In this chapter Jeremy gets back home and immediately finds himself worrying about all the things he was trying not to worry about while he was in America. And Uzzy tries to get to the bottom of just why his best friend is... well, weird. And there's another development, too, though this one could have really unpleasant consequences...
Jeremy flew back to the UK on August 22nd, and almost the first thing he asked his mother when he got back inside his house was “Has Bilal called?”
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” said Adolf, who was right behind him. “Can’t you get that foreign kid out of your head for two minutes? There are plenty of decent white boys at your school. Why can’t you be friends with them, instead of that Paki and the long-haired hippie he goes about with?”
“No, dear, he hasn’t,” said his mother. “But then surely all your friends know you weren’t here, so they wouldn’t have bothered trying to call for you, would they?”
“That’s true, I suppose… I could go and call for him…”
“No, you couldn’t,” said Adolf. “You need something to eat, and then you need to rest for a bit. You’ve been flying all night, so you’re in no state to run about in the streets. You’ll be half asleep, and you might get hit by a car, or something. So go and get unpacked, and we’ll call you when your meal’s ready.”
Jeremy didn’t feel like arguing – in fact, he was really so nervous about seeing Bilal again that he wasn’t sure he’d have had the courage to go and call for him even if Adolf had said he could. So he took his case upstairs and unpacked it and then lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling. And the longer he lay there, the more the doubts grew, until by the time he was called downstairs to eat he had already talked himself out of trying to get in touch with Bilal at all: he was convinced Bilal would tell him to get lost. Or probably something much less polite.
So after lunch – though to him it felt more like a late supper – he just went back upstairs to his room and tried to read a book, though once again his mind kept wandering away from the page. He’d been able to put the problem to the back of his mind while Bilal had been five thousand miles away, but now that he was only a few houses away it had taken over once again, ruthlessly pushing everything else in his mind to one side. He had absolutely no idea of what he would say to Bilal when he saw him, but he knew that he was going to have to face him sooner or later.
He was so bound up in his thoughts that he didn’t even hear the doorbell ring, so when there was a knock at his bedroom door he thought it was his mother (Adolf wouldn’t have bothered to knock), so he just said “Come in,” automatically. But when the door opened it was Tony who came into the room.
“Are you okay?” asked Tony.
Jeremy really wasn’t prepared for this conversation, because he’d spent all his time thinking about Bilal instead, so he just nodded and said, “Yes, I suppose so. You?”
“Well… more or less.”
There was silence for thirty seconds.
“How’s Bilal?” asked Jeremy.
“Oh, thanks, Jeremy. Nothing’s changed, has it? I’m standing here, but he's the one you want to talk about. How’s that supposed to make me feel?”
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, Tony… It’s just… Well, I’ve got to talk to him, but I don’t know if he’ll want to see me, and even if he does I don’t know what to say… Does he still hate me, do you think?”
“He never hated you. It’s just been really hard for him to find out that his two closest friends are both raving perverts, and I’m pretty sure he still hasn’t decided what to do about it.”
Jeremy swallowed. “I’m going to have to go and see him,” he said. “I’ll have to say sorry for upsetting him – and I’ll have to try to explain that I’ll never do anything to make him feel bad… though I don’t know how. Will you come with me, please? It might be easier if you’re there.”
“You can’t go and see him – at least, not at the moment. He’s gone away with his parents. Apparently they got a chance of a week in the south of France, or something, and they won’t be back until Saturday night.”
“Oh, God, no! I don’t think I can stand another week feeling like this.”
“Well, tough, because you’re going to have to. Look, Jeremy, the best thing you can do is get outdoors and do something, because if you sit in here for a week you’ll go mad. Kam and Neil are both around, and I think Sim and Uzzy both get home this week, and Miguel should have got home yesterday, I think… so even if you don’t want to play with me, there are other people you can get out to do stuff with…”
Jeremy looked up and saw that Tony was trying to keep his emotions under control and not entirely succeeding. And he recognised that he had been totally selfish since Tony had arrived: he’d done nothing but talk about Bilal and the way he felt about him, completely ignoring the fact that Tony felt the same way about him. And he knew that if Tony felt the same way that he did, he must be really unhappy.
He’s your friend, he told himself. He’s not Bilal, but he deserves better than he’s been getting so far.
He stood up and walked over to where Tony was standing just inside the door, and then he opened his arms and hugged him.
“Of course I’ll want to play with you,” he said. “You’re my friend, Tony. And…I’m sorry I’ve been such a bastard to you, too. And I promise not to mention Bilal at all until next weekend if you don’t want me to.”
Tony gave him a very brief return hug but then stepped away.
