you for doing my cut," piped up James.

"And thanks for making us welcome," I added.

They laughed and made polite noises. We turned. "See you tomorrow!"

"I'm coming across the island with you," said Mark. My heart gave a leap. I wanted to see more of him.

"Me too," said Rose, and she looked up at James and made him blush.

We chatted about nothing much as we crossed through the wood. As we got onto the beach I stopped and got my clothes out.

"Sorry. We've got to get them on now, 'cos dressing in a sailing dinghy doesn't work."

"That's OK. We don't mind."

They watched with interest as we made ready, then helped us push her down to the water. I poled off with an oar and, drifting slowly away from them, we set sail. They stood at the water's edge, waving: a male naked savage and his small mate, and only turned away as we got too far away to hear their shouts.

CHAPTER 7

"What are our parents going to say when we tell them we've been with nudists all the afternoon?"

"Dunno. They're nice, aren't they?"

"Yes. Good fun."

"You were funny covered with sand."

"You were funny when you got out of your depth. It's the same way of swimming, you know."

"Yeah? Well, it feels different."

It was cooler on the water, to my relief. Clothes felt hot and itchy after a day without, and I wished we could all be as sensible as they were and go without all the time. Except for my aunt. She was too fat, and I'm sure without clothes she'd be even fatter. She'd probably spill out, like a badly set jelly. The idea was so awful I spluttered into laughter.

"What?"

I explained to him.

"Do people do that?" he asked wide-eyed.

"Shouldn't think so. It'd be too messy. What would happen in swimming pools?"

He started giggling at that, and before long we were both helpless. The boat swung off course -- he was in charge, and before I'd got my senses back and could see we'd gone round from a long reach to bring the wind aft, all without wanting to. I cottoned on before it happened.

"Head DOWN!!!"

A slight delay, then he ducked. The boom crashed over in a gybe and we heeled well over. I snatched both tiller and sheet from him and, despite being on the wrong side of the boat managed to adjust our course until we were on an even keel again.

"What happened?" he asked, sounding scared.

"A gybe. When she swung round without us noticing it brought the aft edge of the sail to the wind, and that blew it across. Do that with a strong wind and you'll bust the mast."

"Oh. Sorry."

"S'all right. I should have been watching instead of laughing at jelly."

And that set us both off again, but not so out of control.

I took over properly, and the rest of the voyage was uneventful. To my surprise my parents were waiting at the hard where we moored.

"What on earth went on out there? Where you gybed?" My father was anxious.

"Oh, nothing really. James was sailing and we were laughing at something, and before we knew it we'd gone off course."

"Martin, the trouble is that it's just that sort of thing that we worry about. A moment's lack of attention and, in a strong wind, you could be in real trouble."

"I know Dad, but in a strong wind I'd be sailing myself, not teaching James."

"Certainly you wouldn't. Mr And Mrs Evans wouldn't allow it. And I'm not so sure they'd be happy with him sailing now, even with you there. I hope you haven't let him sail on his own?"

"No, Dad, of course not. He wouldn't be happy on his own yet."

"There's no `yet' about it. At 9 he's not to sail this boat on his own. Sorry James, but it's just not on.

"No, Mrs Finch."

"And I'm surprised at you even thinking about it, Martin. Are you out of your mind?"

"But Mum..."

"No buts. No sailing the boat alone for James. Understood?"

"Yes. I was never going to let him in the first place."

"You say that now...."

"Mum, he's not strong enough to deal with two sails anyway, and I don't want to get him drowned. I'm not stupid."

She just looked at me, as did Dad. I looked back, and was suddenly reminded of the hurt she'd caused me the other day. I think she wilted first. James was a bit uncomfortable about it.

"Anyway, he can sail well. He's learning to tack and can do it. There's a lot I've not taught him, but it's only his first day."

"So long as he doesn't sail without you, that's all."

"Mum! I've already said....."

"All right, that'll do. It's too hot to argue. But we do get worried, you know."

I realised then just how hot it was here, on the waterfront of the village, sheltered by the hill behind. I was sticky with heat and salt, and wanted a cool shower. The last thing I could face at the moment was a discussion about naturists.

"All right," was all I could think of saying as I turned back to the dinghy to tidy up.

"At least you're on time," said my mother.

I turned, suddenly annoyed. "I've only once been late, and even then it was close, and not late. Have you had a bad day?"

"What?"

"Well, you're so....on at me....I haven't really done anything apart from make a sailing mistake."

There was a pause. "I think we're probably a bit irritated by the heat. It's been so hot here, and you can't really swim off the village. We could have done with a boat, but they were all out with other people."

"Oh. Well, a cool shower will help, I should think. That's what we're going for, isn't it, James?"

He nodded, unsure if it was safe to speak.

We all climbed slowly to the hotel. They were right, it was hot. Hotter than the previous night whose storm we hoped had brought an end to the excessive heat and humidity. Once safely in my room I apologised to James for my parents' outburst.

"'S Ok. Mine do it all the time. Are you going to ask them about tomorrow?"

"I'll have to pick my time, I s'pose. Probably wait 'til it gets cooler."

"Is there going to be another storm?"

"Feels like it. Want to sleep down here?"

"Please."

Good.

We showered, and I was amazed how much browner he'd got in just one day. My shoulders were quite red, and I thought they'd start peeling soon. They felt quite hot, too. The force of the shower hurt.

Dinner was a rather quiet meal. We were all at the stage where we didn't want to eat, yet were hungry. As time progressed it got cooler, and a breeze started to shift the air about, much to everyone's relief. As if people hardly meant it, chat started.

I didn't think that over the meal was a good time to talk about naturists in front of everybody, and neither was coffee. Eventually he whispered to his parents that he'd be sleeping in my room. Mr Evans looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I went over.

"Are you really sure you don't mind? It's just that he hates thunderstorms, and even if there's one forecast at home he gets agitated."

"No, it's OK. I'm so used to him now; he's no trouble."

"If he was your age I can see it wouldn't be so bad, but he's a lot younger than you."

"He doesn't take up so much of the bed."

They laughed. "Well, just don't think you've got to, please. We're quite used to having him in ours."

"No, it's fine."

"Goodnight, James."

"See you soon."

I went and told my parents. At least they knew me well enough to know that I'd help like that if someone was in trouble. It wasn't long after that I went up too. I was tired, yes, but there was a yard and half of reasons why I wanted to go to my room.

He was asleep.

I undressed and got in beside him. He never moved. His breath was even. I faced him. I was starting to feel something else apart from protectiveness towards him, and I didn't know what it was. I found myself wanting to breathe in as he breathed out, to share his air as I'd shared everything else these past days. I wanted him in my arms -- to get more space and comfort certainly, but now something else as well. What was happening to me? Was this how fathers felt?

Some time later he turned over and woke me up. His bum was pushing into me, nearly pushing me out of the bed. At the knowledge my errant body stiffened and coincided with his. This wouldn't do; he might wake up and think I was trying something. I disconnected, and all but fell out. I decided on the other technique, put my body against his and gently pushed. No movement -- push harder.

With a distant rumble the storm broke. It took him quite a few of them to wake, in fact when he did it was getting quite close. He found me pushing at his body still, trying to get room enough to sleep.

He gave a whimper, and said indistinctly "No.....no....." The next lightning flash woke him.

"Mum?"

"No, it's Martin."

"Oh....Yes." I was pleased that he immediately snuggled down again, despite the weather.

"Move over, James?"

"Mmmmm?"

"Move over. You're pushing me out of bed."

It took at least ten seconds for that to sink in, but a thunderclap woke him again and he dragged himself over. I followed, comfortable at last. As the storm approached he turned again and buried his head against my shoulder. At last I managed to get my arms round him as I had the previous night.

"It's all right....don't worry...nothing nasty's going to happen..."

It was nowhere near as violent as before, and didn't last so long. The air became sweeter as the storm receded, and eventually he drifted off again in my arms. Once again I felt the spiritual completeness of being the guardian of his complete, naked vulnerability.

The nest morning found us lying face to face. I had opened my eyes, and found him looking straight at me from a distance of about 3 inches. My arm had draped itself over his waist, and his over mine.

"Hallo," he said. I blinked at him, feeling suddenly ridiculously happy. I really must be more than `the boy in the room downstairs' to him. Oh, I knew we'd been through a lot together in a short time, but why did he look at me like a little puppy at its master, as if he'd hang on to every word I'd say. That's not a complaint, I felt it a real compliment; one of the deepest I'd ever been paid.

"I'm glad you're my friend....my best friend."

Well, what would you have done? I could either cry with frustrated happiness or hug him close to me, bringing his entire body in contact with mine. Yes, willies as well.

We untangled eventually. He gave me that most dazzling, unzipped smile of his. I smiled back, heart beating fast and now fully and shamelessly stiff.

"You've got a stiffie again. I could feel it."

"Well, I'm not used to being so close to someone."

"Is that what does it?"

"Yeah, that and a few other things."

"What?"

"Oh, touching it, thinking about things, and sometimes it does it on its own."

"Why?"

"Dunno. Doesn't yours?"

"No."

"Bet it does. Tickle it."

The hand that was round me was withdrawn and vanished under the bedclothes. He squirmed a bit and giggled.

"Nothing's happening."

"You're not doing it properly. Show me."

The sheets went down, leaving us both open to the air. He was right, mine was at full mast. His just lay there, small and dangly on its little pad of potential balls. He put his hand down and carefully stroked the length of it, jerking backwards with the sensation as he did so.

"That's no good. You've got to take it, not jump away from it. And tickle your balls too. Look, like this."

I had intended to do it for him, but when it came to it didn't have the nerve. So my hand went to my own instead, and I traced the line of it down, and put my other hand underneath and traced the skin around my testicles. After all the showers, nude swimming and two nights spent together I had no embarrassment about it at all.

"But you're already stiff."

"Well, you do that to yourself."

"Won't you do it for me?"

I looked at him, amazed. He really wanted me to fondle him?

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Trembling now, I reached across. His willy felt so small and soft that I could hardly regard it as one at all. The sac underneath was also soft. I traced my finger around it, then up and down his little thing....but was it so little? Was that an increase in size? I continued.

It took him about 3 minutes to stop wriggling away from my touch as the tickling sensation got to him. He did everything he could to stay put and not jerk away from my hand. At last he quietened and just lay there with this look on his face and....yes.....a little, upstretched erection. It couldn't have been his first ever, but it was probably the first he'd noticed. He looked at me seriously.

"Now I'm just like you."

Not quite, I thought, not quite. What else should I do? My own need was very great, but I couldn't bring myself to go any further with him, he was just too young and vulnerable. I wished then that I could take him home with me and look after him for the next few years while his mind and body developed. But with a sudden stab of the pain to come I knew that he'd be leaving by a different route at the end of the holiday. I never even knew yet where he lived. The thought made my body subside a bit. I removed my hand.

"Don't. It's nice."

"No more. I'm getting up. Lying next to you's made me all hot and sweaty. I need a shower."

"Me too."

"Come on then."

It was in the shower that he tentatively first put his hand on me, watching my face to see what I would do. I must have looked just astonished. It was only a little trace of its length from root to tip, but it was electric for me. I just had to do the same to him, making him giggle and flinch away. I had a point to make, though, and although he was fondling me I just stood and let him do it, so that the difference in our reactions would strike home. Soon he was once again pointing to the ceiling as much as me, and I could tell that doing that was enough for him. I longed for release and to show him how, but how could I? He was only a child.

"Come on, you. Shower!"

And I soaped my hands and washed him. Everywhere. Even there, and between his buttocks. His look at me as I awoke that morning had broken down the last of the barriers between us and I knew that he would take no offence at anything I did, unless it hurt his spirit or mind or body. I wasn't surprised, when it was my turn to be washed, to feel a small hand wriggle its way down my own crack a few times, to soap me everywhere else, and once again to grasp my penis gently and tickle-wash it. By which time I was trembling.

"Right," I said as firmly as I could when we were both clean. "Go and dry yourself and I'll see you at breakfast."

"Can't you dry me? I'll dry you."

"No. I want to soak in the shower a bit. I'll see you downstairs."

"Can't I stay with you?"

"Not now. Please?"

"Have I done something wrong?"

I looked at him stupidly, my mouth open. "What d'you mean, wrong?"

"You've never sent me away before."

I was still just gaping at him. The water trickling down my face entered my mouth and made me cough.

"I....Oh come here." The thought of him imagining he'd been naughty and I was sending him away was too much to accept, especially as it was accompanied by such an anxious, kicked puppy expression. I hugged him, something as inevitable as the night, and he snuggled himself back into my arms.

There was the inevitable knock on the door and we separated and grinned sheepishly at each other.

"Come in," he said as if it was his room. Hurriedly I stepped into the depths of the shower room as the door opened. For his sake I hoped it was one of the sets of parents. It was.

"Hallo darling. I thought I'd check here first as we had the thunderstorm. Did you sleep all right?"

"Mummy....yes, I did. I slept with Martin."

Well if that doesn't make her attack me for making advances to her son I don't know what would.

"Good old Martin....I do hope he doesn't mind. He's a nice boy, isn't he? I don't know what you're going to do when we go home and you won't see him."

A pause. She obviously didn't know I was there. I wasn't about to walk out.

"He can come and visit us?" It was a quiet voice, a question. He'd obviously not been thinking ahead as I had, albeit briefly, to a week's time.

"Perhaps he can, darling. But now hurry and get dressed and come down to breakfast. We're nearly ready and you don't want to miss anything, do you? Martin's probably down there already. I suppose you'll want to go sailing again today?"

"Yes!! And we'll visit our island and meet Billy and Rose and the others."

"Ah yes, these friends you met... Well, I hope their parents don't mind. There do seem to be rather a lot of you all. You will behave yourself, won't you?"

"Oh Mum...

"All right, dear, all right. Hurry up now or Martin'll go without you."

And she was gone. He bounded back to the shower, grin unzipped.

"She thought you were downstairs!"

My body had slouched its way from standing to attention, and oddly I'd lost the need for release in the usual way. I made a note that I must get the ruler out and check soon.

"Yeah. Well, I'm glad you didn't let on, that's all. I thought she was going to come into the shower and find me standing there naked,"

"She wouldn't have minded."

"I would."

"Why?"

"Would you like it if my parents found you naked in the shower."

"Wouldn't mind. They're your parents."

The logic behind that escaped me at the time, but later I saw just what a compliment it was.

We did dry each other. Fast. And he eventually charged upstairs to dress. I got the ruler out, late or no. No change. There wasn't enough time to try anything else, although the temptation was still quite great.

We set off for the island as soon as we could decently get away. The air was noticeably fresher this morning, and we were both quite glad of the extra layer that we'd been told to take, though neither of us would admit it of course. Although I was in charge at the start and finish of the voyage he did all the sailing between, and was starting to show an aptitude for sensing the wind's subtle changes. We berthed and dragged the boat up the beach as usual, although she'd always be afloat at the end of her anchor chain by the time we returned. The tide was going out as we arrived and would be on its way back as we left.

It was cool, but for the sake of it we stripped as usual. I left my T-shirt on. He looked at me and did the same. Shorts, shoes and towel in hand we crossed quietly over the island's narrow, low back. There was nobody on the southern beach, to our surprise. We thought they'd be there before us. We looked a bit put out until we realised it was only quite early -- earlier than our arrival the previous day, anyway. I remembered something.

"How's that cut?"

"OK. Doesn't hurt."

"Let me see."

I'd washed him that morning but not noticed. Probably too busy looking elsewhere. There was a weal on his leg, a bit red, but closed and not unhealthy looking. He'd live.

To keep warm, and out of bravado, and I think because I liked wallowing, I suggested we go and get muddied up. The rain, we found, had softened things up even more than before, and we both sank to our knees with the first few steps. It was now of a light enough consistency not to be dangerous as we could easily scramble out. So for ages we did nothing but roll around, throwing great gobs of the stuff at each other and laughing hysterically. Tired at last we looked properly at each other and started laughing again. Not only was there no bare skin to be seen on either of us but our hair was thick with it, his bottom looked as though he'd just had a very bad post-digestive experience and even our faces were more or less unrecognisable.

But we were warm. In fact we were hot. The sun was strengthening and we'd not noticed. The other thing we'd not noticed was the motor boat with a cargo of adults which had landed much further up the beach.

"Down!" I whispered. I could have shouted. They were too far away to hear. We dropped back into the mud.

"Why?" he asked.

"There's a boat landed up the beach."

"Oh good, they're here." And he started to stand up. I pulled him down again.

"It's not them, it's a crowd of grown-ups."

His eyes went round. "But...but....all our clothes are up there."

"I know. Quick, get under cover. Follow me."

Like two savages again we gained the trees and ran some way into their protective cover. I felt like a fugitive: the sick feeling of impending doom settled on my stomach. The prospect of my discovery, naked, by adult strangers, was appalling. To be naked with a small boy and discovered -- well, I hardly knew what they'd think.

I had to get our clothes.

"Can you follow me quietly up to where our clothes are?" I whispered.

He nodded, and I started walking up the island as quietly as I knew how. After some time we started hearing voices, so I started walking in a crouch, ready to drop flat at any moment. He took the hint and did the same.

It must have been effective, because we saw -- admittedly at some distance -- one of the visitors relieving himself against a tree. I dropped immediately, as did James. The man turned and walked away. I made a mental note of where the tree was so as to avoid it.

Very carefully and slowly I indianed my way toward the beach, thankful once again that James could also move quietly. Slowly I raised my head over the small rim of dead foliage, twigs and leaves that had accumulated at the edge of the trees and scanned the beach. Fortunately they were some way away from our clothes and towels which were still where we had dropped them. But they were still close enough to notice either of us if we made a dash down to pick them up.

We were stuck. I looked back at James. His eyes were sparkling and his mouth was open in a half grin. He was enjoying it!

"It's not funny!" I hissed. "If you think it is, you go down there and fetch them."

The grin receded.

"I don't know them."

"Well take it seriously, then."

"Don't you know what to do?"

"Do you?"

The grin disappeared. "I thought you had a plan."

"No." I was short with him. Although the danger of discovery was still very real, the sick feeling had passed and I was just angry. Angry with them for spoiling our island and angry at not being able to do something about it. Oh, and angry at being powerless to retrieve the only barriers between our present state and decency.

"Can't we attract their attention somewhere else?"

I looked at him, thinking hard. He had a point. But how?

"You know, like the pictures when the spy wants the man to look the other way. He chucks a stone into the bushes."

"How can I chuck a stone from here?"

"You'll have to go up there and do it."

"So they run after me and catch me? No thanks."

"I will."

"You will? What happens if they get you?"

"I dive into the sea."

Normally you don't think ahead at fourteen. But this time I did.

"And what happens when you get out of your depth?"

"Well.....well you'll have to go."

I was silent for ages, trying to think of a better idea.

"All right, I give in. When they run after me, get the gear and come back here. I just hope they don't find me."

"Good luck."

It felt desperately lonely, that slow, careful walk, crouch and slither up the island. I'd not felt so naked, so exposed, since we first started being unaware nudists. But the knowledge of what I had to do and the fact that I was naked doing it really made me cling to every bit of cover I could find. At one point I looked down at myself. The mud had partially set, leaving cracks of skin colour at the points where my joints moved. The rest of me had picked up a variety of leaves and other debris from the ground. God knows what I'd look like to the strangers if I was caught.

Near where I could hear them talking I found, thankfully, a thick bush. Getting inside it was a painful business, and once there I found that I had nothing to throw to make a diversion. Cursing my stupidity I crawled out again, giving a grunt of pain as a branch cut into me. When I was outside, listening again, the voices had stopped. I looked up. A woman was crouching in the bushes, her skirt around her waist, and was staring at me. One hand was in front of her mouth, looking for all the world like a cartoon character who's just had a shock. I almost expected to see Mickey Mouse run round in front of her and to hear a scream.

I was half right. A shocked half second later, crashing started from the direction of the beach as I turned and ran away as fast as I could. Unheeding now of the noise I was making I just knew I had to put as much distance between me and the scene of my embarrassment as I could. I ran until I was out of breath.

"Where am I?" I asked myself. I had a vague idea the beach was to my right, so I returned to silent mode and headed off there, although the sound of my panting probably put paid to any secrecy. As I recovered I heard voices, and stopped instantly, belly to the ground.

"But I told you it was an ape! It was all covered in leaves."

"Apes don't have leaves, they have fur. You imagined it."

"I didn't. It was black, covered in leaves, and about six feet tall. The leaves were stuck to its fur."

"Come on Mary, pull the other one. You just had too much wine last night."

"I had lots less than you. And I know it was there. It was watching me.....er....you know."

"Yeah, and I'm the King. If it was six foot and covered with leaves it was a tree."

"Don't call me a liar."

"I'm not, it's just that you imagined it."

"Well I'm not spending the afternoon here, and that's definite. Take me away, please. I want to find a pub."

"Oh, Mary...."

"No, I mean it. It gave me the shock of my life. Take me away. Now."

"Mary....."

"NO!"

There was a silence.

"All right. Come on. And I was looking forward to exploring here, too."

I had managed, in my panic, to run in a complete circle. Had they not been talking and I'd not stopped running I'd probably have run onto the beach just by them. Bloody hell. My blood curdled. And then, as so often happens when you realise you've just been released from a fate worse than death, I felt this uncontrollable urge to laugh. I hid my face in my folded arms to stifle any sound and silently shook with near hysteria at my escape and at being called a leaf-covered, six foot ape.

When I recovered I could hear the motor going as they made their escape from the island of foliated apes, and I crawled to the beach to make sure they'd gone. As they reached mid channel my attention was drawn to another boat steering for it, but still some distance away. There seemed to be quite a few people in it.

I cursed, and wondered what was attracting so much attention to our previously unvisited sanctuary. Did I have time to run down the beach to find my clothes and James before the boat got close enough to realise I was naked? I thought so. I gained the sand and hared down to where he'd be, near where our clothes had been. They'd disappeared.

But so had he.

I looked round at the open sea. The motor launch was noticeably nearer. I cursed and rushed to the welcome shelter of the woods, my heart beating fast from running and near discovery.

Where was James?

I called, and got the fright of my life when an answer came from almost under my feet.

"Shhhh! They'll hear you."

"What the.....where are you?"

"Here."

"Where?"

"Here. Look." I looked around, and a dark log was waving in the air about ten feet away from me. I looked closer and saw him: lying still against a patch of earth his mud covered, naked body was completely camouflaged.

"Bloody hell, James, I couldn't see you until you moved. Have you got the clothes and stuff?"

"Yes," he said proudly. "They were so busy chasing you that there was plenty of time. Did they get you?"

"No. One of them saw me, but she thought I was a leaf covered ape."

"What?"

I explained. My patch of earth curled up with laughter.

Voices could be heard from the beach.

"Where are they?"

"They're late."

"So are we."

"That's only because that boat was there."

"Perhaps they saw it and left."

We crawled to the edge of the beach just to make certain. Yes, it was them. But clothed. It didn't worry James. With a whoop he leapt out of the bushes and rushed toward them, shouting like an attacking warrior. After the first shock they laughed at this mud encrusted, naked warrior as he danced round them, brandishing his imaginary spear.

I followed more sedately, rather worried that they were all clothed -- well, wearing shorts -- and I had nothing on except mud. It was almost as bad as the first time I had to show my body to the school doctor with the nurse standing by. But I needn't have worried. They quickly dropped their shorts, and the girls removed their tops as well, and we flopped down onto the beach with them.

Our mud covering hardened in the sun as we spun together the story of our morning so far. It must have been effective, because they were all rolling on the ground by the time we'd finished. We were so uncomfortable with the cracking mud by that time that we rushed into the water and washed it off.

The next three hours were spent with everybody from Joe, the eldest at 16, down to Billy at 8, towing and being towed by everybody else. James had to do a lot of swimming so it helped him too, and gradually he got used to the idea of not being able to touch the bottom. When we were all exhausted we flopped onto the sand again.

"Are you coming over to visit us this afternoon, like we said?" asked Mark. "We've got this snorkelling session lined up, and that's fun."

I suddenly had doubts, not about the activity but about the nudity. Would it really be all right? Wouldn't we feel odd? But James was nodding his head vigorously. "Yes please, we'd like that. Wouldn't we, Martin?"

"Yes, if it's all right."

"It's all organised, like I said. You can eat with us, then we'll go over there and you can follow in your boat."

"Great! But we've got a packed lunch."

"That's OK -- we'll add that to it. We eat outdoors anyway."

So we hurried off to fetch the dinghy. Even after our ordeal of the morning having no clothes was now so much a matter of course that we forgot all about it until we reached the other shore, when we were possibly going to be in view of the mainland, not that it had stopped us before. We hurriedly prepared the sails and floated her off so the dinghy gunwales would hide us from prying eyes. I took the helm and we sailed to join the others. They motored off to meet up with us and to our horror we found they had put on their shorts.

"Why're you dressed?"

"We always do when we're at sea, in case we meet anybody."

"We aren't."

"So I see. We've got your clothes here. Do you want them?"

"Please."

"We'll come to you."

And so there was a shift of cargo. Why they bothered with clothes I don't know: some of the boys' shorts were just about ineffective in hiding the important bits, and the most notable was Mark. White, loose and thin, they hardly came below the level of his willy. In fact as I looked he shifted, and it was clearly visible up his trouser leg.

Why should that have been so much more disturbing to my equilibrium than seeing him completely naked? I hurriedly pulled on my shorts.

CHAPTER 8

As we neared the island I started getting jittery about stripping off again. And that was despite seeing numbers of people wandering carelessly around wearing nothing. But inexorably (Another word I was proud of at the time) we drew nearer, struck sail and glided in beside the launch.

We moored. We stripped. We joined the others at lunch. I think that was the oddest thing: to be sat at a table in normal, pleasant domestic surroundings, eating and talking normally, whilst all the time being nude.

The afternoon brought the delights of learning to snorkel. Neither of us had done it before, and we thoroughly enjoyed it.

If you've never tried snorkelling, you don't know what you're missing. If you have, then you haven't. Missed it, that is.

Watching Mark's well rounded, muscular bum floating on the surface as his head pointed downwards was funny, and gave me an odd feeling inside. It was like an oddly shaped whale which would suddenly flip up its fin -- well, two thin fins -- and dive.

To see the beach underneath us gradually shelving away into oblivion was like being let into a major secret, only to discover a bigger one further on. Add weeds, rocks, crabs, the occasional fish and other marine life and you have the makings of paradise for anyone young enough not to have become jaded. Neither James nor I, nor indeed any of the others who had done it before, got bored, and spent the whole afternoon in the water.

"See you tomorrow?" asked Mark as we reluctantly realised what the time was and said we had to leave.

"You bet!" I answered emphatically. He had opened up a lot over the day since I had towed him in from `drowning' and I seemed to have done the same. It almost seemed as if he liked me.

I was a bit quiet on the way home. I felt split. James looked up to me, and I was happy being a sort of brother/father to him, especially because he was so uncomplicated. But Mark was......different. With him I felt a different sort of tingle; a keener, deeper, more meaningful feeling in my stomach. I found myself looking round for him, willing him to be there, nearby. Leaving the beach was only not difficult because I knew we were going back.

It was as well that James knew how to sail -- more or less. My thoughts were elsewhere.

We were late.

They had seen us come from a different direction and were keen to know where we'd been.

"Oh, island hopping," I said.

"You won't go near the big island, will you?" said my mother. "It's a nudist colony."

I was silent. So, mercifully, was James.

We were both absolutely shattered that night. We ate silently, James fell asleep in the chair over coffee. I was nodding off. Eventually he had to be carried off by Mr Evans. It was only shortly after that I said goodnight, much to my parents' astonishment.

As his father had returned to the lounge, I went upstairs to James' room, only to find him spark out. I smiled fondly and returned to my own domain where I flung myself on the bed, alone at last after two nights of company. I thought over the day and inevitably Mark's face swam across my imagination. Well, more than his face, actually. I had to get undressed, because it was getting uncomfortable. As I took off my underwear I was puzzled to find them damp in front. Strange. I hadn't needed a pee. I went, to make sure I didn't, and found that trying to direct the little stream that there was downward rather than up in the air was quite a difficult and uncomfortable task. A shower? Too tired. Ruler? Why not.

No change.

Well, I had to get rid of its stiffness somehow, and I had every intention of doing so anyway, with Mark in the forefront of my mind. As my hand did its best for me I noticed that the tip of it was getting a bit shiny, so I stopped to see what it was. Clear liquid? Why? Was I all right? Was this venereal disease? If so, how had I caught it? I hadn't had sex with anybody, least of all a prostitute -- which is how I knew you caught it..

I shrugged my shoulders. There was nothing I could so about it now, and VD or no VD I was half way to whatever, fantasising about being with.....a boy? Why? It must just be that I wasn't old enough to be attracted by girls yet. Oh well, it was harmless.

I continued, thinking about being near him, thinking about how he'd always seemed to be nearby, thinking about how he always seemed to smile when I did, thinking about his faultless body, his beautifully shaped.... and suddenly, more powerfully than before, it seemed, I was there. I let my hand finish until all the need had gone, and then relaxed. And relaxed. And nearly fell asleep. It was only the little draft from the window across my midriff that woke me. It felt colder than usual in one particular place, and I wondered for a moment if James had sneaked into the room and dripped water on me.

He was nowhere to be seen.

I sat up and looked with puzzlement at myself. It had got limp, of course. It was now touching the inside of my thigh.

On which was a patch of damp. Which must have come from my willy.

I was now positively awake. With a shaking hand I raised the end of my drooping organ and peeled the skin back a bit.

Wetness.

Had I started? Had nature turned the tap?

I knew from long experience that it was no use trying again, not for some time. But I so wanted to know, to watch, to see if it was at last happening for me. I decided to go to bed and sleep, then wake up and try again at about midnight. I got under the covers.

There was a knock on the door. I opened my eyes. Mother, and the next day. Damn.

"You're late again, darling. Are you well?"

Better than you think, mother, if only I could try it out. "Yes thanks. Fine. I was just tired after yesterday."

"What, more so than usual?"

"Yes. I was teaching life saving." Damn. I hadn't meant to say anything.

"Oh. To James?"

"Yes, and....some others."

"Oh, that's nice. Did they enjoy it?"

"Yes, and they showed me how to snorkel."

"Isn't that dangerous? You will be careful, won't you."

"It's not dangerous. We only did it in shallow water, and we use the `buddy' system. There's plenty of other people around."

"Where did you do it?" Well, she had to ask, I suppose.

"We met some people on our island, and went to theirs."

"Oh. So long as you don't go to that nudist colony. They're all funny people there."

"I'm sure they're not, Mum. They probably just like the freedom of not wearing swimming things."

"Like your father did in the Navy, you mean? That was just men together, and I'm not sure I really approve of that. There are some parts of the body you just don't show."

"Why?"

"Oh it's all right for you and James, but when you get older you'll understand. Anyway, come down to breakfast soon. We'll wait for you."

"But why, Mum?"

"Because we like to eat with you there."

"No, why don't you show these `some parts of your body'?"

"You'll know when you grow up."

"I have."

"Properly."

"When?"

"You'll know."

"I know now." She wasn't going to get away with not answering me.

"No you don't. It's all right before you reach....before you start growing hair on your body."

"I have."

"Nonsense. Hurry up and come down to breakfast."

She left, rather swiftly I thought, before I had time to think of the next retort.

The clock said that I had fifteen minutes to shower, dry and dress. I had no time for the check I just had to make. Was James up? Should I go up? I shot to the door and darted, still naked, outside. Up the stairs, knock at the door...why? He never knocked on mine...and threw the door open.

And there was Mrs Evans siting on the end of James' bed talking to him. My reaction was instant.

"Oh...." Her head swivelled. I hid behind the door.

"I'm sorry Mrs Evans. I thought I'd better see if he was awake."

"Sorry, Martin. I didn't mean to scare you. Don't worry about me -- after all, I have a son of my own, you know."

Yes, but not one who was more or less adult.

"Yes....it's just....Oh well, he's awake. I'll go and have a shower."

"See you at breakfast. Can James come and use your shower as usual?"

"Oh yes...yes....of course."

And I was gone. Fast. Down the stairs I scuttled before she could get to the door and see my bare bum disappear.

He showed up a few minutes later, grinning broadly as he joined me in the shower without a by-your-leave.

"That gave you a shock, didn't it?"

I just looked at him. "I'm not coming to wake you up any more."

"It's all right. I go around naked in front of her. And you go around naked with Hannah."

"That's different."

Over breakfast my father turned to me. "Martin, how about today for a sail? Just the two of us?"

I thought quickly. I'd arranged to be on the island at 10 o'clock again, with James, then spend the rest of the day with the naturists. My hesitation seemed to dispirit him.

"Well, if you'd rather not...."

"No, Dad," I said desperately. "It's just that I'm teaching these people life saving and I said we'd see them at 10. On the island. You know you wouldn't like me to let them down." Reliability was one of his frequent messages to me. It cheered him up.

"How about if James and I both come along. You could do your tuition, then James could stay with them for a bit and we could go off. Would that be all right?"

Well, they said they wore clothes when in the boat. I saw no problem. And I really did owe him a sail.

"All right," I said. Always gracious, me. "I'd better tell James."

James was thrilled with the idea. "Perhaps he'll strip off too," he said.

Somehow the idea didn't attract me. "He won't. He's not that sort."

"He might. He said he did in the Navy."

"That's different. You sure you don't mind staying with them on your own?"

"I'll be OK."

We all three readied the dinghy for the short voyage. I think Dad was quite impressed with the amount of work James was doing without being asked. It took a very short time before we were under way. I let Dad take her, with James on the foresheets. It seemed only fair.

"Where do you go?" the skipper asked as we were heading in the island's general direction.

"This side, then we walk across. It's a more sheltered mooring."

"I'll do the same."

As soon as we had moored properly James was pulling off his T-shirt. For one minute I thought his shorts were going to follow, but he made no further move. I did the same, and after a pause so did my father. He was very white compared with us. Today was the first day I'd seen him in shorts, and the colour of his thin legs was more like a candle than skin tone.

There was no sign of the others when we got to the opposite shore, thankfully. I had sudden visions of lots of naked people I'd have to explain. I wondered what they'd do. In fact the more I wondered, the more apprehensive I became. We just sat on the sand and waited. I could see James was itching to get into the water. At last he could stand it no longer.

"I'm going for a swim," he announced. "Anybody else coming?"

I just looked at him. "I didn't bring any trunks," said Dad.

"Oh, we just go in without. You said the other day that we could."

He looked at him. "So I did. I thought you probably would. It's great, isn't it?"

"Mmm." I agreed without thinking.

"I suppose....." he started. ".....but it's not really fair on you two, is it?"

"What?" I asked.

"Well, you're my son, and James goes skinny-dipping with you anyway, so perhaps it wouldn't matter. What d'you think?"

"What?" I asked again.

"If I stripped off and came in with you both."

I looked at him. Well, he was my father. It didn't worry me. "James?" I asked.

"Yeah, why not? The others do."

"What others?" Dad had latched on.

"Oh, the others I'm teaching. We don't bother with swimming things."

"You kept that quiet."

"Well....we.....it didn't seem to matter, and I thought Mum wouldn't like it."

"Hmmm. No, you're right. She wouldn't. But then she's not been in the Navy. Anyway, if neither of you two mind, I'm happy. Just don't let on to your parents, James, or you to your mum, Martin. They wouldn't understand. Sure?"

We both nodded. He started to undress. James watched for a moment, then with one quick movement hauled down his shorts, sat on the sand and unconcernedly took off his shoes. He stood up.

"There!" he announced. Dad looked at him and grinned. "Good boy. Are we two going to be the only ones, or are you joining us, Martin?"

I grinned too, suddenly a lot happier than I had been before. Funnily, there was a tiny little weight that had lifted from my mind which, now I thought of it, had been there ever since we had started wandering around in the nude. If my own father sealed it with his approval, there was no way it could be wrong. As to my mother; well, she was a woman and didn't understand men like me. She'd made that very clear the other day. It still rankled.

I stripped off at about the same rate as Dad did. It was odd seeing his for the first time without having to spy over a toilet partition. He was about the same size as the Doctor, as I remembered. Oh well. That was normal, I supposed. I'd get there one day.

Swimming was great. Once he had declared himself as one of `the lads' my father was even more fun than usual. He chased and allowed us to chase. He tickled and allowed us to tickle. He ducked and allowed us to duck. And he seemed to expect it. He even ducked James, and laughed at him when his victim came up blowing like a pink whale. The scared look in his eyes disappeared immediately Dad held him above the water again so he could breathe.

He even asked Dad to duck him again.

We were interrupted by a shout.

"Hallo.....! We've been waiting out there for ages, thinking strangers were here again and you were hiding. And it's you all the time!" This was the Doctor.

I waved from the water. "My Dad's with us. Come along in!"

He shook his head. "Hallo, Mr....er....Martin's Dad. Sorry, but my wife and I have to go to town today with the girls. There's a special event going on that they want to go to. Can I leave Mark, Billy and Ralph with you? Can you ferry them over to the island later in your boat? There's lunch waiting for you, and you'll be welcome, too." This was to my father.

"George Finch," he said. "Good to meet you."

"Malcolm Rogers. How do you do?"

"Is that all right, Dad?" I asked.

"You're in charge today, old son. Yes, that's fine by me."

"Thank you, Dr......Rogers. I'll do that."

He dropped the others off on the shore where they stripped off without any further thought that my father -- all of us -- might have been clothed, and ran into the water.

"Phew!" said Mark, making straight for me. "I've been longing to dive in all morning. Sorry we're late. The girls found this clothes exhibition they wanted to go to, and Dad's got to take them. Hallo, sir."

"Good to see you. I see my son isn't going to introduce us, but I'm George Finch."

Mark laughed and pointed out the others. Then a thought struck him.

"Er...I hope you don't mind, sir. We just stripped off just then as we always do. It never occurred to me that you weren't er...."

"Naked too? Don't worry, I am. We used to in the Navy, and as my son and his friend did, I asked if they'd mind me doing the same. I hope you don't mind?"

"Of course not, sir. I mean, we always do on holiday. That's why we stay on the island over there."

There was this silence. Dad looked at me sharply. I could see he was, although I was watching Mark at the time. I didn't trust myself to look anywhere else. Dad carried on, in a rather flat voice.

"You mean you're nudists."

"Well, naturists actually, but then I suppose we're all nudists at the moment, aren't we?"

"Er....yes. It's just that Martin never told me."

"There's no problem, is there sir?"

Another silence.

"No......no. It's just that you get a certain idea about nudis....naturists. And I wasn't alone in getting it. I wish you'd told me." This was to me.

"Dad, if I had, you'd have stopped us coming here, and visiting them. And there's no reason not to. I mean they're all normal people, it's just that they prefer not to wear anything. Just like we've been doing."

"Hmm. That's easy to say.....well, we're here now. You seem to be entirely normal, and so does your father. And if he's a doctor...well....." Another pause. I could see a sort of dismay crossing the faces of my new friends. It matched mine. James and Rose and Billy were all splashing about together in the shallows, as happy in each other's company as we had been up to a few moments ago. Dad looked at them, and his face softened.

"Oh damn. What's it matter? I was as ready to accept all of you as friends before you mentioned naturism; why should one word make a difference? I'm not sure I'll want to come and visit you on the island this afternoon, but if you two want to go, then you can. But right now, I want to swim, and this wretched son of mine can teach you lot lifesaving. In fact I might come and get him to rescue me, so I can get my own back by being difficult!"

Now I could look at him. He was grinning at me, and as I stared he launched himself at me in a tackle. That started us all off, and before long we were all playing again. Yes, even him.

I carried on with my tuition eventually, but only for a short while. I wanted to get sailing with Dad, just so we could talk. Eventually we dragged ourselves free, leaving Joe, the eldest, responsible for James' safety.

We went sailing, him and me, and had a long chat. He felt better for it afterwards, and I did too. I think he came as near as he could to saying that my mother was a bit old fashioned in her beliefs. I'd already decided that. I told him that I'd tell him things like that if it happened again, but I really couldn't see that it would. It turned out he liked them all, anyway.

"I've not had so much fun for years," he said about the morning's messing around.

"Are you coming to the island with us?"

"I don't think so. I'm not sure that I'm ready for...."

We sailed long and hard. He got me to put the little dinghy through her paces, to push her harder than I'd dared do on my own -- and I enjoyed sailing fast. We shipped in water on more than one occasion as a stronger gust heeled us over, and it was quite a job to keep her upright.

"Don't do this when you've got James aboard, or when you're out of sight of land," he warned, "just in case you do go over badly."

He headed at last toward the town, but as he was about to make the last few turns gybed instead and headed back out again. I looked at him in surprise.

"I'm going to come back with you lot," he said, "if you'll have me?"

"Are you sure?" I was so surprised that he'd even consider going naked that I thought for a moment he'd forgotten what was about to happen.

"No. But I'm coming anyhow. If I can't do it then I'll take the dinghy back and come for you later."

We collected the first contingent from our island, and they were as surprised to see him as I had been. When they heard he was going to try it there were grins and calls of congratulations all round. He left James, Mark and me on shore and took the other three.

We sunbathed, waiting for him to return. I was in the middle, with this nice warm feeling that I had two people beside me who were very special to me, and a third who was about to come and fetch us to have more fun. Mark was lying on his stomach, his face toward me, and every time I looked in his direction he seemed to be watching me. Every time I did so I smiled, liking the idea that he was paying so much attention to me, and liking him even more as the time went on.

Dad came. "Well," he started. "I've just never seen anything like it. There's crowds of them there, all naked, and none of them caring, even if I was dressed. It's amazing."

"Think you'll like it?"

"We'll see. Come on."

He was right. When we had moored just at their jetty there were people everywhere, more than the previous day. All ages. Both sexes. No clothes. Dad seemed to take a long time to ensure the dinghy was safe, and I wasn't going to strip off without the others doing so, preferably first. Eventually he looked around, and I could see that there was nothing else he could possibly do for the boat. Mark and James were just watching life pass them, Mark with a grin and James with his mouth open. But they were waiting for us. Eventually Dad was ready, straightened up and walked off the boat. His face was very red.

"Come on," said Mark. "I'll take you to somewhere you can leave your clothes."

"Do we undress now?" I asked.

"Oh no. That wouldn't be fair. Whenever anyone arrives here they go to their cabin or caravan first, then just join in normally from there. We don't go in for striptease! Come on."

So, looking neither to right nor left, we followed him. It was quite novel to see him clothed, even if his entire clothing was just a pair of shorts. We called at one of the restaurant's outside hatches, where Mark collected the remainder of the booked picnic lunches, and then headed off to a small building nearby. Once inside the changing room, though, Mark peeled off his shorts thankfully, saying how awkward he always felt being one of the few clothed people there, and almost immediately James did the same. The two stood, grinning at us. It was easy for me, and I quickly followed suit, but Dad seemed to be going slower.

"Come on, Dad. We've got a snorkelling course to get to after we've eaten."

He looked at me sharply, and a little unhappily I thought. "Come on," I repeated. "We've seen you now. Everybody else is. So....please?"

He held me in his sights a moment longer, then just dropped his clothes, picked them up and hung them up as we had done, and walked, rather grimly I thought, after Mark who had started off once he had seen that he was nearly ready. Following my father's naked bum was one of the oddest things of the holiday so far.

We found the beach where the snorkelling was due to take place, although when we arrived it was deserted apart from the other members of the family who greeted us rapturously. I could see a smile start returning to Dad's face, much to my relief. He flopped down on the beach thankfully.

"That was one of the most embarrassing experiences of my life," he said. "It's all right with just blokes, but when there are women as well I'm not used to it. Don't you get embarrassed?"

"No sir," said Joe. "But then we're used to it. We wander round at home naked too. We have one rule -- you're either dressed or you're undressed. We don't go around in underwear. Well, the kids do, but as you get older it just seems wrong, somehow. Sometimes I've seen girls in underwear, and it's.... well.... er.... more.... you know... than if they were naked." He finished in a rather embarrassed tone.

We ate. It was a light lunch, but as we would all be swimming soon, and as we would each be eating a hearty meal later that was no problem.

The beach gradually filled. Soon there was an instructor (clothed) calling us all together.

Dad decided that snorkelling was fun. We were again each paired with someone else of our own age or build, and I noticed Mark was beside me and told me to put up my hand at the same time as his. Dad got Joe, and James got Billy. We were all happy, and Mark seemed positively light-headed.

Many times that afternoon we would plummet down to the cool, dim depths, to swim around together for a tantalisingly short visit, to be so nearly a part of another world as any naked boy can be, before shooting once again to the surface to relieve the bursting need to breathe. At last it was time to stop. We two were once again exhausted, and James had already given up, so tired were his muscles and lungs. We lay there, all of us, drying off, before Dad and Joe joined us.

"I'd forgotten just how wonderful that is," said my father. "It's even better without any bathing things. You feel so much more a part of it."

We were too tired to comment, but I could hear Joe talking to him for some time.

Dad woke me with a shout. "Do you know what time it is? It's half past six. Dinner's at seven-thirty, and I never even told your mother I'd be out late. She'll be worried out of her mind. Sorry, you lot, but we've got to go. And fast. He'll see you tomorrow, I'm sure. If a miracle happens and I can persuade his mother to come too, I'll see you as well."

"On the island?" I asked quickly.

"Yes." Mark was positive about that.

We were in such a hurry to get to the boat that we almost forgot our clothes, even Dad. He was now used to wearing nothing, and so preoccupied with getting back before Mum called the coastguard that we were about to set off in the nude. When I pointed this out he said something very Navy-like.

We dressed, made the crossing at speed, and were only twenty minutes late for dinner. Mother was not pleased. Neither were James' parents, despite my father's apology. But as the very good, and very welcome, meal went on, things defrosted a bit and talk started.

"What were you doing, to keep him out so late?"

"We were guests of some people, and they were in a snorkelling lesson."

"But only children play with snorkels, surely?"

"Not these. They're the real thing, the sort divers use. And you can safely dive deep with them and see the sea bed. It's really fantastic...." I was listening offhandedly, tired, glad that she had calmed down and the pressure wasn't on me. ".....and of course you really feel at one with everything as the water's touching you everywhere...."

I choked and broke into a fit of coughing. It hurt, rather, as it does when you don't actually need to cough. But it stopped Dad giving the game away. I drank some water and `recovered'.

The talk over coffee turned to their day. It turned out that Mum had met these really nice people; she was a doctor's wife, and she had her young daughter, a friend and her older daughter with her. My ears pricked up, and I jerked back to full wakefulness.

"The little girl's name was Rose, and she's really pretty, and so well behaved. We went round this exhibition together -- it was really well done, and some of the clothes there were delightful -- and got talking. And do you know, they're on holiday too, and staying not far from here. It's a pity we can't go and visit, but they're on the nudist island.

Dad's turn to choke. A real one. Coffee spilt into his saucer. I went to bed; it was either that or have hysterics. A suitable distance outside the lounge I collapsed in a heap, much to the bewilderment of passing waiters, and that's where James found me. I took his arm wordlessly and went up to my room where I collapsed on the bed. I told him what had happened, and he grinned widely, but didn't seem to latch on to it as I had.

We were both very tired. It was hardly surprising that the chat faltered, our eyes gradually closed, and we slept, fully clothed -- well, in the casuals we'd worn on the boat -- together on the bed. Dimly I remember the door opening, then a figure standing over me. I looked up. Mum. She looked very much at peace with the world, and suddenly the near dislike of the last few days since she had humiliated me so evaporated.

"Come on, you. To bed properly. And James. Shower in the morning."

And somehow I let her help me out of my clothes, down to my pants.

"And what are we going to do with your friend? I'd better get Mr Evans up here to get him upstairs."

"He can sleep here."

"Are you sure?"

"Mmmm."

I sort of helped her ease off the boy's clothes until he was clad just in pants, like me. We managed to get him under the covers, and I just about got in the other side before sleep once again dragged at my eyelids. I answered her good-night with something, and that was that.

I'm told that the Evanses looked in on us later, and found us both dead to the world.

He was awake before me next morning. When my eyes opened he was wriggling around, trying to get from under my arm without waking me, and having the opposite effect. How my arm came to be there, I don't know. I shifted it hurriedly. He stopped wriggling and looked at me.

"Hallo."

"Mmm. Wassertime?"

"You always say that."

"Mmmm."

"Says seven o'clock."

"Tw' early."

"No it's not. We could start for the island early."

"Breakfast."

"Oh."

The next thing I knew as I opened my eyes was that it was noticeably lighter and that Dad was sitting at the foot of the bed watching me. James was asleep by my side.

"Morning, Martin. I thought I'd come up and wake you. The service is at nine, so we don't want to be late."

My mind grasped it eventually. Church. Like always on a Sunday. Oh.

"Wassertime?" I asked, with deja-vu.

"Ten to eight."

"All right. We'll see you down there."

When he had gone I stripped the thin coverings off us. James was lying on his back. I had time to examine his body carefully. I wondered what would happen if I touched him, but didn't dare. Then I remembered that I had an experiment to do on myself..... but I couldn't do it on a Sunday, it didn't seem right. And if he was to wake up and see me.... Well, that was out of the question.

So I tickled him until he was awake again, and irritatingly he was immediately lively. None of my long surfacing from subterranean slumbers. His was the landing from airborne sleep.

"First one to get the other one's pants off," he said.

We wrestled on the bed until he was naked and giggling helplessly and I had this minute pair of Y-fronts in my hand. The shower was welcome, and once again he showered me all over and I did the same to him. It gave each of us a reaction, and he giggled as mine reached for the ceiling. I nearly showed him my special exercise for it, but again didn't dare.

We were down to breakfast on time, both looking smart, which was as well since his parents hadn't told him about church.

The service was boring.

We changed afterwards and set off for the island, the two of us, as usual. The others were there, so we stripped off and did some more life saving, really just for the sake of it. There was another chance for snorkelling that afternoon.

We were on the beach having lunch, idly chatting, when Hannah remembered.

"We were with your mothers yesterday. They told us where they were staying and I remembered that's where you were, so we asked them and they told us you were theirs."

"You didn't tell them about the island?" I was worried that mine might discover. Although as she hadn't exploded so far I assumed she hadn't.

"Oh yes. She was amazed, but we look like quite normal people when we're dressed and she liked us. She said that it wouldn't be for her but that if you were happy with it, it's up to you."

I gasped. After all she'd said about not showing `certain parts' of my body when I got to `a certain age'!

"Oh," I said weakly. What on earth was coming to me when I got back? Then I remembered she'd had quite enough time and opportunity to say anything she wanted to during the previous evening, and hadn't. Why?

We'd not noticed it, but the sun was losing its strength. It's shining had become such a part of normal life, like not having clothes on, that to lose it was somehow unnerving. The disc was certainly becoming quite hazy, and the temperature was returning to England's normal of just about OK. As we chatted, letting lunch go down, the breeze started to freshen, and rather too quickly became a wind. I kept having to swallow, because my ears felt as though I was going deaf. I mentioned it to Mark, who somehow had managed to sit next to me.

"I thought it was me," he said. "I wondered if I was ill or something."

After another twenty minutes the wind was strong enough to make sitting outside unpleasant. The sun, too, had decided that it had had enough and was glaring at us like an orange eye as if it was all our fault. Almost as we looked at it it ceased to be the sun as such, and became a brighter disk in the gathering grey of the clouds.

We were starting to get some weather after a week of peace. Almost as one we picked everything up, just as the instructor came to tell us it wouldn't be safe to dive with the wind so strong, and we all trooped back to the main group of buildings.

It's obvious now, but at the time I was so caught up with my friends, especially Mark, that strong wind rang no bells with me at all. We got to the main hall and found a lot of people in there, all queuing for teas or coffees. We got drinks -- they found some staff from somewhere to help -- and sat round a table.

Outside the wind was getting stronger. We knew that because every time the door opened a gust would hit our table. Still nothing connected in my brain.

"Would you like to come and see where we stay?" asked Mark.

"Yes please."

"Can I come?" James didn't want to be left out.

I thought a look of annoyance crossed Mark's face, but he agreed, and we made for the exit.

The door wouldn't open.

We pushed it hard, and eventually managed to force it back against the wind. The way to their cabin took us by the shore.

"Bloody hell!" Worry suddenly hit me as the bells that should have started ringing an hour and more previously started clanging their warning. How was I going to sail home in this? How was anything going to make the journey? The waves were dashing their angry grey bulk against the shore, the sky was leaden in all directions, and the wind tore my words from my mouth and flung them out to sea like so much rubbish.

To sail would have been suicide.

"How do we get home?"

"You can't sail."

"I know."

"We might get you back in the motor boat."

"No, it's too rough for a small boat like that."

"You'll have to stay with us, then." I looked at him sharply. His voice was almost cheering at me, I thought.

"Hmmm. Our parents will be worrying."

"We can phone."

"There's a phone? On the island?"

"Yes. How d'you think people book?"

"Where? Do we need coins?"

"It's probably in the office. Look, I'd better go and check with Dad. Come on."

It took some time to run the Doctor to earth, and he looked as bewildered as adults usually do when you try to tell them something important. Eventually, with both of us talking, often at the same time, we got the message over to him.

"Yes, of course you must phone. Come with me. We'd better arrange for you to stay here the night. There's no way this is going to settle down by this evening, even if the wind does drop."

He was as good as his word, and the office found the number of the hotel.

"Amberdale 427, please."

There were clicks and whirrs as we were put through, then silence, with the occasional hum as the operator rang the number periodically. At home we were on an automatic exchange where, of course we dialled most of our own numbers except long distance, and we had been ever since I remember. Here, though, the whole system was still worked by an operator. Eventually the hotel answered and there was another delay while they looked for either set of parents. Eventually Mrs Evans came to the phone.

"Hallo."

"Hallo Mrs Evans. It's us. We're OK, but we'll have to spend the night here."

"Who is this, please?"

"It's Martin, and James. We're on the island. The sea's too rough to get back."

"Oh, Martin...I see...and is James with you?"

I despaired. "Yes, he's here..... Here, James, it's your mother." I handed the phone over to him and he took it gingerly.

Eventually he managed to persuade her that we really were on an island, one with a phone, and we were OK, but couldn't get back. The Doctor signalled to him, when he seemed about to put down the instrument, that he wanted a word.

Between the two of them I think they seemed to pacify her, and got an assurance that they would tell my parents too. The phone was put down and we looked round at each other.

"Well," said the Doctor. "Family conference time, I think. We need to find some beds."

"Martin can have half of mine, Dad. It's a double." This, very quickly, from Mark. I looked my thanks to him.

"Would you mind that, Martin? It's not the best solution, but the place is full this week and there aren't any spare rooms."

"No sir, that's fine by me."

"And James had better share with Billy, if neither of them minds. No one else has a double bed or a spare single in their room."

We returned to the others and told them of the outcome. Billy seemed quite glad to have some company, and I didn't think James would mind. I was right. Once again Mark took us off to show us where we'd be sleeping, and this time Billy and Rose came too. As we crossed the windswept areas between the central buildings and the cabins the first raindrops started....

We collapsed wetly through the doorway of Billy's cabin, where his and Rose's beds were in a room off their parents'. That short distance had seen the rain turn on as if by a tap, and we were all as wet as if we had just been dragged from the sea.

"You two get dry. Have a shower or something and do the job properly. Play cards until it's stopped. We'll do the same in mine, and we'll see you back at the restaurant for a meal."

"Can't you stay and play with us?" asked Rose.

"No. I want to get Martin settled in, and show him something. We'll see you over at the restaurant later."

"OK."

CHAPTER 9

I wondered what he wanted to show me. He seemed tense. I looked at him, and was surprised to see, for the first time, that his willy was longer than it had been. Well, it happened to me too, frequently. But not usually when I was wet and cold; then it was rather the reverse reaction and I ended up looking like a five year old.

We dodged out into the rain again. By now it was like film set rain, when it's so obviously being shot into the air from a hose that it looks false. This wasn't false, it was only too real, and cold, but.....

I kept on discovering things that holiday. On the walk from Rose's cabin to Mark's smaller one some distance away we might as well have been alone in the world. A wet world. A wild world. A cold world. Yet over me crept an exhilaration I'd not met before. I was at one with the elements of nature for the first time since birth. I was alone except for a good friend, and I had nothing artificial about me at all. There was just we two human wild animals and pure, forceful weather. I stopped in the middle of this big open space. And he stopped too, sensing that I wasn't beside him.

"What's the matter?" he shouted above the wind.

"Nothing. It's just so....wild. And we're alone in it, and there's no one else....in the world." I finished in some embarrassment as it sounded a bit quaint even to me.

He looked at me strangely. Then a slow, contented smile started on his mouth and eyes and he came straight towards me, looking me directly in the eyes as he did so.

"And we're alone in the world.... And there's no one else to tell us what to do. And we're just friends together in nature's strong hold, and all we need to do is to keep warn and please ourselves."

The more he spoke, the wilder I felt. At that moment I believe that if I knew a magical dance to please the gods of weather I'd have done it, so free and unrestrained was my mood. Our mood; he obviously felt the same way I did.

"How do animals keep warm?" he asked suddenly.

"Dunno. Get into a burrow and curl up together, I s'pose."

"How about us?"

"We're wild. We could do the same."

"Under some bushes?"

"Yeah."