“You don’t have to pretend,” he said. “I know it’s Bilal you want to be with, not me. And if I thought there was any chance of him changing his mind I’d do everything I could to help. But he isn’t going to change his mind, Jeremy: he likes girls, and that’s not going to change. Kam and I spoke to him about it just after you left, and he was very clear: he thinks what gay boys do is disgusting, and he certainly isn’t going to do any of it himself.”
“I think... At least… I suppose that might be true…”
“Oh, God, Jeremy – you’re still hoping for a miracle, aren’t you? It’s not going to happen, okay? And the sooner you can accept that, the easier things will be. For all of us.”
“I know. I know, but… but I need to hear it from him, okay?”
“And what are you going to do then?”
“I don’t know. I’ll deal with it if it happens… okay, when it happens, all right? But let’s wait until then, okay?”
“Okay. Except… no, it doesn’t matter. Okay, let’s wait until Bilal gets back. But until then… do you want me to stay away?”
“God, no! I’ll never want that, Tony: you’re a really good friend.”
Tony managed to smile at last. “Okay, then… what do you want to do this afternoon? We could play tennis, if you like. And maybe tomorrow we can call Kam and arrange a kick-about…”
“That sounds good. I probably won’t be much good at tennis today, because I’m knackered.”
“You’re never any good at tennis. The only difference is that today you’ve got a half-decent excuse.”
“We’ll see. Maybe I’ll surprise you…”
The following afternoon Jeremy was feeling a little less tired, so when Tony called to say that Kam would be expecting them at the car park at two o’clock he felt entirely in the mood for a kick-about. Kam, Neil and Awais were there, and so was Uzzy, though Sim had not yet returned from his family holiday and nobody was sure where Miguel was. But they had enough for a round of three-a-side matches, and everyone steered well clear of any mention of sex, which suited Jeremy just fine. Tony had the sense not to suggest playing the headers and volleys game, and even Awais kept his mouth shut: maybe Kam had asked him to keep quiet today.
They played for a couple of hours, and by the time they finished Jeremy was feeling almost back to normal - not quite, but almost. They all agreed to get together on the Sunday afternoon, by which time everyone should be back home, for a full football session: Jeremy said he would call Miguel to make sure he knew about it, and Uzzy said he’d be seeing Sim before that, anyway, so the message could be passed to him as well.
They walked down the path to the road, where Tony and Jeremy turned left and the others turned right: Uzzy had left his bike at Kam’s house as usual, and Neil was going to be staying for tea. And a few seconds after they emerged from the path a cyclist went by, turning to look at them as he rode off.
“Oh, shit,” said Neil.
“What?” asked Uzzy.
“That kid on the bike. His name’s Edwards, and he goes to my school. He and his skinhead mates gave me some grief a couple of weeks before the end of term about hanging round with Kam.”
“It’s the holidays, Neil,” said Kam. “He’s not going to do anything about it now, and he’ll have forgotten by the time we get back to school. If he recognised you at all, that is.”
“I bet he did. And I bet he doesn’t forget, either. Shit, Kam, what am I going to do?”
“Nothing. Try to stay out in the yard for the first couple of days: they won’t do anything in front of the whole school. And if they do start anything, yell loudly: they’ll brick it if they think a teacher might catch them. But I really think there’s nothing to worry about. That lot are so thick they’d have forgotten their own names by the start of term if they weren’t written on their books. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, really.”
He would have been a lot less sure if he could have followed Edwards. The skinhead rode down to the multi-storey car park behind the Town Hall, where his mates generally hung out if they had nothing else to do, and there he found Robert Wells and Derek Atkinson, who were the two boys who had spoken to Neil previously, along with three or four others.
“Guess what I just saw, Robbie?” he began.
“If you looked in a mirror, it was a spotty turd with big ears,” said Atkinson.
“Fuck off, Derek. No, it was that arsehole Carter – you know, the one we warned about hanging about with the Paki kid in 3B? Well, today he was hanging about with three Paki kids – and a couple of other white kids, too. Shows what he thinks of us, doesn’t it?”
“It does, a bit,” agreed Wells. “I mean, it’s not like we didn’t warn him happens to Paki-lovers. I think we’ll definitely have to have a word. Pity we don’t know where to find them outside school.”
“Where I saw them there’s a big car park at the back of a pub,” Edwards reported. “Younis had a ball with him, so I reckon it’s where they go to play football.”
“Nice one, Marky-boy. Now all we need to know is when they play. Don’t suppose we’ll be able to find out before we get back to school, but I’ll bet you any money they play at weekends during term time – so if we don’t find out in the meantime we can always go and sort them out the first Saturday of term. It’s about time someone gave those Paki kids a good kicking, and any white kids who hang about with them…”
Robert Wells was simply following in the family tradition: his father was also a racist, and had passed on his views to his son. And when Robert went home and told him what Edwards had seen, Wells Senior was entirely approving of his son’s intention to go and explain the facts of life to the Asian kids and any white who was stupid enough to hang about with them.