He gripped my shoulder with his hand, then put his arm round my back. I did the same to him. Together we walked in our wildness towards a line of bushes which bounded the area. It was quite thick and we had to struggle a bit to get in, but once there the power of the rain had been reduced to a few splashes every now and again, more of a mist than a downpour. In the middle was a clearing, strewn with broken dead branches and last year's leaves.

"Our burrow," he said. I looked at him and smiled, full of the game. He sank to his knees and pulled me down beside him. I was not surprised, by this time, to see that he was fully erect, because I was too. We knelt and released each other as we instinctively pushed the debris away from a boy shaped patch in the middle, making a sort of low protective wall. The floor was mud -- or rather, dry earth.

With it ready, he lay with his back against one of the higher parts, and I lay down by his side. He was still looking straight into my eyes, capturing me and holding my gaze to his. How long we stayed like that I don't know, but it was as if time stood still. Then tentatively he put out a hand on my shoulder, but instead of gripping it as he had before he just let it rest there. I did the same to him. He seemed rather a long way from me so I wriggled myself closer.

Our knees touched. Our elbows by this time were bent. My face was only about a foot from his, and I could feel his breathing, quick as my own, on my face.

"Do we curl up together now?" I whispered, anxious not to break the spell.

He made a sort of whimper, and quicker than I could see wriggled toward me, putting his arm right over my shoulder as I did in bed with James, and the other one offered itself to go under my neck. I allowed it, followed suit with my own, and before I knew it our bodies were touching everywhere possible: feet, calves, thighs; chests, bellies.... And yes, his hard, hard willy was pressed against mine. And he was gently moving his hips around to move us one with the other. His face....well, his nose was barely an inch away from mine and we were still holding each other's eyes.

From the first new feeling of wildness, of freedom, of the glory of being at one with nature, it had changed to a different first new feeling, that of being at one with another human being in a way I had never thought possible. It was as if the gentle movements between us would eventually merge our two bodies and we would know everything about each other to the extent of becoming one person. It was wild yet comfortable, wondrous yet obvious, beautiful yet disturbing.

The final one-ness came when the inch between our faces closed, our noses edged round each other and our lips touched. It didn't occur to me that that this meant I was effectively kissing another boy. His lips caressed mine and his hands started journeying down and around my back. I let mine do the same to him, with one part of my mind wondering that I was doing so, yet with another knowing that it felt absolutely right.

We ground our bodies together for a long time, and only when he exclaimed did either of us break free. My eyes opened in disappointment that he had stopped, and looked into his again. He was reaching behind his bottom, reaching for a stick which had slipped down and dug him in the spine.

I sighed deeply and looked at him longingly, wishing it could go on and on. And for another period we propped ourselves on our elbows, looking each other in the eyes, occasionally letting our eyes search another part of the other's face or body whose appearance we needed to check.

Apart now, it didn't take long for the cold to make itself felt, and he noticed that my teeth were starting to chatter too. Swiftly he bent forward and kissed me on the mouth, then got up and helped me do the same.

"Let's get warm," was all he needed to say, and fought his way from the thicket out into the rain which had lessened in force a bit.

We were both very muddy. Our wet skin and our movements together had produced a goo which had stuck to his left and my right thigh, buttock and shoulder. My hair was matted too. I followed his muscular, though grimy, bottom as it bobbed in front of me. Again I was thinking along two separating lines. The normal Martin was wondering how I'd managed to get into this, why I was allowing myself to be involved with another boy, and what would everyone else think about it. The recently discovered Martin was in a kind of trance, didn't know what had happened, did know that something else was about to happen, and certainly knew that he had to go along with it.

We found his cabin. Inside we stood, dripping, glad of the warmth the place offered.

"Shower."

It wasn't so much an offer, more a statement of fact. We both crossed to the little cubicle; I followed him inside. By this time I was so used to showering with James that it was natural to me to share, but he looked surprised and pleased.

"I hoped you'd share."

I just smiled. Once again we were looking at each other as if trying to remember every detail of the other's face. At last he broke the contact, and found the taps.

Inevitably the first jet of water was freezing, and it rather broke the spell. We jumped apart with a shout, then both laughed. He adjusted the temperature, then looked at me.

"Did you see what the time was when we got here?"

"No. I wasn't looking."

"Nor was I. Wait a mo."

He dashed out, still dripping. A second later he was back, looking worried.

"It's half past five."

"What?"

"We've been out there for two hours, more or less."

"But we can't have been... what will the others be thinking."

He paused. "Do you know, with you here I couldn't care less."

Another of those long pauses. I broke it.

"Had we better get back to them? After all, we'll have plenty of time tonight."

As I said it I realised that I hadn't the faintest idea what it was we would have plenty of time for, but it stopped him in his tracks. He just looked at me.

"Do you... I mean have you... you know... done this before?"

"No. Done what?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just that you seem to be very... Anxious."

I just shook my head. I didn't know what he was talking about. Clouds gathered at the edge of my mind. What was I meant to do? Did he think... Had I done something wrong?

"I just meant that we'd be alone together later, that's all," I said rather desperately.

His face softened. "That's all right. We can even go to bed early."

At this my willy, which had lost its perpendicularity in the coldness of the rain and shower, somehow decided to perk up again. I don't know why. He was coming back into the shower again.

If he hadn't sort of accused me of being too keen to do....what? I'd have suggested we shower each other like James and I had been doing. I certainly thought it would be very nice to run my hands down his back, over his bottom, down his flank, on his thighs, perhaps even wash his attractively shaped willy. My own was by this time staring at the ceiling. But then, so was his.

But I started washing myself, just to show I wasn't too anxious, and after a pause he did the same. It was a small shower, so some contact was inevitable, usually at speed and painfully. He seemed to slow down as we got cleaner.

"Can you see if my back's clean?" he asked.

"Turn round. There's a mud stain just on the side of your bum."

"Where?"

"Shall I show you?" I wasn't going to be `forward' as my mother would have called it, though she had a different sex in mind.

"Please."

Tentatively I put my hand on his left buttock, well away from the slit.

"Could you clean it for me?"

Yes, I could. Yes, I did. But that was all. I stopped. He paused.

"Is that it?"

"I think so. Yes. Do you want to do the same for me?"

"OK." The voice was carefully casual. He too found and cleaned a bit of mud, but from right in the centre of my bum, at the fleshiest part of the crack. It was disturbing to feel his fingers enter a little way inside that bit of me to clean; not unpleasant, but just disturbing. He finished, then looked at me briefly, rather straight faced, I thought, and left the cubicle. He found me a towel and we dried in silence.

It had stopped raining by the time we got outside, although the wind was strong and cold against our naked bodies. I was still wondering what it was I'd done or said to make everything stop for us. But as there was this barrier between us now, and he wasn't talking about it, I couldn't either.

The others were rather anxious about us as we'd been so long. Dr Rogers was about to come and search for us.

"We've just been chatting," said Mark casually. "And we had a shower when I'd shown Martin round the area a bit. It was great just standing in all that wind and rain -- really wild. And then we went to shower to get warm again."

I nodded my agreement. Was it my imagination or did the doctor give his son a strange look?

We played board games, then ate, then there was a table tennis tournament. It's always been one of the only ball games I'm any good at, and even as a guest I was keen to win. James hadn't played before, so he was taken off to be taught, much to his delight.

My opponents were, to be honest, not much good. I seemed able to dispose of them quickly, and was left, in my age group, with Mark to play against and one or two who seemed to know what they were about.

To my surprise, and to the delight of my new friends except Mark, I won. But even he was glad after I went on to beat the others in the league.

Mine wasn't a decisive victory, but they suggested that I take on the winner of the next age range. Well, I did my best, and it was an enjoyable game, but I really should have played some of those who had been knocked out earlier. It wasn't so much speed as reach that did it.

At last I caught Mark yawning in my direction and it didn't take long for me to latch on and do the same. I made the comment that I was tired after what had been a strenuous day, and did they mind if I went to bed. James looked at me in astonishment, but I was not in a mood even to notice him. Almost too swiftly we said our goodnights.

Something had happened that afternoon, something exciting which I didn't understand, yet I knew I wanted more. It involved another boy my age, and physical touch, and an almost painful sensation in my body. I knew it was connected somehow with my willy, which had been as stiff as I had ever known it. The knowledge that we could make it happen again, both us, together, wanting to explore, made me start to react even before I had reached the door. The cold of the rain made me shiver. We had no coats with us as the summer until then had been hot. Less ardent now, we raced over the open, grassed areas to the group of small cabins which included his. He let me in first and closed the door, then stood facing me. We were both shivering, and it was obvious. He started laughing, and something in me caused me to do the same. The cold and the anticipation had made us light headed, and our laughter soon changed into that uncontrollable semi-hysteria that happens when you're younger.

We got the better of it eventually, but not before we'd each staggered to the bed to ease our aching stomach muscles. I found my head was somewhere at his midriff, and for a second or two, while he recovered, I could examine closely the perfect pearls of this oyster. The scent of him was there too: rain, natural body oil, and that undefinable smell of....Mark. I lay there, thinking that this was the most perfect moment of my life. His sobs of laughter quietened, and he lay there still while I just looked. And as I breathed, slightly quicker and more deeply, the pelt of curly hair above the target of my stare fluttered in time with it. And below, the boy/man organ started to expand downwards against his wet thigh, and then slowly, in time with the beating of his heart it lifted away towards me, and continued expanding and lifting until almost parallel with his body.

He let me be, just watching him there and breathing him in, for ages. And all the time this wondrous part of him pulsed before my face. The break, when it came, was in a soft, gentle and pleading voice.

"Please, will you...I mean do you want to....touch, as well as look?"

I turned my head to look at him in surprise. I had thought him asleep or still laughing. The fact that he was watching the watcher had not occurred to me at all. I stretched my hand up, timidly. What to do?

Very gently I lifted a finger to stroke the side of it. As I touched for the first time he gave a start, and I wondered if I'd done wrong.

And my own heart gave a start, too. For the first time I'd touched the most intimate part of a boy my own age, my friend, my companion, my sharer of the secrets of wild weather and our nest, the boy who had drawn me to his friendship as no other in my life, the boy who I loved......loved? How could I? I wasn't a homo! But perhaps this was just friendship, deep friendship, and girls and real love would come when I got older.

My hesitation was noticed, and he looked up in concern.

"Don't you want to?"

"Yes. Oh, yes." And I did. Having got this far, and knowing he wanted me to, I wasn't going to pass off the opportunity of being as honest, as intimate, with him as I could. Yes, I wanted, very much.

Slowly I stroked him, with one finger, with two, up and down, encircling as well as stroking. He started to make little whining sounds as I gentled him, getting to know every bump, every part of this attractive boy's manhood. I wondered if I should touch underneath as well, on the bag of skin with the small central ridge, which contained the two perfect ovals which hung beneath him. Perhaps if one hand continued, the other could gently try....

As I touched one of the ovals he gave a small gasp, and I heard his breathing get noisier. To me, the smoothness of him there was like nothing else, and the fullness of them between my fingers as I gently held them, like priceless works of art, made my eyes start to water with an emotion I didn't know, but knew it had to do entirely with intimate, close friendship, with absolute trust and, if this was love, then yes, with love.

A choked voice at last called my name. Almost guiltily I stopped my fondling and looked at his face.

How can I describe that look? An angel at rest? A contented baby? Or just pleasure in a glance? The hair tumbled, still wet, the forehead smooth, the eyes half closed, the mouth with a Mona Lisa smile, the skin resting and unblemished, and the whole visage so completely at rest.

As I watched, he spoke again, in tones so gentle, so serene, so happy that my heart burned.

"Please can I have something to look at, and play with?"

It took a moment for me to realise what he meant. A split second of doubt attacked me. Did I want him to look at me that closely, that intimately? Would my poor little willy really come up to his expectations? Could I really enjoy his fingers doing to me what mine were doing to him?

Did I really have a choice?

I swung myself round on the bed so we were lying parallel. I had a moment's panic as he looked at the most intimate parts of my body closely for the first time. I watched him watching me there as I had watched him. As his hand slowly came up to touch -- yes of course I was erect -- I shivered in anticipation. His touch made me start as had mine on him. It partly tickled and partly was...what? How do you describe the stage of your body's feeling when tickling becomes a deep sensation, ultimately pleasurable, yet near enough to the tickle of childhood to make you remember it?

It was that. More: I had reached that stage on my own with my nightly tests and measurings. But this was somebody else, someone who was making me feel these sensations because he wanted to, and because I wanted him to.

As I watched him, he did something which astonished me and touched me so much that I wanted to cry.

He put his mouth to that part of me I had, before this holiday, regarded as the most private of my body, that I would never let anybody else see, let alone touch. And he kissed it.

I could say nothing. His head looked down at my face and just smiled. I could say nothing, do nothing or show anything on my face.

"Why not?" he whispered. "It's not dirty, like they'd have you believe. It's good looking, and I like you. A lot."

I said nothing, still. But my eyes returned to his. His equivalent to mine, so much bigger, with so much more hair at its top, and with so much more rounded, bigger balls under it. Could I? What would it be like? Did I want to? I could hear my own breath being forced from a throat which nerves or something had seemed to constrict. I wanted to be one with him in some way, to show we were really grown up best friends and shared everything.

My lips touched it. It quivered away. My lips chased it, and kissed it not once, but feverishly, all over, as if the adultness of what I was doing was as important as my want to feel it under my lips. And what would happen if I put my lips over the end? Would he loose control and pee in my mouth? I was sure he wouldn't, so much did we trust each other.

I brought my head down so I could reach it. It seemed to be wet.

"Why's yours wet?"

"It's when you get stiff, and think about.....love. It's just a sort of oil."

"Isn't it piss?"

"No. It's all right."

"What happens if I get some inside me?"

He paused. Then wonderingly: "Would you do that?"

"Dunno."

"It wouldn't do any harm."

"Sure?"

"Promise."

It seemed the right thing to do to run my tongue up and down, like my fingers had been doing. He gasped again, then lay back once more, leaving mine free but throbbing. At last I had made up my mind. Once again I stretched down, opened my mouth, and encircled its end. I felt my tongue contact the sensitive part which had been under the protective skin but which was now being exposed as my lips pushed downwards. It picked up some of the liquid: salty, a bit slippery, like oil, as he had said. He was breathing quicker now, and the whining sounds were nearer together.

My other hand returned to his balls. I don't know why, it was very uncomfortable for me. Yet the discomfort was nothing compared to the feeling I was receiving at being so much a part of the privacy of this wonderful other human being. I let my tongue roam at will, and my lips were pushing the skin and releasing, pushing and releasing, and I suddenly realised that what I was doing was wanking him with my mouth. The idea was so novel that I stopped.

At once there was an impatient sound from up the bed. I felt my own erection being grabbed, then swallowed, and then tongued.....and if I thought that the most perfect moment of my life had been just savouring his sight and smell and taste then I was wrong. The physical pleasure of wet softness around my little erection was almost too much. I gasped and moaned, both at the same time, and he gave a whimper. Now I knew what I was doing for him, and why he was making those sounds.

Armed with that, my tongue began in earnest, licking and teasing, and my lips pushed and pulled his skin first up, then down. At the fundament of my body he was doing the same, swiftly, impatiently, and all of a sudden I could feel that IT was about to happen. I no longer thought about checking for white stuff. That, in comparison with my emotions, my feelings, my pleasure, was nothing. Less than important. I gave out a wail, my body tensed, and the most violent of spasms travelled through me, then another, and another. There must have been seven or eight, and then more, less violent ones as my body went through its first orgasm with another human being. I subsided and at last, panting, hot, sweaty and exhausted, with this cock in my mouth. I almost spat it out, and concentrated for a moment on breathing and gaining my equilibrium -- literally, because I had almost fainted with the intensity.

Was this sex? Why did my parents, teachers, vicars, even my school friends call it dirty? It was the single most wonderful thing I had ever experienced. No way could it be dirty.

"Martin...Martin...." A voice was calling me. I shook my head, trying to get my brain to work.

"Thank God, I thought you'd passed out."

The face was concerned, but still rapturous. My body was out of his mouth. He licked his lips. Then I just wanted him with me, wanted him part of me. I struggled my body round until I lay beside him, and hugged him, and our lips seemed to merge. To want to explore in his mouth, as well as his lips, seemed natural, and I wondered if I dare. Then his tongue sought to penetrate my lips and I knew I need not worry. We explored each other for ages, and I remembered what he'd just done for me.

I felt better, and knew that I had to return all that effort that he'd spent on me. As we explored each other's mouths my hand strayed down his body, and once again touched and fondled that previously forbidden territory. Could I make him do as I did to myself? I'd never done it to someone else before. Slowly I started, carefully, softly. And he laid back. My other hand went down to fondle underneath, under the smooth balls which now seemed to be higher, nearer his body, than the two plums in their smooth sac that I had felt before. I couldn't, now, in the valley still of my own orgasm, bring myself to use tongue and mouth on him. But he was breathing heavily, and as I continued, more confidently now, he started his whimpering again.

That stopped, and the breathing deepened further, then with a cry it was his turn. A jet of the white stuff I wanted to see so much emerge from myself shot up his body to land under his chin, another came to rest on his chest, and others landed in quick succession further down his belly. And still my hand continued, although it too was now covered and slimy.

At last he put a hand on my wrist, and I stopped.

As his breathing returned to normal I looked at the results of my labours. It was warm, and sticky, and white. And there was a lot of it. It was so much a part of him that I wondered if I should have caught it in my mouth, if it was harmless as he had said. But now, I couldn't do it. Perhaps next time?....

We spent ages then, just lying with our arms round each other. Eventually I decided that although my front was warm, my bum and back were definitely not. And the drying results which were still smeared between us were getting uncomfortable too.

"Can we have a shower?" I whispered.

"Are you cold too?"

"Freezing."

"I didn't want to....interrupt. That was so good. It's wonderful to have you here."

"I like it too. A lot. And you. A lot."

He looked at me with that gentle smile and I knew that I was lost in him still. He really made me feel so good. To be such a friend, so close, and not just for that physical play....

We unstuck ourselves with a bit of pain and difficulty, and went to the shower. To his surprise I stopped him from soaping himself and instead did it myself. By the time I was half way finished with him he was once again stiff, and I was very careful to ensure it was clean for him. I finished off by washing down his legs and feet, then working my way up again to the top of his thighs. To do this I had to kneel in the shower, so once again my face was staring at this glorious sight of an erect, uncircumcised penis and pendulous, full sized testicles. Once again I felt I had to treat it like a lollipop, and once again he gasped as the sweet bulge at its end vanished into my mouth to be caressed by my tongue. And there we would have stayed, except that as I was wondering how long I could go on there came a knock on the door.

"Stay in there," he whispered as I almost coughed out his erection.

He grabbed a towel as he left the cubicle, wrapped it around himself, decided that too was a dead giveaway as it patently failed to hang straight, and eventually just held it loosely in front of himself, drying himself anywhere, as he went to the door. I turned so my bum was facing the door. My own body would have given the game away, too. I made showering motions.

It was his father. "Aren't you two asleep yet? I thought you were tired."

"Just showering, Dad. Then we're going."

"Everything all right? You OK, Martin?"

"Yes, thank you sir."

"Good night to you both."

"Good night," we chorused. He left.

"That was a bit close," I said as he returned to the shower. Once the towel had dropped I wasn't surprised to see that he was not nearly as hard as he had been. Nor was I.

In silence we dried, then just as silently crossed to the bed and lay in it. Together. Naked. Unashamed. Close. Covered and warm at last.

"Mark....."

"Hmm?"

"Do you do that a lot? With other people?"

"No. Once before, with a boy from school. He showed me what to do and how it can be made even better. But not since."

"Good."

A pause.

"Mark..."

"Mmm?"

"Can we do it again?"

"I want to, but not tonight. I really am tired. Aren't you?"

"Yes, but...well, will we get another chance?"

"Why not?"

"Don't know."

"Then we'll make the chance."

"Tomorrow?"

"Maybe."

"In the morning?"

"Maybe."

"Can I put my arm round you?"

I don't know where I got the nerve to say this. In fact he was probably surprised too, by the sound of his "Yes."

We were both lying on our sides by this time, facing each other. I cautiously encircled his shoulder with my arm, and he did the same to me. I remember looking into his eyes and feeling his breath on my face, and sighing happily although I didn't know why exactly. I thought I could feign sleep and see if he was in a more receptive mood for play later.

The next thing I knew it was daylight. Someone was hammering on the door. He and I were still lying face to face, arms round each other, and just before the shock set in I sensed he was watching me with a half-smile on his face.

CHAPTER 10

We had separated, of course, before Billy and James came in. But we needn't have worried. They hurled themselves across the room on top of us, somehow stripped off the covers, and the next thing we knew their naked bodies were on top of ours and we were being tickled unmercifully.

We fought back, and all ended up so sweaty that we took one long, gorgeous shower. The difference in ages didn't matter, erections didn't matter; if we found an area of skin near us, we washed it. Mark led the way and washed his brother's willy, I washed James', then Mark's, then Billy's, and I'm not sure if we didn't each wash each other's.

At last we'd had enough, dried, and started talking properly.

"I told Billy we'd been having showers together," said James, "and he said that Mark did with him. So we thought we'd wake you up and do the same. That was fun!"

It was. But it'd have been even better with just Mark and me.

We were early for breakfast, and sat around until the others came in.

"We'd better get you back today," said the Doctor. "Your parents probably want to see you're OK. Anyway, we're on the mainland ourselves later as there's a visit we've got to make to some relatives. And I think the others are going visiting the countryside around too."

This was disappointing. I'd wanted to spend the day with Mark. He looked a bit downcast, too.

"Oh. Right," was all I could say.

It just happened that we got no time alone after that, Mark and me. Before I could turn round, it seemed, James and I had donned clothes and were being waved away from the jetty by the two families. I was trembling. I didn't know why. But all I could think of was when I'd see them all again. Oh, and Mark. I made so many mistakes on that trip that James asked if he could take over the helm, and I let him. He sailed all the way to the village, with me just obeying his commands of "Ready about!" like an automaton.

"You'd better take her," he said as we reached the bustle of boats around the village, and without a word I did so.

At the hotel we found that my parents had gone out, but had left a pleasant welcoming message with his who were in. He got a kiss: I got my message which amounted to the same thing, and a vote of thanks from his parents for being responsible and looking after their son so well. I reacted as I usually do.

They took James off to the village, shopping, and I was at a loose end. I went to my room and just lay there, wishing I was with them.... I didn't even feel like giving myself the test. I felt empty -- not hungry -- just out of it and, well, empty. And slightly unwell.

I was woken by the door opening and Dad coming in.

"Hallo." He sat on my bed and looked at me. "Feeling a bit down?"

I nodded.

"It happens, specially after an adventure. Have a good time?"

"Yes. They're good fun. Mark particularly."

"I could see you were getting on well. Seems a nice chap, but then so did the rest of them."

"Mmm."

"Will you be seeing them again?"

"Yes. Well, I hope so. But not today. Both lots are off the island."

"Oh. Well, how about coming with us for a change? We're heading off to the castle."

"But I've been there, Dad."

"Yes, but not with jousting knights and fair maidens and a funfair."

"Oh. No. That's true."

"And the Evanses are coming."

"OK then."

"Good. Oh, and it's lunch time."

I hadn't realised I was hungry.

The afternoon was fun. It took my mind off things, and James was his usual irrepressible self. It took my mind off everything except Mark, and even he started to get into proportion. I'd see him again, wouldn't I?

He and I showered together as normal that night.

"Billy told me Mark was bigger than you."

"Well, he's older."

"Yeah. Bigger there." He patted my willy -- gently, I'm glad to say. I jumped back.

"Like I said, he's older."

"And it shoots out spunk."

"WHAT?"

"It makes spunk when he wanks. Does yours?"

I looked at him, the water dribbling into my open mouth. I spat it out. "Did Billy tell you that?"

"Oh yes. He does it too. He says it feels good. He got me to try, but it didn't work."

I was still speechless. The trouble was, my willy was making up for any silence on my mouth's part.

"Shall I try again now?"

"When did Billy see Mark do it?"

"Oh, most nights. When they're in the shower or the bath."

"And Mark's shown Billy how to do it to himself?"

"Yes. And Billy's shown me. When he did it, he went all silly for a bit. But he didn't make any spunk. He says that only happens when you're older."

"Oh."

"Shall I show you how to do it?"

"No."

"Don't you want to know?"

"I already do."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I...er....I didn't know you wanted to know."

"Me and Billy did it together. Shall we do it together?"

"I....er...."

"It's very easy. Look."

And without any embarrassment he took hold of himself and started pumping, slowly at first until his little erection had blossomed, then faster, more surely. I just watched, amazed.

He looked at me. "Aren't you going to? Or shall I do it for you?"

"You'll be telling me that you did it for Billy."

"Oh yes, for a bit. And he did me. It felt funny, so we swapped back."

Tentatively he reached over to me and grasped, then, again gently, he started on me....

What do I do? Do I let myself be wanked by a nine year old? Do I wank off this nine year old, and perhaps give him his first sensation? Do I do what I know I should and stop us both?

"No," I said weakly. "You do you and I'll do me."

"All right," he said cheerfully.

I didn't want to go too fast, because I wanted so much to see what happened when he got there. So I kept stopping and starting, and altering rhythm so as to delay. It took a long time. Twice I thought I felt it was starting, so I stopped completely and did something else, like scratch my bottom.

The second time it happened I could see something was happening to him. His eyes were closed and he was breathing fast and deep, his head thrown back as if his back was arching, a look of absolute concentration on his face. Then suddenly...

"Oh......Oh.....Oh......"

His knees crumpled and the back arched further. He'd have fallen forward if I hadn't caught him under the arms and lowered him to the floor of the shower. The spasms were quick and few, but their effect on him was obviously incredibly deep. Quickly his body finished reacting and slowly he settled back on his heels, the back straightening, the chin returning to normal. For a full minute, it seemed, he was in a half faint, half trance, then the eyes opened and looked slowly up.

"Oh....Martin. Was that it?"

At that moment if anybody had mentioned Mark, I'd have asked `who?' Once again I felt as though this little boy was my responsibility, my care, my joy, my pupil. My pupil who had just done something which was so right for him that I didn't have to give congratulations. My boy, who I loved as a father. A father? No, fathers don't teach their sons that. What could I be, then? Brother? Elder brother? I'd come to that conclusion before.

"Yes," I said. "That's it."

"Wow."

His breathing settled down, and he rose, unsteadily.

"I'm going to do that again."

"You won't be able to until your body's recovered."

"What d'you mean?"

"You have to wait an hour or more before it'll work again."

"Why?"

"Dunno. You just do."

"What happens if you try?"

"It doesn't work."

"Oh. Are you going to do it now?"

"I was doing it when you collapsed."

"I know."

So I started again. With having only just stopped to let him go first so I could watch, and then the sight if my little brother's first time, it took only a couple of minutes. As it came, I felt as good as I usually do, but was surprised to feel something warm, something different from shower water, land on my belly. As soon as I was able, as things began to die down, I looked.

And there it was.

My first bit of white stuff. Spunk, James had been told to call it.

As I watched, more trickled out and lay in a pool at the top of my willy, before dripping down the side.

I stopped the actions, it all subsided, and my first seed was washed away by the shower.

"Wow," said James again. "Is that spunk?"

"Yes," I managed.

"You didn't say you could make it too."

He'd just shared a big part of his growing up with me. I just had to do the same.

"That was the first time."

"The first time you wanked?"

"No, the first time I've made spunk."

"Wow." He paused. "Then that's two firsts. One for you and one for me."

"Yes." I smiled at him happily, loving my little brother with all my heart. "Yes, it is."

We dried. He dressed. He went to bed. So did I. Full of the events of the last two nights which had been capped by what happened just now. It was so sweet, James' fist time, and it was so satisfying, my first seed. And Mark, and all.....

I slept well.

It was inevitable that he also woke me in the morning. The door opened quietly, but it woke me, and the next thing he was burrowing into my bed, stark naked as usual, pushing his body chilled by the run downstairs against my warm one and making me protest.

"Thought you liked me here."

"You're cold."

"I was before I got in."

"You're making me cold."

"You'll get warm soon."

It was also inevitable that I had a morning stiffness about me, about which I could do nothing. Well, I could, but it didn't seem the time then.

He lay there for a while, getting warm. I thought about him last night, about Mark the night before, and wondered what I was doing. When was I going to find a girl who attracted me, or who I attracted?

It was also inevitable that we went sailing again. I asked my parents if we could sleep on the island again, but they weren't keen. I knew how best to persuade them over something, and didn't push it. You ask one day and accept the result. You ask more keenly the next day, and really push hard. And if the result's the same, that's it. Nothing will work and you'll have to do it without them knowing.

So we went to the island, and hung around lazily -- wearing nothing, of course -- and still they didn't appear.

"Shall we go over there?" asked James, hopefully.

"Perhaps they don't want us."

"Why?"

"Dunno. Perhaps they aren't even there today."

We kept on looking for approaching boats, not just to see if it was them, but to ensure we were out of the way if it was full of strangers. We'd had lunch, when at last a boat put out from their island, and although we hid we were pretty certain it was one of them. It was Joe and Hannah.

"We've been wondering if you've gone off us!" exclaimed Hannah as soon as they were in earshot. "We thought you'd come over first thing if you could. It was only when Mark used his binoculars to check that we saw you on the beach. Don't you want to come over?

"We didn't know if we were invited," I said. "But yes, we hoped we could."

"Of course you're invited. Any time you want, so long as we're there. Come on, get your boat and follow us. We've got something special going on this afternoon."

"What?" asked James.

"You'll see. You can join in. In fact you might be able to, too, Martin."

"What is it?"

"I'm not telling. Come on!"

And with that they were off.

We got a great welcome. In fact I felt silly knowing that we'd waited on the other island all morning. They called us all together, all those under about 18, and started to explain about the competition. It was very simple: who could devise the most clever, the best looking, the most intricate, the most effective, the best applied, scheme of body painting. There were four groups, up to 7, 8-11, 12-15, 16-18.

To cut a long discussion short, about whether or not I, at fourteen, wanted to go in for a competition like that, I got Mark, Billy got James, and the others were also suitably paired up. Ralph was particularly lucky, I thought: he got a very good looking girl of fifteen who seemed very attached to him. I wondered why we'd not seen much of him during the time we'd been together. As he was my age, I was quite jealous. But although she was good looking, I really didn't find her, well, sort of WOW-attractive.

Mark did the design, I'm glad to say, as I had no experience at all. I was going to be a tiger. The face was quite intricate, and tickled a lot when he was doing the fine lines. The chest was OK except being painted under the arms. The abstract patterns up the legs were OK too, but when he got to the top of the thighs and started staring me straight in the willy...well, it's difficult when your canvas will neither stay still nor stay the same size. We both burst out laughing, and as he tried to paint it it tickled so much I nearly fell over. He painted my bottom, too, and held the cheeks apart whilst the bristles tickled me there. I wriggled like fury to get away from him, but he held me still and persisted. He painted right between the two bits of my bum, right up to the hole, or at least it felt like it. And it had really given me a hard willy.

"There!" he exclaimed as the brush finally stopped its torture. He stood back.

"Gosh, that's good. You're going to win tonight."

"You mean we're going to win. You painted me."

"Yeah, all right. But that'll be a first."

"How many times have you done this?"

"Oh, a few. But nobody else has wanted to stand still with me like you have. Most of them didn't want their willy painted, or their bum, and as most of them were a year older than me they started getting fidgety when I got to the top of their thighs."

"Should I have done?"

"No! that's what made it possible. You were great. I expected your willy would be difficult, but I managed 'cos you didn't mind."

"You've touched it before."

"Shhh!"

"There's no one here."

"I know. But don't go telling everybody. That's our secret."

I thought. My tree of thought branched.

"What am I going to do about this?" I pointed to my still hard erection, which he had painted pure black.

"Don't touch it. If you do it'll come off."

"But I can't get judged with it stiff!"

"It won't be by then."

"How do you know?"

"It won't, that's all."

"But I've got to be back by seven!"

"Seven? But I thought you were here for the evening."

"No. I tried, but Mum said I'd got to be back."

"But the competition isn't judged 'til six."

"I won't get back in time."

"Can't you phone again?"

"The weather's perfect, though."

"But if you explain..."

"No. If I do, they'll never let me back here for a night, which is what I want."

"Why?"

I didn't answer.

"Do you want us to play again?"

It was a direct question. I'd hoped he already knew the answer. I nodded.

"Oh."

We made our way in silence back to the main building. Sure enough, by the time I got there I had deflated a bit. As I went in, all eyes were on me, and one or two exclamations were heard. I'm not used to being admired, and for the first time on the island I started to feel naked. And naked in public, too. Which, as I was hidden by paint, was illogical. I was glad to join the rest, even if their congratulations were rather too energetic.

"We were beginning to wonder what you two were up to," said Mrs Rogers. "I can see, now."

Her son looked at her strangely, but there was nothing in her face to show any problem.

"The trouble is, Mum, they don't start judging the competition until six, and Martin and James have to be back and dressed for dinner at seven-thirty."

"Oh!" She looked genuinely distressed. "And it's such a good effort, too. Can't we get your group judged first?"

"They might," said the Doctor. "I'll ask. Or I could try phoning your parents again."

"I don't think it'd work, sir," I said. "I already asked this morning if I could stay. And I couldn't."

"Well, I wouldn't want to go against that," he said. "But I'll try to arrange an early judging."

He managed that. And sharp on six o'clock Mark's and my age group was called.

The painted ones had to walk up onto the stage, go slowly across, turn, go to centre stage and turn right round, then walk to the steps we'd come up, and join the others there in a line.

I was second on, and by this time my knees were shaking. How could I, a normal boy, get onto a stage and show off my naked body to an audience, naked though they were too? I had reckoned without Mark. He more or less pulled me to my feet and marched me to the bottom of the steps.

"Good luck," he whispered. I thought he was going to kiss me.

A bit shakily I climbed onto the stage and walked as slowly as my embarrassment would allow to the other side. As I turned, I felt that something was happening to me, something that had been happening to me for months since I was half way through being thirteen.

I was getting stiff.

I almost stumbled where I was. What could I do? Get it over with? Leap off the stage? Run to the boat and home?

Very deliberately I walked to the middle of the stage, getting stiffer all the time. I turned, as required, first to show the back view, then very quickly the front, then turned and walked back the way I'd come. Yet even then I couldn't hide it. If I turned toward the audience they'd see, yet waiting at the bottom of the steps was a girl who was on next, and at the beginning of the line was a boy who was looking at me and grinning.

No way out. Fuck it, I suddenly thought if they want to see me in rampant mode, they can. I was now at full stretch, and I wobbled my way over to stand beside the first boy, whose own willy was also starting to react, I was glad to say.

One by one they came up. Nobody else got stiff, and mine went down as quickly as it had come up.

I won. Mark joined me on stage to accept the applause, then we went down to our seats and to more applause and congratulations.

They judged James next. He didn't win.

"Can you stay for the parade?" the Doctor asked. The clock said 6.50. If it had been just me getting into trouble I'd have agreed, but it was the scantily designed James as well. They had almost decided not to enter him, `cos the brush had tickled him so much every line on him was a disaster. But then he'd apparently been in hysterics all afternoon, and at one time had even relieved himself without wanting to, leaving a wet streak down one leg. And this itself had fuelled the laughter....

I had to go. With him. We found the public showers, and helped by Mark and Billy we got the paint off. The rubbing, though, caused the usual problem, and getting back into my fairly tight old shorts was a bit awkward and painful.

By the time we'd got back, apologised, changed and apologised again we were only twenty minutes late.

Popularity was not ours, though. I didn't ask about staying overnight on the island. There's a time and a place...

"I'm tired," said James, after about an hour of cards and chat in the hotel lounge. His parents looked at him in surprise.

"It's not late, darling," said his mother. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes. Just tired. It's wonderful being on the island, but quite tiring. It'd be nice if we could stay."

"Well, you can't really. I mean, an emergency is one thing, but to inflict yourself onto someone else is wrong."

"But they've told us that we can if we want."

"Then they're very nice. But anyway, it mainly depends on Martin and his parents."

"But they'd let him if you let me. He's older than me, and he looks after me."

She smiled. "I know he does, and I'm very grateful, and very glad you're both having such a good time. But what he does is up to his parents, not to your father and me."

Mum had been listening. "It's not so much that he'd be away from us, Doreen, it's just that we've paid for his room and everything here, and it seems such a waste if he doesn't use it."

"That's true, Mary. I hadn't thought of it that way. But at least we'd not be paying anything extra if they did sleep over there."

"Hmm. Yes. I hadn't thought of it that way."

I could see that she was being swayed without my doing anything.

"And it would stop us worrying about them being late back." Oops. I thought she'd forgotten that. Dad laughed.

"How would it be if we spoke to Doctor what's-his-name...."

"Rogers." I put in.

"Dr. Rogers or his wife and checked it out with them."

I got up hurriedly, mumbled something like "Excuse me," and left the room. Safely out of their hearing I let the tears of laughter run down my face as I hugged myself, shaking. The picture had entered my mind of my mother chugging her way to the island, to be met by a naked Doctor Rogers and his wife and naked children. It wasn't so much that, but the look that would be on her face as she tried to look somewhere other than at them.

When I recovered, I returned to see an animated James talking to my parents. He was telling them that we'd try to get one of the parents, the Rogers' or the Camerons, to come over and talk to them.

"Or we could take Dad over to the island," I said hopefully.

"I think it'd be better to ask them to visit us," said my father, quickly.

"OK. I'll ask tomorrow."

And with that we went upstairs. Yes, it was early. Yes, I was entitled to stay up far longer than James. But I'd come to regard us both as the same age, in some respects. Anyway, I wanted to be there so we could shower together as usual. It just seemed right.

"That's good," he said as we sat on my bed.

"What, getting permission to sleep over there?"

"Yes."

"You did that well."

"It was by accident, really."

"Good accident."

"What made you go off suddenly?"

I thought back and remembered, and told him.

"I wonder what my parents would do," he thought.

"Probably faint."

He giggled.

"Will you be sleeping with Mark again?"

"I hope so," I said without thinking.

"What's wrong with me?"

I did a mental stumble.

"Oh, nothing...nothing. But I can sleep with you any time."

"Until we go home."

Damn. I'd forgotten that he wasn't actually my young brother, that we had to go our separate ways.

"I know, but you can sleep with Billy."

"He snores."

"Well, pinch his nose, then."

"I do. He shuts up for a bit, then starts again."

"Oh."

"And I like being with you."

There was no answer to that. I like being with him. But it was different from the charged atmosphere with Mark.

"Look," I said desperately. "When we're on the island I'll share with Mark, and when we're here I'll share with you, if you want."

"Every night?"

I sighed. The end of peaceful mornings and waking up slowly.

"Every night, if you want."

"And tonight?"

"All right."

He bounced up and down. I had to like him, despite my reservations about mornings.

We were just getting undressed to have a shower when there was a knock at the door. I hastily pulled my shorts up again. James was already in pants.

"Come in," I called. It was mum.

"Hallo. Sorry to interrupt, but I need to speak to Martin. I was going to in here, but I can see that's a bit awkward. Can I borrow him for a moment, James?"

He grinned at her.

She laughed and ruffled the boy's hair as we passed. We went down the spiral staircase to the hotel's corridor, and found two chairs.

"I've been talking to your father."

"Oh?"

"He's been telling me about when you took him to that nudist island."

"Oh."

"I was a bit surprised that you could even take off your clothes in public. And that he could. I mean, you won't in front of us normally, and we're your parents."

I looked uncomfortable. "It's....different, somehow." Something else obvious struck me. "And anyway, you and Dad are never naked when I'm going to bed."

"I should think not."

"Well, everybody is on the island."

"But to suggest that your father and I should be naked in front of you..."

"I'm not. But you think that I shouldn't mind being naked in front of you."

"But we're your parents."

"What difference does it make?"

A pause. "Martin, that's very hurtful. We're family. I gave you birth. I've seen your body grow all these years. And it's just wrong that now you're getting older you hide it away when we could be so helpful if it's not growing right."

"But it is. And yes, I'm getting older. I don't like my body being looked at by people who aren't themselves undressed."

She thought for a moment.

"Well, what I came to tell you was what Dad and I were talking about." A pause. "You see, when you were on the island together, he did see you naked, obviously. And he's said that there's nothing wrong with you at all, that your body is completely normal. And...."

Another pause.

"He says that he can state definitely that I was wrong the other day."

I thought back. What was she talking about? It was obviously embarrassing her.

"When I said what I did about puberty and you."

"Oh...that." The smarting humiliation came back to me.

"Yes, that. Darling, I shouldn't have said it. I realise how tactless it was of me, now. And in front of others, too. But the main thing was, that I was wrong, as your father pointed out."

"What do you mean?"

"You've more than started. You're going through it."

"Mother....!"

"Yes, I know, I've embarrassed you again. But at least this time it's just us, and I am apologising to you. I really am sorry. I should have known better, and shouldn't have had to be told so by your father. But I promise you it's all just between you, me and Dad now. Nobody else. All right?"

I nodded. I was still embarrassed, but it was a family embarrassment, not a public humiliation. And that was acceptable. Just.

We kissed and I returned to the bedroom. He was in the shower, luxuriating in the hot water. Suddenly I felt at one with the world. I undressed quietly, got in the shower behind him and just started by putting my hands over where his tits would be if he had any. He looked round quickly, to make sure it was me, then just laid back against me, trustingly. All my feelings for him came back.

We exercised ourselves in the shower, and both enjoyed it. To my delight my body proved that the previous night hadn't been a one-off, and that I really had started my sexual career. And once again I watched James' body jerking with the sensations which were still so new to him, and thrilled him deeply, and made him want more, and make me wish, somehow, I could be a part of it for him.

He didn't bother going to his room.

CHAPTER 11

When I awoke I had my back to him, but there was an arm draped round my shoulder and a tickling on my back where he was breathing. It felt good. I wondered what the time was. Six-thirty. Time to go back to sleep again. Carefully I turned over, but not carefully enough. The eyes flickered open and the immediate startled look was swiftly replaced by a languid smile.

I don't know why, but I felt my body starting to react at such a greeting. If it'd been Mark I'd have known why. It would have been the promise of a lot of physical contact and the slow development of that physical pleasure between us. But James? Nine-year-old James? Not really, surely? It wouldn't be right. But he enjoyed his new-found pleasure, so perhaps..... No. Too young. Unfair to him.

So I put my arm over him, too, and he smiled even more and wriggled closer until we were hugging. My willy was stiff, sandwiched between our bellies, and he looked surprised and giggled as he realised what it was.

"Martin's stiff again!"

"I know, I know. Is James?"

"Don't think so."

"Then I'd better make James stiff."

He giggled, and wriggled his middle away again. I thought he was trying to escape what I had threatened, so I went no further.

"Aren't you going to, then?"

"What? Make you stiff?"

"You said you were."

Well, what could I do? The arm over his shoulders traced its way down his chest, down his belly, till it found the little target. Then very gently I started tracing my finger tips round it, down onto the balls and back again, whilst all the time he made mewing sounds with the tickling sensations and wriggled at the side of me like a trapped animal. He turned so his back was towards me, but my hand followed him and continued, and at last the mewing of the tickling changed to the silence of fondling. He had quickly become stiff, but I wasn't about to stop. I took the top of him between finger and thumb and started the strokes.

"Oh...." He sounded surprised.

"Don't you want me to?"

"Mmm."

Now as we were lying there, his bottom came down to just below my waist. It was very close to the tip of my own stiffness, so as he wriggled a bit we contacted, and I could feel that there was a slipperiness between us. He never noticed at the time, though. It took a few minutes only before he jerked in my arms, bring his bottom into contact with me again briefly, and then lay quiet with the usual deep breathing.

I felt totally in control of him. I felt I could protect him against all dangers the world had to throw.

We lay quietly until he had recovered, in contact all the way down his body. He turned at last and looked at me seriously.

"Doesn't it wear it out?"

"Why should it?"

"All that rubbing."

"Mine hasn't."

"How long have you been doing it?"

"Ages. At least a year."

"Oh."

A pause. "Do you want me to do you?"

"D'you want to?"

"Yes. I want to see what happens."

"You want to see...."

But he'd already thrown back the coverings as he turned over again to face me, exposing me to the cool morning air. He wriggled down the bed, and I took the opportunity to lie flat on my back. So he was covered and warm, only his arms out of the bed, and I was exposed from the top of the thighs upwards. A good deal?

He may only have operated on himself twice, and had me operate on him just then, but he had learnt. He was very gentle. Well, most of the time. As he progressed and things started to overtake me the occasional uncoordinated pull that would normally have made me yell didn't have the same pain attached to it.

What with having done him, and with all that bodily contact, it took me quite a short time, and like him, I gasped and bucked in the bed. As I started, he stopped, and I just yelled at him to go on as the main thrusts wouldn't have come if he didn't.

It wasn't one of the best ones I'd had, but he was one of only two people who had done it for me, and I was grateful. Next time he'd know not to pause as I started.

I had to stop him wiping his hand on the sheets. He went to the toilet instead. I hoped the rest of it wouldn't show on the bedding.

We went back to sleep.

That morning we were actually on time for breakfast, despite having yet another shower. And after that we sailed straight to the naturist island and found them in a morning laze-around. I spoke to Dr. Rogers. He said that he'd come over with us that evening and see if we could stay on the island on Thursday, if we wanted. "On Saturday we go," he said with a grimace, "so Friday night's out of the question, I'm afraid."

That was a blow I felt in my solar plexus, just as if I'd been lightly winded by something. No more Mark, unless I could go and visit them. I realised that I didn't know where they lived. I'd have to get their address.

The day offered us archery, table tennis, proper tennis, volleyball, swimming, and free snorkelling in the afternoon. We did the lot and it was great.

In the late afternoon Dr. Rogers suggested that we leave early, and he'd try to persuade our parents to let us come back that night. With a mixture of regret and anticipation we got dressed and waited in the dinghy for him. When he appeared we hardly recognised him; he and his wife were not only clothed, but fully clothed and smart. They climbed into the motor boat and followed us out.

Because of the wind we couldn't sail direct to the mainland of course. So after trying to keep station with us for some time Dr. Rogers came alongside and announced he'd take his wife to wander round the shops and would see us when we landed.

Together the four of us made our way to the hotel. Sod's law dictated that neither set of parents was there, so I thought it'd be all right to buy them -- and us -- drinks. It was during our second one that they all came trooping in and were surprised to see their respective sons acting as hosts.

It was going on my parents' bill, anyway.

My father was the only one to have met Dr. Rogers, but he hadn't met Mrs Rogers. So the introductions were a bit difficult to follow. They got there eventually. It all seemed to be adult talk and boring, so I wondered if they'd forgotten why I'd got Mr Rogers back. I kept trying to butt in, but was constantly being verbally run over by one or other of them. Eventually Dad took me on one side and suggested we go and shower, and said that they'd get round to it soon, and we'd get told later.

Well, I couldn't hurry them up, we were both getting frustrated by the whole thing, and I wanted a pee.

We wandered off. To my room, inevitably. I threw myself onto the bed in disgust at the slow ways of adults and wondered what'd happen if my lot said no. I wasn't there to persuade them. I'd just have to go on my own. But what about James? I couldn't leave him in the room -- my room -- asleep alone. And it'd mean getting back very early in the morning.

We had a shower. An ordinary one. Well, it started off like that, but when you have someone showering every part of your body and fooling about with bits of it, then things sort of develop. And so we each enjoyed ourselves again.

But I wished it'd been Mark. I was very conscious that we would each be going our separate ways soon. And I still didn't know where he lived.

By the time we got downstairs again we found the Rogers' had been asked to stay to dinner. We had our permission to stay overnight on the island on the Thursday, but they thought it was too late for that night. I felt an impatient pang of frustration, but couldn't say anything 'cos I'd make up for it the following night. It was hard. The idea of the following night made it that way.

Despite our disappointment, we enjoyed dinner. All six adults seemed to hit it off, and the stories got more and more outlandish. I think the more staid residents in the hotel were astonished at the hilarity that was coming from the big table of eight, hilarity that continued over coffee and liqueurs in the lounge. They seemed to be enjoying themselves.

I nodded to James and had a quick word with Dad. We went out into the garden and just stood, breathing in the fresh air after the lounge's smoky atmosphere.

"Tomorrow," I said softly.

"What?"

"Just thinking."

"What about?"

"Oh....things. What we're going to do tomorrow."

"I bet you'll be with Mark."

"I'll be with everybody."

"Mark most, though."

"Well, he's a friend."

"Aren't I?"

I just looked at him. The Grin was almost all buttoned up, and I felt sorry for him.

"Yes.....yes. More of a friend than.....oh.....anyone at school."

It unbuttoned a lot. "That's all right then. 'Cos you're my best friend."

I just had to put an arm round his shoulders. And there we stood, just watching the moonlit seascape, and the islands, and where Mark was.

But I was with my kid brother.

They were still at it when we'd had enough of drinking in the atmosphere, but as we walked in Dad beckoned us over, and somehow interrupted the flow of chat. I wished I'd seen how he did it. I know that I couldn't get myself a hearing if I'd tried.

"Sorry. I wanted to talk to these two before either of them went upstairs. Before you both go to the island tomorrow, can I make a plea? Can I go sailing again with you, Martin? And will you come too, James? I know you want to get to see your friends, but it'd be lovely if your poor old Dad could have a bit of sailing too. I'd ask mum along too, but I know she's not into boats, and certainly not sailing. You could take me snorkelling again afterwards too, if we can?

"Certainly," said Dr. Rogers.

I couldn't refuse. I just grinned at him, knowing now that he was on my side. "Ok, Dad. All right with you, James?"

"You bet."

"As soon after breakfast as you like, then. Mum's going round the town with Mrs Rogers, so they'll be happy. And you can sail me back in the late afternoon, please Martin, and then go back and spend the night and the next day on the island as we agreed. So long as you're back for dinner on the Friday."

"That's great, Dad. Thanks."

And so we rushed upstairs, at a time somewhere between his bedtime and mine. And we hugged each other on the bed, before and after getting undressed.

Once again he woke me early the next morning. I just turned over and laid on my back, but I could sense that he was looking at me. I took no notice, but still the feeling continued. At last I felt the warmth of his face approach mine, I opened my eyes to see his head approaching mine, the eyes serious, the mouth with a hint of a smile.....

And the lips met mine full on, and kissed me.

"What.....?"

He drew away, and suddenly looked scared. I looked at him, and slowly his face started to crumble towards tears. I felt astonished, not by the kiss but by his breaking down.

"I'm sorry," he sniffed. "That was wrong. I'm sorry. Please don't send me away."

I carried on looking at him, not knowing what was wrong. But there came a point where I couldn't just lie there and see him miserable in front of me any more.

"Come here," I commanded, and put my arm out flat so he could lie on it and be hugged. With hesitation he came toward me, looking at my face like a snake to try and see what I was thinking. Apart from needing to comfort him I didn't really know myself. But once he had again rested his head near mine and my upper arm had gone round his shoulders, I knew.

"James.....don't be scared. I'm not angry. And thank you."

"Why?"

"For kissing me."

"I thought....when you looked at me....you thought....."

"You thought I didn't want you to? Well, I didn't know you were going to, so I was surprised. But it was nice of you. And I feel.....proud that you did."

"Why?"

"Because it shows that you....like me."

He said nothing, but snuggled up close again.

We slept, but at least this time woke up in time to be first down to breakfast. Dad was there soon after, and was in one of the best moods I'd seen him in. Not that he was usually down, but he was obviously on a high this morning. We ate companionably, and were leaving just as mum arrived, with James' parents soon after. The receptionist was surprised to see us so early for our packed lunches, but at least they were ready.

The morning's sail was glorious -- my father's word, but he was right. Once we had each shown how well we could sail he took the helm himself. Once again he made the dinghy sing through the water far faster than I would have liked to with James on board, and really got us jumping about, trimming the jib, raising and lowering the centreboard, hanging over the side to balance her.....

By the time we reached `our' island we were all soaked with spray, tired, had our hands raw with water and rope, but were exhilarated beyond words. Dad sailed almost up to the beach, and at his command both sails came down simultaneously and were stowed as tidily as we could, just as the dinghy nosed herself onto the sloping beach. James jumped out with the anchor, we all followed to help pull her up the beach, and made her fast.

It must have looked really slick.

"Ok," said my shy, retiring father. "Last one to have any clothes on buys the beers."

He was wearing underwear, we weren't. He lost.

We crossed the island, the three of us, and swam from the south facing beach as usual. Dad was so much in carefree mode that I think he started treating us as his Navy colleagues. He ducked James, who didn't mind. He fought with me -- not violently -- and used some real Navy words when I got the better of him once. And as we all flopped in the shallows to rest he announced to the world that he was "fucking hungry!" Immediately he realised who was there and blushed and apologised. But we were too occupied trying to control our laughter to listen.

So then he became my father again, but a light-mooded version of him. He laughed at himself and his slip into Navy vernacular, and attacked the packed lunches. James and I laid one either side of him and ate ravenously.

We rested afterwards. Lying naked, by the side of your father who has just proved that he's actually a normal human being, is an experience. I'd never felt closer to him in spirit than then.

We were startled by the sound of a motor boat, and all looked up. It was the Rogers family, fortunately without my mother by now.

"Bloody.... I mean Gosh! What's the time?" said Dad.

"Haven't the faintest, my watch is in the hotel."

"I'd better run," he said. "Your mother'll be wondering if we're all drowned."

I'd forgotten that aspect of it, but I didn't want him to go. "Can't you phone from the island?"

"Not fair on her, old chap. Nothing would please me more to stay with my son and his friend, playing about as if we were all fourteen. But I'm married, and I have a duty to be there. And it's just well that I am."

"Why?"

"'Cos if I wasn't, you'd not be alive. And I'd be the poorer for that." And he jumped up, waved at the Rogers', and ran back through the woods. "Explain to them for me, would you?" he shouted as he vanished into the trees.

"He doesn't want to be seen naked by them!" James exclaimed as we settled down again. I said nothing. Suddenly I felt bereft. It had been such a morning! Why did it have to end?

But we got a tremendous welcome from them all. I explained to the Doctor that we had no idea of the time, and Dad had suddenly realised, and rushed off.

"That's OK," he said. "Mary thought he'd probably be so engrossed in sailing with you that he'd be late. She knows he's a good sailor and wasn't worried. But how're you going to get back tomorrow? He's taken the dinghy, hasn't he?"

"Oh.....yes. I'd not realised." We'd be marooned, I thought. We'd have to stay there until winter, and every day would be something new, all those activities could be mine to play with..... But there'd be nobody else there that I knew, apart from James. Oh. Not such a good idea. Although the idea of no school, and spending the time with my little brother was very attractive.

"Hallo," said Mark.

And as soon as I looked at those dark eyes my brain changed track completely.

As we were making ready to leave for the island where we'd be spending the night some thoughts crossed my mind. James and I were naked, all our clothes and the few night things we'd brought were in the boat, which was sailing back towards the village with my father. I was about to say something rude when the dinghy rounded the north shore of the island, once again being sailed as if in a race. I was dead impressed, and I could tell the others were too when he sailed straight at us at full speed, turned at the last minute to bring the boat head to wind, and came to something like a stop a few yards away from the motor boat.

"You'd better have these," he said as he threw our small bags over to be caught by the Doctor. "I've stuck the clothes in that you wore here, so you'll not be savages when you come back. I'll fetch you late tomorrow afternoon. OK?"

"Thanks Dad! OK," I called back, and James shouted something as well.

Once again the naturists' island was welcoming and fun. James went around quite happily with Billy and Rose, and it was fun watching the three of them getting up to all sort of mischief together, quite happily, quite safely, and entirely naturally. How anybody can say that naturism is for perverts or that nudism is wrong, I couldn't see then and still can't now.

And Mark and me? Oh, we were playing too. No, outside. We did a lot more snorkelling, and were getting quite good at it. He and I guided each other through the underwater rocks and weeds, and got away from the main crowd. To know we were alone, completely alone under water, was really exciting. Sometimes we would find an almost enclosed, underwater pool, with no company apart from a few small fish, some crabs, and the waving weed. We would just look at each other, dive, and connect our bodies together in a hug in the middle of this natural grotto.

To get rid of the day's salt, we naturally went to his cabin to shower. He adjusted the temperature of the water while I just watched him with this feeling in my willy that I was going to start getting bigger any minute. He looked round at me, and smiled, and beckoned. To get under the water I had to get really close to him, and we were so close that our bodies were once again touching everywhere. The balls of my feet were on his, our knees touched, then after a gap our thighs touched, our willies were pressed together, our hip bones were touching, our bellies, and chest were together, and our shoulders. I looked him straight in the eye with only two inches between us.....

And we just looked, as the water coursed down.

I read somewhere that the eyes are the mirror of the soul.

Our souls were together in those moments. Mine was watching his, and his, I hoped, was watching mine. Since I'd been young I'd looked at only one other human in the same way: that was my mother. But this was different. This was my own discovery. A human I had chosen, and who had chosen me. And in that long moment I knew that I knew everything about him.

And the moment stretched out and onward, and still we just looked into each other's eyes. I was normally very bad at eye contact, but most of that was to avoid other boys knowing that I might find them attractive. With him, he knew that I found him attractive, and he thought the same about me. So to look straight into those deep, dark pools of dancing light was......right.

Once again, after that part of the magic had passed, we explored each other with hands. Everywhere. Slowly. And no one came to interrupt us. And of course we got excited; and we rubbed our excited bodies together. And the sensation made us both wet and slippery despite the shower water. And this time I knew that I could do for him what he had done for me the last time.

I knelt, and took him gently in my mouth. I played, I pulled back on the foreskin, I tongued him on the exposed end and lapped at it. I took it as far in to my mouth as I could. And all the time the sounds of absolute bliss from above me were fine music. At last I knew that I had to help him further, and started using my hand on the bit of it nearest his curly hair. And the music grew louder and more urgent, until I felt him stiffen even more, heard a soft shout from above, and felt his gift to me, his ultimate personal gift, hit the tongue that I had put in the way.

I swallowed hurriedly. Without having come myself I could accept this, although it tasted vinegary and oily. But I knew that it was more than a taste: it was Mark. And that made it not just acceptable, but welcome.

Now we were brothers -- more than brothers. I was a brother to James, although he wasn't in my thoughts at the time. What was Mark to me? My closest, best friend? I didn't know. But I knew that I wanted him with me, daily.

Before he had recovered I looked outside at the clock.

"Mark!"

"Martin.....what did you do.....I've never......."

"Mark, it's half past seven!"

"Mmmm......oh......what?!"

"We're meant to have been ready for a meal at seven!"

"Oh sod...Martin.....thank you....thank you more than I can say." Was there water in his eyes or were those tears?

I smiled at him, but said nothing, just in case.

"Will you wait 'til later?" he said.

"What for? Oh....oh yes. Please."

I wondered how my body was going to settle down before we had to go outside again. I had visions of it staying that way all the way to the main building, all through dinner, and all the rest of the evening. An accidental one was acceptable, the doctor had said so. But a permanent one?

Hastily we dried off. There was no time for anything mutual, we just got reasonably dry as quickly as possible, then rushed out to air dry the rest.

We were late, but apart from a quizzical look from the doctor to his son, nothing was said.

We joined in the family's booking of two lanes of the new ten-pin bowling place they'd just finished building. It was very popular, so much so that they'd only got on it twice before. Once they'd explained how the scoring worked I wasn't too bad; nothing incredible, but adequate. James chose almost the lightest ball he could find, and amazed us all by getting a strike with his first attempt.

"It's quite easy," he said, more in hope than fact, I thought.

It was a fun evening, and very good to see so many boys my age and near it just relaxing naturally, no clothes, no inhibitions, appendages swinging, bums bending with the effort of bowling. Not exactly stiffening material but very close. But then I had my own special friend for that.

At last we'd finished, and were taken back for a drink with the family. James, Rose and Billy were all yawning, and were sent off to bed: surprisingly none of them made any complaint. I didn't want to be the first to suggest that Mark and I should go, yet I was so much looking forward to our play session.

At last he yawned and looked at the time and announced he was off to bed. It was more or less expected that I would go too, although I'd not said anything.

"I'll look in on you later, shall I?" asked his mother.

"It's all right, mum. We'll be OK. We're big boys now."

"I know....well, if you're sure."

"We'll be fine, mum. Goodnight."

There was a chorus of goodnights from all those left, and I joined in politely.

Once outside we stopped and looked around at the world. It was a dead flat calm, the sky was clear, the moon was full and casting our shadows sideways, and it was still warm.

He looked at me with those dark, gently smiling eyes.

"How about a bit of a walk before we go in?"

I just nodded. All I wanted was for him to get close to me. But if he wanted to...well, why not?

He led the way round the island, toward one of the coves where we had been snorkelling. The woods we walked through were carpeted with pine needles which made no sound under our bare feet, and we saw movements from the corner of our eyes which half scared, half intrigued us. We arrived at the deserted, silent cove which in the moonlight looked magical. We stopped as it opened before us and just looked. As if in a dream I felt his arm go round my waist. I followed suit. And once again we just watched, drinking in this incredible moonlit beauty, aware of each other and physically contacting, yet content with a different achievement of nature.

"Shall we swim?" I whispered, at last.

He nodded. Together we walked slowly down to the water and each of us, at the same moment, tested its temperature with a toe. Surprised by this simple coincidence we looked at each other and just smiled. I kissed him. It seemed the right thing to do.

We walked in, and were surprised at how warm the water felt after the cool of the evening. Without a mask seeing under water was not too effective, but we saw the rocks and weeds and the sandy bottom, all lit by the shimmering, cold light of the moon.

If the beauty on the surface silenced me, then to see all this, alone with someone whose company I wanted and craved, who held out the promise of a pleasure I still couldn't understand fully, made my heart want to burst with emotion.

We swam slowly around the cove, rediscovering the pools we had visited earlier in the sunlight, diving from time to time. But all good things have to end sometime, and the cold started finally to get to us. We swam to the shore.

"Bed?" he said in a whisper.

"Together." I whispered back.

We ran back through the woods.

Once again in the shower we explored each other, and he was cradling my balls in his hand whilst gently stroking my stiffness when the water started to get colder....and colder.... It had an effect on me, and on him. We both made disappointed noises as it really got too uncomfortable, and eventually made a rapid exit from the shower. We stood laughing at each other, by that time shivering.

"I'll dry you," he said.

"We can dry each other."

"Come on."

We each got towels and just set to work. There was no fondling now, we were each too cold again. We just needed to get warm and the best way of doing it was to scrub at each other. But with the back and forth movements of the towels returned the stiffness to our willies, not from fondling or the thought of play this time, but just from repeated motion.

Dry at last, and each with our mast before us, we clambered onto the bed and pulled the covers over, our teeth chattering again with the coldness of the sheets.

"Come here," he whispered.

Well, that was what I wanted, wasn't it?

As I wriggled toward him the first thing I encountered was a hand under my balls again, and as we made contact the other arm went around me, pulling me closer in a hug. With his contact everywhere on my body I heaved a sigh of happiness -- not the first of the night -- which made him shiver as it blew across his chest.

I laughed. He squeezed my testicles gently together. I put my arm between his legs and started my own voyage of exploration....

I wanted it never to stop. The sensations of his hands once again feeling everywhere, all over me, were intense. I felt safe, cared for and yes, loved.

By a boy?

The thought slipped into and out of my mind as his hands travelled over me.

Soon I felt him shift, and the mouth opened around my left nipple which was massaged by his tongue -- surprisingly strongly. Then he lent over to attend to the right one, so resting his body on mine. I thought I wouldn't be able to stand his weight as he was quite a bit heavier than me. But all it did was to make me feel even closer to him spiritually. His willy against my leg was wet and slippery, and I thought he'd peed on me. But then I remembered the clear stuff that came out of it, and knew it was all right. By the feel of it my own wretched little body was starting to do the same.

At last he moved off my chest, leaving both nipples damp but very aroused, and put his mouth round my belly button. This received the same treatment, and he sucked at it too, for some moments. Then his mouth moved downwards and I felt his tongue playing with the whisps which were my apology for pubic hair.

But he seemed to like them. Who was I to argue? My willy was stroking his neck as he attended to them, and then....and then came that moment. He put his mouth over me and drew me in. All in one go. The end of it hit the back of his throat, he was so intent on pushing toward me.

"Ohhh...." What a stupid word it looks written. But the sensations at the time were overcoming me and had defeated any normal speech.

The hands came up under me, one under the balls to massage me there and sending me into even further realms of delight, and the other wormed its way under me to spread as far as it could over my buttocks.

I was completely under his control. I thought back to being cared for as a baby by my mother. I would have been held as intimately as this then, though not in the same way, and never so gloriously or so long. And while that had been love and biological necessity the other was....what? I still instinctively balked at giving it a name. It wasn't play, it was more. It wasn't exploration, it was certainly far more. What was making him do it and making me enjoy it? Enjoy! There's an inadequate word!

Time passed, and still he worked at me. Every time his tongue massaged the top of my willy I thought it was going to happen, but it never did until his lips came to take over from it, and just pulled up on it, relaxed and pushed down, pulled up, down....and all the time he was managing to keep sucking at me like it was spaghetti, and swallowing. And his breath was blowing straight onto my whispy hair.

And then I felt it start, right from the middle of me, and take hold of every bit of me, and I gave him that little bit of me that was my effort at returning his gift to me earlier. On and on it went, and still he continued, swallowing the more now.

And this time I did faint.

I recall a voice calling me, with mounting anxiety. But I couldn't figure out why. I was absolutely at peace, tired, yes, but as near to heaven as it's probably possible to get. Eventually I came to and found him about to shake me by the shoulders.

"Oh, God," he said. "I thought I was going to have to call Dad."

"Why?"

"I thought you were out for the count."

"No, just resting."

"Silly sod."

I just smiled at him.

"Thanks," I said.

It was his turn to smile.

We turned off the light and I slept again almost immediately. My dreams were of him, and what we had done together, and at one point I dreamed that I was in the middle of doing IT again. How long after that it was I don't know, but I woke, and my willy felt strange, and a bit wet. But I turned onto my stomach so it could dry on the sheets and closed my eyes.

But then, just as I felt as if I was dropping off again I felt a hand on my bum. Just feeling it, carefully, gently, as of it was just following the curves around. I knew it was him, and it was nice. It went on for some time, and then the thin covers were lifted off me, and I felt him move. He was sleeping on his front too -- I could see, because I opened my eyes then, He knelt up, and I could see his willy was stiff again. Slowly he manoeuvred himself so that his arms were either side of me and the swung his leg over me too.

"What....?" I said.

He gave a start, and hurriedly pushed himself over to his side of the bed, but said nothing.

"What're you doing?"

Nothing.

"Mark?"

"Sorry."

"Why?"

"Shouldn't have."

"Shouldn't have what?"

"Done that."

"What?"

"You know....that."

"You didn't do anything. Well, you were kneeling on top of me, that's all."

"Yes, but...... Didn't you mind?"

"Not if you want to."

"Weren't you asleep?"

"You woke me when you moved."

Silence.

"Don't you know what I wanted to do?" This was in such a small voice that I really wondered what was the matter.

"No. Not unless you wanted to sleep on top of me."

"Oh, Martin..... Do you really not know?"

"Know? No, I don't. Know what?"

A pause. "Can I show you?"

"Yes." Well, we'd done a lot else together. I had no idea.

So he sat astride my bum, and to start with our buttocks coincided. I liked that a lot. It was really soft and friendly, private. Yes, as stirring as having our willies together but not with the potential for getting to IT.

But gradually he moved forward until he was lying on top of me, and his stiffness lay in my bum as if it was made to fit, hot, throbbing with the heartbeats I could feel everywhere on him. Slowly he started to move up and down on me, stroking himself along the length of the crack. And again, it was showing really close friendship, but the ultimate private way of showing it. Before too long I felt my skin, unused to being chafed there, was getting rather worn, but he was so intent on what he was doing that I said nothing. But as he progressed it eased off, and instead of the rubbing sensation I felt an oiled sliding movement.

Even in my relaxed, half asleep state I realised that his fluid had started flowing. It was more comfortable for me, so I didn't worry. This kept up for some time, and eventually I got bored with it. I wanted to rub with him, certainly, but could see no future in what he was doing. So I struggled a bit and succeeded in getting him to lift off me enough to let me turn over.

Now, with him in full view, lit by the moon shining through the curtainless window, I could appreciate things much better and add to the fun for both of us. My willy joined his in its excitement, and before long I was once again both covered by our stickiness. But for me, although IT happened, it wasn't nearly as intense as normal, and took a whole lot longer. I didn't know why.

This time we both went and towelled ourselves off rather than make the bed wet and sticky. And also, after this time, we both went to sleep and stayed there.

CHAPTER 12

When we awoke, James was sleeping between us. I didn't know when he arrived there, why he was there, or how he managed to lever us apart to squeeze in. But there he was. I looked at Mark and he looked at me, and we both shrugged theatrically. It was good to have him there, but it meant that we couldn't get close and friendly again.

Ever.

The thought hit me as a thunderbolt. It was Friday. Tomorrow we had to pack up and go home. I had to be in the hotel tonight. I'd just spent my last night with Mark.

I think he saw the change in my face. "What's the matter?"

"I'm not going to see you again."

"Why not? What've I done?"

"No, no.... I mean I go home tomorrow."

"Oh....yes, I see. But you could come and visit us. We could go camping. I'm in the Scouts and there's a site near us."

I grabbed on that as a lifeline. "Can I."

"Yes, please."

"When?"

"I'll have to ask Dad, but soon, I hope."

"These holidays?"

"Yes....yes, I expect so. I'm off to camp with the Scouts when I get back, but after that. Look, give me your address and I'll write to you."

"Can I come?" We looked down at the lump between us. James had woken up.

"No," said Mark

"You live too far away," said I. "Which is a pity, 'cos it'd be nice to have you there." I had to add that because I saw the expression on his face.

"Not very far," he protested.

"You're in the north of the country, James, and I live in the south. Mark lives near London."

"So?"

"So it's OK to come down here to spend two weeks, but not when it's a short camp like we'll be doing."

He was unconvinced.

We lay there for some time, but a wriggling nine-year-old is not an easy companion. "When did you get here?" I asked suddenly, when one of his wriggles had nearly knocked me out of the bed.

"'Bout midnight. Billy snored. I couldn't sleep."

"It must have been later than that. We were still....."

Mark had a coughing fit. James stared at him.

"....talking about then," I finished. Mark looked relieved.

"Well, later then. It was just getting light."

Oh well, he'd not seen anything then. Good.

"I'm going to have a shower," I announced.

"Me too," said one treble and one tenor voice.

So we all three showered. Once again we washed each other, and all three had the usual reaction.

"Do you want to wank?" James asked Mark tactfully.

"WHAT?"

"Billy told me you showed him, and we had a go, then Martin and I did it. Can we do it now?"

Mark looked at me. I just looked at him and shrugged.

"Why not?" he said.

So we did. And to have the company of not one, but two people who I really felt I knew everything about, was something new again. It was a good feeling, not as intense as when it was just Mark or just James, but really relaxed. I really felt that here were two people I could do anything with, say anything to, and they'd understand completely.

One by one it happened for us. I made sure I was last, because I wanted to watch both of them have their moment of bliss. Mark's I found very sexy, as stream after stream shot from him to be washed away by the water coursing over his body. James' I found utterly sweet, once again, as the unaccustomed depth of physical pleasure took him in its grip, leaving him weak kneed. Mine was good, of course, but unspectacular. At least the result was visible and the right colour. I felt I'd better practise hard so I'd get used to making more.

We got to breakfast. One thing about wanking a few times in the day, it makes the likelihood of an accidental and embarrassing stiffness far less likely, and that's important when you're nude. It was a good morning. Although we had no boat there were plenty of activities, and for the first time I tried archery.

I wasn't much good.

Before lunch we went snorkelling again, and this time James, Billy, Joe and Ralph were with us. We were allowed to go without an instructor.

We were passing the landing stage after lunch when I heard an `Ahoy!' from the water. It was Dad. I panicked. I thought he wasn't coming until later, and I'd not said goodbye to anyone. I knew even then that I wanted to say goodbye to Mark when we were alone.

We waited from him to finish one of his impressive mooring manouevres. He was already talking as the boat glided gently up to the stage, he fended off and stepped casually ashore with the painter.

"Had a good time? Hallo, you lot. Sorry I'm dressed, but they'd take a dim view of my leaving the village without a stitch on. Here, I've got something for you all, a thank you from the Finches and Evanses for looking after our sons. Are your parents around?"

We all greeted him noisily, and I took him to the main building. He left his clothes there, not without some reluctance as it was still very foreign to him. And we went to see Dr Rogers, who was pleased to see him and told him he shouldn't have bought them anything.

"It was good for them all to see other people, and to persuade them that naturists are ordinary human beings after all. And don't forget Martin has taught us more than a bit about lifesaving, and that could be worth more than anything else if it needs to be used."

Dad just looked at him and shook his hand.

I thought it was time I got them moving. "Come on, Dad, we've got time to do some snorkelling, surely?"

"Yes. I was hoping to bring your mother over, too. But she said that noting would persuade her to take everything off in front of other people, even people she knows and likes."

"You're Ok, though?"

"Yes....just about. I'd be happier under water, though."

So we dragged them both off to the coves and pools we'd been exploring, and once again got engrossed in the wonders of the underwater world.

Towards evening the inevitable happened and he said it was time we were going. That silenced me, and I saw Mark standing nearby, absolutely still. I thought desperately.

"Dad, if we go back now, can I come back later and spend the night over here? Please?"

"I'm sorry Martin, we've got a very early start in the morning, and you've got to pack."

"But I can be back early, well in time."

"It's just not on, old son. I know you want to say goodbye to them all, but we really must be sure of getting back at a reasonable time. And that means starting by nine o'clock."

"But if I left here at six I'd be at the hotel by quarter to seven, and that's time to do everything."

"You know what you're like in the mornings. We both know you can't get up that early."

We argued to and fro for some time, but there was no moving him. I think he was beginning to feel the pull of work again.

"All right," I said, rather sulkily. "But I've got to get something from Mark's cabin."

"All right, but don't be long."

I could see Mark was just looking at me, so I beckoned to him with my head. He followed, and as soon as we were out of sight I stopped. James was busy saying his farewells and fortunately didn't follow.

"You meant what you said about that camp in a few weeks?"

"Yeah. Just call me."

"I will. Do you want me to come back tonight?"

"Your Dad says you can't."

"I can get out without them seeing."

"What? And sail over in the dark?"

"Why not?"

"How about James? Don't you sleep together?"

"He can sleep in his own room for a change."

"I don't believe you'd do it."

This was enough for me. It was like a dare.

"Just leave me enough room in the bed. And if you're asleep I'm going to wank you awake."

He gave me a grin, which suddenly faded. I wondered what I'd said. He was silent for a moment.

"You know I wanked you again, last night in your sleep?"

It was my turn for silence.

"I dreamed about sex, I know. But I didn't wake. Oh, Mark....why?"

Another long pause. I looked at him and he was straight faced, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry. I really am. But you were there, and I wanted to feel you, and I thought you'd wake. But you didn't, and then you just...came. Suddenly."

"Came?"

"Yes. You know. Made spunk. All over me. That's what they call it, `coming'.

"Oh. Um. well, next time, wake me up first so I can enjoy it, will you?"

He looked at me with the most rude grin I'd ever seen on a face.

"You bet."

We carried on walking.

"I still don't believe you'll come."

"What, when you wank me?"

He laughed, and suddenly put his hand around my willy and balls.

"I'll go on wanking you 'til you beg for mercy. No. Tonight."

"Just wait."

And with that he just looked at me, looked around and saw we weren't overlooked, came right up to me and kissed me on the lips.

"Don't let me down."

And he turned and walked away towards his cabin. I stood looking after him, amazed. Amazed at myself for letting him do it, and amazed at him for doing it.

Farewells said, and promises half made that we'd see them again, we sailed back to the mainland. Dad and we two had both dressed by now, of course. This time I was at the helm as it was officially my last sail of the holiday as we were now returning her to the boatyard. It was my turn to show Dad that I'd learnt a thing or two about sailing fast, and I sailed that little dinghy quite hard, as hard as he'd done. I could see him grinning. I judged the approach to town's Hard as well as I could, and with both of them fending off, having lowered the sails at my command, there was not too much of a bump.

"Probably a bit earlier next time, old chap," said my father.

"Ok, Dad."

"I thought you were taking her back to the boatyard, actually. I suppose we could get them to collect her from here, though."

"Oh no," I said quickly. "I'll take her back in the morning, early."

"Sure? It'll have to be very early."

"Can I come?" asked James.

"I'll see," I said.

This would give me a real reason to be out early, before they all realised I'd been out all night.

Dinner that night was a rather quiet affair. We were all tired, and aware that the holiday was more or less at an end. When James was sent upstairs at last there were something very like tears in his eyes.

I followed soon after, on the grounds that I'd get some packing done.

He was in my room, just sitting on the bed. He looked up as I came in.

"I'm not going to see you after tonight."

It was the way he said it that got to me. "Of course you are. Next year -- you'll be coming back, surely?"

"But that's next year. I mean, now."

I wondered if he'd heard Mark and me plotting.

"I'll still be here tomorrow. And there's always letters, and the phone."

"Yes, but....I don't want it to stop."

I sighed. I knew exactly what he meant.

He was too tired for a shower, and I told him he'd get a better night's sleep if he slept in his own room. I said, feeling like a cur, that I'd see him in the morning. He must have been tired, because he went without a murmur. I threw most of my belongings into the suitcase, had a quick shower without bothering about measurements or anything -- after all, I had better things to be doing with it now. I set my alarm clock for midnight. I knew I'd have to take it with me, to make sure I was off the island before anyone woke up.

It seemed that I'd no sooner got to sleep than it was sounding in my ear through the pillow. Quickly I turned it off, and in the darkness stumbled about the room trying to find my shorts, a T-shirt and shoes. Having dressed I quietly let myself out of the room, taking care that neither handle nor door made a noise. I walked slowly, almost on tiptoe down the spiral staircase to the door into the garden. I was as quiet as I knew how with it. It was a heavy thing, and the noise of it slamming would have echoed round the entire building.

Once outside I was exultant. Only on a very few times in my life had I been out on my own this late, and it felt good. Naughty, but really good. It was also quite chilly, and my scant clothing didn't do much about keeping me warm. I made my way carefully out of the hotel's grounds, and being wary of there being anyone in the streets who might query a fourteen year old out at this time of night I padded my way down to the Hard.

The dinghy had gone.

I stood there stupidly looking. But it definitely wasn't there. I wondered what...who....why... What do I do? Call the Police? `And what were you doing up at that time of the morning, sonny? Where are your parents? Where were you going that you needed a boat?' `Please sir, I'm going to spend the night in bed with my friend. He's waiting for me on the naturists' island. And my parents don't know I'm here.' Yeah, the Police would be a really good idea.

Then the thought struck me that the boatyard may have come to collect her after all. I walked on, as close as I could get to the yard, and looked out to where their boats were moored, some hundred yards off shore. Well, one of them could be mine. Now what? Turn back and let Mark down? I wondered if I could find mine if I swam out.

Before I could change my mind I slipped off my shoes and looked round for somewhere safe to put them. Nearby was a pile of old, rather decrepit lobster pots which I knew had been there all week. Ideal. I moved two near the top, put my shoes in the top of the next one down, and then hesitated. What about the rest of my clothes? I wouldn't need them on the island, and if I wore them swimming out to the boat they'd get wet. But was it safe to strip off here and dive into the sea?

My teeth were chattering by this time, but that was with the excitement of what I was doing rather than the cold. I threw caution to the winds, stripped off both T-shirt and shorts, and put them in the lobster pot, and with a thrill I'd never felt stripping naked on the island I turned and streaked down to the water.

Once again it felt warm after the chill of the night air, to my relief. I swam fast out to the cluster of moored boats. Where was mine? I swam round them, and at last I saw her. They must have just moored her, as the sails were still as we'd left them. Good. That would save time.

Quickly, and as quietly as I could I raised the jib, then struggled rather with the mainsail. Finally the sails were ready and I slipped the mooring from the buoy. There was not a great deal of wind so progress was slow, but that was quite fortunate as there was only a fitful moon. While I was by the town that was to my advantage, but once out of sight of it I found that direction finding was not as easy as I'd thought. But after what seemed ages I heard water breaking on a shore and picked up the bulk of an island. Our swimming island? The shape of the trees suggested it was. I set course around it, thankful that what little light there was reflecting on the white of the waves as they broke against the shore. Sure enough as soon as I was round the end of the island I could see the warning light at the end of the naturists' island.

Wow. I was all but there.

The remainder of the journey was a doddle, except that my this time my teeth were chattering with cold despite the excitement I was feeling at what I had done. Escaped from the hotel. Stripped off on a town's beach. Swum out to my boat. Sailed her in the dark. Found my destination. And now all I had to do was moor, get ashore and go and take my invited place with my friend. Wow!

Shaking still with the cold, excitement and anticipation about the last part of my quest I lowered sail, rowed to the jetty and moored, all as quietly as I knew how. I walked, keeping to the shadowed areas past the main building and was just about to pass the door when it opened and light spilt out, illuminating me from head to toe. I stopped like a scared rabbit caught in car headlights. This was the worst thing I could imagine. Naked. Trespassing. Discovered. My mood evaporated in a moment and I felt the dread of the oncoming events.

"Hallo Martin," said a voice. "Didn't know you were here tonight. Sleep well."

"Th-thanks," I stammered, and somehow got my legs to move again. Out of the pool of light I paused, and my original mood gradually returned. I started laughing to myself. Idiot! What did it matter if you were naked? You're on a nudists' island! And everybody knows you -- you've been on stage in front of them all, painted!

I was still grinning with relief and mounting excitement when I found his cabin. It was in darkness. Carefully I opened the door, stepped inside, closed it, and stood there listening. Once I could hear over the beating of my heart I realised that, yes, there was someone else in the room, breathing, and I knew him well enough by now to know that it was Mark. He was asleep.

Shivering, I knelt by the bed and looked at him as I'd done at the sleeping James. And like my little brother he was peaceful, angelic, but older. And now I felt, after all the excitement of the journey, absolute triumph. Triumph and an incredibly strong attachment to this boy sleeping in front of me.

Warmer now, the shelter of his cabin and with the blood still pounding from my heart, I knelt beside him. Slowly I leant forward and touched his lips with mine.

He didn't stir. What do I do next?

I smoothed back his hair from where it was falling over his forehead. I stroked his cheek, his chin, put my hand on his lips, then kissed him again.

Nothing.

Then I remembered the previous night, when he'd made me -- what was it? Come? -- in my sleep. Should I do the same? No. I wanted his company as we did...whatever.

I slowly eased back the coverings so I could get in. In doing so I uncovered his willy.

It was stiff.

I looked back at his face in surprise, but he was showing no sign of being awake. It looked so good like that, and I wondered what would happen if I kissed or even taken it into my mouth it as we'd done for each other that first time.

Carefully I laid by his side. Not an easy move as my thighs were on his pillow, my own willy by his face and my legs bent so they would fit in between my knees and the wall. Very carefully I put out my tongue and licked the end of the beautiful thing in front of me.

Once I had done that, and tasted the salt of him, I knew I had to continue. And very gently I encircled him and, using my spit as so it would go up and down easier, I massaged him.

How long I spent doing that I don't know, but there came a grunt from somewhere between my legs and then a "What...."

I said nothing. I thought if I'd stopped he'd yell. There was a pause, then a sort of comfortable sound, and then.....

And then I felt my own willy become wet, and warm, and encircled.

For ages we filled each other's mouth like this, and gradually hands were brought into play on balls, and round the base of willies, and in pubic hair. The saltiness on my mouth from him was intense, and I kept having to swallow. I hoped he wasn't peeing: in fact I knew that he wasn't. I trusted him too much for that, and it didn't taste like piss smells.

I had started on him first, and he was already stiff when I did so. I had been cold when I came in. It was hardly surprising that he gave a low moan, and the next thing was that my mouth was full of his spunk. When He had done this to me he just swallowed it, so as I was pretty far gone anyway I did the same. I kept on swallowing, 'cos I couldn't get the taste out of my mouth. As I relaxed I felt him change pace, work on me harder, and I didn't last much longer before I, too, gave his mouth my little offering.

We rested. We had to.

"I never thought you'd come," he said at last.

"Well, I was cold. I suppose it must take longer."

A pause while this tried to sink in.

"No, idiot, I mean I never thought you'd dare get up and sail here....to see me." There was wonder in his voice at these last three words.

"I wanted to....say goodbye properly. And I did promise."

"Come here?"

I supposed he wanted to talk to my face, rather than my now soft willy. I turned in the bed, nearly falling out of it, lay alongside him and thankfully pulled the covers up over us. I looked straight into those fascinating eyes.

"Oh! I nearly forgot. I need to set my alarm.... Oh!"

"What?"

"It's with my clothes, on the mainland."

"WHAT? Your clothes are WHERE?"

So I told him the full story, but toward the end of it my thoughts were getting muddled and the pauses were getting longer. And his eyes were closing, too.

"Mark, Mark!"

He opened them with difficulty.

"Mark, I've got to set an alarm. For about half past five. If I don't go then I'll not get back in time, and they'll discover where I've been."

Slowly and reluctantly he set his, despite grumbles that he didn't care if they did know I was here. I took that as a compliment. At last we were just lying there again.

"Martin,"

"Yes?"

"You know I...love you, don't you."

If it had been anybody else I'd have run a mile.

"Boys don't love other boys," was all I could think of saying.

"I do."

Silence. I went to sleep puzzling about what he's said.

It seemed that the alarm went off almost immediately. Only the light sky told me that we had slept at all. My brain was telling me that I had to sleep on, that nothing mattered more than going back to sleep, that if I didn't sleep I'd be ill, that without more sleep I'd never be able to sail back. He switched off the noise and looked at me blearily. I looked back.

"I've got to go."

"Mmm."

"I'll write."

"And phone?"

"Yes."

"I really want you to. And I want you to come camping with me, too. If I could take you back with me today I'd do that."

"About what you said last night."

"Mmm?"

"You said you loved me. Remember?"

"Mmm."

"Can two boys love each other?"

"They must be able to. I love you."

"I think I must love you too, then."

I had to break free from his sudden, strong embrace. I knew I had to go. And now, before the village woke up, let alone my parents. At last I just kissed him full on the lips, slid out of the bed and rushed out of the door without another word.

It was still cool outside, and I ran to the boat as fast as I could, both to keep warm and to avoid the need to talk to anyone. Bu the time I got there my eyes were misty. Because of my own pounding footsteps I didn't hear his following me until I'd got into the boat. I untied more by feel than sight, and rowed out, my eyes full of his perfect figure. My friend...my lover...my companion... How could I get through the next few weeks without him? What did he see in me that he liked so much as to want me with him?

Hoisting the sails was a mess. I just wasn't looking. But eventually I was sitting at the tiller, sailing away, sailing away from him, and waving, and calling quietly that I'd write, phone, visit....

I remember little about the journey back, except the empty feeling and the thrill. It stayed with me all the way until I was in sight of the moorings I had to pick up. Then I was too busy to do anything but concentrate on what I had to do. I'd just made up my mind that the boat was as I'd found her when a movement on shore caught my attention.

Two fishermen. Walking down to the water's edge. Oh fuck.

As quietly as I could I slipped into the water on the side of the boat away from them. There was a bit of a splash, and the dinghy rocked violently. O made sure I went in deep, 'cos I didn't want to be seen. It also meant that I couldn't see them.

The problem was, I had to swim somewhere. I couldn't float, because of the submarine effect. Even if fear and the cold water had reduced the periscope to a shadow of what it had been earlier in the night. Arghhh -- Mark!

To swim anywhere else but toward my clothes would be silly, so I swam toward the hard. The fishermen were standing, watching me get nearer. When I was in calling distance I heard one of them shout in my direction. I stopped, and trod water.

"Pardon?"

"I said, you leave that boat alone."

"Oh. I'd had it all week, and I left something in it."

"I know, but you don't have her now. You leave her alone."

"She's not due back 'til this morning. My Dad said."

"Your Dad. Well, your Dad don't know everything."

I thought about this.

"No, but he paid the hire charge."

He looked at me. I started swimming. He spat in the water. I made sure I saw where it landed so I could avoid the spot. They walked off.

I covered the last thirty yards in what, had I been in a swimming gala, would have been a record time. Just before my belly left the modesty-preserving cover of the water I looked around. No one else visible, thank goodness. I sprinted, almost tripping over the uneven flagstones, to the lobster pots, found mine, feverishly dug underneath it, and dug out my clothes. Without even thinking of getting dry I heaved my shorts up my legs, and stood panting, out of danger.

T-shirt and shoes followed, and, remembering the alarm clock too, I walked as airily as I could up to the hotel.

Letting myself back in was a far easier proposition than escaping had been the previous night. Thankfully I regained my room and nearly collapsed with the reaction of the knowledge of safety as the door closed behind me. I was in the process of stripping off my wet clothes when a voice from the bed made me start.

"Where've you been?"

Oh, no.

"I've been swimming."

"This morning? You?"

"Yes. I just wanted to."

"Why didn't you get me?"

"'Cos you'd have been asleep."

"Wouldn't. You could have woken me."

"I know. But there are some things I need to do alone."

"Humph."

"What time is it?"

"Dunno. Your clock's gone."

So it had. It was in my pocket. Which I'd just dropped on the floor.

"Why're your clothes wet?"

"Didn't take a towel."

"Why?"

"Dunno. Look, I'm going to have a shower and get warm."

"'Kay."

He must be annoyed with me, or tired. Any other time he'd have been up and in there like a shot.

I got under the warm water, and almost immediately relaxed even further. I felt the waves of tiredness washing over me, and knew that I had to get to bed for an hour or so until it was time to get down to breakfast. I just lazed in the water for a while, dried properly for the first time in hours, and got into the bed alongside James the intruder.

"You went to the island to see Mark."

It was a matter of fact he described, not a question he asked. I could say yes or no.

"Yes."

"Oh."

Pause. "Did you sail?"

"Yes."

"When did you go?"

"Midnight."

"In the dark?!"

"Yes. I wanted to say goodbye."

"You did that yesterday."

"Not properly."

Pause. Then quietly:

"You really like him, don't you?"

My turn to pause.

"Yes. Yes, I really like him."

"More than me?"

Oh god, what do I say?

"No. It's just that he's older, nearer my age."

"I can't help being younger!" This was almost a wail.

"I know, it's not that. It's just...well, we know the same things."

"What?"

"We're learning the same things at school, and we know about other things."

"I do, too."

"It's not the same. Look, I really like you, and I want us to stay friends. Really good friends. I mean....you've got to like someone if you share your bed with them, haven't you?"

"S'pose so."

"Well, you have. And we've done a lot of that, haven't we?

"Yes."

"And....and you kissed me, too. Remember?"

He looked at me, suddenly shy.

"Come here."

He wriggled his way across the bed, looking questioningly at me. I gathered him toward me and held him in a bear hug. And I returned that kiss.

And it didn't feel -- it wasn't -- disloyal to Mark. This was my brother. The feeling was different. And he sighed gustily, and we lay close until the alarm clock in my damp shorts announced that we'd better get up. It was the last thing I wanted to do. Only the knowledge that everything had to appear normal, and that I'd be able to sleep on the train, got me out of bed.

The first thing Dad did as he came into the room as we were showering was to ask me if I'd returned the dinghy. I'd not warned James about keeping quiet about my adventure to anyone else, so I hoped he'd use his common sense.

"Yes," I said. "Or rather no. Someone had taken her out to the boatyard's moorings for us already."

"Oh, that's OK then. I suppose you didn't see anyone in the boatyard?"

"No, I didn't go in there."

"OK. See you downstairs in a minute, boys."

"OK," we chorussed.

One thing I noticed that the holiday had done for me was to make me totally unworried about being seen naked by my father. Another thing was that I no longer worried about having someone else in the shower with me.

Breakfasts and packing were done quickly, as both our sets of parents wanted to get away early. Farewells were difficult. Both Mr and Mrs Evans hugged me and thanked me for taking such good care of James and giving him such a holiday to remember. He just stood looking at the floor. I didn't know what he was thinking. When they finally walked away he looked up briefly. His eyes were red rimmed.

"Bye," he said.

"Bye, James. See you next year, I hope."

"Yeah."

And he was gone, following the Evanses out to their taxi. I felt really let down. I didn't want him to kiss me, in front of everybody, but I'd hoped for something a bit nicer than that. He was my brother. We'd shared...everything for two weeks. I'd really put myself in danger for him. I bent down to pick up my own case and take it out to our taxi which had just pulled up behind theirs.

Footsteps ran towards me, and I straightened up just in time to be almost sent flying as he buried his head against my chest. The arms went round me.

"I don't want it to be a year," he wailed. "I want to see you before then."

My brother had come to say goodbye.

CHAPTER 13

I slept well on the journey back.

When we got home life seemed so empty. The familiarity of my own room was good, but it was empty without either of my two very special friends. I felt almost as if I'd been bereaved.

Eventually I told mum and Dad that I would be going to camp with Mark in a few weeks, and that seemed to be OK, so there was something to look forward to.

The days dragged. The next weekend brought a card from the Evanses, signed by all three. On the bottom was written `I wish you were up here, love James.'

I wished so, too. Even more, I wish it was the week after next.

But then on the Tuesday.......

And here is where the story gets told quickly, because the next six months or so were the worst I have ever experienced in my entire life. I don't want, now, to think about the details apart from my main actions and thoughts and agonies.

On the Tuesday my father opened a fat letter, and as he read it I could see his face get more and more serious. I caught him shooting a strange, rather worried look at me now and again and as this was a bit odd I became aware that more looks were coming my way. When he had finished reading he just sat there, looking blankly into the distance. Mum was in the kitchen at the time.

"Something wrong, Dad?"

"Er....Well. Yes. Er...."

I waited. At last he seemed to make up his mind.

"Martin, when you and Mark were together, did anything happen between you that you didn't like?"

"Like what?"

"Anything. Did he do anything that made you feel....uncomfortable?"

"No. Is that who the letter's from?"

"No. Well, it's from Dr. Rogers. Look, something's happened. Oh....where do I start?"

He drummed his fingers on the table.

"Is Mark all right? Has something happened to him? I'm going camping with him in a few weeks, don't forget."

He looked at me sharply. "Martin, I'm sorry, but that's out of the question now. I know he was a good friend to you, but he won't be camping with you, I'm afraid."

"Why? He's not...dead, is he? Dad...." I was really scared by now. Mark can't be dead. No. Please God.

"No, it's nothing like that. Er......"

Another long pause.

"Dad, please! He's my friend. Tell me what's happened."

"Oh dear. Well... It seems that he was sent home from Scout camp last weekend because he was discovered...um....in an embarrassing situation with another Scout."

"What do you mean, an embarrassing situation?"

"Martin, you're not old enough for me to explain."

"Dad, I'm fourteen, and he's fifteen. If he can do it, I can understand it."

He looked at me and raised his eyebrows.

"Have you heard of masturbation?"

I'd never heard the word, and said so.

"I knew you'd not understand. It's what you do when you play around with your sex organs to make it stiff."

"Oh. Yes. I know about that."

"He was showing another boy what to do."

"Yes."

"Well, that's it."

"Is that all?"

"It's enough. You don't do that sort of thing in the Scouts."

"I thought everybody did it."

"What d'you know about it?"

"Hang on, do you mean he was showing him how to...how to..." I couldn't think of another word to call it which would make him angry. "...you know, make er..."

"Yes, that's what I do mean."

"And they sent him home for that?"

"Yes. The thing is, he's admitted to being attracted to other boys."

"You mean he's queer?"

"Yes. In a word. And that's why he obviously can't go on a camp with you, particularly on your own."

"But we were sharing a bed in a room, and he was fine with me."

"Maybe, but I just can't take the chance. You're sure he didn't do anything to you?"

"Yes. He wouldn't. We like each other too much."

"You see, I just can't help wonder if he was trying it on with you. You know, to get you to do...things with him."

"No."

"That's all right then. Thank goodness for that. But you'll obviously not want him as a friend any more."

"Why not? I still want to go to camp with him next week."

"Martin, that's out of the question."

"Why?"

"Because of what might happen."

"What might happen?"

"He might try something on with you."

"What?"

"I'm not going on with this, Martin. You don't know it and shouldn't have to know it, but there are things that homosexuals do with each other that are disgusting. I'm not going to allow you to get near someone like that and put yourself in danger."

"But Dad, if he'd want to did something like that he'd have done it on the island."

"Just thank your stars he didn't. I'm not going to give him the chance of doing it to you."

"But what might he do?"

"I said, I'm not going on with that. Just count yourself lucky you've seen the last of him, that's all."

"But he's my friend. I want to see him again." By now I was getting really choked up with alarm at the idea that I wouldn't see him any more. Ever.

"No. I'm sorry. But there are times when you have to leave judgements like that to your mother and me. And on this, I am adamant. When you're older and can understand what homosexuals do then you'll also understand why I'm putting my foot down. But that's it for now. No more contact. I'll write to the doctor and set his mind at rest, and that'll be it."

"Can I see the letter, please?"

"No. I'm sorry."

"Dad...."

"No, Martin."

"It's not fair. He's my friend and I trust him. You don't make my friends for me."

"Don't be rude."

"Well you don't."

"I think you'd better go to your room and calm down, old son. I'm sorry this has come as a shock, but you'll have to learn to live with it."

"Dad, it's not fair..."

"Off you go."

"Dad...."

"NOW."

And even in my state I knew that when he used his Navy Commander voice on me I stood no chance. I ran upstairs, my throat choking up as I did so, and slammed the door of my room, and turned the key.

Tears. Sickness. Disgust. Abject sadness. Sorrow for myself and for Mark. A silent protest at the injustice of the adult world. A sense of tremendous loss. Desperation. Sickness. More tears. Loneliness.

I needed to see that letter. More, I needed the address. I weathered the next few days, a silent shadow of my usual self, mooning about the town, spending as little time at home as I could. Finally my parents decided to go out for a meal one weekend, assumed I'd go too, and were rather angry when I said I didn't want to go. But they had booked by this time and, not without some angry words, went.

Alone at home, at last. After a search I found the letter in my father's desk.

Basically it said what had happened, but went into more detail than Dad had done. He'd been caught just as he was wanking off another Scout, and both of them had been sent home in disgrace. He'd been talked to by both parents, had said that girls didn't attract him but that boys did, that he wasn't sorry, and he'd done no harm to either him or his subject.

They'd read the riot act, had banned him from Scouts, had grilled him about the times we'd spent together, but he'd said nothing. Only that we'd done nothing wrong or to be ashamed of.

I was so proud of him.

"Obviously," continued the letter, "you won't want Martin to continue his friendship with Mark. We've explained that to him, and of all the things we've discussed it's the one that made him go silent. I'm sure he has an attraction to your son, and of course we can't allow that to continue. In fact after we'd discussed Mark he went to his room and has been more or less incommunicado since. This of itself seems to indicate the level of danger to Martin should the two be alone together in the future.

"I am so sorry about this. Perhaps you could check with Martin that there were no unwanted overtures and that nothing else occurred. If it did please will you let me know since obviously we shall have to think again."

That was more or less it.

I didn't know what to think. Here was a doctor saying such awful things about his own son. Mark hadn't done anything to me, hadn't even suggested doing anything with me that I didn't want to do too. What was it that was dangerous that he might do?

I tossed the whole thing around in my brain all night. I must have slept, 'cos I didn't hear mum and Dad come back. But I knew that every time I woke up, which was frequently, I wanted Mark with me so badly that I felt sick and trembly again.

For two days I was really off beam, and on the third I'd made my decision. I was going to write to Mark and say I still wanted him as my friend so long as he didn't want to do anything to me that would be dangerous. It took me another few days to find the right words. Then it was Sunday, and I couldn't buy a stamp. The following Monday, before I could post it, a letter arrived for me.

`Dear Martin, You'll know what's happened and I'm sorry. More sorry than I can say. Since all this happened life at home has been awful, nobody wants to talk to me and they all treat me as if I'm dangerous to everybody. I don't know why. Nobody's asked me what I want, and if they did I'd say that all I want is to be your friend and somehow spend as much time with you as I could. I wouldn't be dangerous or make you do any of the things people say queers do. All I want is to enjoy having you with me as we were on the island.

"They're stopping me going anywhere now. Every time I go out they ask where I'm off to and when I'll be back and who I'm going to see. I can't stand this. They've even taken me away from the local school and all my friends, and are putting me in one the other side of town where I'm not known. For God's sake don't let them know you love me, as I know you must, or they'll do the same to you.

"Got to go. My few moments to myself are almost up. I'll write again. I love you. Mark'

"Anything interesting?" asked my father.

"No, just from a school friend." I made it sound as casual as I could. Inside my guts felt as if they were twisting up. I muttered my excuses and went to my room. I must have read the letter about twenty times, trying to get more words, more thoughts from it.

I re-read my own letter, and added something suitable to it, bought a stamp and posted it.

Two days later there was a phone call. All I heard was "Oh did he," from my father before the door shut and the rest was cut off. When he rang off he called me in.

"That was Dr. Rogers. He said you wrote to Mark."

"Yes, I did. Mark's a friend of mine and will stay so."

I was going to brazen this out. They weren't going to tell me who I could have as a friend. If they'd read my letter it was too late to save face, anyway.

"What did you write in the letter?"

"Didn't he tell you?"

"Don't answer me back. What was in the letter?"

"I said that I was still his friend."

"Is that all?"

"More or less."

"Martin, I've told you before you're not his friend any more. You have to accept that."

"I can't. Not when I know it's not true."

"I'm telling you to end the friendship."

"I can't. You always told me to be true to myself, and that's what I'm doing."

We stared at each other. I hated him at that point as I'd hated my mother when we were on holiday.

"Well, you're not to write to him any more. Is that clear?"

"He needs help, Dad."

"Not from you he doesn't."

"But he's being treated badly."

"How do you know?"

I thought, quickly. I wasn't about to tell them it was Mark who had written to me.

"You told me what started all this off. It sounds like a small thing to me."

"A small thing? Interfering with another boy? Don't talk nonsense. If you'd done anything like that I'd be so ashamed, just as Dr Rogers is. Mark deserves what he's getting."

"No he doesn't," I said, slowly and as positively as I could manage. "Nobody deserves that."

And I walked out of the room, up to my own room.

Well, I couldn't write. I couldn't visit. Or could I? Could I phone? No, they'd notice on the bill. We used the phone so rarely. I could try, and he could phone me back.

When they were out I tried, and kept getting one or other of the parents or Billy or Rose. I wondered if they were being horrible to him as well? I didn't find out, because I never said anything.

I made plans to travel up to London and try and find where they lived. I'd almost got round to telling my parents I would be out for a whole day when another letter arrived for me. His handwriting. Hastily I took it from the doormat, went straight upstairs and tore it open, trembling once again.

`Dear Martin, It's just got too bad. They tried to get your letter from me but I escaped with it and had to flush it down the toilet before they could read it. I'm sorry. I really wanted to keep it, and keep it safe, too. But now this has gone on too long. I'm queer and I know I can't help it and I know I'm not going to harm anyone. But Dad's taking me to a friend of his who runs a special clinic. They're giving me electric shocks every time I look at pictures of boys and men, and all I think of is you, what a friend you are and how kind you were to me. I can't go on like this. All my friends have given up on me, the family have had hate mail, and even Billy and Rose have been laughed at because of me.

`I'm sorry, but I've decided that I can't go on. I don't know how I'll do it but I really feel I'm better off dead than like this. I shan't see you again, and please don't try and write because it'll get both of us into more trouble. Goodbye. Think of me some times. I still love you and now I know I always will. It was a good holiday. Mark.'

I read it again, the horror rising in me as if I was going to be sick. I remember shouting "NO!!" at the top of my voice, and then collapsing on the floor.

When I came to I was on the bed, my mother cradling me as if I was five again, and Dad sitting at the bottom of the bed, reading my letter. Weakly I put out my hand for it, but it wouldn't work properly. I couldn't keep it up.

"Phone them and tell them," I croaked. Dad looked at me. "Dad, just SAVE HIS LIFE, will you?"

He looked at me aghast, and then, to give him his due he rushed down to the phone.

We listened. "Hallo? Dr. Rogers? George Finch. Look, Martin's just had this letter from Mark saying that he's thinking of taking his own life. Listen, I'll read it to you.......pardon?"

A long pause. Then: "Oh God. Oh no. Oh....Oh I'm so frightfully sorry. Oh.... I don't know what to say....Yes....Yes....anything we can do....Yes, I'll tell him. Yes, I'll wait for you to call."

I knew what was coming. As he climbed the stairs my tears started. As he entered the room I turned and hid my face against the wall so he couldn't see.

"Martin...old son....I'm so sorry, but we were all too late. He took some pills yesterday and drank half a bottle of scotch....They tried to save him but couldn't."

I curled into a ball of misery and lay there for hours. They left me alone eventually.

I really can't describe how I felt. All that I felt before, but more, because now I knew that never meant never, that fifteen year olds could die: worse, they could commit suicide. As the days passed and I regained a little balance, the spark of anger against the Rogers parents started and grew into a strong flame. I knew that I had to tell them I blamed them for what they'd done.

He phoned Dad later in the week and told him that the funeral was the following day, and that if I wanted to go `in view of the friendship there was between them' then they'd be glad to see me. Friendship now, was it? That just fanned the anger into a blaze.

"I'm going," I said, as soon as Dad told me.

"Are you sure?"

"I said he was still my friend, and he was. I don't care if he was queer, he never did me any harm, nor would he."

So we went.

The whole family were there, and I sat and cried my eyes out with Billy and Rose. After the service and the burial I asked Dad if we could go. We quietly said our farewells and moved away. By the gate I stopped.

"Dad, can you wait here a moment, please? I need to say something to Dr Rogers before we go."

"OK."

The doctor was comforting his wife, and had his arms round the two younger ones.

"Dr Rogers. Can I say something to you, please?"

"Martin...yes....of course...and thank you for coming to support us. What did you want to say?"

"Can I talk alone, please?"

"Alone? Oh....er....yes....one moment."

And he said something swiftly to his wife, then came over to me.

I wondered if I could carry this through. Then I remembered that letter, and pictured his dead face as I'd imagined it so many times, and compared it with that wonderful aura of life on the face that had kissed me and been my closest ever friend.

"Dr Rogers.....why did you do that to Mark?"

He looked at me, his eyes tired and red from his own tears. I nearly gave up, but my love for his dead son carried me on. "Why did you make life so awful for him that he...threw it away?"

And I walked off, back to my father, and out of their lives.

CHAPTER 14

In the course of the next few months things got back to normal. My relations with my parents improved to more or less what they had been. But I knew that I would never forget Mark or the torture he was put through, nor would I forget that my parents tried to make me give up a friend.

Towards Christmas we got a letter from the Evanses. My heart sank when I heard: I had visions of history repeating itself. It was bad enough: they were moving to Canada where Mr Evans had been posted.

Now there would be nobody who I loved left from that holiday.

James had written on the bottom of the letter: `To Martin, I'm sending a card. Love James.'

A week later it arrived. "To my big brother. Thanks for making the holiday so good. Sorry I wont see you next year. Hallo to the others for me. I'll send you cards from Canada. 'Bye, James."

On it was a picture of a ship, presumably the one they'd be travelling on.

Life became school, a few odd friends, parents and so on. I went on a canal trip with the school the next year rather than go to Amberdale. I couldn't face the islands without Mark. I went to school camp too, and managed to see almost naked the people I had wanted to see. But they weren't a patch on Mark.

Gradually I realised that I too was homosexual, and realised too that the reason I had so much enjoyed what Mark and I, and even James and I, had done together was down to this very fact. I hated myself for it. I felt I had let my parents down. I kept on asking `why me?' And from time to time the tears would flow as I realised that I would never be able to start a family and have a son to call me `Dad'. I would never have a real love, because love was with girls, and I knew deep inside me that none would attract me enough. Oh, I could see that some were pretty, had very nice curves, pretty faces, good, shapely tits, nice legs. But all those would be snapped up by the good looking boys, and I'd be left with...what?

But then real love was possible between boys. I knew that, and Mark would always be in my memory to remind me. Oh yes, I now had no illusions. Thanks to the reference library I found out what homosexuals are meant to do to each other all the time, and was disgusted. What Mark and I had done together was beautiful, and natural, and each of us was worshipping the other.

The fact that I had been attracted by little James ashamed me too. Someone my own age, yes; terrible but understandable. But this was a CHILD I'd found attractive. I couldn't get to grips with that for ages. But as time wore on it became less of a mental blot, and after a time -- a long time -- I got to an uneasy acceptance of it. After all, said my reasoning, he'd enjoyed everything we'd done, and I'd not ever forced him to do anything; nor would I.

All through school and the GCE `O' levels I went, ignoring completely the possibility that there could be any one else there like me, or who could like me. When others at school were going out together and, eventually, chancing clubs and discos and girls, I watched TV, went for walks on my own, and got used to my own company, and the company of one or two others who also seemed to be natural loners (if that's not too much of a paradox.). The only times I really got together with others was on the annual canal bash. I enjoyed this so much because it was so low key and quiet. In fact I went every year. After the `O' levels, when normally students weren't offered the chance of going on the trip I asked specially if I could go. They agreed, as I'd got really good at steering the awkward narrow boats and even manoeuvring them into and out of awkward corners.

It was reckoned that I could get to University, and who was I to disagree? It would get me away from home. Not that I really had anything against my parents, but I still had to put up with a child's lack of freedom in accepting visitors at home. Their home. Increasingly I felt as if I just lived there and that was all. And I was aware what would happen, even at nineteen, should I meet someone who I felt I could get on with and bring him home to sleep.

So I applied to various places, and got accepted by one, subject to good `A' level results. I came up trumps, and for the first time for ages was actively pleased with myself. Dad's business was doing well now, and he could afford for me to take a flat on my own, near the University, and to furnish it cheaply, but adequately.

I insisted on a double bed. Mark was still in my mind, five years on, as I chose it. Oh yes, I was now nineteen. My voice had broken, and it had happened shortly after Mark's death. I wondered at the time if it was the potency of his most personal gifts to me that had started my body really going. It was then that I started ensuring that the things that should still work, did, and even started recording measurements again.

Everything had been getting very satisfactory.

My move north was both exciting and sad. I was leaving behind my youth: parents, friends (not many), but that something, apart from bricks and mortar, that was `home'. If Mark had ever visited there it would have been worse, because his love would have made it even more of a break than it already was. But I settled in to my new pad with a sigh of relief and anticipation. Freedom. I was master of my own destiny at last. I even had a car, another gift from Dad. He must have been doing even better than I thought.

But night times were still lonely.

CHAPTER 15

Three weeks before I actually started at the University the phone rang.

"Hi, Martin."

"Oh, hallo Dad. Nice to hear from you. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Bit of a surprise for you. And a nice one, too, I hope."

"Go on then."

"You remember the Evanses we last saw at Amberdale about....what....five years ago?"

For some reason my heart missed a beat. Even after five years I remembered my little brother. I'd been very much more than upset that he hadn't written to us from their new home.

"Yes, of course I do. Peter, Doreen and James. We never heard from them again after they went to Canada."

"No. There was a reason for that. And you'd remembered them better than me. I couldn't remember the son's name, although considering all we did together I should have done. Anyway, they're back in England and Peter phoned last night." My heart missed another beat. "He has a business proposition for me. He'd suddenly found our address, remembered what I do for a living and a chance meeting with a friend of his has opened up some possibilities. From what he says, it could be something quite big, and I'm very interested. I'm going up to talk to him tomorrow."

"Sounds good to me," I said, genuinely excited, although not for the reason Dad thought. "It could be just what you need to make the firm grow. Would it involve any more investment from your part?"

"No. I don't think so. That's one of the beauties of it. They're working on a new idea, and one that I think could really catch on. That's what we're hoping, naturally. I'll tell you of the details when I've got it straight in my own mind, after I've met with Peter.

"He also says they've started doing the local lottery where they are, and in their second week came up trumps. Typical. We've been doing it here ever since it started with never a sniff at a major prize, they do it twice and win. Anyway, it's not millions, but just enough to have a holiday plus a bit, and they thought about combining business with pleasure as all the meetings we'd have to go to are in the Midlands. They've come up with the idea of a canal holiday and they've asked mum and me to join them, especially as she and Doreen are needed at the meetings too. They asked if we thought you'd be interested in coming along too."

I thought for all of half a millisecond. Would James be there? Of course he would. "I certainly would. Give Mum something to think about, too. It's nice of them to ask me as well. I liked them. James was fun, too. He was tremendous fun on that holiday." I tried not to sound too enthusiastic, after all that had happened subsequently.

"I thought you liked them. So did your mother and I. Anyway, about the canals. Pete mentioned Napton, where you've started from before. He said they'd contacted a firm there and they've got availability next week. It's still school holidays -- James is fourteen now, of course..." Fourteen! The age I'd been at Amberdale! What would he be like? Would he want my company still? "....so he can come too. So....can you get away?"

"I suppose he is." I said, in a rather unsteady voice. "I was fourteen when we were in Amberdale and we were both playing together like little kids.....yes, he must be!"

"Pete says he is, and I suppose he should know. Anyway, he's made a provisional booking for those dates and asked me if I'd call you to see if you were available and wanted to go. There's a let-out if you don't, you see!"

"No, I'd like to go. I can get away. There'll be nothing to do here until Uni starts, and work on the flat can wait."

"Anything to avoid DIY! So I can call Pete and tell him we're all on for it, can I?"

"Yes. It should be good. I like the canals, and I like the Evans family. I'm looking forward to it already." To tell the truth, I was trembling on the other end of the phone. I was glad that Dad couldn't see me.

"So am I -- I know what fun you've had on your trips. All right, I'll call Pete back and give him the good news. Strangely, he seemed to like you. Can't think why. And apparently James remembers you well, despite being only nine at Amberdale."

I thought back to everything we had done together and wasn't at all surprised he'd remembered our friendship. I recollected a small, thin little boy with light mousy hair....the idea of him at fourteen.....what would have happened to that distinctive -- not overtly attractive -- face with its wide mouth and eyes, and that grin? Would the sense of humour and directness and his ability to love that was far in advance of his age still be there? Why had I never really tried to find the family from the new owners of their house in Britain? They must have left a forwarding address. Was it subconsciously done on my part -- part of the self hate that I'd gone through, having been attracted by a child? Or was it my desperation at Mark's unnecessary death?