“It’s definitely time someone sent them a message,” said Wells Senior. “This is a decent town, and we don’t want Pakis polluting it. Hand round a few black eyes and maybe their parents will decide they’d be happier living somewhere else – preferably in Pakistan.”
It will come as no surprise to discover that someone with views like that was also a member of the National Front, and after that evening’s NF meeting had finished and adjourned to the local pub Mr Wells got talking to Adolf, who he knew quite well.
“My boy’s found out something useful,” he reported. “He’s found out where the local Paki kids get together to play football, and there are some white kids who play with them. Rob reckons it’d be a good idea to go and put the frighteners on them a bit, maybe hand out a few bruises. He reckons if we rough the kids up a bit, maybe the parents will get the message and clear out of town. What do you think?”
“Sounds like a good idea to me. I mean, he couldn’t go too far: breaking bones and putting the kids in hospital would be a bad idea, because it could easily backfire on us: you know what the local press is like…”
“Load of fucking Commies,” opined Mr Wells.
“Exactly. But a few good bruises and a black eye or two will do nicely. We know there are a few local coppers who are sympathetic to us, and they won’t try too hard to find out who did it, especially if you’re at home and can say that Rob was with you at the time… Personally I’d be only too glad to see them pack their bags and bugger off somewhere else, because that kid of mine just won’t be told how stupid it is to make friends with them. The minute he got back from his holiday he was asking where his Paki mate is, and it’s getting right up my nose. I even tried explaining it to him, but he thinks he knows better than me…”
“All kids are like that,” said Mr Wells. “Rob’s convinced he knows far more than I do.”
“Right. Still… I wonder if these are the kids Jeremy hangs about with? I reckon it must be – we know there aren’t that many Pakis in town… If it is, I might be able to find out when they’re going to be there next. Where is it they play?”
“The car park behind the Hyde.”
“That’s probably it – it’s not too far from where I live. Okay, I’ll try to find out when they’re going to be there next.”
“Right. But I suggest you keep your kid at home that day. There’s no point in him getting a kicking if sorting out his little brown friends shows him what he needs to know.”
“Well, it might not do him any harm to watch, but he’s stupid enough to get involved, and then he might get hurt. And the missus wouldn’t stand for that – and I’m not even sure that I would. Most of the time he’s a right pain in the arse, but just occasionally I see something in him… if he only had the right sort of friends I reckon he’d turn out fine. He invited a Spanish kid round a month or so back, and he seemed okay – really polite, neat haircut – you could tell he’d been brought up by someone with a proper view of things. It’s a damned shame we never had a Franco here… anyway, if his friends were all like him, instead of being a bunch of long-haired nancy-boys and Pakis, I’m sure Jeremy would turn out to be a decent kid. So, if your boy and his mates can scare the Pakis out of town I’ll be behind you all the way.”
The Pakis in question were of course blissfully unaware of this conversation, and were just getting on with enjoying the last couple of weeks of the holidays. Uzzy, for example, called Sim on the Tuesday evening – by which time Sim was back from his family holiday – and asked if he wanted to come over the following day and then stay overnight. And Sim, who was keen to talk to his friend about what had happened with Awais and Robin, accepted straight away.
“I’ve still got the tent,” Uzzy said when he arrived. “But I’d quite like to stay at home this time: there’s something on TV I want to watch this evening. So I thought we could put the tent up in the garden, and then we could have a comfortable evening in, with my mum cooking supper for us, but still be able to sleep in the tent, which would give us a little privacy…”
Sim thought that sounded fine, and added that he wanted to talk to Uzzy in private, so Uzzy suggested that they should get on their bikes and go for a short ride out to the place where they had camped previously: he was pretty sure, he said, that nobody would interrupt them there.
So they put the tent up first and put their sleeping bags into it, and then they rode round to the place where they had camped out before, and there they sat on the fallen tree trunk where Sim had been spanked by Awais and Robin, and he explained what had happened to him.
“It was an amazing feeling,” he concluded. “It felt warm and ecth… exciting, and I really liked it. But… I don’t understand why being spanked made me feel like that.”
“We could try again now, if you like,” said Uzzy, grinning at him. “Take your clothes off and I’ll spank you for as long as it takes.”
“No, thank you. At least… not now, anyway. But I’m worried, Uzzy: do you think there’s something wrong with me?”