On the other hand I'd often wondered why they never wrote to us after the initial message that they were going, but thought it was probably to do with the move and starting a new life. James probably had made friends of his own age, too. He wouldn't want now to be lumbered with a friend as old as me, although he'd liked me well enough at the time...

"What do you mean, you can't think why he liked me? I'm Mr. Nice Guy, that's why!"

"And modest with it," said Dad, kindly. "Can I give them your number so they can come to you direct for any ideas about routes from Napton and so on? You've been on a lot, and you know more about what to look for and where to go."

"Yes, why not? I'd like to talk to them again." Him again, I substituted mentally.

"OK. I'll call Pete back now. He'll probably want to confirm the arrangements with the boatyard before he calls you, but I'm sure he will phone. Are you going to be at home tomorrow night?"

"Yes, I'll be here."

"I'll tell him. He'll probably call then. I'm sure we'll be talking before the weekend."

"Yes, indeed. Love to mum."

"And you, old son. Cheerio."

"`Bye, Dad." And I rang off, as usual wondering why my father still used such outdated words as `Cheerio'.

When my mind had regained as much equilibrium as it could given the thought of my little brother grown big, I went back to my TV programme and tried to pick up the threads. But my mind kept wandering back, first to the canals and the holidays I'd enjoyed so much with some of my school friends, but also to Amberdale, and the Evans family. And particularly to the little boy who I'd thought was going to be such a millstone round my neck for the fortnight, but who'd turned out to be such good fun, then to be such a genuinely wonderful friend, then to be my little brother. Despite my earlier thoughts on attraction to a child I could hardly wait to see him and be with him again. But then, if he was fourteen would he still want to know me, and in the way we used to know each other? I was once again turning back to my programme when the phone rang. "Dad, again," I thought.

"Hallo Dad. Now what's up? They haven't changed their minds, have they?"

And a young, just broken, voice said: "I don't think I'm quite old enough to be your father, Martin. But you can check your birth certificate to make sure, if you like. I'll wait."

I looked stupidly at the receiver in surprise. "You don't sound like my father, either, unless he's shed about fifty years in ten minutes......who is that?"

"And no, they haven't changed their minds, either."

I paused. Suddenly the penny dropped. "James?" I whispered hoarsely. "James... is that you?"

"It most certainly is, son. And are you well?"

"Yeah....great. But how......."

"Your Dad just phoned back asking for mine, but they both had to nip out to buy something, so he got me instead. He gave me the news and your phone number so I thought I'd phone and see if you were still the same guy as you used to be the year you suddenly rescued my holiday for me."

A moment as I got used to the idea of actually talking to him.

"Did I? How's that? I didn't realise that's what I'd done."

"Did you? I'll say you did. All I had to look forward to was a week on the beach or visiting stately homes. It looked like being as boring as I'd imagined, then this couple start talking to the parents, and their son comes and startles me out of a bush and starts chatting to me. And then, before I knew it, we were getting around, sailing, swimming, and doing...well...all sorts of things. And because there's someone around and we're meeting people and both enjoying the same things it made it ten times better. I enjoyed that holiday more than you'll know."

Could this really work? Could we get back to where we were? It sounded like it might just..... "Funny," I said. "I've just been talking to my father and I've said something very similar to him. Yes, I enjoyed that fortnight very much, too. You know, it's great to hear from you again." And I meant it, and thought the warmth of my tone would tell him so. I thought I wouldn't tell him about Mark. Not yet.

"You too. When you never wrote after we'd sent that card I thought you were just glad to get shot of me after the holiday and get back to old people again - you know, your own age."

"Cheeky sod," I laughed. "If you were here I'd hang you up by the ears."

"You'll have the chance soon. But if you do, I'll push you in!"

I laughed again. "You and whose army?"

"I've got two armies of my own, thanks, and handies on the end of them. Why didn't you write back to me?"

"'Cos I never got the card or whatever. We were all surprised none of you wrote any more."

"Huh! Someone stole our address book, and we couldn't remember the road name or number. We guessed and sent some, but they can't have got to you. But then when we were packing to come back, Dad found the scrap of paper he'd written it on at Amberdale, so we phoned you almost as soon as we got back. But look, your Dad says you've been on the canals lots of times. Have you?"

"Quite a few. It's great; you'll enjoy it."

"From what Dad says it's very slow."

"Well, maximum speed's about four m.p.h., but there are locks and bridges to operate, things to see, a seven feet wide boat to steer through eight feet wide bridges, pubs to visit....no, you'll not find it boring."

"That's all right then. `Cos if I get bored you'll just have to take me on the swings again."

"Are you a mind reader, or what? When Dad called and told me about the holiday that's one of the things I remembered. Although I don't know why, compared to all the other things we got up to!"

"It's what finally persuaded me you were really an eleven-year-old in disguise, who just happened to have a sailing boat."

"I've grown up since then. I'm twelve-and-three-quarters and I've got a bike."

"Goodie. Can I ride it?"

"Only if you give me some chocolate."

"Martin, you're quite as much of a pillock as you were five years ago, and I'm looking forward to the canals very much."

"So am I, believe me, so am I."

"I'll see you next week."

"Too right you will. `Bye."

"Cheerio, as your father just said to me. `Bye."

I switched the television off, all hope of returning to my programme forgotten.

Our two families and I arranged to meet in Oxford, have lunch together, do the first bits of shopping and then set off to Napton in convoy if possible. A large store in a suburb of the City had seemed to be the best place to meet so as to avoid the traffic congestion, and as I lived the nearest I arrived there first. I thought I'd have a fair wait because there were the usual delays on the A40 which would affect my parents and the Evanses, so I settled down to wait by my car. I'd found a spot in a car park near the shop which was within sight of the entrance, so I could lean against its cooling bonnet and try to spot the Evanses before they saw me. I really wanted to size James up before we got talking as, apart from the phone call, I had no idea what he'd be like or even if I'd still like him.

I watched the area casually, as shoppers and summer visitors scurried around like ants. I tried to imagine what James looked like now, and realised that I probably wouldn't recognise him at all. To while away the time I started looking for any teenagers with parents attached. A ginger headed lad, about five feet.....no.....a tallish, thin kid, brown hair over his brow, pleasant face.....could be....but no parents.....a black haired kid, heavy features, about 17.....no.....a fat boy, wide eyes...dark hair swept back...hope not....tall lad, blond hair, incredibly good looks....I wish it was.... I looked away, then realised that the tallish thin boy with the brown hair was looking at me with his head on one side. All of a sudden something struck a chord; perhaps something in the expression from five years previously.

Suddenly the face broke into a that grin, and James Evans was running towards me. I knew he'd have to have grown, I thought, but he's very far from the puny little lad he was! And what a distinctive face! He's turned into a good looking young man now.

James stopped two paces from me, suddenly shy. "It is you, isn't it?"

Suddenly I was confident. "I think so. I'll just check my birth certificate." I extended both arms to embrace him as if he were still nine. Suddenly realising what I was doing, I let my left arm drop.

"You've not changed a bit," said James and closed the gap between us to engage me in the bear hug I had thought I shouldn't use. "It's good to see you."

"And you too," I said when I'd recovered my breath. "I nearly didn't recognise you."

"If you say `Haven't you grown', like my aunts do, I really shall push you in the water when we get there."

I paused, only for a second: "Haven't you grown! You used to be such a nice little boy!"

"I'll remember that. Just wait 'til you're standing by the canal! Come on, mum and Dad are round the corner. We couldn't park any nearer."

As we walked off he said something else cheeky, and I responded, and we both laughed, and before long we were teasing each other as if the five years had contracted to just five minutes' absence. We crossed the car park toward the Evans' car. I heard later how his parents' conversation went as we approached.

"Just look at that, Doreen, it looks as though they've just come in from sailing at Amberdale!"

"I hope they get on as well as they did last time. Although James has changed a lot, got even more friends, I think Martin was always his special hero, even if they haven't spoken since."

"I shouldn't say that to him, you know. He is fourteen. And don't tell Martin how much he's grown!

"What do you take me for, dear? I'm not that stupid!"

"It's good to see you again," I said as I got within range. "Thank you for asking us along. I've been looking forward to this since Dad phoned. I say, hasn't James grown?"

"That's twice you're in," hissed a voice at my back.

Doreen and Peter looked at each other, then at my wicked grin, and burst into laughter. "I'm saying nothing," said Doreen.

"Just as well," said the voice behind me.

"Shall we go and see if my parents have arrived yet?" I said, conscious of having got all I could out of the situation to James' discomfiture. I looked at the latter, who glowered back as best he could with the unzipped grin half round his head, just as I remembered it, but this time with the more pronounced features around it that spoke of burgeoning manhood.

"Right. I'll lock up the car and we'll have a wander round. I could do with stretching my legs."

They followed me toward my car. James was waking ahead with his mother, and I looked at his back view, his muscularly rounded bottom, slim waist and broadening back, topped by already broad shoulders, still hardly able to believe that this good looking young man was the same person as the young child of five years previously.

"You know, when we first talked about this holiday, when we had our bit of luck, it was James who first suggested we contacted you all to see if you'd be interested. He was most insistent we told your parents you were expected as well. And he's been on edge over the last few weeks, waiting to see you again. It's all he could talk about. Exams? No, he had to have progress prised out of him. But mention the canals and sooner or later your name would come up."

I smiled, my heart warming to my little brother even more. "Seems to have taken quite a shine to me. He phoned me, you know, that evening you'd phoned my Dad and then had to go out."

"Yes, he said. He told us you'd not changed a bit. Although he's grown up a lot, he's still the same happy boy he used to be. He's one of the few of his age who don't seem to be moody. You can imagine how much of a relief that is! Ah, here's Mary and George!" as my parents passed them in their car, looking for a vacant parking space and waving as they did so much to the detriment of my father's driving as a car reversed out of a space immediately in front of him.

"Oh, no," I breathed as the tyres screeched to a halt.

"It's all right, Mart. He missed him," said James as he ran into the now vacant space to reserve it.

Dad recovered and soon was reversing into the space. He and Mum got out of the car and there was handshaking all round and a hug for me.

Mum found herself looking at James. "Oh, haven't you....."

"Don't say it, Mother. You know how I used to detest that. James is the same, you know."

"I'm sorry, dear. After all this time I should be used to the idea that people get bigger as they get older. But it's still a shock when you've not seen the person concerned for five years. Sorry, James. It's good to see you again. I see you've met my reprobate son again, and by the sound of it he's still on your side. He was delighted when we called him, and he probably won't say it but I know he's been looking forward to seeing you again."

"Mother! Don't let me down completely! You'll be getting the baby photos out next."

"Oh yes, Mrs Finch," said my cheeky friend. "I've got to see those!"

"If I thought you'd be interested I'd have brought the album, James. But now you mention it, I always carry one around with me. I'll try and find it."

"Mother, if you dare, I'll throw you overboard!"

"Yes, dear. I'm sure you will. Anyway, shall we get on and have some lunch? Your father and I haven't eaten since eight."

We found a table and had a light lunch, swapping reminiscences about the Amberdale holiday -- well, the publicly consumable ones - and some of what had happened since. I was glad that my parents didn't mention Mark or the others. Eventually, as so often happens, the two sets of parents, being about the same age, were leaving their sons out of the conversation, despite my being so much older than James. So I wasn't surprised when he raised his eyebrows at me meaningfully, and we drew to one side to chat.

"I've been reading a lot about the canals, you know. Oh. Wait a minute, you haven't even seen what sort of boat we've got, have you? I know Dad's been talking to you about what to look for and ask for, but he's never actually shown any of you the result, has he?"

"No. And I must say I'm intrigued. All he would say was that he thought we'd all like it."

James waited for a gap in the flow of talk and asked for the boatyard's brochure. He thumbed through it, and held up the page for me to read.

"Sixty-five feet....two doubles and two lots of bunks in one cabin....dinette double conversion from the kitchen table.....well, we shan't need that, and that'll be a relief."

"Why? I missed that."

"Well, if someone's having to use that as a bed it means that they've got to be first up in the morning so that anyone else can come in and make tea or breakfast. It's not too bad when it's only one person, but when there's a couple nobody likes to burst in on them, even if it's ten in the morning and they want their breakfast."

James grinned. "I see what you mean. It's all right me bursting into your hotel room wearing nothing, like at Amberdale, but I don't think I'd do it to your parents now!"

I flashed back to those holiday mornings, when an excited nine year old would knock perfunctorily on my bedroom door (sometimes) and come in like a whirlwind, wearing not a stitch, and climb into my bed. Those were the times when he wasn't already sleeping in it on the pretext of thunderstorms or just plain preference.

"I suppose you're going to do that this holiday too, are you? Or have you grown some decorum as well as everything else?"

"No, not really. And I might. It all depends on you."

"Right," I evaded automatically, my mind racing. Was he really saying or suggesting what I thought he was? Did he know what he was suggesting? Might heart thumped uncomfortably, and I had to make myself continue as if nothing had happened. "Anyway, looking at this brochure it seems to be a very nice boat, and a well organised firm. They certainly offer a lot."

"That's what Dad said. He was quite impressed."

"I hope they're a good as they look," I said, as we prepared to leave the table. "Peter's certainly done his best, anyway."

We shopped around for the groceries they thought they'd need for the first few days, then loaded up the cars. James asked me if he could join me in my car, so we continued the journey with two people in each.

At the boatyard we found turmoil. People coming, people going, people gongoozling (I had to explain to James that this was Canal-Speak for sightseeing.) and people arguing. That worried me a bit.

"Mr Evans, Mr Finch, it's good to see you." said a harassed looking man who we had managed to run to earth. "Before you start unloading, could you come into the office, please?"

"Yes, of course. Forms to sign and so on, I expect." James and I followed as he led the way into the office and closed the door before Mary and Doreen had a chance to get out of their respective cars.

"Gentlemen, I won't beat about the bush; I have a major problem." The manager looked worried. Peter and Dad looked at each other. "It's like this. The hirers who had your boat last week had intruders last night. They succeeded in smashing all the kitchen area up and doing a lot of damage before our clients were able to wake up and stop them. Fortunately, they're policemen - the hirers, that is - and actually arrested the two, and kept them there until the local police arrived. I'm glad they did, because the two men are known to us and, we think, have been doing a lot of damage to local boats.

"Well I'm glad they've got them, for our sake as well as yours," said Peter. "But what you're saying is that the boat isn't ready for us yet."

"Worse, I'm afraid. They managed to do so much damage to the gas lines that we're having to strip out all the kitchen on one side and replace the lot. It's going to take at least a week to put right."

"Oh dear," said Dad. "So where does that leave us?"

"My problem is that all our other boats are out, hired by clients who booked before you. Now, I know that's not your fault, but we had to find the most ethical solution, and it seemed fairest that those who booked first should, if you like, have their boat first. I couldn't see a better way out of it. However....." He paused, as if for breath. "We've got a solution you might consider, although it's not the sort of thing I like doing. One of the owners whose boat we look after has agreed to lend it to us to help out, if that's acceptable to you and your family.

"Now this boat is very well fitted out and has everything you'd want, in fact I dare say it's probably better than our hire craft. The drawback is that it's only got three double berths, and there's no provision in the kitchen for a berth as there is with ours. It's all very comfortable, though, and I'm hoping that you might be able to accept it and work round the accommodation problem somehow."

"Well," said Peter, looking at Dad. "What do you think?"

"I suppose the only two people who would be affected would be Martin and James. They're the ones who wouldn't have a bed each. What about it, lads?"

I smiled to myself at being described as a `lad' by my father, as if I were fourteen again. As I said, it seemed that once James and I were together again both sets of parents seemed to class us as being the same age. "Let's have a look at the boat, shall we?" I said. "James and I'll discuss it."

The manager started to look relieved. "Certainly," he said. "Thank you for taking it so well. I'll take you to look over her at your leisure. And.....I'm sorry I ignored your wives, but I was so het up abut the whole affair that I just wanted to talk to you as soon as you appeared."

"That's OK. You can't help vandalism, we all realise that. But we do need to be sure the replacement boat is acceptable. And of course it'll be up to our sons here whether they're prepared to share."

"I quite understand that." And he led us out toward our cars where Doreen and mum were waiting, looking rather put out. Swiftly he apologised to them for his rudeness, and briefly explained the problem and his suggestions for solving it.

As he was talking, James nudged me . "So we're going to be sharing a bed for the next week, are we?"

I grinned at him, once again exulting. But then the common sense side of me thought again. Was this such a good idea? I knew that I was again attracted to him, very much more so now that he had grown into such a good looking lad, with a broken voice too..... And at fourteen....

"Only if you feel OK about it after all this time," I said seriously. "It doesn't worry me, even if it is five years since we really knew each other. But sharing a bed isn't everyone's cup of tea if the other person's the same sex."

James looked thoughtful. "You've not changed a bit since Amberdale, well, not really. You've just got bigger." I looked at him sharply, but he appeared innocent. "You were okay then, so I don't see why it should be any different now. You're all right. I'm happy to go for it."

My heart started beating hard again. Wow! Was it my birthday or something? "So am I, then," I told him rather shakily. "We'll look at the boat, and then confess that we're happy to share. Well, I suppose we'd better not be too enthusiastic about it or Pete and Doreen will start wondering."

"Oh, they know you're a raving queen anyway. I've told them so."

CHAPTER 16

For a moment I thought he was serious. But the unzipped grin said differently so I decided not to comment or show any feelings either way. "Now who's asking to be thrown in the water? It's nearer now, don't forget!"

We all looked at the boat that the boatyard manager was pointing to. It was certainly a trim craft and, as I said at the time, it was just the sort of boat I'd like to own. The interior was even better than the pictures of the hire boats in the brochure, and boasted a very comfortable sitting area, along with two master bedrooms and a plainer room, all with double beds; two bathrooms and a very well arranged kitchen. As Peter said to Dad, we'd be silly not to agree to it. They turned to James, who happened to be nearest.

"How do you view the prospect of sharing a bed with Martin, then?" asked my father. "Do you think you could stand it for a week?"

James looked as doubtful as he could. "I suppose I could give it a try," he answered. "Does he snore?"

"No, I do not!" I answered indignantly. "And how about my feelings about being asked to sleep with a snotty nosed kid?" I asked, keeping a straight face only with some difficulty.

"Martin!" exclaimed my mother. "That's not a nice thing to say!"

"It's all right, Mary. I happen to agree with him," said Doreen. "But I think he's trying not to laugh. I think they've talked about it and agreed between themselves already. Have you?"

"Well, James did mention that it would stop us having to cancel the holiday, and he's not such a bad sort really, I suppose. I think we can probably accept the idea, can't we, James?"

"Yeah.....all right."

I think it was quite a good bit of acting, really. It didn't convince the parents, who just grinned at us.

We started the long job of unloading the contents of the three cars into the boat, and were constantly surprised at the amount of storage space there was. Having in the past left a variety of embarrassing things in hired boats I wondered if we'd remember to search everywhere when we left, but the time for that seemed far away. James and I had defaulted to the `guest' cabin, leaving the two really well appointed rooms to the parents, particularly as there was some distance between them. All my own luggage was installed in the various cupboards but there were very few of James' clothes in evidence. James had been missing for some time, too. I wondered where he was, and went to search, only to find him in the kitchen, watching a kettle that was nearing the boil. A row of teacups sat nearby, each primed with a teabag.

"What a player!" I said. "How did you know I was gasping?"

"`Cos I am. Good. You can tell me how your parents like their tea."

"Surrounded by a mug, usually, together with milk and one sugar each."

"Ha, ha. Could you tell everyone there'll be a cup waiting for them in about five minutes?"

"Okay. Don't forget that you've still got a lot of gear to bring on board."

"It's in mum and dad's cabin. I've got to bring it from there. If you're going down there, could you bring it back for me, please?"

"Since you've made me a cup of tea - and I have one and a half sugars, in case you're interested - it'll be a pleasure." I walked the length of the boat, past our own cabin and the first of the two toilets, past mum and Dad's cabin where I popped my head in to tell them about the tea, to Peter and Doreen's cabin.

"James is just making a mug of tea, when you're ready. And he says could I take any more of his stuff into our cabin, please."

"He's made tea, has he? That's more than he usually does at home! Yes, thanks Martin. Those are his two bags over there. But while you're here.....Peter and I have been discussing the situation. Are you sure you don't mind sharing with him? Being a companion is one thing, but a bedfellow is a bit different!"

"I don't mind at all. After all, it's hardly as if he's a disgusting old man, is it? He's more likely to object to my being there, I'd have thought. He's either being very polite, or else he really doesn't mind."

"The day our son is polite, the sky will fall," said Peter. "He still thinks a lot of you, you know, so I imagine he's quite happy about the idea like he was at Amberdale."

"Well, it really doesn't worry me. A bit unusual, I know, as he's that much older now, and I think I'd not want it broadcast around the University - and he certainly wouldn't want his school to know! But between us, it's okay."

"Good. That's all right then. We were a bit worried. We'll be along for this miraculous cup of tea any minute, you can tell him."

I dropped the two bags into the cabin, then saw James coming down towards me.

"Tea's ready."

"Just going. So are your parents. Thanks."

"I've got yours here. Drink it while you unpack."

"I've already done that. That's when I realised hardly any of your stuff was here."

"You'll just have to watch me, then. Which side of the bed do you want?"

"Don't mind. How much are you going to drink?"

"What?"

"Well, the more you drink, the more likely you are to get up in the night, and the nearer you'll want to be to the outside."

"I hardly ever do. I'm not incontinent, like you."

"That water's very close, you know."

James settled for the side nearer the bulkhead. As he stowed his clothes away I watched him, still marvelling how such an unexceptional looking child -- apart from the grin -- could be growing into such a good looking man.

"What's up with you?"

I jolted out of my reverie. "What d'you mean?"

"You're watching my every move. It's like being on stage."

"You told me to watch you. I always obey orders."

"Right. Jump in the canal."

".....Except when it means getting wet."

"That's it. I'm ready. Let's get going."

He followed me back to the kitchen where the parents were drinking their tea. They were just making jokes about framing their mugs as a rare production from James, when the boatyard manager joined us. He declined a cup of tea, even after hearing it was made by James, explaining that he still had a lot to do and all he wanted to do was to explain the boat's workings to them and make sure they could work locks. He looked at me and said "I understand you're the experienced one so far as canals are concerned."

"This'll be my sixth trip," I explained. "If you want me to explain things to them as we go along I'll gladly do so."

"Fine by me. It'll get me out of your hair, anyway. You know, I'm really so grateful to you all for allowing me to shunt you off onto a different boat, especially one that isn't really ours. And, by the way, bearing in mind it isn't ours, I'm obviously in your hands as to what state it's kept in. My client's done me a big favour by lending it to us, and I wouldn't want to let him down. He made me promise to ensure that the people who were using it were a pleasant, responsible crew, and from Mr Evans' conversations with me you certainly seemed to fit the bill."

We assured him that we'd take special care of the boat, and that we were as responsible as he thought we were. Much gratified, he explained about the fridge, the heating system, engine and all the other points we needed to know about the boat, then asked us were we were going. Having heard about the parents' plans to visit business people in Birmingham and its area he checked that there would be someone on the boat at night, for security reasons. Having been assured that James and I would be on board, he wished us well and left.

"I'd better start on the tiller," I said, "but I'm not going to be there all the time, so you'd better come and learn at least the basics. There's quite a few bridges in the next few miles, so that'll be good practice for you."

"What's so special about bridges?" asked my father.

"Wait 'til you see a bridge hole......surely you've seen canal bridges, Dad?"

"Well yes. But obviously not from the view of a boatman."

Shortly afterwards I called them all to the steersman's position. "Bridge ahead!" I said. "Look, it's simple. Just remember that the boat swings round a point somewhere in the middle; the stern goes the way the tiller points and the bow swings the other way. Line her up in advance, steer straight and she'll not touch. Always keep power on, because it's the thrust of water from the prop that makes her turn. No power, no steering! Now, watch which way she swings, try and find the point on the boat that doesn't."

Before steering for the bridge, I made some rather exaggerated course changes to show what I meant, then settled the course down and went through the bridge hole as if it wasn't there. The fact that I was relieved to be able to do it for the first time in a new boat was neither here nor there. There was a sprinkling of small bridges from then on, and I got each of them to take a turn at steering. When we arrived at the first of the three Calcutt locks, I explained what to do, and told them to listen to the engine note as I manoeuvred so they could tell what I was doing to fit the boat into the lock and stop it moving.

With one or two problems, like having everybody one side of the lock chamber or the other when there should have been the same number each side to work the paddles, we navigated it successfully. I'd asked them to carry on to the next chamber and prepare it so I could steer straight in, and was pleased to see that it was open for me as I left the first one. James was left to close the gates, then he ran on to help the others. After the third lock, I pulled into the bank and the others caught up.

"And that's all there is to it," I told them. "Who's taking her now?"

"I'll have a go." James wasn't sharing the hesitation of his elders. Five years ago I'd taught him how to steer a dinghy. "Just carry on a little longer while I change into shorts, would you. I'm getting hot!"

So I carried on down the canal, and the remainder of them disappeared inside the boat. Both lots of parents reappeared at the bow, out of the way of the noisy engine. James reappeared a few minutes later wearing a pair of PE shorts which must have fitted him properly when he was eleven. At fourteen, they left things to the imagination, but only technically. He'd grown a lot. A child's shorts move over his body between the legs. James' didn't.

"That's better," he announced. "I was hot. I should have done that ages ago. Can I take over now?"

"Yes. We're on a straight bit. Make small adjustments only, though, and see how the bow swings. And by the way, I thought you were changing into shorts, not down to your underpants!"

"These are shorts. And I don't wear underpants in public. They show off too much!."

"Those nearly do. Anyway, most people wear underwear all the time, especially in public."

"Ha ha. Very funny. Anyway, these are proper shorts even if they are a bit small. Besides, if you've got it, flaunt it!"

"One thing I didn't mention," I said in a low voice, "is that because you're talking loudly over the noise of the engine, everyone can hear you on the front of the boat." I'd seen some rather astonished looks from Peter and Doreen who must have been unaware of their son's lack of inhibition when away from them.

"Oops," said James quietly. "Thanks for the warning. I'll remember that when I want to say something rude to you."

He took over the tiller, but I stood at his side to help if any problems arose. God, was I really going to be spending my nights sleeping with this boy? Do you know that fizzy, light, shivery feeling you get when you're really excited or anticipating something? Well, I felt that. All over.

He quickly learnt how the boat handled at normal cruising speed -- I'd impressed on all of them that to try to go faster than three or four miles per hour was pointless since the cross-section of the waterway just wouldn't let the water get behind the boat any faster, and all that an over-fast propeller did was to dig the back of the boat into the water and leave a bigger wake.

We passed through several more bridges before reaching Stockton where we had decided to moor for the night. As it was school holiday time most of the moorings near the pub were taken, and we had to continue almost to the top of the locks before we could find a vacant area of bank. Peace descended once the engine was switched off, and then everyone met in the kitchen.

"I'll cook," offered Doreen. "I've brought a ready prepared surprise, and it just needs heating up. If one of you men could peel some potatoes, I'll get busy. Don't all rush," she added as there was a silence.

"It's all right," mum laughed. "I know my two. They're just interested in looking at the pub! Go on with you. Get out of Doreen's and my way. We're not going to be tied to the stove, though, so get used to the idea that each of you will be doing some cooking. And don't forget, whoever cooks doesn't wash up."

Three sheepish male faces looked at each other, then laughed. The youngest just looked thoughtful. "Come on, then, the men. We've got our pass out. Let's go and look at the local watering hole," said Dad.

Peter and I followed him, thankfully. After driving so long the last thing they were interested in was cooking. James turned to follow, then hesitated. "What am I meant to be doing?" he asked my father, who he was following.

"Coming with us, I imagine. Why, did you want to do something else?"

"No. Not at all! Dad's never taken me into a pub, that's what I mean."

"Peter," called Dad over my head, "James says you've never taken him into a pub before. Is that right?"

"Oh.....Yes. I forgot his age! I just assumed he was one of the men that Mary and Doreen referred to..... No, it's true I've never been into a pub with him, but then I not generally a pub person myself. It's just never occurred to me. Sorry, James. Do you want to come, or would you rather stay here?"

"No. I'm coming, Dad."

"Well, go and make yourself look older, then. You look about nine dressed like that!"

James decided not to object to that but just said "Give me two minutes, then," and vanished into the cabin. The fathers and I continued onto the bank and stood watching the deepening evening, quietly enjoying the peace. Soon James rejoined us, now dressed in quite smart trousers and a sports shirt.

"You've outdone us now, old son," his father chided him. "We'll all have to go and change!"

"Oh Dad! I can't win! First you say I look too young, then when I dress in something like you wear all the time that's wrong too!"

"He'll do! Leave him alone, Pete. We'll just send him up to the bar to get the drinks all the time."

Even James laughed at that. "If you do, they'll all be alcohol free, then! You wouldn't want me breaking the law, would you?"

We walked onward toward the pub. James dropped behind with me. "Don't worry about it," I said. "My parents were always on at me about how to dress, too. I used to take a lot of notice about their and other people's dress codes until I realised what it was really all about."

"What do you mean, what it's all about?"

"It's quite easy when you think about it. All the time you just need to be comfortable, you just wear what you find practical and comfortable. If you're trying to make an effect, dress accordingly. That way, you'll dress older for a pub, smartly for an office job, practically for a more manual job, as your aged aunts expect you to when you visit them, and in cricket rig when you play cricket. That's how you show people you're serious about things. Of course, when you're very wealthy, or old and eccentric, then you dress as you want to all the time and sod everyone."

He laughed. "And which of those categories do you come under, then?"

"Definitely old and eccentric, according to you."

"Thought so. How come you get away with it, then?"

"I said: I'm eccentric."

"And old.... no. I won't accuse you of that at the moment. That'll come later. But at Amberdale you just wore shorts and T-shirt... huh! Or nothing! ...and now, all you're wearing is jeans and T-shirt. Yet you get away with it. Why can't I?"

"You could have. Jeans make you look older than PE shorts. They'd make you look older than any shorts, probably, unless you've got particularly hairy legs which make you look of an age to drink alcohol. I noticed that you haven't...... And don't look at me like that, I know it's not fair. But it's the way the world works. If you're not what you think people want you to be, either dress in a way to make them think you are, or else ignore their opinions if you can afford to, and impress them with your charm, wit, intelligence and above all, conversation."

"All right, I'll take that. But how come you regard me as ..... well ..... what? A kid who's got older since he last met you? A young wally who doesn't know his way around anything but his home town? Or what?"

I stopped. "At Amberdale, I got to like you as a person because you were entirely natural and what came over from you was something I liked. As a result, either I treated you as if you were fourteen or you treated me as if I were nine. We've been through that.

"Five years on, you're not a different person, you're the same character and you seem to see me as the same person I was. Most importantly, you seem to have accepted me as being the same friend at the some standard age that instinct seems to have worked out between us. It's personalities. We're lucky; five years ago it took just a couple of days to get there. Five years on and it's taken less than half a day to become......well, more than just acquaintances again. The clothes and acting bit doesn't come into it. That's only useful when you want to make an instant impression, or when someone expects you to be something else, as I said before. You could come to me dressed as the hind legs of a pantomime horse. I'd still know it's old James. It'd just confirm to me that you're mad."

There was a pause. We continued walking.

"You know," said James at last, "that's about the longest speech you've made to me"

"Did it make sense, though?"

"Yes. I think so. Give it time, and it may sink in."

"I bloody well hope so. Most of that took me years to work out for myself!"

"Didn't your parents tell you?"

"No. It'd never occur to them. Have yours told you?."

"No -- you're right. I wonder what Dad would say if I told him all that as my opinion."

"He'd say: `Cor. There is life inside that idiot head, after all.' And who could blame him?"

We didn't spend long in the pub, just long enough to see what it was like and enjoy a pint. James, automatically given a Coke by his father, sampled my bitter once or twice and decided he liked it. "Can't you get me one without anyone noticing?" he asked his father.

"Oh yes. And where will you hide a pint glass when the police arrive and ask you how old you are?"

"I'll give it to you. Or say I'm eighteen. Besides, why did you tell me to dress older if I can't look as if I'm old enough to drink properly?"

"One up to you, James!" laughed my father, as his own fumbled for an answer.

On the way back to the boat James was talking to his father about beer, and his attitude to James drinking it. He was fairly happy with the result, his expression told me as we arrived at the boat. I had had no part in the discussions, but was confident I would soon find out the outcome. We were welcomed back by a most wonderful smell of cooking: Doreen and mum had been busy. The table was set most attractively, even down to candles on the table in proper holders. "We found them in one of the cupboards," explained mum. "They seemed too good to waste. I hope you lot aren't full of beer, because Doreen has really gone to town on this meal."

We assured her we were hungry, which was true, especially after we had smelt what was in store for us.

James and I washed up, with help from Peter. When it was all finished and stowed away, James suggested a walk. We locked the boat and wandered along the towpath, toward the locks but in the opposite direction from the pub, much to James' disgust, especially since I was leading the way. We wandered alongside the locks, down the flight, to the bridge at the bottom. As we came out of the arch James saw another pub on the left and started edging towards it, hoping the rest of us would follow.

"Peter," exclaimed Doreen, "What have you been teaching James? He's turning into a boozer!"

"None of my doing," said Peter wistfully. "But its not a bad idea. How do the rest of you feel about a short to finish off a really excellent meal?"

We all agreed. I stood the round, and made a point of asking James what he wanted so that his father heard. "Bitter, please," said James firmly. Peter looked at me and raised his eyebrows, then nodded, but without James seeing him. We sat away from the bar. When Doreen saw James with a half-pint in his hands she gasped. "Peter! What on earth's got into you? You know he's nowhere near old enough!"

"I know, I know. But it's the middle of the countryside, he looks far older than he is - or so Martin tells me - and he's got to try drinking sometime. I'd want him to do that with us, rather than feel he's got to do it furtively."

"Well, I suppose you're right. But I can't help feeling he's too young."

"Oh, come on, darling. Look at him. Think of yourself at eighteen - he'll be entitled to vote then - and that's only four years away. All those nights as a baby when he wouldn't let us sleep the night through you were always saying `I wish he'd grow up!'. Well, now he has. We can enjoy his company on equal terms. Let's not put him off by imposing unnecessary restrictions, and perhaps we'll stay his friends, like Martin's done with his parents."

All this was music to James' ears, as his smug expression showed. I nudged him in the ribs. "Take that Cheshire cat grin off your face, or I won't thrash you at bar billiards."

"At what?"

"Over there."

So we left the table, and that was all the parents saw of us for the next hour as I explained the rules to James and we played game after game. James won once or twice, and by the end of the evening was noticeably improving his ability. Eventually Dad came over.

"We're all tired and want an early start tomorrow. Are you coming with us, or are you going to stay there playing, oversleep and miss the first few locks in the morning? We'll have to go through them before we get anywhere."

"We'll just finish this, Dad, then we'll be along. Unless, of course, James is going to buy me a pint?"

"Tomorrow."

So we finished the game and our drinks, then followed about five minutes behind the parents. James suddenly said "Did you know that pub was there before we got to it? Or was it just chance?"

"I knew it was there, all right, and I knew that you wouldn't be satisfied until you'd been into another one. I like a pint too, especially on holiday, so I thought I'd try it on with them."

"There's devious. Thanks. I'm glad you did, because I enjoyed that."

At the boat we found the parents getting ready for bed. Goodnights were said all round, and we two went to our own cabin. I sat on the bed and stretched, yawning loudly, anticipating being able to watch him get undressed and relishing the idea so much that my body was in danger of making it known.

"I hope you're not going to do that in the night, `cos if you do you'll punch me in the face!"

"Do what?"

"Stretch like that." Was he talking about my erection?.....no...ah, he meant the way I'd stretched my arms.

"Now that's a good idea."

James sat beside me and bent to untie his shoes. I started removing my T-shirt, then socks, and folded them on a shelf. When I next looked round James was standing dressed just in a pair of quite well filled Y-fronts, his clothing in piles around him.

"Untidy sod," I said, my voice unsteady again.

"Good, isn't it? Saves time in the morning."

"You'll not be wearing them in the morning."

"You think I'm going around in the nude all day? With my parents here?

"Would you if they weren't?"

"We used to, back on the island. And I did at home. But now and here is not such a good idea. All right. I'll be tidy."

As James was putting his clothes away, I couldn't help noticing his boyish back view which contrasted with the rest of his already well developed body. The shorts he had worn earlier had hinted at that. Once again I was astounded at the luck which was leading me once again to sleeping alongside this remarkable young man, but I warned myself that I mustn't rise to any temptation..... What was natural and acceptable, and even eagerly awaited by both of us when at Amberdale, must be by now forbidden territory. Then we had both been children. Now, although I was the same person, he had changed into someone else. Not so much mentally, but the innocence of childhood seemed irretrievably lost.

I took off my trousers, folded them and went to put them away too. As James had not just stripped off his underwear and climbed into bed naked as he would have done in my Amberdale room, so I left my underpants on too. As I stood at the wardrobe to put away my other clothes James tried to barge me out of the way with his hips.

"What's that for?" I asked.

"I need to get there and you're in the way. It's my way of asking you to move."

"I see. And if I do the same to you?"

"It's your way of saying no."

"A complete vocabulary of basic body language, courtesy of James Evans. Price £16.99. Never knew it existed. And what else is in this tome?"

"Oh, lots. Like: if you don't get to bed now, I'll dig you in the ribs until you do. Like this." And he suited the action to the word.

"All right, all right, I'm going." I lay on the edge of the bed, the side of it I had agreed was mine. "But the last one in switches the light off."

"Damn. Where is it?"

"Over here, just by the bed."

"Trying to be awkward, eh? That's another dig in the ribs. Just a minute.... I'm on the inside, aren't I. I forgot that. You'll have to endure me climbing over you."

"Oh no, please not!" I said in mock horror.

And James knelt on the side of the bed, put one leg over my recumbent form and bounced on me as if he were still nine. "That's for being cheeky."

I put an arm each side of the boy's chest and dug in, holding on. James squirmed helplessly and rolled over onto his back. I hurriedly released him.

"You swine," panted James. "You remembered I'm ticklish!"

"Just testing, and getting my own back!"

"And where are you ticklish?"

"You think I'm going to tell you?"

"All right.....let's see. Soles of the feet? Can't reach them. Under the arms, like you just did to me?" He tried. I lay there as impassively as I could. "I know one place where it'd work."

"Oh? Where's that?"

"Hmmm...no, I don't think I'll try that now. Perhaps later in the week."

I raised my eyebrows, mentally as well as physically. Did James really mean that? Was he really suggesting that we should start from where we had left off? Or was he joking? Or was he talking about something completely different from the way it seemed to me that he was thinking?

"I shall look forward to that," I tried.

"You might, you might. We shall see."

I reached down to pull the duvet up over us, more to cover up my body than to keep warm.

"Are you putting the light out, then?"

James was suddenly calmer. I think he was wondering if he'd gone too far. "Yes. Good night, Martin." I felt a hand come and grip my shoulder.

"Good night. Sleep well." I wondered whether to return the sign of friendship, for that's surely what it was. I decided to risk it, and gave the boy's shoulder a short squeeze: a far cry from the hugs we had shared in my hotel room. We both turned over, and it wasn't long before I heard regular breathing from the other side of the bed. I lay and thought for a while, still amazed at and thankful for the turn of events which had brought the two of us into the same bed again. My body was reacting in an extraordinary way to all this. I had no sign of the raging erection which, by now I would have thought inevitable. But my penis seemed to be leaking the fluid that comes before orgasm, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I was glad I was wearing underpants which would soak it up, and hoped it wouldn't continue while I was asleep. If it did, there'd be a major problem in the morning.

At last, euphoric, I drifted off to sleep.

Some time later I became conscious of movement as James climbed over me again, back into the bed having visited the toilet. I made no move or sign of being awake, though, just lay on my side, facing the middle of the bed. James' soft, sweet smelling breath blew gently against my cheek as he lay down facing me. I shivered with delight, and this time my blood supply decided it was time to divert, and my penis started to extend.

It grew quiet on the other side of the bed, then I felt a hand touch my shoulder again. Still I made no move. The hand was withdrawn, but a moment later I felt a warmth near the base of my chest, just over my waistline. The warmth turned into a touch, which extended as James' palm lay gently across my stomach. It stayed there for a short time, then moved slowly down to the top of my underpants, where I could feel a hesitation, and a slight trembling.

My mind was in turmoil. It was impossible for James to be asleep and doing this in his dreams - he'd only just returned to the room. No, I thought, it was quite intentional. I wondered what to do, if anything. Probably, if I said anything now it would embarrass him completely and ruin the holiday for both of us, and maybe even our friendship into the bargain. Yet I knew that would be the most innocent course to take. But it wasn't as if I objected to James touching me -- after all, he'd done so often enough when he'd been nine. And wasn't it what I wanted? Should I do the same to him, though?

Eventually I decided to do nothing. He was probably in a world of his own at that moment.

Slowly, he moved his hand down my underpants until he could feel the edge of the bulge was presumably his target. Slowly, and very gently so as not to make any sudden moves, he drew his fingers onto the top of it, where he thought the tip would be, and stroked them downwards. I felt my body start to react even further to the warm softness that was exploring me. He slowly curved his hand around until it was around the width of my penis. I could hear his breath, fast and shallow, as he grew excited at the delightful naughtiness of what he was doing. I wondered what state his body was in. In fact I wondered what his body looked like now. The more he did this, the more certain I was that I would eventually find out....

He must have been surprised to find that his hand was no longer holding as much of me as it had been, and that some of the throbbing he could feel was not in his own body, despite his excitement. The bulge he was trying to hold was growing. I suppose he must have wondered if I was awake and would discover what he was doing, because he hurriedly drew his hand away, and lay with it close to me but without touching me.

For my part, I didn't know what to do. I was still not convinced of James' intentions or desires - of what was driving him. I was aware now of the illegality of any move on my part, and of whose side anyone else would take if I tried to plead that James had made the first move. If I had thought this way at Amberdale there's an awful lot that would never have happened. Especially between Mark and me. Arghhh.......!

So I still did nothing, except grunt and move, not to make myself more comfortable in the usual sense, but to bring my hands nearer to my underpants in order to relieve the pressure of tightened underwear. A few minutes later I felt James move again and wondered if he was going to continue his exploration. But he carefully sat up, and there was a pause. I wondered if I dared open my eyes a slit to see what was happening. Very carefully I did, hopefully without any noticeable movement. I needn't have worried. James was looking down at his own erect penis, protruding out of his Y-fronts and beyond his navel, its tip gleaming. He looked entranced, and I certainly was. It was a wonderful sight, more exciting than anything I'd seen for a long time, and I felt brotherly towards him again, delighted and amazed that the boy could have developed so much in five years. Although James's body was normal so far as my strictly limited knowledge of boys' bodies was concerned, there had been nothing particularly remarkable about him then. But there was now.

I watched as his hand wandered to the end of his own penis. Then he seemed to think better of it. He looked at me, and thankfully failed to notice my slightly open eye. Then to my surprise and delight a slow smile spread across his face as he gazed at me for a long while. If anything convinced me that James might really find me even slightly attractive, that did. I wondered whether to say anything, but he moved again.

He once again knelt on the bed. As he moved across my apparently sleeping form, I was rewarded with a closer view of his lithe, mobile young body, with its swollen, erect penis protruding from his underwear. Then he was once again heading for the door, where I heard him pause, open it and listen for signs of movement outside. Once he was satisfied on that score, he went out, closing the door quietly behind him, and padded next door into the lavatory.

Through the thin wall between it and the bedroom I heard a big sigh, then there was silence for some time. Soon, though, I became aware of a rhythmic sound and realised just how James was ridding himself of his erection. In the way he had learnt on holiday in Amberdale. From me! From me! Thinking back to the events of the previous few minutes I was suddenly angry with myself for not reacting in some way to him. Perhaps by this time we might be helping each other.... Impatiently, frustrated, I started to ape James' actions on myself. He was still audible softly through the wall. If I couldn't be there in body, at least I might in spirit. And the desire to do so was almost unbearable. But I realised in time, after only a few strokes, that I might well be discovered when James returned, and anyway I had nothing to clean things up with. I didn't want to give myself away now. All I could do was listen as my friend's -- my little brother's -- breathing grew deeper: there came a gasp and gave a soft moan, and the rhythmic sounds of reciprocating foreskin died away. Uncalled, my mouth gave a whimper of frustration and the desire to have been with him, to be with him still.

For some time there was silence, then I heard the rustle of paper followed by the toilet flushing. Once again a pause, and footsteps returned, the door opened and closed, and James once again climbing over me, the bulge in his underwear still large but no longer visible over the elastic.

I gave a mock groan and as sleepily as I could opened my eyes just as James was once again sitting on the bed next to me. The boy's eyes were on me.

"Sorry," James whispered, sounding guilty. "Did I wake you up?"

"Mmm. Must have done," I mumbled. "You okay?"

"Yeah.....fine. Sorry."

"All right." And, still uncertain what to do, I reached out and squeezed his shoulder as he snuggled back into bed. He did the same for me, and left his hand drooping over my back. I saw no reason why I should take my hand away either, and we lay like that for a few minutes. Gradually sleep and the natural exhaustion following orgasm overcame James and he sagged forward, his arm slipping from my shoulder. Despite the turmoil of my mind, and my uncertainty over what my little brother (as I had started to think of him again) wanted from me, I too fell asleep. And there we lay, close, nearly touching, until morning.

CHAPTER 17

When I woke I found that my arm was over his shoulders and our bodies were very close together. He was still asleep. I watched him for some time, thinking back to the early morning, and wondered what it was that gave the boy the courage - or foolhardiness -- to let his curiosity get the better of him. And what it was that made him want to rediscover something of how my body felt. I was sure he couldn't be homosexual, and I didn't dare show that I was. The armour had to be tight, chink free. Was I glad he hadn't realised I was awake! I looked at him, wondering if he realised we were so close, and if he would object. I hoped he wouldn't mind -- after all, he had put himself there. I hoped he had enjoyed what he had done the previous night, but wished that he had made me wake up first so we could both enjoy it and bring matters to a mutual conclusion as we had all those years ago. I thrilled at the thought that he was no longer a little boy, that he would enjoy a proper orgasm, and that I could help him do so. I longed to enjoy the feel of his body and the feel of the touch of someone else's hands again...... my body started to react again to this dangerous thinking, so I took away my arm and looked at the clock. Only 6.30! Oh well, we had wanted an early start.

I pulled at his shoulder, and succeeded in waking him at the second attempt. Blearily his eyes opened, and I thought back to the instantly awake nine year old who was so annoyingly active first thing in the morning. He focussed on me, and this unexpected, slow, happy, tender smile came across his face. I was captivated, and my damned body reacted too, with an excitement and a skip of the heartbeat. I smiled back, probably more gently than I normally would. "Hi," I said, and yawned.

James smiled back, all the usual banter returning to his brain. "Sleep all right, sexy?" he asked.

I looked at him, wondering if he was referring to his nightly escapades, but thought this unlikely. "Huh!" was all I could manage to say.

"Wassertime?"

I laughed at the memory of my asking him the same question so many times at Amberdale. He looked puzzled, so I told him why.

He laughed. "Seems like another life. What is the time, anyway?"

I told him. He shut his eyes gain in mock disgust.

"Too early.....I suppose. I've got to get up though. Back in a minute."

I watched him as he stretched his legs apart to straddle me. All my best efforts failed to stop me focussing on one part of his body.... He had no erection now, but his body once again struck me as being....complete. That of a young man. Potent. He balanced on his left knee and climbed out of bed, stretched, and padded over to the door. The crumpled bedclothes had left a pattern on his back. He went to the lavatory, and I lay back in the bed, wondering whether to deal with my troublesome body again. Another life! Well, I suppose it was for him. Five years on from nine years old is half your life span! And the mind and body change so much in those few years. It's not just the getting bigger, it's the gaining of maturity. He would want no attention from me now. Or would he? Once again I thought back to his actions of the early morning.

It was just as well I decided still not to relieve my need as he was soon back. To my surprise he climbed back over me and into bed: no pausing to bounce up and down on me this time. He looked a bit down, I thought.

For me to stay there with him would have been asking for trouble, so I got out and crossed to the drawers where my clothes were, somehow conscious of his eyes on me all the time. There was the sound of an engine from an approaching boat, and there was me hoping to be on the move early. I found a pair of clean underpants, turned and looked at James and said "Come on, lazy! It's our turn to do breakfast!"

"Who said?"

"Well, we'll have to some time. May as well get it over with today as we're awake early," and, not without some qualms stripped off my night-time underwear to put the clean on. The bow of the approaching boat came into view from the cabin window and I looked out with interest, to see who was up and on the go already at this time of the morning. As I saw the name "Merlin" on the bow recognition gripped me and I exclaimed: "That's the boat I had two years ago."

James struggled free of the duvet, sat on the bed and looked out of the window. I rushed across to it, forgetting my state of undress, knelt next to James and looked out too. We watched the full length of the boat pass, and even held up a hand of greeting to the steersman. But then I was once again aware of the closeness of my old friend, and remembered I was naked. I looked at him. He hadn't turned his head, but his eyes were firmly fixed on my body rather than the passing narrowboat. "Merlin" continued past, and it was perhaps fortunate that the steersman hadn't looked too closely into the cabin window.

"She looks just the same," I said, returning my eyes to the outside world, but with my heart singing that he was looking at me and really seemed to want to see more. I craned my neck in front of James as "Merlin's" stern disappeared from view, "even down to the dent where we were bashed by a load of idiots in a lock."

He was still looking at my body, and I wished that now...now he would touch it again whilst it was unclothed. His own, I suddenly realised, was letting him down badly, and as I drew back from the window, he made to pull up the duvet to hide his embarrassment.

I acted embarrassed. "Sorry," I said. "I was so interested in seeing her again that I forgot I'd got nothing on."

"Don't worry. I really don't mind."

I'm sure you don't, if last night was anything to go by. I put on the clean underwear.

"Come on, you. Help me with breakfast."

"I'll join you later."

"What, in an hour when it's all cooked, eaten and washed up? I think not!" I crossed again to the bed, gripped the duvet and pulled sideways. James, not expecting a sideways pull, still held the top; the remainder slid onto the floor exposing his legs and the thing he was trying to hide. I gave a short laugh, swiftly wondered what to say, and decided that the brave approach was probably acceptable.

"Hah! Jamesey's got a hard-on!" I said, looking at the large bulge in James' underpants.

"Shut up, Martin."

I didn't dare to stay looking at it. I'd start to react myself any minute.

"Don't worry," I said, tearing my eyes away. "It's just a morning mast."

"A what?" he asked, finding his voice.

"Morning mast. A phantom erection first thing in the morning. I thought you'd have discovered that by now."

"I thought it was just me. It's always happening."

"No, you can read about it in books. I have, so I know it isn't just me! You have them in your sleep, too, but unless you're woken from a really deep sleep you'll never know about them."

"It happened to me once. The phone rang - wrong number - and I wondered what sort of dream I'd been having. I felt totally disorientated for ages afterwards. Anyway, it's rather embarrassing."

"Don't let it be. As I say, it's quite natural. I'll probably have one, one of these mornings.

I wondered if he hoped so.

He climbed out of bed, the erection still stretching his underpants. I watched, covertly.

"Martin....."

"Yes....?"

"You know in Amberdale, when we did everything together for a week?"

"Yes...?"

"Did you worry about it afterwards?"

"Good god, no. Why should I?"

"Well, it just seems....unnatural."

"Does it? Does it now? Did it feel it at the time?"

"Oh no. I loved everything about that holiday. And having you there as a big brother was the best of all. And I mean a brother. We seemed to just...click."

"Well, did you mind us both being....in the nude....together?"

"No. It didn't seem to matter to me at all. I enjoyed it. Didn't you?"

"Yes. Of course I did. Why d'you think it was unnatural, then."

He looked uncomfortable. "Well, there were you, being my brother in all sorts of ways. And there was I enjoying it, and proud of being with you. And then I got older and.....well, it didn't seem right any more."

"But why?" I had to ask, although my heart was sinking and I knew I might be stirring up all sorts of mud.

He hesitated. "I don't know," he said, and looked away.

"James, I know you better than that. Somebody said something to you, didn't they?"

He looked at me wretchedly. "Someone said you were probably queer."

It was my turn to stop talking as that vice-like sensation seized my gut. "And what did you say?" I came out with eventually, as nonchalantly as I could.

"I said that if you were it didn't show, and that you were still my friend anyway. Then I hit him."

I had to laugh, more with relief than anything else. "And that started you thinking there might be something in what he said?"

"No, not really. I don't know. But it's just that he seemed to think that being naked in front of others was wrong."

"But we know better than that, don't we? I mean, think of what the doctor said.... and think of all we did then"

"I remember. But that was when I was a kid. It might have been all right then, but now...."

"Now you're older? But they were a lot older than both of us. And how about my Dad?"

"I hadn't thought about that. Perhaps the guy -- the one I hit -- was more wrong than I thought."

"I believe he was," I said thankfully. "Being naked with someone who I'm at ease with doesn't bother me."

"Nor me. But how about now? I mean....not now, with me like this, but generally. It would be ... somehow wrong. Wouldn't it?"

"I don't see why. When all's said and done, we're still the same people. No, it doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you."

"I'm just thinking of convenience," said James, a shade too quickly. "I mean, it'd take far longer in the mornings if we've got to put towels round ourselves just to change underwear, wouldn't it? And besides, I suppose it's a bit too late consider if I mind, after you've just forgotten yourself in the excitement of seeing Merlin."

"True, true. Anyway, I quite agree. We'll both wander around naked together. But only in private, I think."

James, encouraged, stripped off his own underwear, and his erection sprang free from the restricting material, despite its having subsided a little.

I'm going to have a fit, I thought. My heart's doing stupid things.

In the light he was absolutely perfect. Bigger than I'd been at fourteen, but not obscenely so. A patch of light, soft looking hair just above it. And below.... I wanted to hold them, cradle them, marvel at them; these two young, soft, deep hanging testicles that stretched the delicate skin with their weight. With the long, slim thighs below and the flat stomach above, he was absolutely perfect.

"You're sure you don't mind?" he asked. Boy, you can stand like that all day if you want, and I'll look and worship....

"No. A bit late now, anyway. How soon does yours go down?"..... Do I ask him how he makes it to go down?..... "Or do you encourage it?"

"Varies. What do you mean, encourage it?"

"I told you once. Remember?"

"Oh...you mean... well? Do you still?"

"Every bloke does, though probably more when you're young than when you get older."

James registered amazement. "I thought it was just the two of us and the Doctor's family."

I was silent for a moment. Even after five years I didn't want to think about what the man had done. "I suppose everyone thinks that. But no, it's common. And couples do it for each other, too."

James digested this. "So is it all right, then?"

"It doesn't do any damage at all." Except when adults can't understand, when they interfere and make you feel it's wrong, added my mind.

"And you say people do it for each other?"

"Yes. I said couples. You know, man and woman. But I know that blokes do it for each other too, if they're emotionally close enough."

There was silence. I didn't want to hint again at the attraction of man for man, no matter whatever title it attracted, especially as I now wanted him with me all week without any hindrance to our friendship or to our brotherhood, if that was still possible. It was obvious that James was thinking deeply as he crossed to the drawers to retrieve his clothes. We dressed in silence, and I wondered if I'd gone too far in mentioning close friends and hinting at mutual masturbation. But I felt that the subject was far from dead. Now was not the time to carry on discussing it, though.

And, just about, we hadn't mentioned Mark once.

CHAPTER 18

The first thing that probably woke the two lots of parents were the mingling smells of coffee and frying bacon. Mum told me later that she was concerned that it was James's parents trying to set them an example.

Dad found us in the kitchen, where we had breakfast nearly ready.

"We were leaving it until the last minute just to cause our parents the maximum possible embarrassment." I explained kindly. "Go and get mum, would you? I don't care if she's washed or still in a dressing gown - we can't wait. James is just going to throw the same spanner in his parents' works, aren't you?"

"I'm going to enjoy it, too." And James set off down towards his parents' cabin.

Eventually we were all at breakfast, though James and I were hurrying ours in their anxiety to get going.

"We keep on seeing boats going the same way as us, Dad," said James. "Martin's recognised one that he'd hired before. We need to get going quickly to catch the first one coming up towards us."

"Why's that?" his father asked.

"If we do, the locks'll be ready for us."

"What d'you mean, ready for us?"

"Dad! You went through several yesterday. You should have realised! When a boat comes up towards us, it leaves the lock full for us. If we're there at the time it'll even leave the gates open. That saves time and water."

Peter thought for a moment, then understood. "It'd be the same, but different, if we were going up and someone else was coming down towards us. I see. Clever! And I suppose you two think you're going to have all the fun going down these towards last night's pub while we get up properly, wash up and tidy. Is that it?"

"We could do with some help, Dad. One to steer and one on his own to work eight locks isn't much fun."

"All right, you win. It was us who said we wanted an early start. How about it?" This last question was fired at his wife and my parents.

"What do you want to do, girls?" asked Dad.

"You and Peter can clear up; we'll throw some clothes on and show how locks should be worked, eh Doreen?

"Good idea. Give these men something to aim at."

"It's going to be one of those days, George. It always is if they gang up on you from the beginning!"

So James took the tiller, and I hoped he'd remember what we'd practised yesterday. Having done a lot of sailing all those years ago at least meant that he was used to steering a boat, even if this one was about six times as long as our sailing dinghy had been. Our mothers and I readied ourselves for a quick getaway, but not before I'd told them to take the stakes out of the ground before untying the rope, so they could get used to the idea of not leaving them there. The first few of my own holidays had seen too many lost mooring stakes for me to start forgetting now!

There was a boat coming toward us, two locks away. James had started the engine, after remembering on his own to do all the checks on it first. I was impressed by that. Seeing a boat about to come under the bridge some way behind us, he shouted to us all to cast off quickly and get down to the lock as we didn't want to lose it. There was a bustle, Doreen pushed the bow into midstream and all but fell in, then James opened the throttle just enough to move slowly down to the lock gates. The wind was gentle, fortunately, as it would otherwise have blown the boat back toward the bank, but I had warned him about that and he was trying to counter any possibility by oversteering a little. I called to him from the bank.

"Put her nose into the mouth of the lock, if you can, but gently."

James grinned at me and let the boat almost drift along. The following boat was coming up on us quite fast. From the bank I shouted to the steerer over the noise of the his engine.

"There's a boat coming up, about one lock away. We're letting them clear the top lock before we start going down - it's set against us."

The man raised a hand to show that he'd heard, and put his engine into reverse to slow down. I knew that our boat, at sixty feet long, couldn't share any but these wide locks, but I was determined to save water where I could by sharing now and ensuring we waited where possible for craft to set the locks for us.

I tied up at one of the bollards at the head of the lock while James held the boat steady. We waited patiently as the approaching boat entered the lock and rose steadily as the water flowed into the chamber. With our mothers helping me the heavy gates were opened easily and the other crew were thankful not to have to work so hard. As usually happened, the two crews passed the time of day with each other and their boats were admired. With the ascending boat clear, I slipped the rope from the bollard and James opened the throttle to push the boat into the lock. The following boat entered alongside, we closed the gates, opened the paddles at the opposite end and started the descent.

We dealt with the eight locks in fine style, the two boats keeping each other company all the way. I was intrigued to see that the crew of our companion boat was similar in age to their own, with two girls instead of James and me. Both girls were attractive, and more than once I wondered if some miracle would happen and I could catch the eye of the elder of the two as she worked at the lock paddles with her windlass. I tried striking up a bit of conversation with her about he heaviness of the gear, and soon -- to my surprise -- we were talking about anything and nothing. It was such a rare occurrence for me that I was even surprising myself.

Once, when she and I were on opposite sides of the lock chamber, I looked at James who was still steering. His face looked grim. I didn't know whether to put it down to concentration or to something being wrong. He was ignoring me. As there was nothing he had to concentrate on at the time I wondered what was the matter, and if the younger girl had somehow offended him. But she wasn't steering the other boat. She was helping with the locks. Yes, it was true that James was looking in her direction occasionally, but no words were passing between them. Perhaps it's just that he's thinking, I thought. Then it was time to open gates and lower paddles again, and I thought no more of it.

We reached the bottom and "the workers", as Peter described us, were given a mug of tea to reward our efforts. He and Dad had been busy on the boat. All the washing up was done, they had swept it right through, and were now ready to face the morning. "Want a rest, James?" his father asked, as his son yawned and rubbed his eyes.

"Yes please," replied James, and disappeared into the boat without further comment. Peter looked rather surprised as he watched his son's retreating back, and I wondered if he sensed something wrong, too. I made sure that Peter was happy steering on his own, watched carefully by Doreen and mum, then excused myself on the pretext of the demands of nature. I passed through the kitchen and looked our joint cabin. No sign there. I sat on the bed, wondering what the matter was. The toilet flushed next door, James opened the cabin door, saw me, said "Oh!", and made to pass the door on his way to the back of the boat again.

"James....wait." I had to see what was wrong.

James paused.

"What?"

He came back into the cabin and stood with his back to the door, looking at the floor.

"What's up? Was it that other crew? Or have I done something?"

James shook his head, saying nothing.

I crossed the cabin to him, put his hands on his shoulders, and said quietly: "James......?"

At last the boy looked up. There was defiance in his eyes. "I made a mistake, that's all," he said in a slightly choked voice which made me wonder if tears were on their way. But no, he was fourteen, not nine.

"I didn't notice. What happened?"

"Nothing. It's not important."

"If it's knocked the smile off your face like that, it is."

"It's nothing. Really. Just....what were you saying to that girl?"

What was he on about?

"You mean the girl in that other boat? Passing the time of day. Didn't you talk to the other one?"

"She wasn't near me."

"Oh. I thought you would have made an excuse to get off the boat and talk."

"D'you think I should?"

"It's up to you."

"It looked as if you were chatting the other one up."

"I don't really think that's how it was. It wasn't intended, anyway. But even if I was, so what? I thought you were probably doing the same with the other one!"

"I never really noticed her - I certainly didn't say anything."

"Well, I was just passing the time of day - being pleasant - with her. I mean, I'm hardly going to start a relationship between two boats in mid canal, are we?"

"I don't know. Probably not. It's just that I thought....oh, nothing."

"You weren't jealous, were you? If you were, don't be. Don't feel left out either. I would never do that, you're too good a friend. Don't forget there have been times already this holiday when I've done my bit in trying to make sure that none of the others treats you any differently from the way they treat me, and so far it's worked, hasn't it? Nobody's said that you had stay on the boat while everyone else goes to the pub, have they? If they did, I'd certainly object as strongly as you - in fact I'd probably stay behind and keep you company."

James looked up, a different look on his face. "Would you?"

"Yes. You're not a child. It'd be wrong to think of treating you as one. So don't feel left out. I may chat to other people, of any age or sex, and I'd be very surprised if you didn't do the same. It makes no difference to how I see you."

"How do you see me?" There. The question was out now. It was what he really wanted an honest answer to.

I knew perfectly well what the answer was that I'd like to give, but despite what had happened the previous night I was still cautious lest I had misunderstood what was going on in his mind. But at least I could be incompletely honest.

I dropped his hands from James' shoulders. "I don't know why or how, but you've very quickly got back to being that very special friend of mine, one of a kind. I don't know anyone else who I could be as open with as I can with you. You were my little brother back then, and you're my brother now. I know neither of us has a brother really, but I think I know what being a brother really means"

I'd said enough, and felt embarrassed. I pushed past the astonished youngster and made his way to the bows, just in time to see that we were about to enter a lock again. It was as near as I could come to saying that I loved him without using the words. With some composure recovered, I called to James that there was another lock, and jumped onto the side, where the boy joined me, his eyes telling that he was happy again.

We continued our journey northward on the Grand Union, stopping for a break only once before Leamington Spa. We'd forgotten it was Sunday, of course. I always do it. We tried find a shop in Radford Semele, but succeeded only in finding the pub. James was delighted. We spent an hour there recovering from our exertions on the canal's wide locks, then walked back to the boat and set off again. The canal passes through Leamington Spa, although it might be anywhere at all. Leamington had considered itself too posh to realise the probable benefits of having access to a major canal, and is one of the towns which ignored its presence. To a large extent it still does.

The next set of locks started after we left Warwick, just west of Leamington where we had decided not to stop. We decided a good place to moor would be Cape Locks (the presence of the pub there was sheer coincidence, James decided) and explore Warwick and its castle.

The city's hot, busy streets, even on a Sunday, came something of a shock, even after only twenty-four hours' cruising. Like many before us, we had got so used to a much slower pace of life that traffic and noise and speed was bewildering. But we enjoyed the castle, which not even I, the experienced canal traveller, had been to before. Afterwards we found a shop open and were able to stock up on the necessities for a meal that night.

As it was by then only about 5 pm, we considered carrying on and trying to conquer the Hatton lock flight that evening. But twenty-one wide locks make for an exhausting evening's work, and I was far from confident that we'd complete it before dark, even with the locks set for us and another boat's crew to share the work with. Also, it had been getting noticeably hotter as the afternoon drew on.

"We've not taken on water since we started," I suddenly remembered. "We don't know if the boatyard will have filled the tank or just put a little water in."

As there was a water point at Cape Locks we decided to stay there for the night. We all climbed aboard, thankfully, to change into cooler clothing. Doreen was given the job of moving the boat along to the tap, whilst the others shouted directions from the bank. After the usual search I found the boat's filling point and was waiting with the hose as Doreen finished her manoeuvres. James, once again wearing his elderly PE shorts and giving me palpitations, was waiting in the bows, by the tank, ready to start filling. Dad had already turned on the tap so as to give the hose a rinse out, and as the bows came close to the bank I couldn't resist swinging it toward the boat, splashing James.

"Oy!" he said. "That was me!"

"Oh, sorry James. I'll try harder next time."

"It'll be you on the receiving end next time!"

"Not if I can help it! Anyway, you looked hot, so I thought I'd cool you down."

"I am hot. Aren't you?"

"Yes. Let me carry on cooling you down." So I put my finger partly over the end of the hose to make a jet, and pointed it directly at James, who shouted in mock anger as the cold water hit his chest. He tried to open the boat's front doors, but they were still locked, so the only means of escape was onto the bank, into the path of the water. Spluttering, he reached me and tried to wrestle the hose out of my grasp, as the four parents watched, laughing. I managed, with some difficulty, to grasp both James' hands in one of my own, then gasped: "What do I do with it now?"

"Put it down his trousers!" I looked in surprise at Peter, laughed, and turned to James who was still struggling, trying to get free.

"Are you ready for this?"

"Don't you dare!"

So I pulled at the waistband of his tiny shorts and inserted the flowing hose so that it pointed directly down James' middle. Then I released the boy who tore the hose free and immediately turned it on the middle of my own white shorts. I had been expecting the hose, but not the powerful jet that James was producing, and gasped as the cold water hit my tender parts hard. I doubled up, only to receive the force of the jet on my head.

"All right, all right.....I'm sorry!" I cried, when my breath returned.

James took his hand away from the end. "Gotcha!" he said, triumphantly, then looked round at the others who were having hysterics. His hand moved back to the end of the hose again, and four people backed away hurriedly.

"Shall we try it on the boat now, do you think?" I asked.

"Why not?" came the reply, and James inserted the offending hose into the boat's water point. Mum and Doreen threw towels to us, and we dried ourselves off as best we could. Having got rid of the surface water we decided that as we were now pleasantly cool we wouldn't change into dry clothes. Fortunately neither pair of shorts were the sort that go transparent when wet, and both us were wearing underpants, so we were quite decent.

It was James who soon after found the little dial near the top of the water tank.

"Look at this!" he shouted. "We've only just made it!"

Everyone crowded round. I'd never come across a water level gauge on any boat I'd been on and wondered why nobody had thought of such a simple idea before. Sure enough, it was registering almost empty. "With the force behind that tap it's going to take ages to fill," I said. "We may as well do something else for half an hour."

"Pub," said James.

Well, why not? We were all tired after walking around Warwick, so we sat down outside, having considered the effect of two dripping crew members on the pub's decor. A pint later, Dad offered to go and check the water level, and reported that it was about two-thirds full, so we all wandered back, having assured the landlord that we'd be back later. "Who's doing the meal tonight, then?" asked mum.

"It's our turn to surprise you two," Dad replied. "Pete and I have something up our sleeves. You go and sit down - we're in charge."

"We may as well use up some of this water, while it's here," said my mother. "I'm going to have a shower." And she disappeared towards her cabin.

"Well, with Peter and George cooking, and Mary in the shower, what are we going to do?" Doreen asked us.

We thought for a minute.

"Pub" said James.

"James, you're getting to be a drunkard. I don't know where you get it from."

"Dad, probably. Are we going back?"

"Come on then! Peter, can you keep an eye on the water as well as cook? We don't want to turn it off yet - Mary's showering and I'll replace her in there when she's finished."

"Okay," said Peter. "We'll see to it. You go and enjoy yourselves. Back in about an hour, please, or we'll feed yours to the ducks."

"I'm going to get dry first," said James. "It's all right with one wet layer, `cos it dries quickly when its as hot as this, but trousers and pants, both wet, are uncomfortable."

I agreed with him. I'd been just about to do the same. We followed Mary down toward the shower to fetch our towels, then went into the cabin to dry and change.

"No morning masts now," observed James, looking hard at me when they had both stripped off.

I laughed. "No. Everything's too cold down there for that!"

I covertly watched him again as we scrubbed ourselves dry. Once I'm sure he spotted my eyes on him, but I managed to make it look as if I was swinging the hair out of my eyes. For my part, I swear that James was doing the same to me. The idea of being watched by him attracted me. I wondered what he thought of me after my declaration of the morning. But anyway, it was he who had suggested that the two of us should pay no heed to being naked together, but I was still far from certain what his real feelings were..

My attitude to being naked was complex. This was the boy who I'd been to a naturist island with, played naked alongside there, had showered with, slept with and taught to masturbate. But he was now fourteen. He was also very attractive, and I was scared of having an erection in his presence -- at least, one that I couldn't explain away. But I was thrilled to have the youngster there and to be able to watch him and share his life for a week. To settle the problem for the moment, I dried myself quickly and dressed. James was in the meantime dawdling, drying himself slowly and looking out of the window, now paying no attention to what I was doing, for a change. He looked up eventually, and was caught out by my being fully dressed apart from footwear, and himself being still naked. That seemed to embarrass him, especially as I was looking squarely at him and about to speak.

"You're too quick!" he told me.

"Not at all. You're too slow! Come on, or are you going to the pub like that?"

"Huh!"

"If you want to wander around in the nude you'll have to wait till later, when it's bedtime. Our assorted parents might ask what was happening if you came to the table with nothing on! Or do you do that at home?"

"Hardly. The only times I'm usually unclothed are in bed or in the shower. I shouldn't think mum and Dad have seen me like this since I was a kid."

He dressed swiftly, and we hung our wet clothes on the rail, in the sun, then joined his mother who was supervising the men in the kitchen.

"Tell Mary where we are when she's out, will you. She might like to join us," she said at last.

So we returned to the pub, surprising the barman, who hadn't expected to see us back so soon. I had a pint, but Doreen said that she and James would stick to halves. He complained, but not too vehemently. I think a pint must have looked an awful lot of liquid to him.

Eventually, mum joined us. "That's better," she said. "I feel a lot fresher now, despite the heat. Even if it uses as lot of water, it's worthwhile."

"Water!" I exclaimed. "It's still running! And we're moored across the filling point! Back in a minute." I rushed out, across the lock gate and up to the bows of the boat. Dad saw me through the window and came out to see why I was back.

"Lost something?" he asked.

"Only some water...... Oh. Have you dealt with it?"

"Give us credit for some common sense. We realised when your mother came out of the shower that it'd soon be full, so we kept our eyes open. When it started trying to flood the boat we thought it was probably full. So we took it off charge and locked the hose and the tap away in their respective places."

"Thanks, Dad. I'd forgotten all about it. How's the meal?"

"Coming on, but we forgot that it's got to be in the oven for an hour. You'd better tell the others. It'll be some time yet, I expect."

"Oh Dad! You twit! We could have kept your surprise for another day, when it could cook as we're cruising."

"I know that now," he replied somewhat testily. "As it is, Peter and I will shortly be joining you over there" and he pointed to the pub.

"Okay, I'll wait and walk over with you both."

"Tired of James' company?"

"No. Not at all. In fact it's just the reverse. It's strange, but it's just not like talking to a fourteen year old. I forget completely that's how old he is."

"Yes. Still seems a nice little chap. And I'm glad he's still not boring you."

"So am I," said Peter, coming out of the kitchen. "Though why you put up with him I don't know. He's not so adult when he's with just us two, I can tell you!"

"Nor was Martin, Pete. Yet we heard from his friends' parents that he was a perfect gentleman so far as they could see."

"But I am, Dad. I am."

"Stop being modest, and come to the pub."

Later, mum told me what was said in the pub after I'd left. She asked James how the sleeping arrangements were, and hoped they weren't too embarrassing and that he got to sleep all right

His actual words were: `Oh, no. I mean yes. I mean no, they're not embarrassing at all and yes, I slept well, thanks.'

`It's not everyone of your age who would be as happy at sharing a bed with someone of their own sex so much older. I just wanted to make sure you were really OK about it.'

`Yes, Mrs Finch. It's really no big deal. I don't see Martin as being old.'

"Both of we mothers looked at each other and laughed," she told me. "We seem to think the same, most of the time."

She told him she was glad, and while she was at it, told him to call her and Dad by their christian names. Apparently James gave one of his slow and special smiles that lit up his mouth and wide-spaced eyes. "Thank you.....Mary," was all he could say.

The meal was very late that night, and we all had to spend far longer in the pub than we expected. When we finally got the call to return to the boat there were two bottles of wine already opened to drink with it. By the time it was over we were all rather merry. James was comical, and was starting to lose control of his diction. Eventually, his father told him quietly that he'd be better going to bed. He did so, without much argument. My eyes followed him all the way, hoping that he'd be all right, and wishing I could go with him and help him sort himself out.

As if it was a signal, Peter and Doreen moved from the table, too, and I was rather pushed into helping mum and Doreen wash up. When at last it was over, we were all ready for bed, and I thankfully headed off to our cabin.

I found James lying outside the duvet, still fully clothed, and very deeply asleep. I tried to wake him, but the only responses were grunts. James' eyes remained firmly closed so I gave that up. As I undressed, I wondered what to do. James was lying diagonally on the bed, which meant there was no room for me in it. He would have to be moved and, I thought, put to bed properly. As the boy was so far out of it, I thought it was probably safe to do it myself, and I have to admit that my heart warmed to the task.

Now in my underpants, I knelt by James' side and once again tried to wake him, but with the same lack of result. I looked at the sleeping boy, then gave up the struggle against conscience and common sense and slowly bent to kiss his lips. I thought I detected a reaction, and quickly pulled away. But the deep breathing continued, and James didn't stir. I gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze, then slipped my arm round it to support him whilst I removed the shirt. Encouraging it over the drooping arms was difficult, and I had to use my knees to support the boy's back as I eased the sleeves off.

James had managed to take off his shoes, and the rather unpleasant socks came off without too much of a problem. I looked again at his face, to see if there was any change to his state of wakedness. There seemed to be none.

I felt at his waist for the top button of his jeans, undid it and paused. How many times had I longed to be in this situation since the holiday started? I grasped the top of the zip, and gently pulled it down, over the bulge that I longed to touch, and pulled it down to the end of its travel. By putting my arms around James' bottom I gained enough clearance to be able to ease the trousers downwards around his thighs, so that completely removing them was easy. I put his clothes on a shelf, then returned to him. To my surprise his body had been reacting to the sensation of being undressed. With him in this state, and as I'd been undressing him, I could hardly help myself. I gazed, trembling slightly, at the growing bulge in his underwear. Almost of its own volition my hand stretched out towards him, and just as James had done to me the previous night, I traced the length of the boy's penis with my fingers, then around the sac of the testicles, then again up the length of his shaft. The erection had grown, as had mine, and each of us had an organ straining at the elastic of his pants. As James was unconscious I was surprised he was reacting, but more than pleased. Still anxious to continue now I had committed myself and had the chance, I pulled the elastic away from his waist, releasing the organ which rose into my hand. I pulled the waistband down, to expose more of it. Careless now, my hand continued exploring down, tracing the penis to its base.

I checked again that James was still not responding, except by his erection which seemed now to be at its fullest extent. Once again I put my arms at either side of his bottom so the underwear could slip down. This brought my face very close to the boy's manhood, and as I released his arms from underneath I let my lips rest on its tip for a moment. I brought my hand once again to James' testicles, and gently squeezed each one, exulting in the texture and warmth and lowness of them.

With a shock I suddenly I realised what I was doing. It was wrong! It was almost rape! How would I like it if someone did this to me? Another side of me kept saying that, if it were James doing it, I would not want him to stop. But common sense returned with a rush, and as if shocked by a high voltage I sat up, moved my hands away, and sat on the bed looking at my friend's inert body.

How would it be if I left him naked, and slept alongside him like that? I could tell James in the morning that I'd found him like that. Would he believe me? I thought so. So, once again, I put my arms around him, first around his shoulders to move them over, then his thighs. Then I thought for a moment, and removed my own underwear before climbing onto the bed alongside him. I pulled the duvet over us, turned out the light and tried to sleep. But for what seemed like ages sleep never came, so intense was the temptation to explore my sleeping partner's body again. But eventually the euphoria of desire, mingled with alcohol and natural tiredness, made me content with putting an arm around James as he lay there, and move as close to him as I could. I slept.

James had taken a great deal of liquid on board over the evening, and it was hardly surprising that he woke an hour later. I was sleeping lightly, despite the alcohol, and was aware of his movements under my arm which was over his shoulder. He eased the arm from him, and drew away before climbing over me out of bed. Quietly he started for the door, but must have been still rather giddy from the evening's excesses and stumbled. This gave me the chance to `wake up' and see him swaying, still naked, in the middle of the floor.

"You okay?" I mumbled.

"Huh? Yeah. Got to go to the toilet."

He lurched forward again, nearly missing the door.

"D'you need a hand?"

"Dunno."

I prised myself upright, stood up, and crossed to where he was struggling with the sudden effort of being perpendicular on top of a brain full of unaccustomed alcohol. I put an arm under his shoulders and steered him toward the door. He fumbled for the catch, found it, and I was thankful that he remembered to pause to listen for sounds of movement anywhere else on the boat before venturing outside. With my support he stumbled around the corner toward the toilet. I kept him going in the right direction, then opened the toilet door, thankful that there was the shower room the other side of it to act as a buffer for any noise we might make.

I helped him in and paused. "D'you want me to stay?" I whispered doubtfully.

He must have been too anxious to relieve himself. "Yeah.... Got to go."

He stepped forward and nearly fell. I reached for him to support him. Feeling now the fullness of my own bladder, I held my penis with my free hand and we both stood in front of the toilet together like young kids, relieving ourselves.

As the pressure on him eased, James relaxed, and he nearly failed in his aim. I'd finished, and was in time to turn him bodily, to avoid problems. "Be careful, James, or I'll take it and direct it for you!"

"Can if you want," mumbled James, now almost asleep again.

His stream had died down now, and there was no real danger of his missing, but I couldn't let a comment like that pass. I reached down and replaced James' hand on his penis with my own. The boy sagged against me, and I was glad that my other arm was still acting as a support for him.

To describe my thoughts, my emotions..... Just imagine it for yourself. Someone you love has just told you that you can help them in an extremely intimate, physical way. You are being trusted. They are saying that you are a real friend. Can you imagine the warmth, the tingle of love, the way a part of you feels fulfilled?

At last James stopped. I shook the boy's penis once or twice, squeezed the end and shook again, then did the same for myself. We turned, and I half walked, half carried James back to the cabin, then eased him back onto the bed. Freed from the need to try and keep himself upright, James' level of consciousness improved slightly.

"Mmm......Martin?"

"Hullo?"

"Thanks. "

"That's what friends are for."

"Mmm."

I climbed in beside him. Suddenly, because of his obvious acceptance of what I'd just done for him I felt suddenly free of any hesitancy. "You okay?" I asked tenderly.

"Hmm. Mush better." And he turned on his side so we were face to face, then moved his body forward to touch mine. He put his arm around my chest, and was comforted when I did the same to him. His eyes opened, he smiled at me, then quickly kissed me on the lips. Before I could react, his head had receded into the pillow and his eyes closed. I looked at him for a moment, then bent over to him and once again after a five year gap, kissed his lips. To my relief, the kiss was returned. I put my own head on the pillow, my emotions in turmoil.

CHAPTER 19

I woke first in the morning to find James still facing me, but his hand had slipped down and was lying between my legs as if to grasp my genitals again. I smiled at the memory of our night's encounter, and thrilled at the knowledge that he seemed as anxious as I was that we should be intimate, but I suddenly wondered how much of what had happened would stay in his waking mind. Perhaps none. If that was so, I mustn't assume that he'd automatically welcome any further attempts from me to be close, despite his own actions of the night. I felt, most reluctantly, that I should discount the fact that I had helped the boy relieve himself, and that James had embraced and kissed me, and that his hand was even now in as intimate a place as I could wish for.

Aware that even that could be construed as taking advantage, I freed myself, looked at the clock and saw that it was nearly nine o'clock. I was about to shake James, but remembered in time that the two of us were naked. Instead, I put just a pair of shorts on, then became aware of the smell of breakfast cooking. Leaving James asleep, I glanced furtively into the kitchen, just as Doreen turned and saw me.

"Oh, Martin!" she said after a split second's hesitation as she took in the sight of my body. "I've never seen you wearing so little! I'm glad you're awake. Breakfast's almost ready and Peter and George are just sorting out the engine. They're eating on the move. We've made a phone call and there's got to be a bit of a change of plans. We'll tell you later - don't worry, it's nothing drastic."

"Morning, dear. What are you doing wandering around nearly nude?"

"Morning, mother. I'm not nude."

"Well, those shorts don't leave much to the imagination, dear."

I realised that the shorts I'd picked up were about my thinnest, a remnant from school, and that I was wearing nothing underneath. I looked down at myself and realised that parts of me were moving independently of each other....

"Oops, sorry," I said, and turned away, totally embarrassed. "I'll go and wake James."

"You'll give him a shock if you let him see you like that!" my mother chided. Little does she know, I thought.

I wondered what Doreen thought. The look she had given me was very calculating. Surely not.... She was old enough to be my mother!

I returned to our cabin and crossed to James' still sleeping form. I watched him for a minute, looking at the boyish, adultish face, thinking back over the last few days, and then back further to THE holiday..... Then I shook the boy's shoulder, and said quietly: "Come on, sleeping beauty. Time to get up. Come on."

James gradually awoke, to find me sitting beside him, dressed only in those ridiculously thin shorts which were even now threatening to expose the end of my penis to the world from the left leg. He looked down at it, stretched, then slowly sat up. The duvet fell away from him, exposing his chest and abdomen.

"You're nearly dressed in those you know, Martin," he chided as he pointed to the offending clothing.

"And you're completely undressed in nothing," I retorted as I twitched the duvet away to expose his body to the world. Suddenly I wished I hadn't. James would now realise I knew he had been sleeping naked. I needn't have worried.

"Yes, I know. Thank you for putting me to bed last night."

I was dumbfounded. How did James know? He'd been asleep all the way through! I feared the worst was about to come, and decided to try and duck the issue. "What d'you mean?" I asked.

"You might have thought I was out of my tree, but I was awake."

I was lost for words, and was panicking about what I'd done, and what would be said next. There came a knock at the door. James flicked the duvet back over himself and lay down quickly. "Hallo?" I said.

It was Dad. "We've got a problem, Martin. She's not steering well, and although she's leaving a hell of a wake we're going at no speed at all. Can you give us a verdict?"

"Coming."

Thankful for the opportunity, I slipped on some shoes, told James I'd see him in a minute and slipped back down the boat, giving Doreen another opportunity to admire me as I passed through the kitchen on my way outside.

"It's a good thing it's warm, Martin. You're not wearing very much," said my father as he looked at me.

"I know, Dad. I was late up and just put on the first things in the drawer. What's up?"

"It's like I said. At normal revs she's making a lot of splash and no movement, and on tickover nothing much happens at all."

"Sounds like weeds round the prop. Did you check this morning?"

George looked sheepish. "No.... we did everything else, but not that. Do you think that's it, then?"

"Sounds like it. Can you pull into the bank? Then if you and Peter hold her, I'll delve around."

"Can't you do it in mid stream?"

"No. I'm not touching the prop when the engine's going! I'm quite attached to my fingers!"

"True. Okay, we'll pull in."

He manoeuvred to the bank and hopped out to hold the boat there on the mooring rope. James, now dressed, had realised what was happening and did the same at the other end. Peter went down to see him, to my alarm. I was all but sure that James would be telling his father how he had been stripped, then interfered with.

Trembling slightly at the thought, I opened the weed hatch and fished around. There was certainly something around the propeller, and it felt like fabric. Some of it gave way as I pulled. I asked for a knife and prodded around with that. Then the propeller turned completely a number of times as I unwound the remnants of a pair of knickers from it. There was a shout of laughter from the bank. James had walked up to see the results and he and Dad were laughing their heads off at me.

"I didn't know you were a cross-dresser, Martin," exclaimed James. "You must show me the rest of your wardrobe some time."

I said nothing. I was still worried about what he might have said to his father..

We started the engine again and continued on our way with Dad steering still, and the rest of us went to continue with breakfast. I was about to excuse myself to go and put some more clothes on, but was told by Doreen to sit where I was and have breakfast, or they'd never have it cleared up. I was just about to start when there was a shout from outside.

"Lock ahead!"

"Damn," said Peter. I forgot how close the first one was."

"Mary, do you think we can manage on our own again?" asked Doreen. "We've had ours, but none of the men have."

"Yes, why not."

So she and mum went to deal with the locks, leaving Dad's breakfast on the hatch in front of him where he was steering, and Peter, James and me eating ours at the table.

"Now, you two," started his Dad. By now I was really apprehensive, dreading what I was almost certain was coming. "I told Martin earlier that we'd made a phone call this morning. That was to the people we're going to meet on business. They've told us that we're booked into an hotel for two nights, and we've got to meet two lots of people. One of the pairs is from Holland. And, what's more, they want Doreen and your mother along as well. So we're going to have to alter our plans."

All the muscles in my body relaxed with the relief, almost to the detriment of my bladder control. Whew! It looked as if I was safe.

"We've got two choices. Either we can ask you two to get the boat back to the boatyard, and call it a day like that, or you can carry on up the canal toward Birmingham and we'll try to meet you there. We can give you a number where to contact us on Wednesday morning when we would be free. What do you reckon?"

I was still apprehensive about what James might have said to his father, and what he might have said to mine, so rather than immediately say that we'd want to continue, I waited for James to speak first. James seemed to be waiting for me, too, so there was a pause.

"Come on lads, it's not that much to ask, surely?"

"No....." James was still unsure about using the Christian name. "I vote to carry on to Birmingham. How about it, Martin?"

"Yes." I was relieved. James couldn't have said anything. It sounded as if he hadn't intended to, either, otherwise he would not have appreciated the idea of being alone on the boat with me. Suddenly I realised that we would no longer need to share a cabin - for two nights, at least - and my heart sank again. "Yes. We'll carry on toward Brum, as you said."

Conversation flagged as we ate their breakfast rather hurriedly. I finished first, excused myself and went to our cabin to put more clothes on. I had just taken off the shorts and was wearing nothing when the door opened and in came James.

"What's the matter, Martin?" he asked quietly.

I turned away so that James couldn't see my front view. "Nothing," I said, just as quietly.

James came round quickly to stand in front of me, stretched out his hands and looked straight at my eyes. "Please.....don't treat me as if I'm a kid. I know something's the matter. And I was honest with you yesterday, remember."

I was still uncertain what was in his mind. I was embarrassed by James' closeness and the fact the I was naked and the boy wasn't. I shook my head, not knowing what to say.

"Is it something I've done.....or could it be something you've done?" asked James, as if suddenly aware of what might be troubling me. "After last night...."

He was interrupted by his father's voice at the door, and a knock on it. "Come on, you two! The girls are struggling out there!"

"Coming, Dad!" Then quieter: "There's nothing to worry about, you know, if that's your problem. I did the same to you on Saturday night."

I turned away from him and found my underwear. It must be coming now, I thought. Pulling them on, I looked at James hard.

"Are you sure?"

"Martin......yes......it's between us. Don't go off me now, please." And he quickly left the cabin to go and help his parents.

I thought for a while, thankful that the air seemed to be clear again. Or at least, fairly clear. I still didn't know what he was really thinking.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon was spent working up the Hatton flight. We were by this time accompanied by no other boats, and to start with all the locks were against us. Twenty-one wide locks, each operated by hydraulic paddle gear which had been installed because someone thought it would make life easier, actually make for heavy, exhausting work. We had to empty all but the last few before entering, so each had to be operated twice. But as we passed the Waterways workshops, four locks from the top, we were relieved to see a pair of boats working down toward us. We stopped for a cup of tea after the bridge before the winding hole and rested our tired legs and arms.

As the boats passed us and exchanged greetings, we set off again, anxious to reach the summit and look for somewhere to stop for the night. For by this time we had agreed that would be best - everyone was tired. At last we were there, and breathed a sigh of relief. No one mentioned that they would have to go through the same procedure on their homeward journey!

A quick discussion persuaded us to continue to Kingswood, where there was a station for the journey into Birmingham. It would also put the boat in the right place to continue northwards along a more interesting stretch of canal into the city, the northern Stratford. While James and I took turns to steer, our parents took turns to shower and change. They were ready to disembark, looking strangely smart, by the time their we two had moored at Kingswood bottom lock.

"Now, you two, no larking about, OK?"

"Yes mother."

"And don't forget you've got to look after the boat. And try to keep her tidy, will you?"

"Yes mother."

"And don't forget to phone tomorrow night to tell us where you'll be the next morning."

I paused. "Sorry, was the answer to that one meant to be a yes or a no?"

Dad laughed. "Just use your common sense and normal Martin-ness. That'll do. But don't forget to phone unless you want to leave us stranded in Birmingham."

They said their farewells, and walked off down the towpath, looking very out of place. I'd just known that mum would say all that, I just knew it.

Once alone, we sat in the main cabin, just glad to be at rest. At length, James looked at the clock and said: "Pub's open."

I laughed at him. "One track mind, you've got. Come on then. I've not got much money."

"I've got some. And I haven't got a one track mind. It has two."

"What's the other one?"

"Sex."

I raised my eyebrows quizzically, and my heart missed a beat. "You don't say. How much have you got?"

"What, sex?"

"Money, twit."

"Just a mo.....about £3, I think.....yes. £3.50."

"And in my little pocket I have.....here, wait a minute. £1.20? That can't be right!" He paused. "Oh yes it can. I forgot I paid for the groceries the other day. Damn. I'll have to get some more out of the bank. But not here. There's nothing here at all."

"We've got £4.70 between us. Well, it's enough to quench our thirst, anyway."

We spent an enjoyable two hours in the pub, not drinking a great deal, but making good use of the bar billiards table. Back at the boat we shared the cooking and ate a simple meal, and after an argument, washed up. Once we were again sitting, the curtains drawn throughout the boat as it was by then dark, I suggested a game or two of cards. James readily agreed, and we played several games of rummy, the only one that each of us knew and more or less all I could remember how to play.

"I'm tired of rummy," said James, eventually. "It's all right winning, but....well....it's a bit pointless, isn't it?"

I had to agree with him. For the first time I had begun to look at our playing as just a means of entertaining James. I'm not an instinctive card player, and would rather have been in the pub playing bar billiards. But until I could reach a bank or a cash machine, spending money in the pub was not a possibility.

We sat in silence for a while. Then James piped up again. "How does strip poker work, anyway?"

I was astonished, although I suppose after Amberdale I shouldn't have been. "Why?" I asked, some of the apprehension about my attitude to James returning.

"Well, we're not worried about being undressed together, are we? It'd add a bit to playing cards all night, wouldn't it?"

Yes, I thought, it most certainly would. What's going on inside that head? "You don't really want to play that, do you? Besides, I don't really know the rules. I've never played poker, let alone strip poker."

"How about strip rummy, then?"

"Too long winded, I'd have thought. Pontoon's quicker."

"How does that work?"

I explained the rules to him, and we started to play. After about a dozen games, James said: "How does the strip part of it work, then?"

I had been wondering if I dared introduce the topic myself, but hadn't liked to. "Well, from a description I heard from a friend of mine who played strip poker once or twice, every time you lose a hand, you take off an item of clothing. It's as simple as that."

"You mean, nothing else? What happens when someone's taken everything off?"

"He said something about forfeits. The winner has to make him do something."

"What?"

"Anything. I suppose it depends on what there is available and who's playing anyway."

"Such as?"

"Well, there are games you can play together when you're in the nude."

"What, sex, you mean?"

"Yes, ultimately."

"What else?"

"I don't know. You have to make it up as you go along."

"All right. I'm for it, if you are."

I looked at him, almost incredulous that James should want to play such a game, and should even consider forfeits afterwards. But then he'd always been the one to take off his clothes first. My mind somersaulted as I looked at him and thought of what he was suggesting.

"Are you sure about this? It can get very basic, you know."

"Yes. Why not? I don't mind at all what you make me do, so long as it doesn't hurt or do damage. And anyway, at Amberdale we did quite a lot together."

"I'm not going to make you do something you would rather not do."

"That's all right then. Come on, let's start."

"We'd better have some ground rules, then. Um..... let's say that a pair of something counts as one item. Okay? And when we get down to forfeits, if either of us really doesn't want to do something, then he can make the winner choose again."

"That's good. That'll solve any problems. Who's the winner?"

"I don't know. I suppose it's the one who keeps most clothes on, or has fewest forfeits played on him."

"Right. You're banker, or do you want to start again?"

"I may as well carry on, unless you object?"

"No, go on."

I dealt again. James picked up two more cards, then said "Twist." I put a card on the table, face up. James said "Damn. Bust. What happens now?"

"You take something off."

James undid his shoes as I dealt again. He lost the next two hands as well, and took off his socks and T-shirt, then sat looking rather embarrassed, I thought, in just his trousers. Then he won a hand, so I took off my shoes, then dealt again.

"I was beginning to think you'd just started to play seriously!" he said. "I thought you'd be winning from then on and I'd be going all the way down to forfeits!."

"I was beginning to wonder myself!"

But he lost the next hand, stood up, and slowly released his trousers. I hadn't been there when he had dressed after his shower, so was intrigued --well, astonished -- to see that he was wearing a pair of red tanga briefs. These were cut very sharply up from the crotch, almost vertically, before joining a waistband of elastic which wrapped round him just under the navel. The arrangement exposed the top of James' thighs right round to a point halfway over each buttock, whereupon they dived once again to cover the cleft of the bottom.

"Good grief, James. They're a bit small, aren't they?"

"Yeah....nice and cool."

"Is that why you bought them?"

"No. Not really. But it's a good excuse. I realised I'd got them this morning, so I thought I'd try them on, and give you something to look at."

"Don't know what you mean. Come on, your cards are ready."

James picked them up, and gave a whoop. "Ha!" he said.

"What've you got?"

"I'll tell you when you've stopped."

I grinned, and dealt to myself, stopping when I reached eighteen. "Pay nineteens and above, flushes and pontoons," I announced as if at a casino.

"Pay me! Royal pontoon! That counts double, surely?"

"That's not in the rules, is it?"

"It is now!" And James watched as I removed my socks and shirt. He took over as banker and immediately lost again. Here goes, I thought.

"You can accept a forfeit, if you'd rather," I said quickly as I noticed him hesitate.

"Can I? I might. What have you in mind?"

There were all sorts of things I'd like to do, but I said "This is where it's a bit difficult. You see, I don't know what you'd be happy with."

"Martin, we both knew when we started this that we'd end up playing around. As this is all to do with being undressed first, it's going to have something to do with each other's bodies, isn't it?"

"I know, I know. But it doesn't make things any easier. You decide on a forfeit for yourself."

"That's hardly right!"

"I can't decide on something that'll make you....oh, I know." I chuckled.

"What?"

"Go outside, walk the length of the boat and come in the back."

"What, like this?"

"That's it!"

His giggle took me right back to Amberdale.

"All right. You're not going to lock me out, are you?"

"No," I said, "but it's a good idea."

"Please?"

"No, I promise I won't."

"Ok."

And I watched as he unbolted the front of the boat and looked out. The slightly `footballer's' legs, slim thighs, the rounded, soft/firm looking bulge of the still-boyish bum, the broadening back....all passed me, paused, and then vanished onto the bank.

Was the back of the boat unlocked? I almost ran up to it, found that it was bolted, and was loosening it as he pushed it from outside.

"Quick," he panted. "There's somebody coming."

He fumbled his way in, crowding against me, and for a moment his bulge was pressing against my leg.

We secured the boat again, and he sat down, grinning.

We both calmed down and played another hand. He lost.

"Forfeit?" he asked.

"I've got to think up another one?"

"Yes. A bit less embarrassing this time."

"The whole idea of forfeits is that they're embarrassing or sexy."

"Make it sexy, then."

"I can't."

"You can. I shan't mind, not with you."

And how do I take that, I asked myself.

"You pick another one," I told him.

"All right. I know....you remember last night when you put me to bed?"

"Yes..." I was hesitant.

"Do that again."

"Put you to bed?"

"No.....don't be silly! You know, just before you'd taken my pants off."

"What was that?"

"I was awake, Martin. I told you that this morning. You know what happened."

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes. Come on. I'm getting a .... mast .....just standing here."

I noticed that the bulge in James's briefs was indeed growing. I went round the table. James stood up and looked directly at me as I stood looking down at his swelling briefs. I wanted to kiss him, to embrace him, to tell him that we didn't need to play like this but just to enjoy each other's presence as we had five years ago. But there was still this doubt.....

So slowly, I reached to touch the briefs where they covered his testicles and to massage them. I felt James's breathing quicken, and his erection started pushing at the briefs' waistband. Still watching, I felt up the length of the penis to the tip which was starting to push its way under the elastic. I let my hand lie there for a moment, then turned away to go back to the safety of my seat, my own erection now becoming uncomfortable.

James let out a sigh. "You did it on the skin last night," he said.

"That'll do. For now," I told him, shakily.

James composed himself and bent to sit down again. "Ow!" he said. His unyielding penis had suddenly won against the elastic of his ridiculous briefs which was now holding his foreskin back against the thrust of the organ. The edge of the elastic was rubbing against the sensitive glans and it was this which had led James to wince. He quickly pulled the briefs away, and replaced his foreskin, letting the edge of his penis protrude above the garment. I watched in fascination, as James noticed.

"Come on then," he said. "It's about time you were visible too." He dealt the next hand, which I tried to build into a five card winner. I might have done it and won the hand, but I needed to even things out a bit with him. I went bust deliberately, and removed my trousers.

"Now we're level," I said, my heart racing. My erection was keeping inside my underwear, unlike James' which was still exposed, although it was out of my sight behind the table.

"Not quite. I'm naked, more or less. Next one's the decider."

It sounded as though he didn't want to play any more after that, and in my disappointment I said nothing. I picked up the cards and played the hand so badly that I lost what should have been an easy winner. "You did that on purpose!" said James.

"No I didn't. I made a mistake, that's all."

"Go on, then. Off with `em!"

So I stood, and eased my pants over the swollen penis, which leapt up, glad to be free of the constriction. I dropped my underwear onto the floor, and stood there, naked, taken in a moment right back to the beach of the island off Amberdale.

"Not bad," said James, watching me critically "Not bad at all."

"I didn't know you were an expert."

"Hardly! Apart from Amberdale you're the only other person I've seen naked, except after sports, in the shower. And now I've seen you as a boy and as a man."

"I'm glad of that."

I sat down, in turmoil once again. I needed time to sort all this out.

Unperturbed, James dealt another hand. This time I didn't have to lose it deliberately. The cards were in James' favour.

"A forfeit, I suppose. What do you want me to do?"

"Let's see..... yes. Just come over here and stand in front of me." What? What was he after?

I walked round the table again, James watching my middle like a hawk. His head was at the level of my abdomen.

"Legs slightly apart, please," came the command. I complied. James lifted his hand inside my left calf, and I could feel the hairs there being brushed upwards as the hand moved upwards onto my thigh. At last it lay between the top of my thigh and my scrotum. Then he brought his other hand up and cradled the scrotum in it, gently exploring my testicles with his fingers and squeezing them at intervals. His right hand moved to the base of the sac, under my legs, and traced a path between there and the start of the cleft of my bottom.

And he repeated the motions. The sensation was incredible.

He moved a hand from my testicles and felt slowly up my penis, whilst still massaging the testicles and under his legs. I gasped. James looked up at me. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," I gasped. "I've never felt anything like this!"

"You've got some already."

He was looking at the little pool of fluid at the tip of my penis. I nodded.

Avoiding the fluid, he gave more strokes to it, as if fascinated by its length and breadth and warmth, and possibly because, at only fourteen, he had an adult in his control. It was obvious to him that I was enjoying the sensations he was producing. My breathing was once again fast and deep, and my pulse was at speed, as James could feel through my penis's movement.

He stopped, removed both hands and looked up at me. "Nice?" he asked.

"Hmm." I was coming down from the clouds, full of emotion. I looked down and smiled as tenderly as I used to when he was asleep in my bed in Amberdale.

"Did you enjoy doing that?" I asked.

"Yes. It's the fist time I've really explored someone else's body."

"It sounds as though you don't want it to be the last. James; promise me something. If you ever have the opportunity to do something like that again, make sure it's with me. I......I can't stand the thought of you doing something like that for anybody else. You know you can trust me not to do something you don't want. There are so many evil people out there......I don't want you hurt."

What made me come out with that I don't know. Well, I suppose I do. It was just that I didn't want to lose him to anyone else, not now. And I was aware that after the canals we would see each other only occasionally.

He smiled at me. "I'm not going to make a habit of approaching strangers in the street to ask if I can grope them," he replied.

"Don't even joke about it!" I surprised myself, and him, by my vehemence. "Anyway that's not what I meant. Well, yes it is, but only partly. Even when you've known somebody for ages as a friend, you don't really know what they're like when it comes to intimacy like this. You're lucky with me. I wouldn't do anything which would hurt or damage you or which you didn't want. I promise. But not everyone is so trustworthy. Even in a few supposed lifelong relationships there's rape, sometimes, and violence. If I thought that what I've done had in any way made you expose yourself to that I'd ....." I paused. "I don't know. Come and rescue you, I suppose."

James looked at me again, surprise on his face together with a smile which faded as he saw how serious I was.

"Martin," he said, standing up, "I'm not interested in doing anything like that with anyone else. Thanks, though."

"I mean it."

"I know."

"Do you want to carry on with the game?"

During our exchange, the physical excitement had died down a little. I wanted to give him the opportunity to stop matters there if he felt he could handle no more of this new experience at the moment. But then it wasn't a new experience really, was it? We'd played other, less complicated games before. I smiled at him again.

As I looked at him his erection grew again, and I felt shaky with the anticipation that I was entering ground I'd only trodden with him as a child.

"No," he said. "Let's carry on."

CHAPTER 20

We sat down again, one either side of the table. James dealt, and quickly went bust. I wondered if it was deliberate.

He stood again, and I watched as he carefully eased the briefs over his erection and testicles, down his slim thighs and calves and onto the floor. He stepped out of them and stood for a moment.

I just wanted to rush round the table and embrace him. He's got everything, I thought. An attractive, distinctive face with that grin, a slim, well proportioned chest, slim legs with just enough muscle, and that soft patch of hair just sprouting above his penis. And his penis.... well. Nearly as long as mine, not as wide, though, smooth, and with a glans at the end that looked so shapely, all supported by a low hanging, bulging scrotum that left the young testicles very evident and inviting. I couldn't believe this was happening to me.

James sat down, carefully, and dealt again. Once again, he lost the hand, looked at me and said, rather shakily, I thought, "Forfeit?"

I looked at him. "If you're sure."

"I lost, didn't I?"

"Yes......but..... All right, but tell me to stop if you want. Come here."

James crossed to me, and stood in front of me. His erection was now starting to subside, perhaps because of uncertainty of what I was going to do.

"You keep on about being awake when I put you to bed last night," I said. "Were you really?"

"You know I was. I just did what you did to me then."

"Well, I was awake that first night, when you felt me, too. And I was awake afterwards."

He looked at me, and his face went white. The excitement drained from his body.

"I.....oh.....oh shit....."

His mouth opened as if he was about to speak, but no words came from it. I let him go on as long as I could stand it, then rose and put my arms round the boy, looking him in the face. I felt my protruding organ touch James' limp one, and was happy to feel him press his belly towards me. Slowly, I kissed his forehead, then stopped and looked down at him. Shyly, it seemed to me, James lifted his face towards me and kissed me on the lips.

He still looked confused. He had just been told that I knew about his actions, and it hadn't seemed to strike him that they balanced out my own of the previous night.

We stayed like that for some time, and James seemed to accept my closeness.

"Aren't you disgusted with me?"

I just looked at him. "Why should I be?"

"Well, it's not right to....do that."

"Why not? We've talked about that anyway. And we did at Amberdale. And as to fondling you, I did last night, and you did it to me that first night. What's right for one is right for the other. Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes. I was sorry you stopped."

"If you want to know, I only stopped because I thought it wasn't right."

I gave him a bear hug, then broke away. He looked surprised and disappointed. "Is that it," he asked.

"Didn't you like it?"

"Yes." And James came back to me and put his arms round me, pushing his body close so that I could once again feeling the warm hardness of our touching penises. His was stiffening again, and its growth against my body was beautifully intimate. "But I thought there'd be something......more."

I looked at him in surprise. "I was anxious not to.....do too much."

"I did more to you, just now. And that first night."

I looked at him again, entranced, and once again kissed him. My hand slipped down his back onto his bottom, and stroked his buttock gently. Drawing my head away, I looked at the boy, saw the smile on his face and the closing eyes, and checked the question I'd been going to ask. My other hand moved to the other side of his bottom, and stroked there too.

James thrust his hips forward so that he was leaning slightly back, bringing the length of his penis against mine. He was by now again fully erect. I could see his foreskin had started to ease back over the glans, and fluid was covering it. I could feel his wetness against my own erection, and eased a hand around between us. I held the tip of my own penis and then thought again.

"James," I whispered, "do you want to pull my foreskin back, too?"

James looked at me and smiled, moved his hand onto the tip of my penis and put a finger either side on the foreskin. He pulled gently downwards so that my foreskin expanded down the his swollen glans, and I gasped as it finally cleared the ridge at the bottom and settled beyond it. I grasped James', in turn, and gently eased it further back, expecting at any time to be told to stop. James said nothing, and I was surprised that the foreskin rode back so easily until it, too, lay behind the ridge of the glans.

We stood like that for some moments, the wet glans of each resting on the other's. It'd been a long time since I'd felt so naked. I felt as though another layer of clothing had been stripped from me. Had it been anyone else apart from James -- or Mark -- that I was with, I'd never have allowed it. In fact I had never found anyone apart from those two who I wanted to be at all intimate with anyway. But I already knew him so well. It was as if five years had been stripped away between us and we could have been back in my hotel bedroom. Apart from the wonderful developments that had happened to his body, of course. And to mine to, I supposed. I was aware I'd not been very advanced at Amberdale. Certainly nothing like as advanced as this boy was. At last, emotion overcame me, and my body closed on James' to embrace him again. As I did so, his glans slipped from mine and hit the belly with a thump.

"Ow!" he said, backing off.

"What's the matter?" I asked, concerned that I'd hurt him.

"I hit it against you. It hurt."

"You're very sensitive there, I can see. Have you ever tried holding it there?"

"No. It hurts."

"Not so much when it's wet, like now. Try it."

"It hurt when it hit against you."

"Yes. That's a hit, not a touch."

"You do it for me."

I was beginning to think that nothing James could do or say would surprise me. But the trust the boy once again had for me flattered me greatly. How could he trust me not to hurt him when he was anxious about doing so himself?

I sat on the floor, and gently pulled James down beside me. "If I hurt you, or you want me to stop, just say so."

James just looked at me and closed his eyes. "I'm going to lie back, Martin," he said.

I made room for him, then sat at his side. I stroked James' shaft with my left hand, then squeezed he length of it. As a drop of fluid appeared at the end, I lightly smeared it around the top of the glans. He was producing a lot, so I hardly needed to squeeze it from him. Drop after drop appeared, and was gently stroked all over the glans until it was completely covered. James lay still, his body rigid as I circled my palm around the glans, touching it all over. He shuddered, and I expected him to tell me to stop. But he said nothing. I moved my hand gently up and down the wet organ, and James wriggled on the floor with the sensation, so like pain, yet so unlike it in its acceptability.

I continued for some minutes, James wriggling on his back as I did so, then brought my other hand up to massage his testicles. James moaned, and became still again. I looked at him. There was no sign he wanted me to stop. His body was still producing a flow of fluid, enough to lubricate the organ against friction. I continued this double handed treatment for him, conscious that my own erection was still very hard and wet.

James' breathing was becoming faster as I continued. Suddenly he gasped "Martin!", and arched his back as his penis ejaculated a stream of semen over my encircling hand and my arm. It was followed by another, and another......six in all, then he gradually subsided, his penis still jerking in my hand as his orgasm subsided.

"Shall I stop?" I asked, quietly.

James nodded, unable to speak. I did so, and lay by my friend's side as he rested, exhausted, his erection now also beginning to subside. I wondered whether to do the same for myself as I had for James, just to relieve the pressure of on me.

But James stretched his hand down to my penis, and stroked it gently. He looked at me and saw me watching him, tenderly. He sighed deeply and slowly closed and opened his eyes.

"Shall I do the same for you," he asked.

"Do you think you can, after that? Do you want to?"

"Yes." And he grasped my uncovered glans in his hand, rather rougher than I had done for him. I winced.

"Sorry," he said. "I forgot yours was back too. Pull it up if you'd rather."

"You trusted me not to hurt you James. I trust you to pull it back again without hurting me, if you want to."

"No, you'd better. Perhaps some other time....."

So I gripped my foreskin and manoeuvred it with some difficulty past the ridge. James took the end of my penis between three fingers and started to exercise the foreskin. With an effort he brought his other hand over to my testicles and gently cradled them, then let his hand wander under my legs, just as he'd done when he first explored my body. I was so ready for an orgasm that it was not long before I felt the familiar sensations starting deep within me. I gasped, and James's arm, in turn, received the streams of my semen as they burst from me. He continued his strokes and his fondling until my ejaculations stopped and my penis had finished jerking in his hand, and once again lay back next to me to rest, just as I was doing.

We rested for a short while, and I dropped off to sleep, as did he. When we woke we were cold, and, in some places, wet. I looked at him, suddenly anxious once again.

"Are you all right, James?"

"Yes. Very all right. That was wonderful."

I was rather embarrassed about all this, although pleased that I'd apparently done the right things for him and continued something else from the Amberdale holiday. We'd made each other come again. I had enjoyed his attentions more than I could say. "You're pretty good yourself," was all I could manage.

"Well I should be. You taught me!"

I looked sharply at him, then grinned. "I did, didn't I? But you must have had a lot of practice since then."

"Only on myself."

"Sure?"

"Yes! What d'you think I am? Anyway, what about you?"

"Nope."

"What about Mark?"

I was silent.

"Come on. You must have done. The more I thought about you two afterwards, how you were always with him when we were on the island, and how you ignored me when you were together..... You must have had a crush on him."

I was still silent.

He looked at me, I suppose sensing there was something wrong. I don't know how my face appeared to him: I don't know what the expression on it said to him. What I do know is that he hoisted himself onto an elbow and wriggled towards me, then put an arm over my shoulder.

"You still love him, don't you? Go on, you can tell me and I'll understand. I'll be sorry, but I'll understand. But please...just be honest with me? Please?"

I still looked at him, and he went misty as the first of the tears filled my eyes. After all this time, and now, I was crying for Mark again. He held me, looking at me gravely, until eventually I regained control of myself.

"He's dead," I said at last.

He looked at me, aghast. "But he was only a year older than you!"

"I know," I sniffed like a child. "But it's not even as simple as that." And I launched into the full story of what happened to Mark.

When I had finally ended there was a long silence. Then:

"Oh christ," he said.

It took an age for the indignation, the fury, the injustice to register with him fully, and he said a lot, then, of what I had felt at the time. And more. For he ended by saying this:

"And all he did was to do exactly what you'd done for me."

I breathed a sigh. "Yes," I said. "And there is no way that either of us thought that was wrong at the time, and there is no way I feel it was wrong now. What do you think about it? Was I wrong to teach a nine year old how to wank?"

He thought.

"I never thought it was wrong at the time," he said slowly. "Since then I've heard people talk about wankers, and thought there might be something wrong. And then in church they said once that this guy Onan, who spilt his seed on the ground rather than let himself go with someone else's wife, was wrong. That made no sense to me. I looked in the dictionary and that describes it as being `self-defilement'. So Onan, a biblical chracter, defiled himself, did he? Wrong -- if he had, it'd not be in the Bible. Then I read a scientific report that said that almost every male does it, and that no bad effects come from it. And I thought, and wondered. And carried on doing it. And nothing bad happened. And I thought that if it was self defilement then ordinary sex must be defilement of somebody else, or by somebody else. And if that was wrong, then the whole thing about starting babies must be wrong too. And that didn't make sense. So I thought that if the world eventually made up its mind whether it was right or wrong then I'd take notice. But until it did, I'd enjoy myself."

There was another long silence. Then I kissed him.

We lay back for a few more moments, each busy with our own thoughts. I was the first to stir.

"I'm cold. And wet. I've go a mixture of yours and mine on me."

James sat up. "Oh....sorry," he said. "I wasn't exactly aiming!"

I smiled. "I don't mind. Want some back?"

"Not really. What I do want is a shower."

"So do I. Shall we have one together?"

James paused. All those showers we had taken together, I thought... The idea hadn't occurred to me until then.

"As if we'd never gone away from Amberdale."

"Yes. That really would be special"

"I hope so."

He reacted like a child of nine again, to my delight. Naked and wet with each others seed and sweat that we were, we walked into the cabin, at last once again completely unashamed, gathered our towels and went to the shower room. The first rush of water was cold, something James forgot as he stood under it. I was carefully out of the way. He gasped as the water hit him, and quickly dodged out of the flow. I laughed at him, just as he had laughed at me in the same circumstances five years previously. Used to seeing the boy's hair in its dry state, when the front was raised a little from the mane of thick, healthy hair, I was intrigued to see how much younger he looked when it was flattened by water.

Once the water was temperate I beckoned him under the flow. We entered it together, and I once again put my arms round him, and he did the same to me. We looked at each other's eyes like lovers, each trying to fathom what the other was thinking. I remember doing the same with Mark, a lifetime ago, and it suddenly struck me that, had James been fourteen at the time, and like this, poor old Mark wouldn't have got a look in. The idea made me feel even closer to James than I had thought.

"Martin....."

"Yes?"

"Why did you like me, back then?"

I paused before answering.

"Dunno. It started off with the fact that you were always there. Then it was the way you took to sailing. Then it was the way you trusted me. Then it was the way you came to me for help in that storm. And it sort of went on from there."

"How about now?"

What do I say? Do I tell him that I fancy him like hell, that I want him in my arms for ever? And he'll say he doesn't like queers, and that'll be that.

"I need notice of that," I said, and laughed. "Am I doing you first?" Anything to alter the subject.

"If you like."

"Right. Get yourself wet, then turn round with your back to me. I'll do that first."

James did so, without hesitation, and stood facing the wall. I soaped my hands, and wash his back from hairline to waist. Then I turned my attention to his chest, and paid special attention to the sticky areas where his semen had landed. My hands resoaped, I progressed slowly down his belly, noticing the erection start again as I entered the pubic hair and started to soap his genitals. Soon the erection was complete, and I soaped him there again and again. Suddenly James gasped, and turned back into the flow of water, his hands on his penis.

"What's up?"

"Got soap inside the foreskin. Hurts," he bubbled from under the water. He pulled back his foreskin, yelped again as the force of the water played on his uncovered glans, and dodged out of the flow again.

"Wait a minute," I said. "I'll see if the spray alters." I twisted at the shower head, and produced a much softer spray which I held under James' smarting penis.

"That's better," he said, as I turned the spray this way and that, rinsing the soap from his organ.

"Sorry, I should have thought before I put so much on you. It's my fault."

"No, I should have thought myself. But it felt so nice, and you were obviously enjoying yourself.. I didn't like to stop you!"

"Very considerate. Do you want me to continue?"

"Yes, but no more on that, please. Round about it, yes, but not on it."

So I soaped my hands once again and re-established James' erection by soaping over his testicles and half way up the shaft of his penis, then under his legs and up between his buttocks. He squirmed in front of me as my soapy hand washed deep inside the cleft.

"Didn't you like that?"

"Don't know. It's strange."

"Shall I do it again?"

"Um. Yes, but I may ask you to stop."

So I again soaped my hand, put it between James' legs to feel his testicles again, then slowly brought it back under the legs and deep inside the cleft. I stopped there and slowly worked the hand up and down. James wriggled again.

"No, stop it please. It sort of tickles, but it's......funny. Like it's so close to me that it's dangerous."

I thought I knew what he meant. I withdrew my hand and rinsed it, then held the boy's buttocks cheeks apart to rinse out the soap.

"Martin.....that feels the same."

"Do you want to do it?"

"Yes."

So James took over rinsing his bottom, doing just what I had done, as I told him.

"Yes, but that's different. I don't know. Perhaps I'll get used to it."

"Only from me, please James. Remember what I said."

"I know, I know. You don't need to worry about that!"

Feeling rather as if I'd been warned off massaging him any further, I swiftly washed his thighs, then knelt to do his calves and feet. At last I looked up, rewarded by the nearness of James' manhood to my face. The temptation to take him into my mouth was almost overpowering, but I controlled myself with difficulty and stood up.

"There. That's you done."

"Okay. Let me rinse the soap off, then it's your turn. Do you want me to do that to you?"

"Do what you want." I hoped it hadn't sounded like a dismissal.

So he stood at my back, washing my back and chest and stomach. I could feel his penis against my buttocks. Then he came round the front and washed down my belly and came to the mounting erection. I was pleased to be massaged there just as I had done to him. He washed underneath me gently as I separated my legs, and started to delve into my cleft, then paused.

"Sure?"

"Yes. It's nice."

And James spent quite a few moments slowly ploughing between my buttocks, then reached round the front of me again and moved his body closer. I could feel his warmth close to my cleft, and wondered what the boy was going to do. I felt the tip of his erection touch me high on the cleft, then the rest of his shaft pressed against it, as James pushed his body close to mine. His hands massaged my genitals again.

I was almost beside myself with pleasure. James had done something, given me a sensation I had never experienced before. Once again I wanted to tell him that I loved him, that I wanted to share his life with him....but I realised with a shock that was impossible. The boy was only fourteen years old; his parents were looking after him and doubtless wanted to continue doing so; they certainly wouldn't let James go and a live with a man because that man happened to love him. I doubted whether James would want that kind of life anyway. Faced with reality, my euphoria almost collapsed.

He may have felt there was something wrong, for he stopped the treatment, turned me round and, in his turn, knelt to concentrate on my legs and feet. As happened to me, when he finished he found himself at eye level with my genitals. He paused, half glanced up at me, then slowly brought his mouth forward and upward until it was directly over the penis, which by now was only half erect.

My entranced state deepened again, my penis reacted as it best knew how, and, as James' mouth stayed there, it rose to touch his lips and then to pass through them into the boy's mouth. James moved his head downward, feeling the shaft travel slowly through his mouth and touch the back of his throat. The words `deep throat' that I'd heard at school went through my head. He hesitated, possibly wondering what to do next. As the organ pushed at him, it made up his mind for him. He swallowed, and immediately found he couldn't breathe. He pulled away slightly, took a few deep breaths and swallowed again, this time letting the shaft go down his throat until his lips were against my pubic hair. His hand came up to my testicles which were just underneath his lip, and he managed to put out his tongue to massage them and brought his other hand high inside my thighs.

He was able to keep this up for a moment or so, then withdrew with a gasp and knelt there panting. He stood, and met my eyes, and if he didn't see a look of ecstasy, and love, and tenderness in them then he couldn't read human emotion. Any comment he could have made was frozen on his lips. Momentarily we stood there again, each just looking at the other, then he stood and hesitantly embraced me, and kissed me again full on the lips, a lingering embrace that seemed to last minutes. I pulled away, at last, my heart full, but knowing that this wonderful thing there was between us would once again end when the holiday did, or soon after. Glad that the shower was washing away the emotion in my eyes, I stopped, my hands on his shoulders.

"What do I say now?" I wondered out loud.

James just gazed at me, saying nothing for a long time.

He was the first to speak, though, and then he was hesitant. "I don't know if that was.....going too far.....if it was, I'm sorry. It felt that's what I should do at the time. What I do know is that......you're special to me." He stopped, embarrassed, unsure of himself.

"Oh, James. What the hell do you think I feel?" I burst out. "Why do you think I couldn't speak just then? I love you......" I stopped, scared stiff by my own recklessness: waiting for the laughter, the ridicule, the rejection I was so scared of.

But James said nothing, but turned off the shower.

"I think I must love you, too," he said quietly. "I don't know, because it's never really happened before. At Amberdale I loved you as a brother, and I still do. But there's more. There may have been more then. But I'm glad...so glad...we're back together. And this time I'm not going to let go. I'm going to be visiting you whenever I can after this, and when I can leave school I'm coming to live with you....."

It was his turn to stop, embarrassed. But I was full, spiritually. Absolutely complete. Astonished, and yes, relieved; but complete. I was as happy as I ever was with my poor Mark, and a bit more because this was my little brother grown big, the one who had come to me for help, who had been my bedfellow, my confidant, my pupil. And now he wanted to be my love.

But there was one more thing. The last barrier.

"James, do you really know what you're saying? Do you know what that means you'll be called if we do?"

"What d'you mean? It's not if I do, it's when I do. Unless you don't want me."

I just gathered his dripping body to me and held it. "Don't even think it. I want that more than you can know. But you do know what it means, don't you?"

"What, that we're both queer?" he said quietly. "I knew you were at Amberdale. I knew I was when I realised eventually that you were all I could think of to compare other boys to, and none of them ever measured up. But don't give anything away to my parents, or yours, please. And exactly how we're going play it after the holiday's over, I don't know."

CHAPTER 21

To say I was dumbfounded was an understatement. I just looked at him, mouth drooping open like a bloodhound, for such a long time that he laughed. Then the tension, the wound spring of tension, released itself all in one go and I think I gave a shout that astonished him, for he stepped backwards in some sort of alarm. But I sat down in the shower tray because my legs wouldn't hold me up any more, and I just looked up at this little brother of mine with the boy's slim legs and thighs, the man's penis, the adolescent's belly and chest, the boy/girl face that I still recognised from all that time ago when it sat on top of a child's body..... And the last vestiges of care that he might not want from me the love that I wanted from him slipped away. For as far ahead as I could see we were one. There was nothing I needed to hide from him now.

Seeing me sitting there he recovered his composure and crossed to me, and put his hands on my shoulders.

"Are you all right, Martin?"

I nodded, recovered my breath and started.

"James, if you knew what I'd been through this week, not wanting you to think that I... was anything except a friend to you, while all the time you felt about me like that, well... all I can say is that it's been hell. A wonderful hell because you're here, but an emotional hell all the same. I've stopped myself doing and saying all sorts of things that I wanted to, because I was scared I might frighten you off. That first night when you fondled me I didn't want to show I was awake because I thought I might end up doing something you might not want. Then went you went to the toilet and wanked, I wanted so much to be there with you that it hurt. And when, last night, I had the opportunity of going even further with you, I had to stop myself because it would have been rape, or molestation, if you hadn't wanted it.

"But now....oh hell, James. What are we going to do? Do you really feel the same about me?"

Another longish pause.

"I think I must. I mean, the last five years I've used you to size up others I've met, as I said. And all the time I've been wanting to contact you, write to you, or visit. But I couldn't. Then when Dad found your address I was impatient to write, but when I sat down with a bit of paper I realised you must be a man now, and you wouldn't want to have anything to do with me. I doubted you'd have a girlfriend, but couldn't be sure."

He stopped. I grinned.

"Then Dad said he was going to phone, and I asked if I could talk to you afterwards, and they said you'd just moved, and gave me your number. Dad told me to wait until you'd said yes to the canals, and that was the most nervous half hour or so of my life. Then I phoned you and heard your voice, and it was all I could do to make sense on the phone, hearing your voice, and how you were with me.

"And when I first saw you in the car park.... I was sure I'd been right, knew that I wanted to get to know you properly again, really well as we knew each other at Amberdale, just as if there had been no time passing in the meantime. If you'd asked me to come into the shower with you that night I'd have thrown my clothes off and stood there for inspection before you showered me."

He stopped again and gulped. "Have I said too much?"

But I was near tears with emotion, and hoped he would think the glint in my eyes was due to no more than shower water..

I got up, and gently put my arms round him, and held him close. And there we stayed, until the draft from the window made us cold. I looked at him.

"Well? And where are you going to sleep tonight? With all these double beds free you can take your choice. You don't have to share with me any more."

He looked at me, astonished. Then slowly that grin unzipped, just as it used to, and I laughed with him.

"I suppose I could start off in Mum and Dad's room, and you could come and visit me there. Then I could go for sanctuary into your parents' room, but you might come and look for me there too. Then I might just give up and go into our own room, and have you really do all sorts of things to me there. But be careful, 'cos it just might not be one sided."

I laughed out loud. "I should hope it wouldn't. If it was, I'd think you didn't mean all those things you said."

He grew serious again. "You know those things that adults say about you being too young to know you're in love? Well, I'm not sure, but I think it's rubbish. I mean, you love your parents and you know it. Why aren't you meant to know when you love somebody else? Do parents get jealous? Or didn't they have a love when they were fourteen? If they didn't, that's tough, 'cos at the moment I feel happier than I've ever felt in my life."

Yet another pause. I was amazed at him yet again. "James, you really have worked all this out, haven't you? How come you've thought all this out at fourteen, when I didn't even know I was qu.....homosexual at that age?"

"It just seemed something that I had to do. I did a lot of reading in reference libraries -- I was even thrown out of one. The librarian said I was a filthy minded little sod when he looked over my shoulder and saw what I was reading. But almost every one of the books said something different. It's like the wanking bit. Old dictionaries say masturbation's disgusting, the little pamphlets that get sent out to parents about how to bring up their teenagers say it's natural and harmless. Should I believe modern thinking and what I feel in myself, or should I believe dictionaries which have repeated the same thing over the last fifty years?"

He stopped for breath. I waited.

"I decided that, if people who write things like that either can't agree, or else modern thinking is different from old thinking, then I'll go along with what makes most sense. And someone once wrote that being a homosexual isn't something you can choose, it's something that happens to you. I decided, whether I liked it or not, I had to accept what I was. And knowing -- or believing -- you were the same is the one thing that kept me going, and stopped me from giving up on everything."

At this I just held him tightly, and tears again came to my eyes. And not just because of him but because of Mark. And the knowledge that I'd been the one to give James support, to help him through, all the way between England and Canada and without doing anything! I didn't know what to say. But I think actions spoke louder than words, because he seemed comforted. Eventually he struggled a bit, so I let go.

"Sorry. I've got to go to the toilet. I'll see you in a few minutes, Ok?"

"You don't want any help?"

He grinned again. "Not this time, thanks!"

So I went to our cabin. I felt like doing nothing except thinking. And the more I thought, the more it seemed that what was happening was right, for all the reasons we had told each other. But I also knew that I was having an affair with a boy of fourteen, and I was only nineteen myself. If we had any sex at all it would be illegal for us both. But then, in a way, we already had.

When he returned I was on my back, staring at the ceiling. He came and knelt on the floor by my side, and as if he was adult brought his hand up to stroke my brow. I turned my head to look at him.

"You know all this is illegal, don't you? You're too young by seven years and I'm too young by two."

"I don't see anybody else in the room."

"What?"

"Well, I'm not going to say anything to anyone, and I suppose you're not."

"Certainly not! But it's still illegal."

"Does it feel wrong?"

"No! It feels absolutely right, and you know it does 'cos you've said so."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I know, I know. And I know you're going to come to bed with me, and I hope we're going to be giving each other love and pleasure, and I know that it will be what each of us wants, just like the mutual comfort that we both wanted all that time ago." I turned back to look at the ceiling. His face came nearer to mine, lifted, and kissed my forehead.

I was still in something of a cleft stick. I wanted him so badly, I loved him. He loved me, he was anxious, he was available. And we were both under the age for homosexual relations, which an idiot government had set at twenty-one.

"It's wrong, James."

"Oh, Martin, you are silly at times. If it doesn't feel wrong, then it isn't. We aren't offending anybody. What we're likely to do won't damage either of us. If our parents were here -- well, we're meant to be sleeping in the same bed, aren't we? And what's `sex between consenting adults' anyway? What does it mean. I mean actual actions? We're not going to fuck each other's arses, are we? 'Cos if we are, count me out. If sex means kissing, then half the women in the world are illegal 'cos they kiss each other. If sleeping together's illegal, then our parents are encouraging us. If feeling your body's illegal, then how can anything that feels so good and makes me so happy be wrong or illegal? And why should my taking your willy in my mouth be any different from sucking your finger or your toe?"

I did my best to digest all this. It's very difficult when the one person in the world who you love is a disembodied head a few inches away from your ear, when you know that any minute he's going to leap into bed beside you, and you want him to do so so badly that it hurts. I said nothing. He watched me for ages, it seemed. Then he made an impatient noise, rose slowly to his feet, so giving me a close up of every slim inch of his body, cocked a leg over my prone form, knelt, and lowered his buttocks so that each one was resting on one of my thighs.

He looked at me, and that grin slowly unzipped itself, just like the first ever time, until it threatened to bisect his head.

A hand went on each of my shoulders. The knees slid slowly backwards, the legs aligned with mine, the chest came down on mine, and the face dropped gently towards mine. Oh, and his penis was resting against mine. I was supporting his full weight. As I let him lie there I could feel changes alongside my own penis, and the realisation that he was becoming erect caused mine do the same, not the normal sort of slow erection but a sudden rush of blood into it. In fact, it happened just like at Amberdale when I was myself fourteen. To allow each of us to maintain comfort he lifted his middle a bit occasionally, until each organ lay parallel to the other. His nose touched mine, and from the distance of two inches he looked into my eyes.

All my resolve not to break the law by `having sex' with a fourteen year old, all my good intentions, just vanished. The most powerful, overriding thought or emotion was that here was my love, my only love, merging with my mind and spirit and body, and it was right, and it was good, and he needed my reassurance.

So I just gathered him into my arms with a small moan, moved my nose out of the way, and once again kissed him.

When it got uncomfortable, about half an hour later, he slid off and lay at my side, and I turned to face him. We had only a few days left, I knew, and if he wasn't dreading the thought of our parting on Saturday, I already was. I didn't want to lose a moment of looking at him. He lay there looking at me, and I discovered later that the same thought was in his mind too. And surprisingly, in this way, not even touching each other, we drifted off to sleep.

I woke later to find that I was freezing cold. We'd forgotten about bedclothes, and we were still looking into each other's eyes except that his were shut. I reached down and pulled the covers over us, then snuggled up to him as close as I could get. He moaned something and put his arm over my waist. I did the same, and, warmer now, went back to sleep.

Once again I woke, when the sky was that blue-grey colour that precedes dawn. He was looking at me. For the second time since I'd known him he had a Mona Lisa smile on his face: not the usual unzipped grin, but a gentle, tender, curve to the lips, and over it the eyes were sleepy and somehow smiling too. And the love radiated from him. And his hand was once again covering my penis. Not doing anything, just resting there.

So I looked at him again, this time with the love and the passion welling into my heart again, and the blood welling into the part of me that he was holding. I put my hand on his own manhood. Together we explored each other, there, on the belly, on the testicles, under the testicles, and now it was all without the hindrance of having to wonder if the other one wanted it. We knew.

We played, and felt, and gently squeezed, and fondled, and tickled, and laughed, and grew silent. Excitement grew between us and at last I started to kiss his chest, his nipples, his belly-button... and down to the still silky hair above his excitement where my hand still roamed. And I kissed him there, and underneath so that he moaned and wriggled in ecstasy at the unknown sensation. I kissed him everywhere my hand had been, to the accompaniment of the occasional moans from him and little gasps at unexpected sensations. I drank in his smell: the musk of a night's sleep, and along with it the young smell, the smell of young boyhood, but tinged with the sharp edges of the approaching manhood. And I revelled in it.

At last I kissed from the root of his member to the tip, then with my tongue I licked up it too, and this time didn't stop when I arrived at the tip, but drew my tongue over his half-exposed glans, tasting the fluid that had been gathering there. He gasped: his head came up to look at me, then flopped back on the pillow again.

A strangled voice said: "Martin..... What are you going to do?"

"Everything that you'll like, and nothing you won't. Just relax. I promise I'm not going to hurt or harm you in any way."

"Sure?"

"Absolutely."

I waited until I could feel his muscles soften into repose, then, as softly as I knew how, brought a hand up to cradle, to caress, his testicles.

"Mmmm," he said.

I brought my mouth slowly down onto the penis head, I licked at it, made sure my lips covered my teeth, and gripped them over the foreskin to pull it back.

"Ohhhh."

And then I just kept going until the glans just reached the back of my throat. And time and time again I pulled my head off, swept down on him again, off and down, fondling his testicles as I did so. The moans in his reedy, young boy/man's voice came to my ears as music. His soft hairs that were starting to decorate the belly over his penis tickled my nose each time I went down and told me that here was a real boy, my love who was experiencing this attention for the first ever time. I wanted our expression of our love to be for him as good as I could possibly make it and wanted to go on like this for ever.

But of course no one can.

I felt him tense once again as the magic of the orgasm started to take hold.

"M..m..martin......I'm gonna....I...OHH......shit.....Ahhh......oh....martin....sorry....I'm so...oh...." And he trailed off into silence. I kept working on him, having swallowed his first gift to me, until he became limp. I gently cleaned up his penis as it left my mouth, then moved up the bed to lie beside him.

He was crying.

I was astonished, and kissed him. His eyes looked into mine, wide open.

"Aren't you disgusted with me?" he whimpered.

I looked at him, suddenly understanding. And hugged him.

"James.....how can I be disgusted that you gave me the greatest gift that any man can give another? Do you think that I don't love you enough not to want to share everything, everything with you that you want me to? Whatever you do alone, if you wanted me to share it, I'd share it. And it would be you, a part of you, and I'd love it."

He looked wonderingly at me, but the tears stopped and he lay back in the bed.

"I thought...I thought you'd be so disgusted that you'd just go and be sick," he said.

"Never." Would he ever think he could take me down that way? I hoped so. We lay there for ages, embracing.

"Martin..." hesitantly. "Will you roll onto your back, please?" I looked at him. What did he want to do? Silently I did so.

He traced his way down my chest and stomach, pausing to play briefly - too briefly! - with my nipples, until he reached the thick pubic hair which my body had sprouted in the year or so after the Amberdale holiday. This fascinated him, and he combed it through his fingers for some time. My body was by this time at full stretch, but I wasn't relaxed because I wanted to watch this beautiful love of mine at work on me, exploring me.

His hands traced sown by the sides of my scrotum, underneath it and ended cradling it as I had his. Then as I watched his head hovered over my penis, the tongue came out, and there was a tentative lick....

Very slowly, carefully as I had done, he enveloped me, and the soft warmth of his mouth finally made me relax, lie back on the pillows and trust him completely.

He did to me everything that I did to him, except that he didn't know to try and swallow so as to allow the full length of me into his mouth. And, before too long, yet not long enough for me, I could feel IT approaching.

"James... I'm going to....now.....oh, yes....."

But he never stopped his rhythm. As I had done, he did. I could sense him swallowing as the orgasm took me. And, as I had done, he continued to hold me inside him as I came down and lay on the bed, at peace, sweating, breathing deeply, but still conscious that he was holding me in his mouth, gently now, just holding.

"Oh, James!" I said, when I could. At that he left my penis and crawled up beside me, looking serious.

"Did I do it right?"

"Did you.... come here." And once again we engaged in a long embrace, during which I more or less recovered.

At last I answered his question. "It wouldn't matter, I couldn't care less, whether you did it right or wrong. You showed me, gave me, your love, that's enough. If you'd decided not to, that would still have been wonderful. If all you wanted to do was to lie here next to me and hug me from time to time, then that'd be just as wonderful to me.

"But what you did then was right, yes; stupendous even. But it's only good if you enjoy doing it too. Promise me that if you don't want to do anything with me, or have me do whatever it is, then you'll say so."

"I can't see that happening. If you do something to me then I should be able to do it to you. The..."

I interrupted. "I'm not doing anything to you. If I were to, it'd be like rape. We're doing things with each other, together. If it isn't together then it's not fulfilling us both."

He digested that. "The only thing I'm really not....I mean I don't think I'd want, is to do the thing that queers are meant to do to each other all the time. You know, up into the bum. That's why I stopped you when you put your fingers there in the shower."

"I've never done that. I don't know if I'd like it. But the fact that you don't is enough for me. I'm not going to force anything on you, as I said. I don't think you'll force me to do anything, either."

"No."

"Then we've got nothing to worry about, either of us, have we?"

He looked at me again, and I was rewarded by that Mona Lisa half-smile of love again.

"Nothing in the world."

We held each other close again, full of each other's taste, our sweat making contact sticky, and at last I covered us up again, and we drifted off to sleep.

I remember wishing someone would turn the light off. And I wished I could work out how to go to the toilet 'cos I was sure I needed to go 'cos my willy felt wet. And why was my nose so warm when my back was cold?

My eyes opened sluggishly and I blinked stupidly. Two things became immediately obvious. Immediately before my eyes was the most perfect set of young male genital organs in the world, and my own erect penis was being caressed by a soft, persistent mouth. I moaned. The sensations stopped.

"Don't," I muttered.

"Sorry," came a voice.

"Don't stop," I said.

So he didn't. I pushed forward and took him in my mouth and performed the same service. My hand came up, almost of its own volition, to massage those deep hanging testicles, gently, gently so as to give the most sensation to their owner, my love. He moaned softly, and the vibration of his throat tickled my glans.

From sleep to orgasm via heaven: how else can I describe it? Heaven lasted about five minutes for me, and the higher heaven of the orgasm itself about thirty seconds. But an only-just-less heaven continued after that as I knew that the previous night had been no dream, no will o'the wisp, no hopeful imagining. I was in love with my first real friend. And if he was still my brother too, well, it wasn't incest.

Once again I felt complete. And all this was going on in my brain as I nursed his youth's manhood in my mouth until, with a crescendo of moans and a soft shout from his mouth, his seed hit the back of my throat in a strong stream once, twice, three, four times: and his own high heaven caused him to spasm more times in my mouth as I continued to caress him. At last he was spent, and we lay, each staring at the ceiling, each temporarily unable to communicate.

After a time I put an arm over his hips and buried my nose in that soft pubic hair of his, breathing in his scent and kissing the beautiful part of him that I had taught him to exercise half a lifetime ago. After a pause he did the same for me. But soon we knew that the pressures of life were on us, and each rolled over.

"That was the nicest way I've ever been woken up," I told him. "Can you do that when I'm at University? Act as my alarm clock?"

Silence. From a point level with my bottom he was looking at me.

"I shan't be able to come back with you. I shan't see you for ages."

He was almost whining. I knew. It had been a tactless joke on my part as I knew as soon as I said the words and felt the dagger enter my own heart.

"I know, I know. But I wish you were. You'll have to come up at half term, and I'll come to you at weekends when I can, and this week...this week we're going to make the most of that we can."

A pause. Then, more positively: "We certainly are. Every moment of it. Here. Together."

"Mmmm. But right now, I need a pee."

"So do I. Badly."

"Come on then."

"What?"

"I held it for you the other night. Remember?"

He laughed softly. "And I was drunk, you thought!"

"Weren't you?"

"A bit," he admitted. "But not as much as you thought I was. And I knew then that anyone who was willing to hold it while I pissed was a real friend!"

I could find nothing to say to this, so I just squeezed it and he squealed.

"Rat! Now I've got to go."

"Wait for me."

And so, just like two nine year olds, we stood at the toilet, pointing. He pushed my hand away, nearly causing me to miss, and held it for me. I did the same for him.

It was an odd sensation, directing somebody else's penis, and not made any easier by the fact that his was becoming unruly and I had to make sure it was being pushed down. I knew mine was reacting the same way. Despite the difficulties we played death rays, aiming for each other's streams and causing much splashing. And mirth.

We had to take turns to wash. The area by the basin wasn't big enough for two to stand abreast.

"Are we going to bother to dress?" he asked when we were done.

"I'm not steering the boat in the nude, and if you do I'm disowning you."

"Have we got to move?"

"We've got to get to Birmingham."

"Oh. Then does it matter that it's eleven o'clock?"

"What? Let me see that clock... Oh gawd, we're late. That alarm clock of yours was effective but not early enough."

"What alarm clock?"

"This one."

And before he could move I was down on my knees at his penis, taking it into my mouth with my tongue, then sucking it all in and moving further down to his testicles to suck them in as well. Reluctantly I let him go as I remembered the clock and our need to press on.

"Why can't we stay here? Just for a bit longer?"

"You wait 'til we're round the corner!"

We dried, dressed and then cast off and turned onto the short connecting arm leading to the Stratford canal, then navigated the connecting lock. As we turned into the Northern Stratford there was another lock, a bridge, four more locks, another two bridges, and then he gasped as the main part of the Lapworth flight appeared above us. His muscles were fully aware that they'd been working the previous six locks, not to mention certain unusual postures they had been engaged in over the hours of darkness, so the idea of another seven locks, with more to come after that, was quite daunting.

"Pub!" he shouted, as we passed the Boot Inn.

"No money!" I shouted back.

"I can take a cheque!" shouted a man standing in front of the building, watching us.

We moored. He served us. He was the Landlord. We spent far longer in there than we intended, and the Landlord was very chatty. He asked us a lot of questions about the boat, and wouldn't our parents be coming in, and before long we were talking back as if we'd known him for ages and telling him how we were taking her through to meet up with them in Birmingham.

"Pity I've got to be here tonight, serving," he said. "I'd have taken you out for a decent meal and you could have slept in a decent bed for a change."

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with ours," said James without thinking. "It's big enough."

"Sharing, are you?"

"I think he means the boat's big enough," I answered quickly. "Big enough to have beds for all of us."

"Ah, that'll be it," said the man, but I knew there was something else on his mind.

The conversation went on, and he hardly stopped even when he was serving other people. Eventually we said that we had to be going.

"Coming back tonight, are you?" he asked.

"Not really," I answered. "We've got to be on our way to Brum."

"Well, if you change your mind, I'll be glad to see you," he said. "And if you want a change of company tonight, young man..." -- this was to me -- "....then give me a call on this number and I'll come and fetch you. OK?"

"OK," I said. "Bye."

When we were outside I was silent. Not so James.

"Funny man! Why did he want you to call him if you wanted a change of company? You don't, do you?" I couldn't believe he'd even think it. But something else was worrying me. The man had propositioned me, as good as, and I didn't know why. Did I suddenly look as though I would welcome it? Did I look like a queer? I stopped suddenly. The alcohol made me ask a question that I wouldn't normally.

"James..." He stopped and did an about-face. "James, do I look queer?"

He stared at me, seriously at first as the question sank in, then with more and more spirit in his expression.

"Well....now you mention it.....um....your left ear is lower than your right."

"WHAT?"

"One ear is lower than the other."

"It was a serious question."

"It's a serious answer. But I know the cure."

I fell for it.

"What cure?"

"Tilt your head the other way. Or better, hold it straight. That'll cure it."

I made a rush for him but he was ready for me and sprinted off to the boat. He'd dived into the toilet by the time I reached the door, and I went out to start the engine. The Landlord was watching us.

James was surprised not to be attacked when he returned. He must have sensed my mood, because he slipped an arm through mine, out of sight of the bank, and looked up at me.

"What's up?"

"I just want to know how that Landlord knew I was queer."

"Did he? How d'you know?"

"You were there. He wanted me to come back tonight and `keep him company', whatever that means. He must have known."

"Perhaps he's lonely."

"Well, he can stay lonely. I don't fancy him."

"Good. Does that mean you might sleep with me?"

"If you want. But James....do I look queer to you?"

"I didn't realise you were seriously worried. No.. You don't. You didn't then either."

"Then how did he know?"

"Did he know? Or was he just trying his luck?"

"Dunno."

"Well, stop talking about it, or I'll get jealous. Perhaps I could surprise him by going back myself to give him his change of company."

There was no answer to that, so we chugged on toward the next lock in silence.

It was hard work, and slow. One person on the boat and one working the locks is all right, but you know you've been working. By the time we reached Hockley Heath we were both exhausted despite having taken turns at the tiller.

The pub was shut. James made some drinks, and we pressed on to the next, which was also shut. But it looked inviting.

I discovered that I'd misread the canal map, and we actually had far less to travel than I thought.

"We could moor here and have a rest," I said.

"What sort of rest?"

"How many are there?"

"Oh, lots. There's the one when you just sit down, the one you use in snooker, there's the musical one, and I've got a different one in the boat we could use."

"What different one?"

"I'd have to show you. I can't describe it."

"I don't know what you're talking about. You've unpacked your cases -- there's nothing left I haven't seen."

"Look, just moor, will you?"

"Ok, ok, keep your hair on."

So we moored where it was shady and I turned to follow him down into the boat. "No, you stay up here for a moment. I'll get my rest out and then you can come down so it's more of a surprise."

I shrugged and looked about while he presumably went looking for what ever it was.

Then the call came.

He wasn't in the living area, he wasn't in the kitchen. Our bedroom door was shut, but then so were the others.

"Where are you?" I called, rather irritated by now.

"In here," came his voice from our room. I went back and opened the door, and stared.

His fourteen year old body was lying in an X shape face upwards in the middle of the double bed. And what is more, it had nothing covering it at all. It looked very peaceful, apart from one particular central area which was standing to attention.

"Bloody hell, James!" I said, but very gently, as if to a frightened animal.

"Please will you make love to me?"

"James...."

"I'm sorry, but I just want you to be with me properly again. Last night was so good and I can't remember now just how good it was."

"James....."

"Or do you want to go back to that landlord?"

I shut the door after me and went over to stand looking down at his nakedness. He held my eyes without flinching, even when I brought my head down to his to give him that first kiss to tell him that it was all right.

When we disengaged, he started with his hand on my flies, and pulled slowly down. Soon I was as exposed as him, and just as erect, and we tilted our pelvises towards each other. The ends of our penises touched, and we moved about so as to bring them together all over, sometimes with some force. He pushed me over onto my back and climbed on top of me, his smaller fourteen year old erection against mine, and did his best to push inside my trousers.

A combination of rubbing together, against my clothing and particularly my underpants, aroused us both and made a rather wet patch there. He was just lying and we were slowly wriggling together -- no more than that. And the knowledge that we were each happy doing something so comforting, simple, understated if you like, brought me to feel as if I didn't have to put on a show for him, or try hard to do anything, or prove anything. What we were doing was natural and made each of us happy with the other one and with ourselves. I found after a bit that he was looking at me, Mona Lisa -- like again, so I kissed him.

He rolled off me at last, and lay by my side. I turned to him. "How do you want me to do this?"

"Dunno. Feels strange, now."

"Don't you want me to?"

"Dunno."

I sat up and removed my shirt, then stood and took off everything else. He watched me. I lay back down, next to him and put my arm out so it could go round his shoulders. He looked at me.

"Martin...I'm sorry....It just seems so false."

"What? That we're in love?"

"No. That I'm just asking you to do this. It should just happen."

"It can happen either way, surely?"

"It should, I suppose, but why does this feel as if I've rigged it?"

"You felt randy, I suppose. And you wanted me to give you release."

"Release?"

"Yeah. Make you come. And now we've gone some of the way you've gone off the boil. It happens."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Do you want me to give you an orgasm?"

"Dunno."

I gently put out my hands and started massaging his testicles and the nearly soft organ atop them. Before long he was erect again and seemed to be going along with what I was doing. I didn't use my mouth. It didn't sound as if he'd welcome it at the time.

It took him a long time but at last there was a gasp and his semen shot up over his belly and my arms. I took him to the conclusion, and wasn't surprised when he just lay there, leaving my erection alone.

"Am I being stupid?" he asked, out of the blue, when he had recovered.

"I don't think so, far from it. How? Why?"

"This isn't going to last, is it?"

I was alarmed. "Why not? Do you think you're going to go off me?"

"No. But you're just going to University. I'm stuck at school for the next god knows how long. When are we going to see each other?"

"Well, you could come up to me until you have to go back. Then there's weekends, half terms, Christmas holidays...."

"But it's not the same as being together all the time, is it?"

"No. It's not. But like everything, we have to start somewhere. And if that's the best we can manage then it'll have to do."

"But what happens when I go to University and you're at work?"

"Who knows if I'll be able to complete the course? Who knows if you'll get A-levels? Who knows whether I'll be able to get a job wherever it is that you're at University?"

He looked at me, and a spark came to his eyes. "Would you do that? Would you really do that?"

"If it meant us living together, then yes."

"Do you want to?"

"Don't you want me to?"

"Yes! Yes! Of course I do. But it's such a long time to wait. What happens if someone else turns up in the meantime?"

"Then I hope you'll just refuse him, and tell him you're already spoken for."

He looked at me, then grinned faintly for the first time in minutes. "Not me, idiot. You."

"Ah, well I've been celibate, apart from with my right hand, for the last five years. I can refuse offers too, you know"

"Even for a fourteen year old?"

"For someone who I know is doing the same for me, and who I love. And whether he's fourteen, fifteen, sixteen or whatever. But don't forget it's you who's going to do most of the character changing. I've done most of mine."

"Some things don't change."

I hoped he was right.

CHAPTER 22

We got going again soon afterwards. But we did get dressed first.

It seemed a good idea to put some distance in, so we ignored the Blue Bell pub and all the others we saw on the map. At Yardley Wood we thought we'd better take on some water, so stopped at the tap there. The area was a bit noisy and overlooked, so we weren't too sure about mooring. A mile or so further was the Horse Shoe, right on the canal, but also right on a noisy main road. We looked at it regretfully. But as we continued the banks got higher....and higher.....and at last we realised we were near the short Brandwood tunnel.

Going through that was a wettening experience, and the other end of it was noisy too, and publess. We pressed on. And on. Turned left onto the Worcester and Birmingham. Passed a pub. And just as the light was fading we entered Kings Norton tunnel. And for those who know the Midland canals and say `he doesn't know what he's talking about, you turn right to Birmingham', yes I do. Now.

Odd things, long canal tunnels. You either love them or hate them. But even if you love them they're boring, Lots of bricks, lots of drips, lots of anxious moments as you try to avoid boats coming the other way. Except there weren't any for us. It was too late in the day.

As he got bored with the darkness, when he'd got one too many drips down his neck, he went down -- I supposed -- to put the kettle on. The lights went off in the kitchen presumably to avoid dazzling me as he came out. I could hear the doors open, and expected a cup of tea to be put in my hand at any moment.

What I did feel was a hand come and rest itself on the fly of my jeans. I jumped, and was glad I wasn't steering a light dinghy or we'd have been all over the place. But I didn't stop him.

The hand pulled down my zip, and the next thing I knew it was feeling the bulge in my underwear. Not content with that it pushed into the top of the underwear and fondled and stroked.....and there I was, steering a damn great narrowboat through a tunnel with an erection sticking out of my jeans.

Oh. With a mouth on the end of it.

And then came the thing I was hoping not to see. The light of an approaching boat as it entered the other end of the tunnel. As they always do, as they entered they sounded their hooter, the sound reverberating through the confined space making my ears ring. It startled me, too. More to the point it startled James, and when you have a mouth full of glans it's a very unsafe time to be startled. For the owner of the glans, that is.

"Aaaaarrrghhhhh!"

Our narrowboat didn't need a hooter if he was going to do that to me

"Sorry....oh Martin, I'm sorry. Are you all right?"

"Take the tiller. Go slow." I shoved it into his hands and bolted into the boat. I looked down, dreading what I might find. Blood? Worse?

There was a line of five tooth marks half way down, back and front, but on the skin of the shaft, not the glans, thank goodness. No blood. No damage. And by now no erection.

I let him stew for a while, until the boat passed us. If he was going to be so careless, why shouldn't I?

As I opened the door and looked up, he looked down at me. I don't think I'd ever seen him really scared, adult-scared, before. He was white, there was no unzipped grin, the eyes were.....what? Red rimmed? Tears? I switched the kitchen light off again and came out to join him.

"Are you...is it....all right? His voice was very shaky and suddenly treble.

"It's fine."

"No damage?"

"A few tooth marks."

"Nothing...else?"

"No."

It was like watching a spring suddenly release. He put out an arm and drew me to him, the arm went round my waist and he looked me in the eyes.

"I thought....I thought I'd...."

And, once again, fourteen years or not, he was in tears. I throttled the boat right down, eased him off the tiller and corrected the boat's path through the tunnel. His arm was still round me, and mine round him, and he had buried his face into my shoulder and I could feel the emotion draining from him. Once again he looked at me.

"Sorry."

I just squeezed his shoulder. "Put the kettle on?" He went down to the kitchen like a startled rabbit. It was still heating when he reappeared and just stood next to me. I got a shaky grin when I looked at him, but returned it encouragingly.

I had realised that I still couldn't see the end of the tunnel, although we'd been in it for some time. The mind tries playing tricks on you. Are you lost? Has the tunnel re-formed into a circle? Are you doomed to motor along it into eternity? Then almost without warning the colour of the blackness just a few yards ahead of the boat changed subtly, the quality of the engine noise changed dramatically, and we were out into the near darkness of late evening. To emerge from blackness into darkness is an odd sensation. The brain, which registered entering the tunnel in the light, looks around for it again, can't find it, and loses its equilibrium temporarily.

We moored after the second bridge as the map told us of a pub nearby. Only a few words had passed between us since his shock, and they were to do with mooring. When at last we were sitting at the table nursing our rapidly cooling tea he didn't want to meet my eye, and was talking in monosyllables. I got up, and he threw a look at me. But all I did was to join him at his side of the table and slip an arm round him again.

"Don't worry," I told him. "It's OK, really."

"I shouldn't have done it."

"I wasn't objecting. It was great until the other boat hooted."

"I know. But then I knew I shouldn't have been doing it."

"Why?"

"It's....silly."

"No it's not. What would you have felt if I'd been doing it to you?"

"That's different."

"No it's not. Why should it be?"

"I'm younger."

"So what difference does that make?"

"You can do more to me than I'd dare to do to you."

"I thought we'd done most things with each other. There's not much left to do without repeating ourselves, unless you want to try coming inside me."

"I did."

"No, inside me like a man would a woman."

He paused. "D'you want me to?"

"No. I don't think so. It's something I've always thought was unpleasant. But then I was taught lots of things were unpleasant which are really good. Anyway, you wouldn't want me to do that on you, so if we neither of us want it we won't do it."

Another pause.

"D'you really mean that you didn't mind?"

"Yes. I mean no. I mean I didn't mind. In fact I was pleased that you're at ease enough to do something like that with me."

At last his arm went round me and he looked up and sighed.

"I am sorry, you know. Are you sure it's all right?"

"Want to look?"

He nodded. I got out from behind the table and stood up in front of him. "There you are then."

He looked up, surprised, then dropped his eyes and hand to my fly and started pulling down. When he'd finally freed me from the constraints it stood up. The red marks were still there, but fading already. He gently touched, and was pleased there was no pain. Come to think of it, so was I. Very gently he just kissed it, top and bottom, and carefully pulled my underpants up again.

"Sorry."

"If you say that one more time I shall hit you. Better still, I'll bite yours off."

"Sorry." But this time the voice had a ring to it, the eyes were direct on my face, and the grin was unzipping again.

We fixed something to eat, and naturally ended up in the pub. It amazed me that all these places were happy to serve me with beer for James, even if he was sticking to half pints. We were quiet about it, though. Once more we were playing bar billiards, and were at `best of nine' when a scruffy looking type came over.

"You gonna be on that all night?"

"Sorry," I said., "I didn't know you were waiting."

"Been waiting ages."

"Sorry. Where I come from they put a coin on the table or write a name up to book it."

"Be fucked if I'm gonna book a table in my own pub."

I really didn't like his attitude.

"'Kay then. We'll finish this game and it's yours."

"Think so too."

"Nice guy," said James when he was out of earshot. "Hope they're not all like that round here."

We were as good as our word, and moved away from the table to get out of the scruffy one's way. When I next went to the bar the landlord motioned me aside.

"Not giving you any trouble, was he, the chap who took over the table?"

"Well, he wasn't exactly polite."

"You want to watch him. Not a nice man. Queer, you know. Been done once for assault."

"Assault!?"

"Yes. Left a bloke well shaken. Bit more than that too, if you see what I mean."

"No, not really."

"Well, he's queer. And this bloke wouldn't play. We knew him. He's straight as a die."

"What, he raped him?"

The man looked uncomfortable. "Something like that."

"Thanks for the warning."

I went back to tell James. Like me, he was amazed that anyone so awful could be homosexual. "Who would like his company?" he asked. "No wonder he had to grab someone and force them, if that's the way he is."

"That's no excuse!"

"Oh I know. But you can see how someone might get that way."

Could I? The psychiatrist side of James was not something I had seen before.

We went to sit well out of the way of the table and its new occupants, although I felt an urge to go and watch to learn what another one of `our sort' looked and behaved. But discretion is the better part of valour. It struck me that I had someone infinitely more attractive to watch and to be with, and at that moment it had also swum across my mind again that he was actually only fourteen. Even if his brain worked better than most twenty year olds' and his body was tough and healthy, his muscle power in relation to that of a man of thirty years old would not be enough if he got nasty. Nor, in fact, would mine. No, we were well out of the way.

But peace didn't last long.

The sound of glass breaking and shouts, then a crack and a thump, all nicely spiced by shouts and cries and eventually a groan, indicated that not all was well in the pub. James looked at me, I looked at him, and we both looked at the barman, who was holding a telephone to his ear. At the other end of the pub there was a crash as the door slammed.

We two looked at each other again, as there was a rush from other parts of the pub towards the bar billiards table. James looked agitated and stood up.

"Want to go?" I asked. He shook his head and looked round the corner to the scene of the activity. Then to my surprise he just disappeared off in that direction, and before I had a chance to follow or say anything to warn him I heard a firm voice that I hardly recognised as his.

"I'm a St John's first aider. Can I help? No, don't kneel there, there's broken glass. Here....hold his arm up....that's it...."

And as came round to look at the scene I was amazed. Five adults were standing around uselessly, whilst a sixth was holding the arm of a young man the rest of whose body was prone on the floor. As I gaped, James was telling his assistant to apply pressure to a gash on the raised arm. And then....

"Hallo.....can you hear me? Hallo....?"

There was a grunt from the figure on the floor. Very gently James crouched by the man's head and cradled the head in his hands, feeling it all round, at the back too. But the only injuries apart from the gashed arm seemed to be an angry red mark on the temple and another on the jaw below, which James was now tracing down with his fingers. At one point he stopped and looked at the man.

"All right, don't worry. But don't move your jaw for the moment. Just say yes or no. Does it hurt anywhere else?"

"No."

"Are you feeling more with it? What's your name?"

"Kenton Drew."

"Ok, Kenton. We'll get you more comfortable in a minute, but just trust me at the moment. You've got a cut on your arm and a bruise on your head, and it feels as if your jaw may be broken, but it's nothing that won't heal as good as new. I'm going to get an ambulance to take you to a hospital where they can take care of it for you."

He looked swiftly up at the barman who was now hovering nearby, gaping open mouthed at him, as were we all.

"Can you do that?"

"I have. And the Police."

"Thanks." Just as if he was the doctor and in charge. Well, I suppose he was in charge. Nobody else was doing anything. Kenton looked dazed.

"Where do you live, Kenton?"

"Here."

"What, at the pub?"

"No. Village."

"What street?"

"Water Lane."

"What number?"

"Five."

"Anyone we should call to go with you?"

"No. Live alone."

"Okay. Just lie calm. Can you find something to go behind his head, please? And keep the pressure on that cut. Change hands if necessary. Got a first aid kit?"

This was to the barman, who was still hovering uselessly. The man nodded and shuffled off.

The door opened, and in walked the absolute prototype of an old fashioned English country policeman. Large in all directions, face reddened by years of all sorts of weather, and a face which looked permanently surprised. I expected him to start with "'allo, 'allo, 'allo," but he didn't.

"What d'you think you're doing, young man? Leave things like that to those who knows what they're doing." And he made to kneel down to take over.

"Don't kneel there, sir, there's broken glass on the floor. And I'm a St John's Ambulance first aider."

The long arm of the law just stopped himself in time, stood back up and regarded my James solemnly. I had been about to say something to the bulky officer, but James was doing too good a job on his own.

"Oh," was all he said before turning to the barman. "What's been happening, Henry?"

"It's that Bill Solomon. He was in here again, and Drew was with him. They were playing on the table, and the next thing I knew he was smashing a glass against Drew's head, then broke it on the table, and it caught his arm as he shielded himself. Then he went, and I phoned you, and this boy comes round like an ambulance driver and patches him up."

It took quite a few moments for this to sink in.

"Better use your phone, hadn't I?"

Soon after, the ambulance arrived. By then, James had done as neat a bandage on Kenton's arm as I'd seen anywhere, and had done his best to support the suspect jaw bone. The ambulance man took one look at it, then glanced at James.

"Any glass in it?"

"No, sir. I checked thoroughly."

"Jaw?"

"I can feel a ridge in it, on the right side, just above the mouth. Might be a fracture, so I've tried to support it."

"Head?"

"Can't feel anything, but I didn't want to push too hard."

"Did he lose consciousness?"

"Not when I was there, but he might have done before I arrived."

"How long was that?"

"Er......"

"About half a minute," I said. The man looked at me. "We're together," I told him. He nodded.

"You've done well," he told James. "Real hospital bandaging, that. Red Cross?"

"No!" James almost spluttered. "St John's Ambulance."

"Oh. Don't have a name for him, I suppose?"

James told him. He was even more impressed.

"And you? Where do you live? You're not from round here."

"We're on the canals," said James.

"Oh. Well, you forget about all this, except you've done very well, young man. There's a career in medicine for you some day, I dare say."

And with that he was off with Kenton Drew.

The policeman came over to us.

"Bit young to be in here, aren't you? How old?"

"Fourteen, sir."

"Too young. I'll have to ask you to leave, just as soon as we've got Solomon. You shouldn't be in here without an adult until you're eighteen. And you, Henry, you should know better, chap of your experience."

"But he's with the other chap, Alf. Say something, son."

This was to me.

"Yes, we're together, and I'm nineteen."

"You sure? When was you born?"

"Fourth of June 1950."

"Name?"

"Martin Finch."

"And you?"

"James Evans."

"Right. Well, no drinking alcohol in pubs 'til you're eighteen. Unless I buy you one, that is. Henry! Give these lads a drink on the house. What they want, but use your sense. I'm off, but I'll be back when we've got Solomon, and they're not to go until then. Well done, young man, and I don't want to see what's been in your glass when I come back. And I don't want to see you drunk either."

He left. We both looked at the barman, puzzled. He laughed.

"That's his way of saying you can have a drink, that he'll pay for it when he's off duty, and you're not to get drunk or let on anything about what you've been drinking when he gets back.

We went back on the bar billiards table. And when the constable returned to give the all clear there was nothing in either of our glasses. But I wouldn't swear that either of us was stone cold sober. It was as well that we weren't given a police escort to the boat, because when the cool night air hit us we both staggered. It was only by using extreme caution that I didn't drop the cabin key into the canal. With one arm round James' shoulders to steady him, together my own staggers, unlocking was difficult. I walked him straight through to the cabin and lowered him onto the bed.

"Back in a mo."

I locked up, then visited the toilet. When he heard me, he wanted to go too, so I had to hoist him up again, walk him in there, giggling like a kid, undo his fly and try and point it in the right direction. By this time I was giggling too. It wasn't the most accurate aim, but I told him I'd clear up in the morning. We wobbled our way back into the cabin and I laid him back down on the bed. He closed his eyes.

"Come on, you. Get to bed."

"Tired."

"So'm I. But we've got to get to bed first."

There was silence. I swiftly stripped off down to my underpants, then wondered why I was being so shy. They went too, and I turned back to him.

He really was spark out. I took his shoes off and tickled his feet, and still nothing happened. So I had to undress him completely, and for only the second time I realised just how difficult it is to bend bits of body that aren't interested in helping you. At last he lay in front of me, naked, face up, unconscious, and in my mind he changed immediately from being a nuisance to being my love, who I wanted to protect and spend my life with. Not without difficulty I manoeuvred him under the covers and climbed in by his side, watching him all the while. I wanted so badly to touch him, to love him physically again, but there was so much respect between us as well as the love that it would have been wrong to do so. So I just kissed his lips and forehead, and laid down by his side, and went to sleep.

It was still dark when I woke, and I lay puzzling for a while why that should be. Then there was a movement next to me and I knew it was him.

"You OK?" I mumbled.

"No. Headache. Want the toilet," he said after a pause.

"Want help?"

"No. 'm Ok."

So I had to lie there while he went into the toilet and relieved himself. Then he didn't come back and I got increasingly alarmed. I was just about to go and see what was wrong when I heard the unmistakable sound of an evening's worth of beer being returned, by mouth, to the outside world. That was enough for me. I went to the kitchen and got a beer mug of water, then stood outside the toilet where sounds of misery were still being made. When they had paused, I spoke.

"James...it's happened to me too, you know."

There was a moan.

"Can I come in?"

"Mmm."

He was in the classic big-white-telephone pose, head over the bowl, looking white and shivering.

"Wash your mouth out with this." I pushed the glass into his shaking hands. He managed to look shakily at me and give a small smile.

"Sorry."

"It's me who should be apologising to you. I should have stopped us both drinking earlier."

"I never thought..." he said as he swilled his mouth out and spat into the unpleasant receptacle in front of him. I flushed it.

"Nor did I," I told him. "And the second time I went on despite my experiences the first time. Feel better now?"

"Think so."

"Have another rinse."

He did so.

"Pee?"

"Mmm."

So once again we stood together, ridding ourselves of what might have been the last of the evening's excesses. Afterwards I made him drink some of the water so as to dilute some of the alcohol in his bloodstream, and took him back to bed.

So far as experiencing once again the physical side of the love that was between us the night was a no-go. For strengthening in a different way the trust and care between us it was little short of magic. He knew that I would help him when he needed it, and I knew from his actions in the pub earlier that he would do the same for me, probably better. I was just glad his parents were away.

Much to my relief and envy, he was fine in the morning. Probably he'd got rid of so much down the toilet and diluted the rest that there was nothing left to cause the usual headache. He was a bit quiet to start with and wasn't sure about breakfast, but that was it.

"Sorry about last night," he said at last. "I was fine until I came out of the pub, then it just hit me."

"It does that sometimes. But I should have seen it coming and stopped."

"And thanks for helping me."

"But that's what people in love do, isn't it? Help each other?"

He grinned sheepishly. "'Spose so."

"Well come on then."

"Wonder what happened to that bloke."

"Which?"

"Both of them, come to think about it."

"One's in prison, I hope, and the other's in hospital."

"We'll never know," I said. Which just shows how wrong you can be. At the second bridge a very hot police officer was waiting for us with his hand upstretched as if he was controlling cars at a junction. The only place we could stop and explain that we'd have to find somewhere else for him to come on board was under the bridge.

"What's wrong with here," he shouted back.

"What happens when another boat comes?" I asked.

He tossed his head, showing that he understood but didn't like it. He followed our progress for about another half mile before we managed to find a suitable piece of bank where we could moor.

He mopped his brow as he accepted a cup of tea in the cabin.

"On your own, are you?"

"We're off to Birmingham to meet up with our parents again. They had to leave the boat and go up there for business meetings."

"Ah. Brothers?"

"No, friends."

"Ah. Addresses, please."

We obliged. I was proud to give him the address of my new flat.

"Well, we got Solomon after a struggle. Nasty piece of work. The other bloke said Solomon had had his eye on him for ages, since he used to see him at school. Wasn't into that, though, and I don't blame him. Queers! Yuch!"

Do I say anything, I wondered. No. Not with James there. Too many conclusions to draw. I hoped James'd think the same.

"Bloke says he's very grateful to you, young man. Wants to meet you. He's OK, broken jaw, and the gash on the arm you know about needed a few stitches. What you did made the hospital's job dead easy, they said. Really good bit of work, all the information they needed, and no fuss. Can I give him your address?"

"'Spose so."

"Don't sound so enthusiastic about it, boy. At least he can write to you."

"'Kay. But I was only doing what I was trained to do. It's nice to get some practice on a real casualty, though."

The policeman looked at him. "You don't want to see him?"

"Well, not this week, anyway. I just want to enjoy my holiday."

"I'll suggest he writes, then.

"'Kay."

"We shouldn't need either of you as witnesses. Henry says you were sitting round the corner and didn't see anything anyway."

"That's right."

"Pity. But I'm glad you were there, even if you shouldn't have been drinking."

"I'm sure you never saw him drink alcohol," I said, wondering if I was pushing my luck.

"No, you're right, I never did. But next time you do, just remember that not all police officers are as short sighted as me. I'm off. Well done, and enjoy your holiday. Oh, and by the way, you're going the wrong direction for Brum."

"What?!" we shouted in unison.

"You should have turned right out of the Stratford, not left. You'll have to go back through the tunnel."

I looked at him, then at James, then back again.

"You're not too far out of the way, lads. There's a place to turn just ahead, where a feeder comes in from the right. Go carefully, and a short boat like yours'll get round a treat."

We thanked him. He got off, we got going, and went on to the place he mentioned without delay. Turning was easier than I expected, and it wasn't long before we were passing the pub again and vanishing like rabbits into the tunnel. It was my turn to make the tea this time, and his to steer, so I thought I'd do to him what he did to me the first time through, but preferably without the teeth marks. He was wearing shorts, and I felt up his thigh while he laughed above me. Getting into the underwear was a problem, but at last his swelling member was in my hand, the clothing bunched up round his groin to expose it and the scrotum fully to the cold tunnel air. As my mouth enveloped him he reacted so squirmingly to my tongue that the boat cannoned from side to side of the tunnel, and to avoid scratches and more delay I soon thought I'd better stop and put him away, not an easy thing to do with a board stiff organ

He was most disappointed.

Emerging from the darkness of the tunnel into strong sunlight was a relief, even if we were blinded temporarily. Soon after we came across the Stratford branch, and as we passed it saw the signpost hidden in the undergrowth and I gave a hollow laugh.

"We must phone!" he said suddenly. "It's almost eleven o'clock!"

I had lost track of time. We had agreed to phone the parents' hotel at about eleven to tell them where we'd meet them. It was nearly past that time, and we were nowhere near a call box.

"I know," said James, "every bridge, I'll get off, run up to the road and see if I can see a phone. If I can you can moor, and we'll make the call."

It was a sensible idea. At the third bridge, near the Bourneville factory, he came back gesticulating. I headed to the bank and we made the call, only half an hour late.

"You twit," said my polite father when I told him what we'd done. "We'll see you about mid-day at Farmers Bridge Junction. Are you sure you can find that? There'll be a lot of boats there, and a pub on the canal side. You'll have to go through Gas Street basin to get there."

"Ok, Dad. We have got a map, you know."

"Yes, and looking at it took you down the Worcester and Birmingham. Next thing, you'd have been in London. It'd have taken you about a week, so I suppose you might have noticed. Everything all right?"

Do I tell him that James had nearly bitten my willy off, that we'd narrowly avoided a fight, that James had done incredible first aid, that we'd been making love and were going to spend the rest of our lives together?

"Yes thanks, Dad."

The pips went. I put the phone down. The rest of the journey was uneventful, if a bit grim as the old industrial buildings increasingly hemmed in the canal and us. We turned a corner at last and there was Gas Street basin, dismal in all its sixties grime, although with signs of the resurgence of interest which would one day result in its rebirth as a canal landmark. Further on, under the wide bridge or short tunnel that carried the main road and all its shops over the canal, we came to the junction. It reminded me of a roundabout on a dodgem car track. We kept left, and soon found the pub and moored nearby.

It was time to eat, and I decided that we'd just have a snack as the parents would have eaten well in the hotel and we didn't have a lot of time. We were in the middle of this when the boat rocked and we looked at each other in anticipation.

It was them.

They got a good welcome from us both. I think if we hadn't had so many adventures -- of all kinds -- we'd just have accepted their return with little comment. But adventures change people, and it was a slightly different James and Martin who they met as they climbed down into the boat. And we'd got a lot to tell them.

At last they'd heard all about everything. No, we didn't tell them about the intimate parts, nor that we'd be living together as soon as we could. Nor that we were in love. But everything else.

"Does that explain this?" asked Doreen Evans, producing a newspaper. And there it was

MYSTERY BOY SAVES VICTIM

A boy who didn't want to be identified because he was underage drinking in a pub, it is thought with an older man, saved the life of the victim of a vicious attack last night. The boy, aged about 16, and holidaying on the canal, witnessed the incident, in which a known violent criminal caused severe injuries to his companion, Kenton Drew, 22. Apparently the attack was without motive. After the incident the boy calmly administered first aid, stemming the severe bleeding from wounds which later needed stitches. When questioned later by the Police the boy said that he was just following St. Johns Ambulance Brigade training. Police had traced the assailant and he is now helping them with their enquiries.

"Gosh," said James, "What a load of lies. I never spoke to anyone, and he'd have recovered whether I bandaged him or not. I'm no mystery. But it's good that they think I'm 16. Mind you, they think you're an older man, Martin!" And we dissolved into fits of laughter.

"I hope you haven't got into trouble with the Police, you two," said Mum. "I never really liked you encouraging James to drink, you know."

"He wasn't encouraged, he was natural at it," I told her.

"You know what I mean."

"Anyway, we're not in trouble, so there's no problem. The policeman who spoke to us was ok, and it was him who told us we were going the wrong way."

She seemed to accept that. Gone were the days when everything was automatically my fault. We talked on for some time, and eventually decided that we'd better get under way.

There was a council of war later, when we learnt just how successful their business meeting had been. The prospects for both our families were extremely good. "Who knows," said Dad, "in a few years we might even be able to afford a narrowboat like this between us!"

"Count me in as crew," I said promptly. "And James too, as crew and first aider."

They laughed. "Hopefully you wouldn't have to share a bed next time," said Doreen. "It can't be particularly nice for you both."

"Oh, James is all right."

"Oh, Martin's OK." The two phrases came out simultaneously.

They laughed again.

"It's now lunch time on Wednesday," I announced suddenly, thinking it best to change the subject. "If we have to be back by Saturday we'd better turn round." I'd lost sight of that small fact in all the excitement.

"How long does it take to get back, then?" asked Dad.

"As long as it took to get here, less a bit because we know what we're doing now. I thought we could go back down the main line of the Grand Union to make a sort of round trip of it."

"Ok. Does that mean we have to hurry?"

"We've got two and a half days to do what we did in four coming up here."

"What?"

"Don't worry too much. We hung about a bit on the way, and don't forget the last two days have been slow because there's only been the two of us."

"We'd better shove off now, then. And keep going until it's too dark to see."

Hurriedly we set off, down the Aston locks, right down the Digbeth branch and the Ashtead locks to join the Grand Union at Bordesley. This is the stretch where much of the canal and many of the locks are under blocks of flats and offices, which are supported on vast concrete legs. It's an eerie sensation, knowing as the engine reverberates around the concrete walls and ceilings that there are people living and working above you. It's quite nice to come out into the open again, even if it's dingy backstreet Birmingham that greets you. We took turns at steering and locking, and the afternoon and early evening wore happily on.

At Olton we came, almost suddenly, onto a much more pleasant area, consisting mainly of a wooded cutting which cuts off from the peaceful canal whatever horrors are above, although stuck at the bottom of it there was very little light indeed. Fortunately we met no other boats. At the next bridge, where there was a pub by the side of the main road, we stopped. None too soon, because the mothers had been busy in the kitchen, and kept looking out anxiously to see if we were about to moor.

By the time we had eaten and washed up it was ten o'clock, and our visit to the pub was for the sake of it only. I was interested to note that James was on soft drinks again, from choice, and I wasn't really in the mood for more than a pint, nor was anybody else.

Going to bed with other people on the boat was odd after the last two nights, yet somehow comforting. I don't know if James felt the same, but although we knew we couldn't wander around and play as we were now used to, we could retreat into our own room and know we were just that bit more secure..... Why should I have felt that way at nineteen?

And retreat into our own room we did, and he straightway turned and looked at me, and I looked back and that smile came on his face, very slowly, until his whole countenance seemed to be alive and alight with the pleasure....of seeing me? I still had no idea what he actually saw in me, and I can say the same still applies now as I write.

We embraced, of course, and slowly helped each other undress, and at last stood so we were in contact everywhere while our hands performed the ancient, graceful dances of exploration and sensation over each other's bodies. We collapsed onto the bed, and the massaging became intense, along with the kissing, and the intimacy of the touching. And of course the incredible, heights of the pleasure and fulfilment, and the desire for it never to end.

In time, of course, I knew that we would both need the inevitable release, and he must have done too, for his face disappeared from mine. His body wriggled past my sight to bring that other part of him to me so that our mouths could be brought into play where they were most needed, and where they showed even more love than exploring each other's mouths. And gradually he worked me into an even higher plane of sensation, and at last I knew by the movements, and the sounds, and by the jets of hot fluid inside my mouth that it had happened for him, and I took him down inside me just as the sensations of having him explode in my mouth caused me to do the same in his.

Despite the need for rest and for recovery, despite the reaction that sets in, we each were able to clean off the other's rapidly dwindling erection. We separated for a while.

But the coolness of the evening made itself felt on our sweat-slick bodies, and at long last, long after the rest of the boat was silent, we crawled under the covers, kissed once more, and slept.

In the morning I woke with the dawn, an event which is for me as rare as eggs in a mare's nest. I was facing him, and he me. I just watched him for a long while, knowing and loving every curve of his incredibly young looking, still vulnerable, face; marvelled at the strength of the mind that was still developing behind it, and the raw intelligence that drove it. I knew too the capacity for real love -- not just the exploratory, laddish messing about of love that many of his peers probably showed, but the real love which he had almost proudly, certainly sincerely, admitted and shown to me, not just now on this holiday but back at Amberdale too, in a way. If he'd been just a boy with the same character I'd have been very attracted to him. But the love he gave me in equal measure to mine for him, made mine for him stronger, and made me want to reflect it to him in its increased strength. Which in the same way made his love for me the stronger. And so our love and respect was self-fuelling, just as any healthy love between two people is.

I never wanted him to leave me.

And that brought me on to knowing that he'd have to. And that made me realise yet again that we'd have to be apart a lot. For years. After Mark I knew that we must do nothing to make either set of parents worry about our friendship being any more than that, at least not until he was whatever age the law said he had to be, at which point I'd be glad to shout out our love to the world. But then only if he thought and wanted the same.

Would he fall out of our love while we were apart? I didn't think so. But it was a tremendous risk. At the thought I wriggled in the bed and a pair of sleepy eyes unbuttoned at me.

It was my turn to smile slowly, at him. I traced my finger over his cheek, and he smiled languidly back. Is that feeling what they mean about tugging at the heartstrings? Or was it more like a wordless, exultant piece of music inaudible to anyone but me? Was it in his heart too? Was it the same music?

"Wassertime?" he asked, and the throwback to my first word every morning that we'd shared a bed at Amberdale made us both laugh simultaneously, suddenly, loudly.

"Twirly," I told him. The look of puzzlement gave way to unzip the grin as his brain engaged.

"Can we hug?" he asked wistfully.

It was the first time he'd actually asked me. Before then it'd just happened. A small thing? Probably, but not to me. To me it was the one of the first signs he'd given unconsciously that he actually did need me as much as I needed him, and being unthought of, just a need, it was even more obviously honest. And yes, I know I've just said that I knew he loved me. But anyone in love needs these little, instinctive signs.

So I moved up to him and we held each other, making small movements to get comfortable, enjoying the feel, the gentle scent of the breath as it blew across exposed skin, until once again we were asleep.

Until the knock at the door. Almost as one our eyes snapped open as wide as exclamation marks and we looked at each other in shock. With a struggle we separated, one to each side of the bed.

"Come in," I wavered. The door opened. It was then I smelt the wonderful aroma of fried bacon.

"Breakfast in bed," said our mothers.

CHAPTER 23

We promised them that we'd not get used to it. Breakfast in bed, that is. Although I must say that it's not something I really enjoy. It's too uncomfortable to eat, and just feels too lazy, even for me. But as a thank you for something special it's one of the greatest compliments someone who loves you can pay. It's the thought rather than the action.

We ate in silence, more or less, trying not to spill anything on the duvet. -- not easy when you're dealing with runny egg yolk. When we'd done I noticed he'd got some on his chin, so I told him.

And a very long tongue extended out from the mouth, downwards and licked it off. I must have looked surprised.

"No wonder you do such a lot for me, with a tongue like that!"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing. It's just long."

"Show's I'm going to be well endowed, I expect, like having big feet."

"I shall look forward to it. But not too big, I hope. I want to be able to lift it with one hand."

"Or a mouth?"

"Especially a mouth," I affirmed, my heart giving a leap at the thought.

Five minutes or so later they started the engine, but we were too busy to notice. Half an hour or so later we were both exhausted again, and rather wet in certain places, even if we'd done our best with each other. He gave a short laugh. "I've never had sweet after breakfast."

"Mmmm. Can we do it more often?"

"I'd like that."

We found ourselves on deck just about in time to avoid getting unpopular despite our having looked after the boat for two days. Knowle's wide locks were looming up, and I knew from experience they're heavy and slow and tiring. There may be only five, but they let you know they're there. Locks with attitude, you might say.

On and on we chugged, taking turns at the helm. We passed Kingswood Junction where we'd turned off to the Stratford Canal, Shrewley tunnel which now seemed so short after Kings Norton that we hardly noticed it.

At the top of Hatton flight we stopped. "Pub," said James gleefully. But we didn't go in, we worked our way back down those locks, snatching bites of sandwich as we went and drinking gallons of tea as we sweated over the first fifteen of the twenty one heavy, wide locks. We did stop after them though, with `just' another six locks to the end of the flight, and were on our way up to the pub when Dad said "Blast."

Peter looked at him.

"Bloody English licensing laws. They're shut."

We needed that pint, too.

So we struggled down the remaining six locks, under the noisy A46 until we got to the Cape of Good Hope.

"It feels like we've just rounded the Horn, not the Cape," said my father wearily. It can't be long before they're open, surely?"

"No, Dad," I said. "Another half an hour. We could fill up with water here, and get rid of some more rubbish. That'll while away the time for you."

"Thank God," he said. "My son's looking after his poor old father."

We set the water running and then just lolled about the boat, relaxing for one of the first times that hot September day. After a while there were sounds of cars arriving from outside, and Dad looked hopefully at Peter and me. "Pub?" he asked.

I looked out of the window. "Door's open."

"Last one in buys the round."

I scrambled to my feet and automatically looked for James. But he was already on his feet and moving. We jostled at the door of the boat, each trying to get there first. The others were making impatient noises behind us as we jammed in the exit. A hand came down onto the front of my trousers, groped, found its target and squeezed. I gasped and buckled, and he got through first.

I nearly fell in the water jumping off the boat. He just got to the pub door first, then skidded to a halt.

"Hah!" I said. "You can't buy."

"I know, I know. Just get in there will you?"

"What makes you think..... oh well."

There were too many parents too close to continue with what I'd been going to say.

Those two pints were a life saver. The fact that the water hose was overflowing and slowly filling up the bilges had escaped us. Fortunately we weren't too long, and found what was happening well before there was any danger. The bilge pump kept going for a long time, though.

We cooked and ate, and returned to the pub again to spend a pleasant evening on the bar billiards table. Bed time for all of us was quite early. Our parents were still tired after their mental exercise in Birmingham and their physical exercise of the day, and James and I were just tired. To be honest, I wasn't too bad, but he said he wanted to go to bed and there was no way he was going without me.

Do I describe again what went on between us? It was more or less the same as the previous night, and repetition is boring.

Unless you're physically there.

In that case it's as far from boring as you can get. It's calming and exciting. It's restful and exhausting. It's fulfilling and frustrating. It's everything you want but not enough. It's love. What it isn't, is dirty, like adults had always told me sex was. And particularly, it was hinted, it was dirty between two people of the same sex.

Why?

How can anything so wondrous, so fulfilling, so much what each of us wanted, be dirty? If we're talking physical dirt, then sex between married couples must be dirty as well. It's nonsense when you think about it. And therefore I'll say that between us everything was as clean as we wanted. And when finally we had stopped and were lying there in our embrace, and our skin was sticky with the fluids of love and exertion we neither of us wanted to move, no matter how uncomfortable it was becoming. But move we had to, for the male bladder is a slave driver. And just as naturally we went together, unashamed, and relived ourselves and cleaned off the discomfort. Then we returned to our bed and our embrace, and slept until the light of a late morning percolated into our dreams of togetherness and delight.

We were rather quiet that morning. It had hit us all hard that it was the last full day of the holiday and we'd then go our separate ways. Except for Dad and Peter who, it looked increasingly likely, would be involved together in their new venture. How I was going to arrange it that James could come and visit me on a regular basis, I had no idea. Surely the parents would start to ask awkward questions? I knew Peter and Doreen well now, and liked them enough to call them friends. But I knew that if either of them realised that there was something between their son and me that was more than just friendship they would call me a molester or worse, and that would rebound on James. I thought at the time that I couldn't trust even his parents not to treat him the same as Mark's parents had treated him. I assumed still that the `therapy' Mark had been given was standard treatment.

As the day wore on I grew quieter and quieter, until at last James beckoned me into our cabin with a nod of his head.

"Out with it."

I looked at him.

"What've I done wrong?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Nothing. It's just that....it's the last day. This week has been....." I stopped, and gulped to try and clear the lump that threatened to stop up my throat. "....the best week of my life." I looked down at the floor.

He came to me and put his arms round me.

"Me too," he said.

And there we stopped, until gradually I felt a bit better. I explained to him what was going through my mind.

"Don't worry about me," he said. "If they get to know about me or about us and start me on anything like that, the first thing I'll do is get on a train and come knocking at your door. I'm sure they wouldn't, anyway."

I looked at him, a spark in my eyes at the thought.

"I know we'll have to be careful," he went on, "but we'll find a way. You'll have to find something near you that I'm interested in."

"What?"

"Apart from yourself, that is. You know, trains or something. Or canals. Or naturist camps."

At that I had to laugh. "The idea of me inviting you to a naturist camp is going to please Peter and Doreen? Yeah! And in October, too. If you want to freeze your nuts off, count me out!"

"Ah, but at least it'd be nice to have you get them warm again."

Well, if that wasn't an invitation for me to put my hand down his shorts to cradle the delicate not-so-little things, I don't know what was. Inside his underpants I could feel that his penis was reacting, and pushing anxiously against my arm as it struggled to stand upright. And in my own underwear mine too was straining against the material.

"We daren't," I said, as I kissed him and put my free hand round him.

"Just a bit longer," he whispered, as his hand undid my zip and traced around my excited shaft.

"You're wet," he said after five minutes.

"You too."

And before I could stop him he was on his knees in front of me, had eased my pants down, and had his tongue licking softly, warmly, at the exposed, wet glans. His hand pushed against the base of my erection and squeezed it up toward the tip, bringing out another drop or so of liquid. He lapped it eagerly off the end, then pulled my foreskin back over the head and pulled up my pants, then my zip.

"There," he said quietly. "Better now?"

I nodded, although at that moment I would have wanted nothing better than to strip all his clothes off -- and mine too -- and have his eager mouth around me still, and in the same way pleasure him for as long as he could accept it before the inevitable glorious conclusion.

How either of us could go outside the cabin with bulges in the front of our shorts as big as they were, I don't know. I went to the toilet and after a struggle managed to pee. The stream was so hard from the narrowed passage in my penis, and so high from the level of my erection which I was forcing downward to the toilet that it must have been in danger of boring a hole through the china. The idea made me laugh, and my body calmed down a bit, and by the time I'd finished the distortion to my clothing was much less obvious.

James's had apparently gone down quickly, as happens in adolescence. Quickly up, quickly down again. Unless something happens to make it stay up, in which case it can stay hard for ages.... I know. From myself, as well as from my experiences with him. Many of them.

We stopped early that night, and together, getting in each other's way, cooked a massive celebratory dinner. Because of the small size of both kitchen and cooker, it was really only possible to cook one or at the most two courses at the same time. So the feast was fragmented, and went on for ages, which was just as well, because the quantity of food we had to get through was rather great.. People kept getting up to check on their bit of it which was nearly ready -- or wasn't, depending how successful they'd been -- and so we were all even more exhausted by the time we were relaxing. By that time it was almost 10 pm, and we were all feeling very full and a good deal of belt-loosening had gone on. There was a lull in the various bits of conversation.

"Whilst we're all quiet, I'd like to say something," said my father in that quiet-listen-to-me-this-is-important tone of voice that I knew so well. We all pricked up our ears. "I haven't enjoyed a holiday so much for years, and I know from having spoken to Doreen and Pete that they think the same. So far as Mary and I are concerned we're so very lucky to have found another family we can get on with so easily and so well, and the fact that we met in the first place is due entirely to our sons, so they deserve a round of applause. The fact that they get on so well together is remarkable, and I'm glad that they are still such good friends after all these years.

"I know that we're going to be working together closely on a professional level, but that'll involve Pete and me in the main. For Mary, and I'm pretty sure for Martin, we want to get together often, as friends....."

"Yeahhhh!" interrupted a young male voice. Dad grinned at James.

"....and I hope we don't each just leave it and leave it as so often friends do, and so drift apart as so many friends do."

"No chance!" called out the irrepressible one.

"James!" hissed his mother.

"I know that at least one of the Evanses isn't going to let that happen, and I'm glad about that. Although I suspect that he'll be wanting all three of us to visit, or to visit us when all three of us are there. So I imagine that in the meantime there might be a number of visits between the north of England and the Midlands."

"Martin and I have been talking about that," he put in, rather more soberly this time. "He's said I can come down when I want."

"James, that's fine, except that Martin's starting a University course. He'll be busy studying and won't have time to cope with you visiting all the time."

I could see what James was trying to do. "From what I understand there's a lot of socialising goes on at Uni.," I said. "And I could do with someone visiting who isn't going to talk College all the time."

"But you'll have friends of your own, Martin, friends of your own age. I know you two are good friends as well, but with the best will in the world there are bound to be others."

"Maybe there will, Doreen. But one thing I've made up my mind about is that my existing close friends come first, and new friends have to accept them. Otherwise they won't be friends. And as to the age thing, when we're together we seem to equal out at about sixteen and a half. That's fine be me, so long as it is by James.

"Sounds good to me," he said. "I'll be down every weekend. Specially if there's trains and the canal museum there. It'll be good for my education."

"Can we see you sometimes, James? Just now and again?" said his father mock-seriously.

"Oh, I'll be home in the week," he said. "Until I go to University myself, that is."

"James, I wasn't being serious, but it almost sounds as if you were. There's no way you can go there every weekend. Not even Martin's good nature could accept that."

"I wouldn't mind," I said with a half laugh which they could take as being serious or not, as they liked. "He'd have to have a key and look after himself, that's all."

Peter and Doreen looked at each other.

"Well, he can certainly come and see you sometimes," said Doreen.

Safe in our cabin later, once the kitchen and dining areas had been cleared of any resemblance to a battlefield, we stood looking at each other.

"I knew we could do it," he said.

"Do what?"

"Get them to agree to me coming to see you at weekends."

"They didn't agree to every weekend," I told him.

"Don't you want me every weekend?"

"I want you with me every day."

"What about nights?"

"Them specially."

"Then I'll make sure I come down all the time."

"They'll never agree."

"We'll see."

As usual I just stood there looking at him, scanning every inch of him, etching the familiar features even further into my memory. He watched, doing some looking of his own. Gradually I noticed that his trousers were showing a marked bulge, and at the knowledge I felt my own body start to stir impatiently. His face changed, almost imperceptibly. The usual expression of half grin was giving way to that look that I could only describe as his special, Mona Lisa smile as the attractive eyes just looked straight into mine. The mouth opened.

"Strip me," he whispered.

I just wanted to throw my arms round him and hug him to me. Or so I thought. But the undreamed of idea of my being fully clothed whilst taking off everything he was wearing until he was naked and vulnerable and available grabbed out to my imagination and shook it rigid.

I started at the neck of his shirt, gradually undoing the buttons until I could see the little nipples standing away from his developing pectoral muscles. Sliding the cloth away from them I bent my head and touched the left one with my tongue, then the right. He sighed and gave a shiver. I looked up. He was looking down straight at my face. I circled the right nipple with my lips and sucked, using my tongue on the central nub. He wriggled and gasped, and when I repeated the action of the left one he did the same.

More shirt buttons undid, and the garment could be eased off his shoulders. To do this I brought my shirt clad chest up to his bare one, circled him with my arms, and pulled the shirt down at the back, leaving it just hanging from the waistband of his trousers. I stopped myself from kissing him: how, I don't know.

Next the shoes. Unlace one, the leg lifted and I eased it off. The top of the sock could be pulled down and eased over the foot. Same with the other side.

And now..... First the belt, then the clasp, then I stopped and looked up again. He still watched me, not like a hawk, but more like a dog watches its beloved master. Yet this was no master-servant feeling, just one of love and excitement and mutuality.

As I reached for the zip my hand trembled. I grasped the metal of the warm tab, warmed by his body, and slowly eased it down over the bulge. There was a small dark patch half way down where the bulge came to a point, and as the zip passed over it the two halves of the fly separated to allow the protrusion room. On his underwear the wet patch was extensive, and somehow I had caused it all.

The zip bottomed and I continued to help the trousers on their way down his slim, hairless thighs and the young, muscular calves which did have just a sprinkling of soft, downy hair, something which I found really appealing about him. At last he lifted each foot in turn, and stood once again just looking at me, clad only in the same pair of underpants that he had bought specially, the scant red Tanga briefs I had exclaimed about when I'd first seen him in them. They had had no wet patch then, though, spreading out from a point in the centre front, a patch that now showed every contour of the secrets below that we both enjoyed so much.

Still he stood there.

I reached down to his knees with each hand, and slowly, softly, ran my hands up each thigh to the junction with the red material. Once again he shuddered, and a droplet appeared where the cloth was at its most distended, only to soak into the remainder of the patch around it. While my hands repeated their caress of his thighs, my face slowly approached that particular area until I was only about an inch away, and I became aware of the scent of his excitement. Tentatively I extended my tongue, and as I was about to contact with his body a further droplet appeared. My tongue coincided with it, and the warm salty flavour thrilled my senses so that I trembled again.

I moved my hands from his thighs to the back of him and ran them over the smooth firmness of his still-clad buttocks. Doing so pressed his hardness to my face, and my mouth encircled the throbbing mound under the constricting clothing. He moaned again, and again my tongue tasted salty fluid. From the back I pulled the waistband of the tiny garment slowly downwards, exposing more and more of his flanks. The mount at the front of him prevented much downward movement there, and I wondered how best to continue. The top was near my mouth. Why not? I gripped it between my teeth and pulled outwards and slowly down. By distorting my eyesight straight down my cheeks I could see the base of the excited organ straining to pull its sensitive tip up and out of the restrictions. Down I pulled, and down......and there was a rush and the thing became free and stiff and jerked upwards to hit my nose and cheek, leaving droplets of fluid on the as it passed to stand up straight at last.

As my hands eased the briefs down his legs I kissed the softness that surrounds the two precious ovals hanging free and low beneath him, and pushed my tongue gently between them and around them, and pulled them into my mouth one at a time to squeeze with my tongue against the inside of it. From above me came an almost treble sound as the sensations started to overload his mind. Kneeling still in front of him I continued this for minutes until the sounds above me had almost ceased, yet the breathing was still rapid. And then it was time to move onwards. I let my tongue trace from the base of the scrotum, between the testicles, all the way over the root of the smooth skinned organ and up it, up, up, all the way up its not inconsiderable length, until it met with the wet, partly exposed glans. My hand replaced my mouth on the scrotum now, and whilst I caressed and manipulated there, my mouth swirled round the sensitive tip, and over and around the ridge, and almost into the opening, and I kept up a steady pull with my mouth. The only pause in the treatment was when my other hand came round to take a sample of the fluids still being produced from his excited body, then my mouth was once more in action.

My free hand went round the back of him, under his legs, to trace a path from the scrotum, over the plateau, up to the cleft, and for the first time even further: up between the softness of him onto previously forbidden territory, where the lubrication from him came into play.

And he gasped, and the little treble keening sound began again.

At last the hand fondling, manipulating, caressing, the testicles in their protective sac of skin felt a change. They were pulling away from my fingers slightly. Travelling up.... Did this mean.....? Swiftly that hand went to the base of his glans and exercised the shaft, pulling the foreskin back and forth, and the hand at the back of him found that the bending of the legs outwards made up for the tightening of the muscles at either side of where it was gently ploughing.

A very few more strokes on his penis caused a shout from above me: a real shout, a boy/man shout, treble yet broken. And his back arched, forcing his hard organ into my mouth so far that I was pushed backwards and nearly fell, and the first strong spurt of his seed hit the back of my throat. The second followed, so strongly that it almost drilled through my neck, a third just as strong, and a fourth, and then no fewer than five more of decreasing force until his organ was just giving little jerks as the sensations swept away from him.

My mouth kept its station, and I continued to lick and clean him. Then suddenly he was lower....lower....and I had to move fast to stop him from crashing to the floor as his knees gave way under him. I lowered him to a point where I could gather him into my arms and lift him -- slowly, because he wasn't light -- onto the bed.

The eyes opened, and focussed on me with difficulty.

"M...M...Martin...." The voice was very unsteady. "I love you so much."

And with that he was asleep. Swiftly I stripped off my own clothes and laid myself out beside him and covered us both up, still with my erection throbbing and my emotions jangling. I expected him to waken any minute and smile at me and start to use his hands on me if only to relieve the demands my body was making on me. But he didn't. I lay there, one arm over him, my body pressed close to his and my jutting self hard against his thigh, but still nothing. I began thinking back over what we had done together, and how much he'd enjoyed it all, and what I hoped he do for me when he awoke.....and fell asleep.

It was still dark when he moved my arm off his chest, and I only gradually awoke. The mattress moved, and feet padded softly to the door, paused, then went outside. I could hear that he was in the bathroom and relieving himself, and hoped that he wouldn't feel the need to make himself come as he had that first night. He didn't, and by the time he was tiptoeing back towards the bed I was lying on my back, awake.

"All right?" I whispered.

"I thought you were asleep," he whispered back as he came up to the bed and knelt at my side. "Yes, very all right, thank you. I don't know how you did that, but I've never felt like that before."

"I didn't think so. I certainly hope not."

"Why?"

"Because I'd not want anyone else apart from me to give you so much pleasure."

"Who d'you think I'd go to? No, nobody else is going to get a look in."

"Good," I said as I pulled back the covers for him to get in. "Are you coming back to bed, or kneeling out there all night?"

Before I finished the sentence, almost, he had laid down beside me. Not with our heads together, but with his head near my penis, and with his next to mine. And almost immediately mine was in his mouth, soft though it was. And of course I had to take his swelling one back into mine.

All the earlier emotions returned in a rush, and a combination of his hands and mouth all over my thighs, stomach, scrotum and penis made sure I was once again erect in no time at all, and shortly after that I knew it was my turn. The earlier unsatisfied excitement had caused my body to continue manufacturing its semen, and when it happened it was one of the deepest, most satisfying ejaculations I had ever experienced. That his mouth was around it at the time helped me greatly, and he enjoyed it too as I had a lot to give him: as much as or more than he had given me before.

He cleaned me off with his mouth, then turned in the bed, laid next to me and kissed me, tasting strongly of my own seed.

"Now we're even," he said. "Except that when I go back with you tomorrow I'm going to do what you did for me, and see if I can make you collapse like I did."

"When you come back with me.....?" I was still half asleep. I hadn't had the exercise of going to the toilet to get my blood moving.

"I'm coming back with you tomorrow," he said as if it was all settled, "and going back home by train on Sunday night."

"Oh....er....are you?"

"Don't you want me to?"

"Yes....yes of course I do. But I think your parents will have something to say about it."

"I'll look after them."

Somehow I knew he would.

We were late up in the morning, something to do with cuddling up close for an hour, squirming two make bodies together and not wanting to stop. We were nearly discovered, too. A knock came at the door, and we separated in a hurry before he squeaked "Come in!"

I turned back to face his back as he rolled over to see who it was. Mum.

"Are you two getting up today?" she asked plaintively. "We're almost packed, and we need to get to the boatyard by ten."

"Wassertime?" I asked without thinking. In front of me James spluttered.

"Nearly nine. And how you can sleep in this atmosphere I don't know. It's a bit thick. Be quick, please?"

"'Kay Mary," he said in his sweetest tone. She smiled and left.

He turned back to me. "How do I get rid of this?" he asked, guiding my hand to the middle of his stomach.

"You don't, this morning," I said, removing it.

"Haven't you got one?" he asked, fumbling his way onto mine and knowing full well that I too was throbbing.

"Yes, but if we don't get up now, Dad'll be in and he'll just throw off the bedclothes."

"Even if we're quick?"

"Yes. We're never that quick."

"Oh." But he brought his head to me and kissed me full on the lips, a lingering kiss that almost made me wonder if he was now putting it on for effect. But I remembered all he had said, all he had done, and knew that, somehow, he found me attractive, that he was in love with me, that a miracle had happened for me.

We found our way back to Napton without incident, and yes, both he and I had got dressed, visited the bathroom, and had no distended fronts to our trousers by the time we made the outside world. No, we didn't make it happen, it just did it on its own. Don't be rude. Once back at the boatyard we vanished inside to pack, or rather I did; he vanished off to his parents' cabin to talk to them. I threw most of his things into his bag, and was entranced by the sudden ability to handle his clothing. Almost to fondle it. Top of the pile of items to pack were the minute Tanga briefs he had bought especially for the holiday. I wondered if Peter and Doreen knew about them. More particularly I wondered if he wanted his parents to see them, especially in the state he had left them.

They were dry, but a white deposit had replaced the spreading wetness of the night before. On an impulse I threw them into my own bag.

He came back, rather quiet. "They say school starts on Wednesday, and that you don't want me there when you're getting ready to start University."

"Does that mean you could stay until Tuesday night?"

He looked at me. The disappointed look on his face changed slowly until the grin was at nearly full stretch. "I'll ask them!" he said.

Two minutes later he was back. So was the grin. "Monday night, if you can put up with me, they said."

"There you go, you see. Ask for the impossible and you shall receive it. Sometimes."

We met up with the boat's owner later, fortunately having finished the very significant cleaning and scrubbing our two mothers insisted on. He was a little straight faced at first, having seen just James and me lolling about by the tiller. In fact we were waiting for the floors to dry, and keeping watch over the luggage. When Dad appeared he introduced himself, and as we merged into the picture, so to speak, he turned out to be very pleasant. When he was allowed to go below -- when the floors were dry -- he was most complimentary about what we'd done.

"Better than we manage to leave her, sometimes," he said. Mum and Doreen just looked cocky.

At last everything was off her, and we stood self-consciously on the concrete, swaying slightly every now and again after a week of getting used to the almost unfelt motion of the boat. James was fidgeting, anxious to leap into my car and get going on his voyage of exploration. The parents just chatted, as if they'd not had a chance to do so all week. Finally they all agreed to phone soon, and to visit soon, and to have another joint holiday soon too. Kisses were exchanged.

"Are you sure you want James to stay with you?" asked Peter. "You can still say no, you know."

"Yes. It's fine. Any time he wants to. I'll give him a key, as I said."

"Any time except now, you mean?"

"No, now as well if he wants to. It'll help me wind down a bit."

"He usually winds us up."

"Oh Dad!"

"All right. Off you go. But make sure you catch a train on Tuesday morning, and tell us before you leave when you'll get to the station our end."

"Yes, Dad."

"And behave yourself."

"Yes, Mum."

"See you on Tuesday."

"'Kay. Bye."

"Have fun."

"Yeahh."

He was quite quiet in the car, and I wondered why. Once we were outside the town and away from both sets of parents he let out a deep sigh. I glanced over to him.

"What's the matter?"

"Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. It's just....."

He trailed off. I looked over at him again. "Go on."

"I've just.... I mean...."

Silence again. I let it hang. A long silence. I looked again. He was serious of face, but happy looking. Was he having second thoughts?

"I've just taken the biggest step of my life."

It was my turn to be silent for a long time.

"How do you mean?" I asked at last, although I was almost certain I knew.

He was still hesitant. "When we've been together before, it's been because we were both there. Now I'm travelling for one reason." A pause. A gulp.

"Sex."

I pulled over to the side of the road, put the brake on and switched the engine off. My hand went on to his and he looked me in the eye. The expression was almost scared, I thought. Certainly more than just concerned.

"You're wrong, James. You're not travelling for sex. At least, I hope not. You're travelling for love, and that means friendship and respect. If you decide it should also mean sex, and I do too, then that's completely different. But if you really think you're travelling just for physical sex and are having second thoughts about it, then I can take you back or to a station if you'd rather."

But at that he looked hurt. "I thought you wanted me with you."

"I do, more than anything else I ever have wanted. But I want you to want to be with me, too."

He worked this out. "I didn't say that because I didn't want sex, or to be with you. I do. It's just a big step."

I squeezed the hand. It turned and held mine. "If I told you that that's what I thought you meant, would you believe me? That coming with me as a friend, as someone who loves you is all right, but coming just to have physical sex probably isn't: does that help?"

He nodded and smiled faintly. "Do you mind?"

"Mind? I'd hate it if it was just sex, no matter how good looking you were. But love, and knowing that's how you think of me, that's really special."

This time he settled back in the seat, and a real smile settled on his face. "Let's go!" he said.

Some time later he looked up at the three-storey block of flats, wide eyed.

"It looks very grown-up."

I grinned. "Wait 'til you see inside."

We climbed the stairs to the top, I opened the door, and the first thing he saw was the picture of one of my favourite steam engines. At that he exclaimed, and hardly wanted to look any further. But I dragged him away and showed him round. The lounge was unremarkable, except for another railway picture; the kitchen was -- well, a kitchen. Then I showed him a closed door and stood back. He looked enquiringly at me. I motioned him to open the door.

All through my childhood and youth I'd been into railways, which meant that the walls of my room were always covered with pictures of engines and trains, posters and any mementoes I'd managed to pick up. When I moved out, they all came with me, and my new bedroom was similarly decorated. I certainly saw no reason to have the girlie pictures up that most of my contemporaries seemed to have. In fact the only concession to increasing age was the double bed. To have him stop two feet into the room and just look around with his mouth resting somewhere by his feet was heart warming.

He walked all round the walls, looking at the pictures, exclaiming, asking questions, and drinking it all in, and then turned to look at me properly for the first time for ages. The grin unzipped properly.

"I like this room."

"Good. Half of it's yours."

I don't know what made me say that. But his attitude once in the flat was suddenly so much younger than it had been during the holiday. I was suddenly aware that the was in reality only fourteen.

At what I said he looked at me, a sparkle in his eye. "I wish it was. I could live here."

"I hope you will, when you can."

He was silent at that, but subtly something changed, and he came to me and hugged me, and was once again the same age as me, and my James again.

Later we had settled down again in each other's company, and (possibly partly due to a few cans of beer) we had relaxed, and it was as if we were still on the boat. Chat bounced to and fro between bouts of TV, and at last I found him yawning.

"Are you tired as well?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Bed?"

"Mmmm."

"Where do you want to sleep?"

"What?" he said, suddenly waking up.

"Where do you want to sleep? Here, on the floor? Standing up in the toilet? Where."

He was grinning at the last bit, anyway.

"I know, I'll have my half of the bedroom."

"Good," I said. "That's what I hoped you'd say."

I got up; so, reluctantly, did he. He followed me to the door, then hesitated.

"I need a pee."

"Go on, then. I'm going to get ready for bed, I'm really tired."

"'Kay."

I hadn't even unpacked. I upended my bag on the floor, but then thought better of it. It could get done in the morning. Half way through undressing I heard his footsteps outside the door. They paused. There was a knock. What the hell was he playing at? I decided to play along.

"Come in."

He did. Looked at me, with no shirt, and with my trousers undone, and smiled timidly.

"Well?"

"Well what?" he asked.

"What was the knock for?"

He paused. "I...I don't.....I always knock before coming into someone else's bedroom."

I looked at him, aghast. Had he really any doubts left?

"But it's not someone else's bedroom. It's yours. Yours and mine. Just like on the canals."

"It just seems wrong."

"James....Oh god....." I was really upset. I thought I was going to lose him. I felt really panicky as I looked at him standing in front of me like a naughty schoolboy. What had gone wrong?

"I thought you felt the same about me as I do about you," I croaked.

"I do...I do..." That at least was music. "But it just seems...odd...being in your flat, and coming into your bedroom to sleep in your bed. It's just different from the canals."

Was that really all? In that case....

"James. Come here. Please?"

He came up to me, the face still uncertain, with that sort of pleading look on it.

"You won't hurt me, will you?"

My mouth dropped open. I looked at this unexpectedly, suddenly uncertain young boy in front of me, and tears filled my eyes at the fact that, after all this time, he thought I would do anything to harm him. All I could do was hug him to me, and slowly he returned the hug. When talking was safe again I separated us and looked down into his eyes, which now showed a bit less of the anxious puppy look.

"My....friend; My...more than friend," I started. "I'm still the same person as I was at Amberdale. I'm still the same person I was for all this week. Did I hurt you then? Did I do anything that you weren't happy with?"

He shook his head.

"Then I'm not going to start now. Is it just that this is my place, and not somewhere where your parents are going to come back to?" I too had been younger, and knew as a young child that feeling that you were in someone else's house and in their power. Stupid it was, I knew. Now. But I suppose the idea of coming to the house of someone else for the first time, knowing you were going to bed with them and were likely to use the genital parts of your body there, must be new, disturbing, foreign.

"Please, James," I said in my smallest voice. "Trust me? Like I trust you?"

He came into my arms then, of his own volition, and buried his head in my bare shoulder. When he drew back he looked happier. I continued undressing, and, to my relief, he started.

"I think I've been silly," he said as he took off his trousers.

"Why?" I thought the worst again.

"Oh, about this. It's no different from being on the canals."

Thank goodness. "Right." I said. "And do you know something else?"

"What?" he said as he pulled his underpants down his legs.

"I still love you. Really."

He smiled that Mona Lisa smile and cuddled up to me.

CHAPTER 24

Just for a change, we woke late the next morning. We must both have been tired. There was no other reason, that time. I looked into his sleepy eyes as I woke, and reflected the gentle smile I found there. We embraced again, and I thought how lucky I was to have found him all those years ago. Our faces were very close, and each of us were busy examining the window to the soul of the other, and somehow knowing and loving what we saw there. His arms traced patterns on my back, and I felt this warmth pressing against my belly. Subtly his expression changed, and a look of longing, almost of hunger came into his eyes. I'd seen it before and knew what it meant. Sure enough the hand transferred themselves to my chest, and my nipples, then continued southward to run like combs through the curly hair at the base of my belly. That I should have a reasonable pelt of hair just there he found fascinating, and to my temporary frustration spent ages at this unusual coiffure. At last one hand went onwards and was soon joined by the other when it found so much more interesting things to play with, everything I have was cradled in both of his moving hands.

My own hands found their own toys of excitement too, and by the little moans of delight that escaped from each of us from time to time the enjoyment was mutual. We both started turning in the bed at the same time, trying to bring the items we were playing with into sight and nearer to even greater pleasure. I got there first, and, although I knew that my own erection was slippery with fluid was surprised to see just how much my young love was producing. I thought my hands were wet, and when I could see, all of his genital area was shining.

Almost simultaneously our mouths enveloped each other, and the vibration of his moan as I started with my tongue was like electricity. I cleaned up everywhere I could, to his obvious delight, for a very short time after I had started again to concentrate on the main event, so to speak, there was a long moan from my own middle which may have been my name being called, and his hot seed started to hit the back of my mouth. And I knew that I was ready too, and could feel my own orgasm starting in that indescribable way deep inside me. I too gave a muffled shout of exultation and warning, and started pumping my offering into his mouth, time after time; I had got used to a twice daily routine over the last week, and missing out the previous night had enabled my body to do more than just catch up. I doubted if he could take it all, not knowing at the time how little semen is actually ejaculated in a normal orgasm. It certainly felt like a lot.

We lay there, recovering, in the same position. As normality started to return I once again realised how lucky I was. All through school I had known nobody in this way, this way of sharing everything. Except Mark. I imagined then that just as I had looked forward to a homosexual future life without love, with mounting frustrations as attractive members of my own sex were snapped up by members of the opposite one whose mutual love they sought, so there would be countless others who were in the same position. And how many of them would ever find their James?

I was startled out of my reverie by a light touch on my scrotum, and looked down with surprise. But he was intent on his subject. He was just tracing with his fingertips round each testicle, round the outside of the scrotum, up its dividing ridge, and over the roundness of each of the bulges which are so sensitive. He seemed not to realise that this was affecting me. In fact he was just curious about the shape, the build, the movement of them, completely unaware of the effect he was having on me. Until, that is, the penis rose further and stretched itself once more up my belly. Then he looked up at me and, to my surprise, blushed.

"Sorry."

"Why?"

"It didn't seem right."

"Why?"

"Dunno. It was just something I wanted to do. But we've just..... er...."

"Brought each other to an orgasm. Shown our love for each other. Shown how much we trust each other."

"Yeahhh. That sounds nice."

"It is. Was it nice?"

"Yeahh.......you know it was."

"Then why worry about what I might think when you explore me? When you touch me?"

"I didn't think you'd want me to, so soon after."

"Did I ask you to stop?"

"No, but..."

"If I did anything you didn't want you'd stop me, wouldn't you."

"Maybe."

"It's a two way thing. It's mutual respect."

"But you're older."

"And does that make it right for me to do things to you that you don't want?"

"'Spose not."

"Then you've answered your own question."

He thought.

"But if you're older than me, how can you respect me? It's meant to be younger people who respect their elders."

"I'll ignore the fact that when we're together we're the same age. If what you say was literally true, parents would be able to make slaves of their children."

I let that sink in.

"It's the respect and the love they have for them that makes it impossible for that to happen."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And if you ever lose your respect for others you'll go off the rails and start being unpopular."

"Ooer."

I could tell by the expression on his face that it was all getting too heavy. It was for me too. So I put out my arms, grabbed his sides and squeezed, tickling him hard. He gave a gasp and curled into a ball like a nine year old.

And that's how things started all over again.

An hour and a half later, when we had once again recovered, we had a shower. Singular. And of course we washed each other. And I was surprised to feel his hand penetrate into my bottom and wash thoroughly between the cheeks -- the very thing he had objected to that first time on the canals. As I'd already washed him I couldn't try doing the same.

Walking round the flat that morning it was like being with a different person from the rather reserved, almost shy and reluctant, boy who had come home with me the previous night. He really explored, and I felt that he was making himself at home properly. We had completely regained the attitude that we had enjoyed on the canals too. The previous night we had been a nineteen year old and a fourteen year old, the latter being worried about being invited into an older man's bed for the first time. This morning we were again the two sixteen-and-a-half year olds who were completely at one with each other. It was wonderful.

I was wondering what we could do with the half day that was left to us once we had got up and showered, when from the hallway I heard him call.

"What's that, Martin?"

"What?"

I hadn't shut the cupboard in the hall, and he was staring into it, looking up. I ducked down and followed his gaze to a roof hatch. Why I'd never seen it before, I don't know.

"Is it to the attic?" he asked. I gaped at him. I'd lived there for two weeks before the holiday and it had never even occurred to me that the top floor of the block would have access to the roof space. Obviously the estate agents hadn't included it in their blurb either. And I was the one who was meant to have a brain good enough for University. Mind you, it was well hidden, that trap door.

"Must be," I said as casually as I could. He looked at me sharply. The grin unzipped.

"You haven't the faintest, have you?"

"No," I said honestly, with a self-deprecating grin. "I never realised there'd be a loft."

"Well? Are we going exploring?"

"Well....yes. I suppose so. Why not?"

I got a chair. He climbed onto it and gave the hatch a hearty push. Nothing happened.

"Stuck," he said as he lowered his hands. "You tr......"

As his hands let go there was a click and the hatch dropped down on its hinge, hitting him on the head.

"Ow.....bugger!" He half fell, half stepped off he chair onto my foot. And for a moment or two we were each saying rude words and nursing the affected parts of ourselves. Then the funny side of it hit us, and we were laughing at each other.

I climbed onto the chair, and found the loft ladder, extended it to the floor and then hesitated.

"Torch. Must have one somewhere."

"Mine's still in my bag."

"We'll need it."

He rushed off. I suppose as it was his torch it was only fair he should be first up there. He almost flung himself at the ladder and his head vanished. The torch beam swung round like a lighthouse.

"Wow...."

Then there was another click, and electric light flooded the space.

"Wow, Martin. Come and look at this." And his feet vanished up the ladder and I could hear him walking around. I followed. And gasped as I could see what he meant.

The loft extended over the entire floor area of the flat. It was, to me, vast, like a room in a stately home. But what we were both so excited about was that around the outside of this floor-boarded and roof-boarded area was a wide shelf. At a few points around the perimeter the shelf widened further, and at two points there were other shelves which connected the two sides.

It had been built for a model railway. On a big scale. And what was the thing that I hadn't brought from home because there was no room and I thought I'd at last outgrown it and wouldn't want other Uni. types to see it?

A model railway.

James knew what it was for, too. He looked at me with his eyes shining.

"I'll bring my stuff down. We can put it all up here."

"It'll need to fit in with mine, then."

"You've got a model railway?"

"Certainly have."

"Oh, wow."

After a detailed examination and having made drawings of what was there we went down to the lounge where we exchanged information about what each had got. Some of his was nearer toy train standard than mine, but he was quite excited by the prospect of building things properly. I suggested we should go to an exhibition where we could get some ideas, and he jumped at the idea. The rest of the afternoon was spent happily talking about track plans and stations and signalling, and at times the discussions got quite heated. At the end of it when we could go no further in theory we realised we could hardly see each other, and the afternoon had turned to evening. We'd had no exercise all day, so I suggested a swim at the local baths which I knew were open for a Sunday evening session.

"No swimming things," he said in a disappointed tone.

"Shorts? Or borrow mine."

"I've got those old shorts," he said. I remembered how they scarcely covered him, and what would happen with nothing underneath when they were wet. I mentioned it.

"Would anybody mind?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"Well, I'd be covered."

"Yes, but probably visible through the cloth."

"Oh, don't worry about it. I won't get out of the water."

So we did. It was Ok all the time he remembered, but when he got out at one point to chase me round the poolside -- which earnt him a whistle from the lifeguard -- everything became very obvious. He seemed unconcerned, though. When he got out again to take a dive in, I saw a middle aged man, another swimmer, watching him intently. All went well until he had taken the dive, when he bobbed up and down in the water with an agitated expression on his face. I swam to him.

"What's up."

"Shorts came down. Can't reach," he gurgled. I supported him while he retrieved them and reinstated them round his waist.

"Do they show much?" he asked.

"Yes," I said simply.

"Oh."

As we swam it was obvious that the man was either keeping close to us or was watching from the side every move we made. James noticed it too and mentioned it to me.

"Shall I play a game with him?"

"What?"

"Watch."

He crossed to the side and started to haul himself out of the water near the man. The shorts dropped down his body a little, exposing the top of his cleft. What the front was showing I couldn't see. But the man's eyes never left him. He stood on the side, and slowly, as sensuously as he knew how, pulled up his shorts. Then he went up to the man whose eyes were glued to James' middle, and spoke to him. The man looked confused, but said something back. James then jumped back in to the water doing a `bomb', soaked the man, and swam back to my side.

"He's one of us," he said quietly. "He could hardly speak, and his eyes were boring through my trunks."

"What did you say to him?"

"I just asked him the time. When he could speak he sounded pleasant enough."

The man stayed in the pool until we left, then followed us into the showers, where James and I shared. The stranger was almost having apoplexy by the time we had unashamedly washed each other's back, although we didn't dare do any more. We collected our clothes and, out of sight of the attendants but so the man could see us, went into the same cubicle. He walked past and looked in over the door, and gave a sort of whimper, much to our amusement, then walked off.

"You could have a really good night with him." I hoped I was joking.

"Nah," said my friend. "I don't like older men."

And we both went off into fits of laughter.

The trouble was that he was waiting for us when we came out, and even followed us to the fish and chip restaurant where we had decided to have a meal. But he didn't follow us in, so we never did discover what he was like.

The rest of the evening was spent looking over the plans we'd sort of made for the railway, refining them, talking about the next day and the places we'd go. Gradually we seemed to draw closer together, although we'd not been referring to the railway plans at all at the time. At last he made an inflammatory comment -- I can't remember what it was -- and the obvious way for me to get back at him was to tickle him. So I did. Unmercifully, my hands pulling up his shirt so I could get to his so-sensitive sides.

He rolled up, at the same time trying to get to any part of me that might be ticklish while trying to keep his arms flat against his sides to prevent me from doing the same. He didn't have much chance. He lay in a ball, like a hedgehog, giggling and trying to roll free. At last he made it, and uncurled, panting and still giggling. I made another dive for him, but he dodged, and finally managed to do the same to me. Now I'm still ticklish to this day, so at the time I was at just as much a disadvantage as him.

But at last I dislodged him, and sat in the time honoured schoolboy victor way, on his chest with my hands pinning his upper arms to the floor. He tried all the tricks he knew, and finally hit on a solution that would probably only be acceptable between the two of us. He shook free and grabbed my crotch.

In the midst of our fighting my mind went back to that last night on the canals when he'd stood there as if a helpless waif and asked me to strip him, and I had. I wondered what he'd do, given the chance, so I let go of him and stopped struggling, leaving his hand in mid-grab, as it were. He was a bit surprised, but I was looking at his face at the time in a half serious, half `come on, then' way, and it seemed to work. He wriggled out from under me, still with his hand circling a bunch of trousering containing my genitals. But gently.

And slowly, as I knelt there, he eased my shirt out from my waistband and over my head, then released the belt of my trousers, looking into my eyes to check that it was Ok as he did so. But instead of taking them off he eased down the zip and slowly slid his hand inside my underpants until he was once again clutching at my genitals, though even more carefully now. He roved about all over them, and slowly -- well, not too slowly -- my body reacted and made movement inside my clothing that much more difficult for him. He withdrew his hand, to my temporary disappointment. He moved behind me and undid my shoes, pulled them off, and the socks after them. I was wearing only trousers and underpants now, and they were exposing more of me than normal.

"Stand up." The voice was positive, yet somehow thick. It sounded as if he was emotional about what he was doing, affected by my being partially undressed whilst he was still fully clothed. I complied, he joined me, and I could see from the state of his trousers that he was indeed just as affected as me. He eased my trousers off, then stood back looking at me. I looked back, wondering what to expect, aware that not only was I distending the front of my underwear but that the cloth was looking decidedly damp in front.

He smiled, and in one swift movement my pants were round my ankles.

"Just like on the beach on the island," he said triumphantly. "But your prick didn't nearly hit me in the face then."

I grinned back, despite feeling that a moment of love had been allowed to pass. But gradually as I remained silent his wide grin mellowed to that beautiful half smile of his, as his eyes continued looking me up and down. Then he stepped closer and looked up at me.

"Will you come to bed with me?"

We decided, the next day, when at last we had hauled ourselves out of bed and from each other's attentions, that the model railway would be a really excellent way to justify his frequent visits. The day was spent visiting and shopping in town, and my heart sank as I knew he'd have to get on a train soon. The time came, and I found myself trying not to be too emotional on the platform. I wanted to kiss him, to tell him I loved him, to tell him to hurry back the next weekend, but there were people all round us and it wasn't possible. Eventually the train pulled out, with him waving and yelling that he'd phone when he got in, and I was left feeling really down, as if the lights had all been turned off.

I stumbled, more than walked, back to the flat, and went up into the loft, the bare loft, that would one day soon be alive to the sound of his voice and laughter as he worked with me on the railway. I didn't feel like eating. In fact I felt almost as bad as I had when Mark and I had separated after the Amberdale holiday. I'd arranged to meet him afterwards too, just as I had James. And the more I thought, the worse it got. When at last the phone rang I gave a sudden start, realised who it would be and almost fell over my feet trying to get to the phone.

It was him. Cheerful, safe and tired. Phoning, he said, from the station. "I've just phoned Dad and he's coming to get me," he said. "So I thought I'd call you too so they couldn't overhear what we say. I just wanted to thank you."

"What for?"

"Having me."

"I'd have thought I should thank you for coming."

"Oh, we both did that, many times over the weekend."

"Dirty sod."

"I know. And I enjoyed every one. I wish you were up here."

And that brought tears to me. "So do I," I said chokily. "More than you know."

"Have you been to bed yet?"

"No. It's only eight thirty."

"Oh."

"Why?"

"Nothing."

"Go on."

"No. It doesn't matter. Look, I'll phone again from home so they can hear me say thanks. My money's going now. 'Bye."

"'Bye. And.....I love you." But the click had come just before I got those words in.

I went into the bedroom and looked around. Nothing untoward. Then I pulled back the bedclothes and there it was.

Those briefest of brief, stained, Tanga underpants, unpleasant to anyone except us. And a note.

`You're the best thing that ever happened to me. Thanks. I love you.' Then a big space and underneath: `As these were in your bag I thought you might like to keep them. Mum wouldn't understand if I asked her to wash them. Could you? See you next week. I'll phone. James.'

My eyes grew misty and hot. I held the cloth and the paper to my chest.

Ten minutes after, the phone rang again. Peter.

"I hear he had a good time with you. He's full of this model railway thing. Do you really want him down?"

"Yes....oh yes! He's good fun, and it'll be something else to add to life."

"Well, if you're sure. We'd like him up here sometimes, but if you really want him down there there's a few suitable trains, and at last we can afford it, I suppose. You won't want him next week, I suppose?"

"If he wants to come, yes."

"He does. He's pestering me already and we've only just got in. He wants to tell you he's safe home and to say thanks, anyway."

"Ok, Peter. And thanks to you and Doreen for making the holiday so special for us."

He was quite formal when he got on the phone, but unbent after a bit. At last I told him I'd found his message and hoped he'd be careful of his reply when I said: "It meant a lot to me. I love you too, because you're the best thing that happened to me."

There was a pause, and he whispered so they couldn't hear. "Even over Mark?"

My turn to pause, although I was certain of the answer. "Even over Mark. You are just.....so right for me."

"That's nice. Thank you, Martin. See you next week. Oh....." He paused. "How am I going to get all my railway stuff to your place? There's too much to go on the train."

"Would it go in my car? Or Peter's?"

"Yes. Why, would you come up for it?"

"If you want. In fact I could come up over the week, sleep at your place if they'd let me, and go back the following day."

There was a short, breathless pause. Then:

"Yeahhhh! Hold on, I'll ask."

There was a muffled conversation in the background that went on for some time. I was starting to wonder what the problem was. Then he said breathlessly "Hang on, I'm giving you back to Dad."

I waited. "Hallo Martin", said Peter, "Has that worthless son of mine been persuading you to make a journey all the way up here just to fetch a few bits of railway? He really does take too much for granted, you know."

I laughed, happier again at the thought of seeing him so soon. "Not really, Peter, we're probably as nuts over trains as each other, even model ones. And you should see the size of this loft! We could open it up to the public."

He laughed too. "Well, I know I keep on warning you about James and his assumption that everyone wants to be with him, especially you,....." Music to my ears, that bit. ".....but you must really enjoy his company to be happy to accept him so frequently. By all means come up here to get his stuff, and what I suggest is that you leave it till Friday, then you can take him back with you on Saturday. It'll mean sleeping in his room I'm afraid, because we're still renting until we can find a suitable place to buy, and it's small. But then you're used to that!"

Magic. Absolute magic. He gave me the address and directions, and then put James on again.

"Great! I'll see you on Friday, then. What time will you be here?"

"Any time."

"I get home from school at half past four."

"Will there be anyone in before that?"

"Yes, Mum's here."

"I'll see you there, then."

"Yeahh....great. I'm looking forward to it already."

"So'm I. More than you realise."

He chuckled. "Oh, I think I do. Anyway, I'd better go now."

"Yeah. I'll see you on Friday. Leave me half the bed."

"It'll be a tight squeeze.....oh. I won't say any more. See you."

"'Bye. Look after yourself."

And that was that. I felt a bit deflated again after he'd rung off, but happier again when I realised that I'd see him sooner than I had thought. The confirmation that he definitely wanted me there was good to have, too.

When I arrived at the house an hour early on Friday I felt like a nervous schoolboy meeting his loved one's parents for the first time. What I had set out to do was to dump off my bag and surprise him by collecting him from school. But I hadn't taken into account that Doreen would want to chat, something that occurred to me only as I arrived. She was so grateful to me for making James's holiday so special that I and my doings were all he wanted to talk about, that it was ages before I could tell her my plan. When at last I got a word in she agreed it'd be a good surprise and gave me directions.

The juniors were coming out when I arrived, and there were some which looked almost as he had done at nine years old. Mischievous. Fun. Happy. But not one had The Grin. At last a bell rang loudly. There was a lull, and the noise of a mixture of broken and unbroken voices at high decibels approached. I watched carefully.

Streams of boys of widely varying ages walked past. They all looked the same. I didn't know if I'd recognise him in a cap. The thought hadn't crossed my mind until then as it was ages since I'd had to wear one to school. Face after face swam past, and scanning every one was difficult. Then at last two boys emerged from the gate, one younger than the other. The younger one was looking up at the elder who was talking, looking straight ahead. Then the younger one spoke and at last The Grin unzipped on the older face and I knew it was him. And the younger one's face, dazzled by the sudden smile, lit up too, and I thought back five years.

They were about to pass the car, so I sounded the horn. They jumped and looked at me, annoyed. Then one of them did one of the best theatrical double-takes I'd seen and jumped in the air, then rushed to the car and wrenched open the door, ignoring his companion completely.

I thought for a minute he was going to kiss me, but he stopped himself in time, and fired questions at me instead. I interrupted him. "Don't forget your friend."

"What? Oh yes. Oy, Graham. This is Martin, the friend I was telling you about."

I hoped he hadn't said too much.

"Hallo, Sir."

"Sir......" I spluttered. "I've never been called that in my life! Martin's my name."

"Oh...sorry."

"Ok. Good to meet a friend of James'."

He had nothing to say to this.

"I'll see you on Monday," said James to him.

"Yeahh. 'Kay. Bye." He sounded very sad.

"Can't we give him a lift?" I asked James quietly.

"You sure? Hey, Gray..."

The boy looked round at the sudden shout, almost fearfully, I thought.

"Martin says do you want a lift."

The face lit up, just as it had done when James had smiled at him. "Yeah, please."

We'd joined the end of a queue of traffic, and a few yards down the road we passed a group of four older boys hanging round on one of the corners. They peered into the car, and two of them shouted something and started making rude gestures. The penny dropped.

"School bullies?" I asked tersely.

They both nodded. "They get me every day unless I'm with James," Graham explained.

Now, I hate confrontation, and I'm not very brave, but I didn't see why I, as a fairly broad built nineteen year old with a car should let four fifteen year olds get away with bullying like that. So I squealed the car to a halt, flung it into reverse, and backed towards them at a rate of knots. There was another squeal as I stopped. They stepped back, looking surprised. I got out, and they started backing away.

"Running away, cowards? Scared someone bigger and older than you might hurt you? Come back here." I surprised even myself at the tone. They continued backing off, then turned and ran. I watched them out of sight, then got back into the car.

"We're going to find them," I said calmly.

"No, don't," said Graham. "They'll get me worse on Monday."

"Not after what we're going to do when we get you home," I said.

I turned the car, and drove down the road they'd vanished into. They were still walking down it some yards away. Once more I dew up, this time opposite them. They looked over casually as I opened the door. There was a word spoken, and they started to run.

We followed them for some while, until they all turned up a footpath. This time I didn't stop, but told the others to give me directions to James's home. There, after explaining everything to Doreen, who gave the worried Graham a drink, I wrote out four letters, all the same, addressed to each of the four boys. It said in essence that I was a friend of Graham's, hated bullies and bullying, and had friends much older than either him or them who lived locally. Which was true: Peter and Doreen were both older than them, and lived locally. In future, therefore, they would be held responsible by me for Graham's freedom from bullying from anyone inside or outside the school, and that further action would be taken if I even suspected that they were not taking this duty seriously. I also said that a copy of the letter was going to the headmaster and to Graham's parents who would also keep a watch on things.

Now this sounds very clever. I wish the idea had been mine. But it's exactly what was done at my own school when I was being bulled. It had worked for me, and it would work for Graham against these cowards. When I had done it all and explained it, he just looked at me.

Like a grateful puppy. As did James. I felt wonderful.

He only lived up the road, so a lift wasn't necessary. As he said goodbye on the doorstep he shyly put out his hand to shake mine, and I felt a rush of affection for him. So I gripped his shoulder. "Always think to yourself `I'm not a doormat.' Then people won't try and walk over you."

When he'd gone, and James and I were alone in the hall, he hugged me so tightly it hurt.

"Come and see our bedroom," he said.

They had made him put out a camp bed for me, despite his protestations that we were Ok in his single bed. "What's acceptable on the canals, and with a double bed for the two of you, isn't acceptable here and in only a single. You'd be pressed up against each other all night," went the argument. I have to admit that I could feel my body stirring as I realised what she'd said, and he told me afterwards that his was reacting as well. It would have been lovely to tell her that it was precisely that contact we were looking forward to .

We were limited on our physical enjoyment of each other that night because his parents slept in the next room, and I learnt from overhearing the rather nice things Doreen was saying to Peter about our rescue of Graham that the walls were quite thin. I got into the camp bed and rolled about a bit, then stood, naked as usual, over his recumbent form in its single bed. He grinned up at me.

"What's the matter?" I asked, but quietly. "Don't you want me in there?"

Without another word he pushed himself over to one side to give me room. I struggled my way next to him. She was right. We would have to sleep pressed up against each other all night. She never said anything about having to have our arms around each other, though. We rubbed our bodies together for some time, and the inevitable stiffness would have to accompany each of us to sleep. "Just wait until tomorrow night," he whispered as we kissed each other before settling down to sleep.

Or to try to sleep. He seemed to be all right, but the inability to move, no matter how good and lovely the reason, made sleep difficult for me, and easily interrupted when it came. He only had to breathe a bit heavier, or make a movement, and I was awake. So I was a bit jaded in the morning. And stiff. Stiff muscles, that is, from lying in one position almost all night. He, on the other hand, had slept like a log. I escaped from the bed at about half past six and got into the little camp bed, where I slept soundly until nine.

CHAPTER 25

He woke me up with a sneeze.

I stirred. "Martin.....are you awake?" he snuffled.

"Mmmm."

"Why aren't you here?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Did I keep you awake?"

"No. Well, yes. A bit."

"Sorry."

"'s Ok. I must need to move in my sleep, and couldn't. But it was good being so close."

"Mmmm. Wassertime?"

I smiled to myself. "Dunno. Watch is up there somewhere."

He turned over to look at his own bedside clock. "Nine! But where are the parents? They've usually got me up by now."

"I can smell bacon," I said.

"Oh wow. They must like you. We never have a cooked breakfast except on holiday."

It took ages to eat a vast breakfast, carry box after box from the small loft above their two-up, two-down house, and carry it out to the car, then another age to say goodbye. At last we were mobile, and he sank back into the seat beside me with a sigh.

"I've been waiting for this moment since we were on the phone."

I looked round into his eager eyes, which were staring at me as if I was something special. It stopped me saying something flippant, and I told him the truth.

"So have I, James, so have I. Not just since the phone call, but since the train left the station last Monday."

He drew in breath, gently touched my thigh, and sighed again. Who said that you didn't really know about love until you were eighteen?

It was a quiet journey. Not having slept well I needed all my concentration on the road, so conversation was sparse. When we stopped for a meal the woman serving us asked what my little brother wanted, and I was just about to say something rude to her when I remembered Amberdale and the times when I regarded him as just that. So I asked for a child's portion. The woman was even about to serve one up when he exploded into laughter. That set me off, and it was a full minute before I could hand him the menu to make his choice.

She was not amused.

As we continued our journey I was almost falling asleep, much to his alarm. He had to shout at me on two occasions before I decided to take a break and sleep. I found a minor road to turn on to, where I could park in peace. It was very narrow and quiet, and trees lined it. We parked and got out. I wandered off to have a pee, and was about to return when he called. I joined him, and he was overlooking a small hollow, surrounded by trees, thick with grass and meadow flowers, and baked in the sunshine. I felt sleep creeping up on me as we walked slowly down into it and lay down facing each other.

"Strip?" he asked.

"Mmmm?"

"Shall we strip?"

"Why?"

"Nice."

"Dunno who's around."

"Nobody'll come here."

"How d'you know?"

"They won't."

And before I knew it he was hauling off his shoes and socks, pulling off his T-shirt and pulling down his rather short, rather wide shorts. The everyday white briefs reminded me of the exotic pair he'd left for me. But to me he looked just as good in these. I lay there as he teased me by pulling them down his belly and back, slowly, tantalisingly, then rolled the cloth down until he was only just technically decent. He pulled the waistband, such as it was, round his middle a little, so it stretched the right hand leg opening, leaving a gap.

And as I watched him, without any effort from either of us, the bulge there increased, and increased, and a pink bullet shaped thing appeared at the opening and looked down his leg before extending itself further into the open air and my wondering gaze.

And then he rolled over, and planted one knee either side of my chest as I lay on my back. Facing me was the cleft of his bottom, fully three inches of it, before it dived into his rolled waistband. And his rounded, muscular buttocks were separated to allow his legs to go either side of me.

I felt a fumbling at my belt, then at my waistband, then at my zip. Then there was a warmth over my underpants, then he was holding me, supporting me, gently kneading my testicles in his left hand. The other one was already exploring under my waistband to release the inevitable erection.

I did what I had never done before, not since the time in the shower when he had said he didn't like it. I took my hands onto his covered buttocks and massaged them gently, gently round and round, and then more and more towards the cleft. I don't know why. Certainly I had no intention of doing that thing that `everyone knows queers do'. All this time he was massaging me, fondling, sometimes masturbating me. And he'd pulled back my foreskin, and I knew as the breeze caressed us that I was already wet with fluid. He shifted forward slightly, and my sensitive glans met his. He carefully rubbed the two together. I shuddered -- not with horror or anything like that but with the delight of being so intimate with him in yet another different way. How could I be even more intimate with him?

I pulled down the rolled waistband of his pants to expose him to the air. Even with his legs either side of my body the ring of muscle was hidden. Not without some discomfort I brought up my head. Grasping the cheeks carefully at either side, more to steer them than anything else, I closed the gap between us. As he felt my warmth behind him he stopped his actions on me, in uncertainty.

I put out my tongue and touched the back of his scrotum, and was rewarded by feeling him shiver. As best I could I lifted each testicle in turn with it, then traced it back over the sensitive plateau. He moaned quietly as I repeated the actions....and again....and again..... And while he had stopped his actions on me, the better to experience this new sensation, I licked my way backwards again......and this time slowly entered the base of his cleft. Again I explored him with my tongue, over the plateau, into the cleft....and again....and again.... I could feel on my exposed, wet glans that his breathing was fast.

And then at last I pulled his cheeks gently, carefully, further apart, and he gave a short, sharp intake of breath. His strong bum muscles tensed, then relaxed further than before. Love welled up in me. I knew he trusted me completely not to hurt or harm him, and was overriding his natural reflex to keep his most secret area hidden.

Summoning more saliva to my mouth to cushion even my soft tongue from his super-sensitive nerves, I brought my tongue back: further and further. His buttocks trembled with the conflict in his mind between the trust of me and the want for me to pleasure him, and the fourteen year old inborn instinct to cover it up again. His love and trust won, and I softly, carefully, brought my tongue over the strong, sensitive ring of muscle, up and up to the very top of his cleft. As I lifted it off, he sighed, and relaxed again, allowing his buttocks to part even further. And as a reward to me for my persistence he shuffled further back and brought his own tongue to bear on my -- by now -- leaky penis, and lapped off all the fluid on it and around it. Encouraged, I repeated my own special new manoeuvre. This time there was only a flutter of movement from right inside, from the puckered circle. And again and again we stimulated each other like this, me gently on his hidden secret and him with increasingly strong strokes on me, first with his mouth, and at last, just as I thought I had no more fluid to produce, with both hands, one on my scrotum and the other round my erection. I should think he had time for about twenty strokes before I could feel that IT was starting for me. I did all I could to continue what I was doing for him as my body tensed and concentrated on that one, magical, wondrous action.

Like a true soldier -- no...nothing to do with warfare and death in this. Like my true lover, the true lover that he was and is, he accepted all that my body could give him. His mouth held on to me as I subsided. He cleaned me. He gently -- so gently -- replaced my foreskin over the now exceptionally sensitive glans. My head had fallen back to the horizontal. There was nothing more I could do for him for the moment. At last he eased himself off me, brought his head up beside mine, and rolled over to face me. I managed to turn my head and look at him with a small smile.

There was no need of words between us. His look, his Mona Lisa smile said everything I needed to know. There was no look of reproach to tell me that I had violated that final part of him that he wanted to keep secret. There was no look of pain that I had gone too far. There was love, and pleasure, and still more love.

Oh this boy, this man, this boy that I loved, love and will always love. This boy whose body stretched out beside me, scarcely clad in his diminished underwear. Even in my post-orgasm state he was beautiful and I knew that I wanted to give him the pleasure he had given me. And I did, as soon as some vitality returned to my body. His penis went into my hand, and his scrotum into the other. I shifted round to exercise him with my mouth. His legs parted. My tongue once again searched round to the back of his scrotum, as far as I could to the area I had been attending to earlier. And the taste of his fluid in my mouth was sweet, and I knew he was ready for my mouth and my hands.

After a little manipulating and caressing with mouth and hand his body tensed, his testicles rose in their sac up toward the base of the penis, he let out a moan, and the jet of his seed struck hard at the back of my throat. Once, twice, three, four, five....the sixth was diminishing and the seventh felt like just a dribble. But still he twitched in the warm wetness of my mouth. Gradually the testicles returned, then erection started to soften, and the breathing deepened. As he had done for me, I cleaned him, and kissed the now flaccid penis before bringing my head up to look at his sweat-glistening body and flushed, beautiful face. And still the little smile was there.

We lay there, enjoying the peace, the warmth that the dell had kept to itself for us, and that deep affinity there is between us, for a long time. Sleep took us, and left us, and eventually he turned to me again.

"There's an ant crawling up your willy."

Now, if you want to get someone going, that must be the easiest way of doing it. Of course, in my soporific state I reacted and swept the non-existent insect off myself. Whereupon he started laughing his head off.

"Gotcher."

I reached out for him in mock anger, but he was too quick. This young athletic body, still clad in just underpants, which currently started below the top of his thighs and ended just a short distance down them, was up and had darted away in a moment, fully exposed to the eyes of anyone around. I started after him, forgetting that my own trousers were far more restricting and I couldn't run without some basic adjustments as they, too, were down my thighs. I found him, now stark naked, in a clump of trees.

"Come on!"

"Come on what?"

"It's like Amberdale. Come on, strip!"

I looked at him stupidly for a moment, and something in the care-less part of my mind said `why not?' So, just like the fourteen year old I had been, I did so. Dropping everything I had on down where he had dropped his underpants, I joined him, to walk, now unashamedly holding hands with him, through the wood and back toward the road. We were both listening intently for any sounds ahead of us that might indicate people, though. We heard nothing. At last the grey metalled surface of the road could be seen through the trees. I stopped. He looked round.

"Last one across has to stand in the middle of the road." As he finished speaking a car could be heard approaching. We ducked. When it had gone we listened again.

"Go!"

We scampered down toward the surface, but as soon as we were on it we found it was covered in a very sharp gravel that really hurt our feet. With lots of indrawn breath and curses and taking big steps we managed to get to the other side. I was first. I clambered up the other bank, found some cover and sat down. He joined me.

"That hurt."

"Yeah," he answered. "Whose silly idea was that?"

"The same idiot who's got to stand in the middle of the road for sixty seconds 'cos he lost."

"Sixty seconds? I never said anything about how long!"

"No. But I did. Come on, don't you accept the challenge?"

"Yeah but....."

"No buts. A minute it is."

"Oh Martin...."

"Your rule, not mine. I just add the interest."

He looked at me, then got up. "Who's doing the counting?"

"I am."

"'Kay. Come on then."

And he scrambled down to the last bit of cover, stopped and listened intently, then sauntered -- if you can saunter when your feet are being perforated -- to the middle of the road. I started counting.

It'd be nice to be able to write about a car that could be heard approaching when I got as far as fifty seconds, so he had to scramble out of sight just as it rounded the bend. But unfortunately it didn't happen. Well no, fortunately, I suppose, because I wouldn't have liked anyone else to see him naked, and for him to feel embarrassed to that extent. We were -- are -- close, so what happens to one, the other one feels too.

What really happened was that I took those sixty seconds to look at his body and physical development from a distance. He really was beautiful. Musculature starting to be prominent on his chest, his flat belly, that soft scattering of hair above his genitals, the good sized penis, now at rest, and the low-hanging, capable testicles that swung to a halt as I watched. Oh....he was -- is -- beautiful. And I just wished that my own body had travelled that far along the rocky road of puberty at fourteen. But then, I had managed to attract two beautiful friends, and the one I knew would be mine for ever was now standing, showing everything that nature had equipped him with, in the middle of a country road on the way home.

I reached sixty, scrambled down to road level, walked calmly (and painfully) across, then told him his minute was over. He gritted his teeth and followed.

Saying little, once we had dug out the odd bits of sharp grit from our toes, we relieved ourselves -- it didn't really matter where, did it? -- and found our clothes. We walked -- clothed -- back down to the road, found my car, and once we were in it he began to giggle.

"What's up?"

"I just never imagined that I'd have the nerve to do that. When we were in Canada I often thought back to Amberdale and the islands. At first I just missed them, and you, and all the fun we had, but as I got older I really wondered if I'd ever really done it all, you know, taken everything off like that. I mean, I knew I had, but I couldn't see how I'd made myself strip in front of other people."

"But you're the one who started it all."

"I know....in a way I was, but that was just the two of us."

"But if we hadn't, and if they'd not seen us from the naturist island, they'd never have come over to see us."

"'Spose not. But as I said, as I got older it just seemed like another life, and I knew I'd never have the nerve to strip in public like that again. And today....today I have."

"Yeah, but I'm the only public."

"You know what I mean -- stripping in the open air. And the silly thing was, I enjoyed it."

"You did?" I thought of my own reactions. He was doing it, and he was a potent male; why should I then worry about my own nakedness. And I had had to keep him company. But it hadn't been the innocent, practical nakedness of that original holiday. This had been....what? Exhibitionism? Or a desire to get back to that innocence and happiness we experienced then?

"Do you think we'll be naturists, then?" I asked him.

He looked at me, eyebrows raised. "Dunno. I will if you will. You're not having a holiday without me!"

"I don't mind either way. But if you decide it's something you'd like to do then I'd be happy with it.

"You saying I've got to decide?"

"Well, if you wanted to go, then I'd want to, too."

He looked astonished. "But when we live together I'd have thought you'd decide that sort of thing."

"Why?"

"'Cos you're...older."

"Five years isn't much."

"Yeah....but....."

"Look, when we're twenty and twenty five there'll be no difference between us at all."

"I can't imagine being twenty."

"Well you will be, or you'll have me to reckon with."

"What'll you do?"

"Tickle you until you make it."

"You tickle me enough and I'll probably pee. I'll remember that on my twentieth birthday."

I laughed.

We arrived home, unpacked the car, left all the railway bits untidily in the hallway near the cupboard, and went out for a meal. When we came back he said he was too tired to move it all then and could we leave it until the morning. So we just sat in the lounge, doing nothing apart from listen to music, me sitting at one end of the settee and him stretched along it, head in my lap. I was stroking his hair, and if he'd been a cat he'd have purred.

As well as the music coming from my speakers, my heart was singing too.

And that, really, is where the story ends. Except that it doesn't. I mean, I've been giving little clues all the way through this, our story, with the use of the present tense. So yes, he's still with me, and I'm still with him, and that's the way it's going to stay. We're older now, he's turned twenty, and I did tickle him on his birthday, but his bladder control is excellent. So far as our love is concerned I think you've got the general gist of it, and as the story is rapidly approaching our present rather than our past it gets a bit too personal to describe in detail as I have been all along. So I'll go back a bit.

His parents were great in not minding his weekly or fortnightly visits to me. They knew that I'd keep him safe and on the straight and narrow -- well, so far as the dangerous things were concerned, like drug taking and crossing the road when not looking, and meeting strange men. Of the delight there was -- is -- between us they were blissfully unaware.

The railway -- the full-sized one -- was kind to us. They introduced a train from his town to mine which started at about 9 p.m. on a Friday and arrived here at about 1 a.m. Peter and Doreen agreed after a long argument that if he could be sure of getting a taxi the other end, and if I let him sleep late in the morning, he could use it. I'd already given him a key, of course. This might seem like little to you, but to him, at fourteen/fifteen, a key to get to his lover was a great responsibility and delight, 1 o'clock in the morning was a great adventure, as were the delights of a night train, the responsibility of a taxi (and the look on the driver's face when approached by a tired young boy and asked to be taken to my flat). The night drivers got used to him eventually. He was once propositioned on the train, but told the man where to get off in no uncertain terms. It alarmed me, though.

But the greatest adventure was always mine. I never knew when he'd be able to come down. There were always so many complications, and increasingly, there was homework. More times than I can count I'd be asleep, and the first I knew of his arrival was a click of my bedroom door, or even the feel of his smooth, naked body slipping into the bed next to me, and snuggling up with a sigh of contentment.

"I was always half scared I'd find someone else in bed with you," he told me later.

"I was always more than half scared you'd fall in love even deeper with somebody of fourteen," I countered. We looked at each other, unsure of what to say next, and simultaneously opened our mouths to speak.

"No way!!!"

Both families did well at their joint venture, and I was glad that effectively each was able to help the other. Both sets of parents were good friends, and remain so despite living so far apart, which is a necessity of the business. We had another holiday the next year, and again when he was sixteen and waiting for the results of the GCE's. Most of the rest of the time he spent with me, and there were occasionally plaintive requests from one set of parents or the other that their respective sons should spend more time with them. Yes, I got it too. His case was worse though, because they had now moved into a bigger house, one where I could have my own room when I went to visit. Talk about a lead balloon. But he was even more attractive than at fourteen. He'd got a bit taller, but no fatter, and he looked the human equivalent of a young gazelle. He even moved like one, with a natural grace and fluidity that was a real delight to the eye. I loved him even more. Better, he still loved me, despite my broadening out and increasing hairiness around the legs, which he liked, and chest, which he didn't. One day I was told to lie on the bathroom floor, naked, while he, naked, soaped my chest and very carefully razored all the hair from around my breastbone and down to the navel. The rest he left, thank goodness. And I let him? Yes. His love and happiness were more important to me than a few old hairs.

He did well in the GCE's. University was more than on the cards if he carried on that way. He had decided to go into my line of study, and I swear I had nothing to do with that. With his cool common sense I was sure he'd do even better at it than I had. The trouble was that the next two years of really hard study were hell for both of us. The first was my finals year, and was the first year of his A level course. But we knew that, by fair means or foul, we'd get him accepted into my own University.

It came as a shock to us both, that period. He found that he had so much work to do in the weekends that if he came down it was a case of sleep, eat, work, sleep, eat, train home. And when I say sleep, I mean sleep. And I found the same. Especially when dissertation time came round I was ragged, burnt the candle at both ends more times than I care to remember, but had this nagging void inside me that equated to my love being miles away, also ragged and working his socks off.

But there were two memorable nights in all this.

The first was when a group of us had decided to have a break from studying, and one of those silly student parties was happening at the flat. Over the previous two years I made sure that my socialising was done outside weekends, so I could be sure to be alone when he came down. Now when I mention parties, I don't mean orgies, or anything like that, so I never knew the sexuality of any of the people there, whether male or female. Like most of this sort of party it was just starting to think about winding up when to my horror and delight a key turned in the lock. The door opened and a very tired looking, taller, slim and desperately attractive youth stood there, blinking. He was still bemused after his sleep on the long journey, and it was only with a supreme effort he managed to wake up enough to be nice to my friends as I introduced them to him as a friend of mine from home. He hadn't a hope of remembering names, of course, but accepted a beer, and sat on the floor by my legs as I sat on the settee.

As the conversation flagged a bit, I noticed that one of my Uni. friends kept looking over to me, down by my right leg, to look at James. He was unaware of the looks. This guy had stopped adding anything to the conversation at all, and I noticed that he finally gave up all pretence at looking anywhere but at James.

I couldn't say I blamed him. Tired and slightly dishevelled, his eyes were heavy and kept drooping. His hair was untidy -- nothing unusual there -- and he must have looked very small and vulnerable (Yes! Still, in my eyes.) sitting on the floor with his back against the end of the settee. But he was mine, and nobody else was going to get near him! The trouble was I had no idea how to tell the obviously attracted one that he was not available without giving away the whole scene.

Eventually they left, and clattered down the stairs. The attracted one wanted to linger, so I had to say that I was very tired.

"So'm I," he said. "Too tired to walk back, really. I suppose I couldn't sleep on your floor, could I? I mean, James could have the settee and I'd be happy on the floor."

Arghhh....Now get out of that. But James piped up.

"It's no good, I'm afraid. I forgot to bring a sleeping bag with me. And I know he's only got two duvets. So there's be nothing for you to sleep on, or in."

I suppose he reckoned that it was enough of a problem to indicate that he shouldn't push it any further, so, not without some sidelong glances at James, he left.

"It could have been your lucky night," I told him. "He'd probably have made sure you were very comfortable tonight."

"Didn't fancy him," he said with a tired smile. "Besides, it is my lucky night."

"How's that?"

"You're here, and we're going to bed. Please?"

That weekend, nothing really sexually new happened, but it was the first time we'd been together for ages, and -- not that night but in the morning and the following night and morning -- things got really intense. And we were both weeping silently as the strain of his departure on the Sunday finally bit.

The second time was when he suddenly appeared in my bed early one Saturday morning after another long absence studying. The next week would see my Finals, which he and his parents knew about, and he had been strongly discouraged from visiting that week. In fact he'd sneaked out of the house that night, having left a note to say he'd probably be back Saturday night rather than Sunday night, but not to worry.

That night proved very intense, too. Much more than the usual kiss and cuddle that was all we usually managed on the first night of his visits as we were always both so tired. This time.... Well. It was intense.

The following morning started early. We each felt the need to go and relieve ourselves, and ended up in the shower together. Once dry, he beckoned me back into the bed. And there it all started again.

What there was in the atmosphere that day I don't know, but something had charged us both up. It was the first time he did for me what I done for him in the open air on our way south with the railway bits. The sensation of his tongue on my own hidden secret, as I knelt attending to his own excited penis, came as a bolt from the blue, and I nearly closed my teeth on his manhood with the shock. As he had got used to relaxing, so did I, and I nearly wept with the depth of love I felt for him as he made me come to orgasm for the first ever time with no massaging of my own penis. And that night, too, we did the same, having each discovered the pleasure it gave to the other, and how close, how personal, how intimate it was to do it. For my turn I managed even to penetrate the ring of muscle with my tongue, so electrified I felt at the time. It mattered nothing to me the real purpose of what I was penetrating. That knowledge was there, but it was him, and it could only be sweet.

When we had each recovered from the intensity of those magical few -- too few -- moments he turned to me and said something which was, to me, incredible.

"When you did that, I felt something I'd never even thought of before." He stopped and gulped a bit, seeming almost as nervous as he had been about revealing his feelings, right at the beginning. "I...I wanted you inside me."

I was stunned.

His visit set me up for my forthcoming exams. I knew that after them he'd be free to stay with me -- parents permitting -- and the knowledge drove me on. Time told that I did well, I'm glad to say. Whether I'd have done as well without him and his encouragement, I don't know.

He had a break then between the two years of his A-level course. I was on a permanent break then until I found a job. Which I did, with no difficulty. These were the seventies, after all. I started work in my University town, knowing that he'd be going to Uni. there himself in a year's time.

Once again it was a good year, with his company on a regular basis. The job I had enabled me to take over the rent of the flat from my parents, who proceeded to put the money I'd saved them toward buying a narrow boat. It also enabled me to spend more on the railway layout, on which we'd spent a good deal of time but not much money. And it came on apace. Both sets of parents visited at times, and were duly impressed. Their visits meant that I had to install a camp bed for him in my room, while they slept in the lounge on an airbed.

The camp bed was for show, and didn't get any serious use.

As his A-levels approached his visits got sparse. And the weekend before I made a decision to go up, spend a night with them, and come back the following day. I made the arrangement with Doreen and Peter, swearing them to silence, and just appeared at their front door in the middle of the Saturday afternoon.

The look on the face of my unshaven, young-looking, eighteen year old little brother when he saw me was heart-stopping. And this time nothing stopped him from rushing up to me and throwing his arms round me. He stopped himself from kissing me, though. The only trouble with that weekend would be that I'd have a room on my own, and as it was more or less impossible for either of us to visit the other without discovery we both found it very frustrating. Until Sunday morning, that is, when Doreen and Peter went to church and left us each asleep -- as they thought. Being in a strange bed I slept lightly and was woken by the front door, looked out, put two and two together and tiptoed, wearing just underpants, to his room.

Eighteen or not, he looked angelic asleep, despite the thin late-adolescent stubble round his face. I pulled off my pants and eased myself into the single bed -- no mean feat as his adult sized body now took it up almost completely. He woke, looked startled for a minute, then the smile appeared on his face and we held each other and kissed.

And, quite swiftly, did a lot of other things. We heard their footsteps approaching in time, though, and I scurried back to my room and got up properly. As did he.

We had another holiday that year, on the canals, but again it was frustrating as we were in bunks, and they're very difficult to get two in especially if the two want move around. But we managed somehow. And afterwards, of course, he came back to my flat and we spent a week there, exploring.

Yes, and the local area. But we didn't get a lot of time for that.

When I heard that his results were easily good enough to get him into my old University I went wild with delight and relief. He was laughing at the other end of the phone at me, so incoherent with joy I'd become. Because I knew that it was the beginning of the rest of our life together. No more, apart from when Uni. was down, would he need to go home, and that we could cope with.

Mum and Dad eventually announced that there was enough in the kitty for a narrow boat, and three glorious weekends we all six went to visit boatyards to decide on what to buy. It was surprisingly tiring, especially as all four parents descended on James and me as we were nearest and most central, not only to the canals but to the two homes. It was then that James and I decided to sleep upstairs in the railway loft, giving the lounge floor and our own bedroom up to the old ones. At least we were alone, on a double mattress, and could do what we wanted. And we did.

At the end of the third weekend's series of visits we went through the details of all the boats we'd seen, and whittled the choice down to one. And then phoned the boatyard owner, checked it was still available, and told him we'd be buying it. Then it was celebration time, especially as we'd made sure it was a long weekend that time. We all went out for a meal, then continued drinking, and it all got very silly, especially as two of us were students and one was ex-Navy. We went to bed, James and I, ratted and careless about what we said or did or how much noise we made.

I noticed in the morning that Dad looked rather strangely at me.

In the middle of the next week the phone went.

"Can you come home this weekend, Martin?" My father, making a very unusual and rather formal request.

"Well, I can," I said, surprised. "If we leave at nine on Saturday morning we should be there by three."

"We really want to talk to you alone, Martin. Can't you leave James there?"

"Well....I suppose I could, but why?"

"We need to talk to you."

"Why? Is something wrong? Is one of you ill?"

"No...but we need to talk about you. Um.....and James."

My insides seemed to shrivel away from my skeleton. You know the feeling?

"What about James and me?" I asked, hoping my voice wasn't as dry as I thought it had just become.

"I can't do this over the phone....look.... if you really want to bring James with you then bring him."

"Why? I mean, yes, of course I will. If you're talking to me about him it's only fair he's there, isn't it?"

I explained to James when I'd rung off that I thought my parents had an idea what was going on between us. To my surprise he was defiant.

"Well, if they have, so what? They can't do anything to us, can they? I'll have done my finals soon and then it'll be just us."

"But I don't want people to know about us! It's....none of their business. And I don't want my parents to hate me." I was surprised that I'd been able to summarise almost all my fears honestly, even to James.

"And I don't want that either. And I want my parents still to want me to be their son, too. But it won't come to that. I mean, it won't get to be as bad as you think it will."

"I wish I was as sure as you."

When we got to my old home only Dad was there. He seemed very on edge.

"Where's Mum?" I asked suspiciously.

"She'll be back at lunchtime." He sounded, for the first time in my life, unsure of himself. He hummed and hawed, trying to work himself up to something.

"Dad, have a rum," I said, even more on edge than him, if only he knew. My voice was tight with apprehension again and I felt the weight of almost knowing what was coming pressing down on me like a ton of bricks. "I know you're trying to tell us something."

Relieved for anything that would stave off the moment he fiddled about with glasses and the bottle, and poured out three, one for each. That relieved the tension a bit. Once he'd handed ours to us he turned back to the cupboard to tidy up, then turned round abruptly and almost barked it out.

"Please will you tell me if there's anything except friendship between you two."

There was a silence that stretched to an uncomfortable eternity. A silence that was tangible. A silence that gave the answer as succinctly as any form of words. But no father likes to hear that his son is a faggot, gay, queer....well, you know. And that father will always need to be told in words of one syllable if he's to be certain.

I could feel James' eyes boring into me as I looked steadily at the opposite wall. My father was looking out of the window, his eyes hard and his lips set, for once, in a straight line.

"Martin?" said James at last. I turned to look at him. He was looking at me and..... smiling?

"Martin, you know the answer, so far as I'm concerned. Do you want me to tell him?"

Dumbly I nodded. Anything was better than this silence. He cleared his throat. The muscles across my back contracted still further, knowing the crushing blow, the knife-stab that would surely come.

"George......" James' use of my father's christian name still jolted me slightly after all this time, or was it the circumstances that made it so? "George... oh dear, this is more difficult than I ever imagined." He cleared his throat again. "George: what there is between Martin and me, what has developed over many years, is love. Real love. Love as deep as between the partners in any couple. We have always been friends, ever since we met, and so many times I've tried to put words to what it is that attracts me to him. But there are so many, little, things, all parts of his character, that to name any one of them sounds unconvincing. But there it is. I've met many other people around my own age in Canada, back here in school and University and elsewhere, but nobody comes near Martin."

He paused. If this was an off-the-cuff-speech, I thought, it's marvellous, because it says everything I felt about him apart from the physical attraction. I learnt afterwards that he'd been practising what to say ever since we'd been summoned. Not that that made it any less impressive.

"If that means that we're not what you hoped, or that Martin isn't the son you thought he was, or that you hoped for, then please think some more: he's still the same boy and man as he was a week ago, or a year ago, or ten years ago. Nothing has changed. He's always been the same as you've seen him and as you've known him. Please will you also consider this: if he'd been attracted to his own sex and had nobody, and never had anybody at all in his life who he could genuinely love, then please.. please..." and he stopped to draw breath. "Please think how unhappy that would make him. And please, also think about Mark, who took his life rather than face an attitude and lack of love and an outdated, useless, so-called treatment, that ultimately would have had no effect at all apart from possibly breaking his mind and spirit in the long run anyway." He stopped, and his eyes never left my father's astonished face.

Was this really my nine year old, unofficial, little brother talking? Could he really have gained so much from School and University to enable him to put it all so clearly and logically and humanely? I mean, it affected me, and I was -- am -- his lover and confidante and life's partner.

For ages there was another silence. But a different one. Had there been lines of power between Dad's eyes and James' like in a B-movie I wouldn't really have batted an eyelid. But slowly poor old Dad's eyes moved down to look at the floor. I was ready to rush over to James and hug him. But what Dad said next stopped me in the middle of my triumph.

"And we were so looking forward to having grandchildren."

CHAPTER 26

When Dad and I had finally broken free from our embrace and his eyes had stopped watering, he looked across at James, rather shakily. The boy had been standing, looking at the floor, and biting his lip. He was obviously affected by the whole thing, too. I was saddened by Dad's words, saddened beyond belief, but also just so relieved, both by the fact that the most dreaded interview of my life to date was over, and by the fact that Dad seemed to be on our side. But then, of course, there was Mum, and James's parents. I wondered if I'd have the courage and the intelligence to say to them what James had said to Dad.

We sat down, and for a long time nothing was said. We just sipped at our rum and looked at the floor. At last I looked at Dad and caught him staring at me. I think I must have blushed, and looked away, because he spoke.

"It's all right, Martin. Really it is. After Mark's death I know I did a lot of thinking about attitudes and so on, and I wondered at the time what I'd do or think if you..." He stopped and seemed to have to force himself to go on. "...if you turned out to be the same way. It took a lot of trying to persuade your Mother that she should even think about the possibility, but I did it, and it took a lot of effort on both our parts to do it really properly, but we made ourselves look at it all dispassionately. I mean, it was mainly for Mark's sake that we did it, because we could see there was absolutely no future in going the way that Dr. Rogers went. No future for the boy, and none for the family either, and even less for the parents' peace of mind. And we gradually worked it round so that we would accept whatever happened.

"What I'm getting round to is that Mum will, I hope, accept it as I did. With regret, because of the grandchildren thing, but she'll still love and accept you as the son you are to us both. So you needn't worry on that score."

"And how about James? How do you both think of him?"

Another long pause.

"I think," said my father slowly, "that if it had been just anybody, someone we didn't know, we would have great problems in being anything else than just polite to him. But James..... I mean, we know him so well, and he's a friend of ours too, and he's a nice bloke.....Well, I'm just glad it's him, that's all."

The grin tried to unzip itself, but couldn't. He looked a bit happier though.

"I do love him, Dad. I really do. It's not something that's a five minute wonder, either. It's been going on for years."

"Looking back, I'm sure it has," he said, rather bitterly I thought. "Did it really go back as far as Amberdale? It can't have, surely. You were only nine, then."

It was the first time he'd actually spoken to James since the bombshell was dropped. His face cleared, but was still serious.

"I thought of him as the brother I never had," he said levelly. "And he was a really good friend. I never forgot him, even through the years in Canada, and when we got together again I knew I was right not to be attracted to anyone else, male or female. But I suppose it was on that Canal holiday that we really...I mean....." He stopped, aware that he had committed himself to telling something that was unwise.

"You were too young," said Dad, flatly.

"No," I put in. "Not too young. Old enough to know himself and to know me. Old enough to want to be with me without any persuasion on my part."

"But too young by law."

"For what? For the sort of actions that queers are meant to do all the time? We still don't. Too young to show love? What is there between him and his parents, then? And what of a boy who loses his parents? Is he too young at fourteen to find a love with two foster parents or adoptive parents? If he is, in the eyes of the law, then there's been an awful lot of falsehoods going on for many years."

"That's different."

"Is it? Dad, please think. The only difference is that with me he wasn't chosen, he chose. He needed no love or care, his parents were there for that. But he wanted, at fourteen, to be with me. And I wanted him to be with me too, but would never try to persuade him. Nor did I need to."

There was another long silence, again broken by Dad.

"I'm going to start cooking the vegetables. Want to come with me....both of you?"

I think Mum already knew. When she got back she came into the kitchen and said `Hallo' brightly in the middle of a stream of chat, and by the awkward silence received the only confirmation she ever got. She looked round at us all, at the sudden changes of expression that had frozen on our faces, and that was it.

"I thought so," she said. "Come here." I crossed to her. "James?"

He looked surprised and rather anxious, but came over as well. To our surprise she put an arm round our shoulders and pulled us close.

"Tell me, both of you: do you love each other really? Or is it just physical attraction and playing sex games?"

James looked rather shocked, but recovered before I could think what to say.

"I love him, really. I loved him as any two boys love each other when we were at Amberdale, but since the canals I've loved him as a life partner."

"And you, Martin?"

"Yes, Mum, I love him. He's always been a friend and for the last so many years we've got to know that we just want each other, no one else."

"Then with all the discussions your father and I have had, and with the talk that you have had with him, I must say that I understand, and love you both, and thank you for being so honest. I can't understand how two men can love each other, or two women, come to that, but it's your decision, both of you."

We fell over ourselves to correct her. I got in first. "It's not a decision, Mum. You don't decide to be happier in the company of your own sex, any more than you decide to fall in love with somebody. It's a part of you, like your eye colour. You can't change it. Look what happened to Mark, that should tell you. Just as you are attracted to men, to Dad, so am I. I can't change it. And as I'm in love with James I don't want to."

She smiled at me, a little grimly, I thought. "So it's our fault."

"No! Any more than it's your fault that I'm a different character generally from either of you two, or like different things. It happens. If we were all carbon copies of a mixture of our parents, all brothers would be identical." I was rather proud of that.

"All right," she said. "I accept that too, and in time I'll get used to it." And she gave us both a hug.

Little was said over lunch, but gradually normal conversation crept back, and they were both at pains to include James in it. For his part, despite his speech of the morning, he felt rather put out, I think, for a long time, but slowly as the chat returned to normal the unzipped grin was seen more often.

It was on the walk we all took later, before bed, that another question was asked.

"How public is this?"

"Pardon?"

"Well, how many people know that you two are `together'?"

I thought. "Well, nobody, really. I mean there was that bloke who came to the flat once. But whether he thought James was just playing hard to get or whether ho got the real message, I don't know."

"So how do you want us to play it when people ask us about you, you know, if you've met anyone, whether you're getting married, that sort of thing?"

James looked surprised. "Can he and I get married somehow?"

"No, James. You can't. Neither by Church or State."

"Oh."

"Anyway, how do you want it played?"

I thought. "I think we'd better wait until it happens, and see who it is. The last thing any of us want is the sort of stupidity that happens sometimes with politicians. I think that for most people, we'd better be good friends who share a flat. If you are certain how others are going to take it, then.....well, I've got no objections to their knowing, if you think it's their business. How about you, James?"

"I'd go along with that. It's not that I don't want people to know. After all, I'm completely happy, and I'm proud that Martin's my friend and that we're together. But if people are going to be objectionable about us, then they shouldn't be given the opportunity."

And that's how it was left.

When we got back, and had enjoyed a nightcap, we climbed the stairs. I half expected Mum to show James to the spare room, or to find a camp bed laid out on the floor of my old room. But no: she'd made up my old double bed, nothing else. The fact wasn't lost on James either.

"I like your Mum," he said.

The following week the phone rang. I answered it, and it was Peter Evans, whose tone was curt to the extreme. I was shocked, surprised. But he'd asked for James, so I covered the mouthpiece and told him.

"He sounds as if he's got it in for me," I said quietly. "All he said was `James, please', so I don't think it's going to be good. Shall I stay or go?"

"Stay, please."

I handed over the receiver. "Hallo, Dad," he said quietly. Then he said nothing else for ages, but I could hear the receiver squawking non stop. Twice he tried to get a word in, but the voice continued. I watched his face, and had never seen it cloud over to such an extent, so quickly. Then the tears started forming in his eyes until at last he ripped the receiver from his ear and dropped it on the table with a crash. He ran from the room, and I heard the bedroom door slam.

I picked up the receiver gingerly and looked at it for a moment, then sighed as it squawked at me. "James? James? Pick up the bloody receiver. I haven't finished yet."

I put it to my ear. "But James has," I said quietly. "He's in tears because he's just been let down by his father, and it seems that I love him more than his father does."

In the silence that followed I could hear heavy breathing, and could imagine the rage that was happening at the other end of the phone. I was horrified how someone who I knew well and liked could take such an attitude. I was horrified that any father could take such an attitude with his son.

Then the receiver exploded again. "You f.....g queer. You got my son into your bed when he was a child and you infected him with homosexuality. You lecture me about love? You bastard. You f......g bastard. What gives you the right to talk to me like that?" Well, he hadn't put the phone down. For myself, somehow the more he ranted, the cooler I was able to be.

"The fact is, Peter, that homosexuality is not caught like an illness, but is a matter of fact that you are born with, like being left handed. And don't take my word for it, ask a doctor or look in a medical book. A modern one. And the main thing that gives me the right is that he loves me, and I love him, and we have for years, and we're both now adults and can say so. I'm sorry if that makes you mad, but those are the facts. Peter, you're a friend of mine, and the father of James. Please let it remain so. Check out what I've said in any way you like so long as it's with up-to-date facts, and then ring me back. I've got to go and comfort your son who's just burst into tears as if he were still nine, and rushed off into the bedroom. I'm putting the phone down now. Goodbye."

As I did so I heard more sounds start to come from it, but completed the movement anyway.

He was lying on his face, head in the pillow, and sobbing his heart out as if he was still indeed nine. Do I sit next to him and wait? Do I lie by his side and comfort him with my arm? What do I do? Nothing had prepared me for this. Nothing had prepared me for the way Peter, my friend and his father, had reacted. And if I felt lost, betrayed, how must he feel?

I stretched myself out at his side, my body and face toward him, and put an arm over his shoulders. As I touched him he flinched, then relaxed a little. The sobbing decreased a little.

It took a long time. At last a tear stained face was turned to me. I'd known him for nearly ten years now, and never had I seen him looking like that. And as I took him properly into my arms and muttered something, anything to him to calm him, to stop the pain, to make it all right again for my little brother, the anger started deep within me.

Its root was simple. How could a parent spend eighteen years bringing up a child, only to rubbish him when he showed his trust in telling the most difficult truth he'd learnt about himself? What sort of person could do that?

At last he was able to look straight at me again, and even try a shaky smile. The voice, when it came, was high and quavery.

"You're lumbered with me now, Martin. I can't go back home. Don't throw me out. Please?"

And the tears rose to my eyes, displacing the anger like water on a fire. "I promise you that we'll never separate, if you promise me the same."

"I promise."

Five minutes later the phone rang again. I went. It was Dad.

"Thank God, I thought something had happened. You've been engaged for ages."

"Shouldn't have been. I put the phone down all right after the last call. Dad, have you told Peter and Doreen? About us? He's been on the phone and he's gone absolutely mad."

"Yes. That's why I'm phoning. Pete went overboard when I mentioned it. Hadn't you told him?"

"No. We were planning to go up this weekend or next, but hadn't got round to organising it."

"Oh....oh dear. How was he?"

"He reduced James to tears, and he was bloody rude to me."

A silence. "Had I better phone him? He more or less put the phone down on me. Or should I let it wait a while?"

"Probably wait, I should think. I'll talk to James and if we decide differently I'll call you."

"All right, but soon if you can; preferably in the next two days. He's my business partner, don't forget."

"OK Dad...." And we went on to check the health of each other's family and wound up the conversation."

As I hung up A dishevelled James came in, looking worried.

"It was my Dad," I told him. "He mentioned us to Pete, that's why he phoned. He thought we'd told them."

"Oh."

"He'll not phone them again for a couple of days, and hopefully Pete'll be a bit more approachable by then."

"'Kay."

We moped about for a bit, and at last I took him to the pub where he got really quite drunk.

In the middle of the night I was woken, and it took me at least 30 seconds to realise the phone was ringing. James was out for the count, so I walked naked into the lounge to answer it.

Doreen. Speaking in a whisper. "Oh Martin. I'm so sorry. Peter's asleep at last, but I've got to talk to James. Is he there, please?"

"Yes, but he's a bit the worse for wear. He was so upset by what Peter said to him that I had to take him out and get him a bit drunk so he could sleep. Doreen, what's got into him? He was really horrible to James and to me, and I never thought he could be like that. What he's done to James I don't know."

"Martin, I can't talk now. Please...I don't think that I think the same way as him, and I still love my son. I just have to tell him so. Please....get him? I don't mind if he's drunk."

So I put the phone down and went into the bedroom. My brother was really fast asleep, but I felt that if Doreen could do something to soften the blow then she should do it as soon as possible. Waking him was difficult in the extreme, and took ages, but at last the eyes managed to focus on me.

"James....." Even in times like this, and certainly at all other times, the shell of homophobia that the era of our upbringing had made us grow wouldn't let us use pet names for each other. The furthest we ever got was to tell each other of our continued love. "James....Doreen's on the phone, and she's on your side. She wants to tell you and talk to you. Peter's asleep, so she's having to whisper."

It got through to him at last and with my arm round his shoulders he stumbled to the phone.

"Mum?" The tears were approaching again, I could hear, but hopefully they were tears of relief now. I could hear nothing of Doreen's side of the conversation, but I could feel James's sobs of relief start to jolt his body like electric shocks. When she had finished her first few sentences he said in a sort of wailing voice that I haven't heard before or since: "But he said such awful things to me!"

Another silence, then he said "yes" a few times, and at last said "thank you, Mum. I love you too. And yes, here's Martin again."

He gave me the handset back.

"Hallo?"

"Martin....thank you. Ask him what I said, and I'll talk to you both in a day or so. And Martin..." A pause. I waited. "....Look after him for me? Don't let him down?"

"Doreen, I love him as much as he loves me. I'll look after him for us both, but particularly for me, and I'm not leaving him, ever."

"Thank you. Good night, and sleep well."

"Good night."

He was happier in the morning, thank goodness, Although there was still that shadow hanging over us both. When he returned from the campus I was already home from work, as usual. He nuzzled up to me as I was cooking and I was happy to see that Mona Lisa look back -- a rather pale version of it, but it was at least there. I held him for a while, then he went to change and I continued getting the meal ready.

The phone rang. I nearly chopped my finger off, but hurriedly dropped the knife and ran to answer it.

"James, please."

It wasn't the words that Peter used but his tone and manner that suddenly needled me. It sounded as if he was talking to a piece of rubbish that had got stuck to his shoe.

"No."

"What!?"

"No. You're not talking to James. Not if you're going to upset him as much as you did last time. And not if you're going to persist in treating me as if I were something dirty that you don't want to consider."

There was a long silence. Then: "I really don't want to talk to you after what you've done to my son."

"I have done nothing to your son apart from fall in love with him as he has with me. If I were female you wouldn't take this attitude, but if I were female James wouldn't be interested in me."

"Only because you seduced him when he was nine."

"Have you really not even taken the trouble to look up anything about homosexuality as I suggested you should? It's your son you owe it to, not to me, to find out what the background to all this is. If you can get to know the facts then you might start to understand. Understand what it is to go through your boyhood and youth worrying why you can't seem to meet a girl you find attractive. Worrying why your friends all seem to have affairs and you don't. Wondering if they look at other boys as you always want to. And then worrying, once you've finally realised you're homosexual, that someone will notice, that you'll do something that will make people round you laugh at you for being gay, and start giving you a hard time for it and calling you names."

There was another silence.

"James has never gone through anything like that. We'd have known."

"Would you? Would you really? When now that you do know you haven't even got the time or patience to find out the scientific or medical background to it? Do you know that your son visited reference libraries when he was about thirteen just to look up in medical and psychology books just what homosexuality was, how you became homosexual and whether it was `curable'? Did you know that? No. Well, he did, because he told me when we were on the canals. And did you also know about a friend I made at Amberdale who was the son of a doctor? His father found out he was gay and forced him to have aversion therapy. You know? When they show you pictures of naked men and if you react to them you get an electric shock? Did you know that?"

I gulped. Despite James, the memory was still agonising.

"And do you know what happened to that happy, friendly, well adjusted boy? He was so sick that he had done nothing wrong and was being punished, and so sick that he had, in his eyes, let his family down, that he couldn't go on. And do you know what he did?"

I was becoming incoherent by this stage, and had to calm down before I could go on.

"He took his own life by using painkillers and alcohol."

This time the silence on my part was deliberate.

"He was my first ever love. Real, physical love, not the brother-love I felt for James at the time. And I was due to spend time alone with him and really get to know him. And they stopped him doing that, and then it was too late because he'd killed himself. And now that James and I are in love I swear to you and to him that nothing, nothing is going to force us apart, let alone make him think that he's any less than the happy, natural, loving, attractive, beautiful, wonderful, character that he's always been. And even more than that, nothing in this world is going to make him want to kill himself. I'd rather kill myself first. And if all that means that I've got to stand up to his father then I'll do it. Because I'm not going to run the risk of losing the second and last love in my life to ignorance, intolerance and hate. And I'll tell him that, too."

"You won't have to," said a quiet voice behind me. "I know."

I wheeled round. I'd never heard him come into the room.

"Had I better talk to him? It is Dad, isn't it?"

I nodded dumbly and tried to remember what I'd said that might not have been tactful to say with him listening. He took the receiver.

"Dad?"

Silence.

"Dad? Are you there?"

"Dad! Dad? Say something, please."

More silence, then I could tell he was listening. What Peter said didn't take long, but this time when he put down the phone he had a non-committal expression on his face.

"What did he say?" I asked simply.

He hesitated. "I think......I think he may be coming round. I'm not sure, but he said that he never realised that there was actual love between us. All that you said really made him sit up, I think."

He was looking at me thoughtfully.

"Did you really mean it?" he asked rather abruptly.

"James....you, who know me so well, have to ask a question like that! Yes, of course I meant it. What makes you even think of doubting it?"

"And what would have happened if Mark hadn't died?"

"I....I don't know. We were only really just getting to know each other. I mean, we'd had fun, and were physically attracted to each other, but I suppose....no, I'm sure now....that I never knew him as well as I knew you even then."

This was odd. It was perfectly true, but I'd never really thought about it before. Mark had just been an ache in my past, one that I was aware of but had never really cured, not even with James being there. It was a matter of principle to me, I suppose.

"So if you'd got to know him better, would you have ignored me?"

Oh god. What do I say to that? I thought hard and tried to avoid the panic of where this conversation might lead.

"I can't tell. Honestly, I can't tell. You'd gone off to Canada, which meant the end of the earth to me; something you learnt about in Geography and never dreamed of going to. You certainly never dreamed it might be possible to find anybody who'd just gone to live there. What if you'd found someone else over there? Surely what matters is that you're here, I'm here, and neither of us wishes there could be somebody different in their lives?"

And then the smile unzipped a bit, the first time for two days.

"Thank you," he said. "I do love you."

Peter did `come round' eventually, and it was my outburst that did it. He checked up with friends and doctors and others and got a great deal of conflicting information as had his son all those years previously. But he sifted his way through it all and came to the conclusion that I was right. He's never apologised for his initial outburst though, and although I've written that off to the heat of the moment he's never going to be the same friend as he was before. Doreen's great, on the other hand, and is really on our side and friendly, as are my own parents.

We went down together to Mark's memorial stone recently, the two of us. It was something I just felt would close off the chapter, show respect, try to show forgiveness, and give a message to anyone who would read it. As we stood in silence, looking down at the simple stone with its agonised, simple message, the tears rolled down my face once more. But this time they were tears at the appalling waste of a life, and the manner of its passing. I covered the words with my hand for a moment as a gesture of companionship and compassion, and was pleased when James did the same.

MARK ROGERS

11 July 1951 -- 29 August 1966

Beloved son of Alice and Gordon Rogers,

brother of Ralph and Rose.

Whose life was lovely and whose death tragedy

We stood again, then I bent and placed at its back the plastic covered note I had composed after much thought and discussion with James:

"For Mark. You were more than a friend to me. I learnt so much from you. I learnt that love was love, wherever it's found, if it's sincere. I learnt happiness. I learnt to love the wild wind as well as the warm sun in the company of that love and happiness. I learnt at last to be true to myself. And at last I found another love, an even stronger love, a love that, with the strength of your love and friendship behind me I can confess to all.

Thank you for all you were. Thank you for all you did. Your life was not in vain for you have shown others that tolerance and understanding and learning are all a part of love. You will never be forgotten.

May deep peace be with you. Our love goes with you.

Martin Finch.

James Evans"

We stood in silence for a few more minutes. At last something inside me told me that the gift of my farewell had been accepted, and that it was time to go.

"Let's go home. And thank you for coming with me. I love you deeply."

He looked at me, and there were still tears in his eyes, but the smile unzipped a little way.

"You've never said that before. I've felt it, but you've never said it. If I said the same to you now it'd sound as if I was just returning the thought, but it's true all the same. I do love you and I can't think of a time when I haven't, even as far back as Amberdale. And now I can't imagine life without you and I don't want to start trying. "

To the amazement of two workmen on the other side of the cemetery he kissed me.

"Shall we have a pint to toast Mark?" he suggested.

I agreed. We did. And it was while we were talking about Amberdale and our time there that we made two decisions.

We'd go back there and stay on the Naturist island as a couple - so long as the Rogers family weren't there.

I'd try and write a book about Mark, James and myself, to tell the truth about the love that's possible between two boys, youths, men, so that others could take heart, and parents could learn.

We travel down to our old haunts next week. There's a sailing dinghy booked and waiting for us.

As to the book........