“What, apart from being a naughty, disobedient slave boy who deserves to be spanked every day… okay, Simmy, I know you’re being serious at the moment. Well… you’re certainly a bit strange: I mean, I’ve done loads of bad things to you, and you seem to enjoy it – at least, I hope you enjoy it, because if I didn’t think you did I wouldn’t do it. So… do you? I mean, when I make you suck on mine, or when I put it up your bum – do you enjoy it the way I think you do?”
“Well, yes… and I thu… sssuppose that’s a bit weird, too.”
Uzzy shrugged. “I like it, and you like it, so who cares if it’s weird? Especially if it makes you feel nice the way it does me.”
“Yes, but… I even sort of liked it when you took my clothes and made me run about bare in front of those kids from London. And that can’t be normal… and I’m sure nobody normal would feel like I did when Awais spanked me. I don’t want to be weird, Uzzy: I just want to be a normal boy like you…”
Uzzy put his arm around Sim’s shoulders and squeezed. “I don’t think I’m normal, either,” he said. “Normal boys don’t do sex stuff with other boys. And I like doing that stuff, and I don’t want to stop just because some people think we shouldn’t do it. Except… you’re my best friend, Simmy, and I don’t want you to be unhappy. So if you don’t want to do sex stuff any more, we can stop.”
“No! I don’t want to stop, Uzzy: I know you really like it, and I do, too… it’s just… well, if I like it when I get hurt, there must be something wrong with me. Don’t you think so?”
“Have you had the same feeling before, or was it just when Awais spanked you?”
“Well, that’s the only time it sort of escaped. But I’ve got close a few times before: when you and Awais were playing with my thingy, and last time you put yours up my bum, too…”
“Then maybe there’s nothing wrong with you at all. Having your thingy played with always feels nice, and I know how much you like it when I’m inside you, and I’m pretty sure that proper sex like that is supposed to feel good for both people. And I bet when Awais spanked you he was holding you like I taught him, wasn’t he?”
Sim nodded.
“Well, there you are, then: he was making your thingy feel good at the same time.”
“Yes, but… why do I like it when I have no clotheth on and people can see me? Nobody’s touching me then.”
Uzzy shook his head. “I don’t really know. Except – well, yours is really nice, and it’s big for our age, too. Maybe you’re just proud of it and like people being able to see how big it is?”
“I don’t think that’s it. I mean, I sort of like people teasing me and laughing at it and pointing and even calling me names and stuff… Some of those London kids were bigger than me, and it was the way they were staring at me and laughing that felt good. And earlier, when Kyle threatened to pee in my face, I almost wanted him to, to find out how it would feel. And if it had been you instead of him I would definitely have wanted you to…”
“What, you want me to pee on you? Wow, Simmy, that is a bit strange…”
“I don’t know that I actually want you to – but I wouldn’t mind if you did… see, Uzzy, I told you I was weird.”
Uzzy hugged him again. “I don’t care,” he said. “You’re my best friend, and I really like you the way you are. Nobody has ever given me the sort of brilliant feelings you do, and I just want you to feel as good as I do. And I don’t care what makes you feel nice: I’ll do anything you like – I can spank you, pee on you, strip you bare in front of everyone at school…”
“No! Not at school… I don’t know why, but that would be horrible. Maybe it’s because of what Graham did to me, or because of what we did to him, but I don’t want to do that at school. With kids who don’t go to our school it’s completely different, and I don’t mind you undressing me then – like you did with the London kids. And I reckon I can trutht Robin now, too, so him and Awais can tease me all they want… It’s just… I don’t understand why I like that happening.”
“Nor do I. But does it matter? If you like it, and they like doing it, what’s wrong with it? And if having them spanking you feels good, I reckon you should just enjoy it, and not worry about it. Everyone’s different, Sim. It doesn’t mean you’re bad, or sick, or anything like that. It’s like we like different flavour ice cream, that’s all. Still, I’d like to try an experiment or two with you… come on, we’re going home.”
He pushed his bike back onto Gainsborough Lane and headed for home with Sim following him. And when they got there they parked the bikes outside the kitchen and Uzzy led Sim into the tent, which they had pitched at the far end of the garden.
“Get undressed,” ordered Uzzy, unrolling Sim’s sleeping bag and zipping it together with his own.
Obediently Sim stripped off and then watched as Uzzy took his clothes off too and got into the sleeping bag.
“Come on in,” Uzzy told him, and once Sim was inside Uzzy cuddled up against him. He pushed Sim onto his side and snuggled up behind him, and then reached round and started to fondle Sim’s genitals. And pretty soon Sim’s body responded.
“Now,” said Uzzy, “you can do anything you want. You can touch me as much as you want; you can hug me, you can kiss me if you want to try that. And I’ll do anything to you that you tell me to, too. I want to see if we can make you feel nice without hurting you, or having people laughing at you, or having me put mine inside you…”
“I like you doing that. It makes me feel really nice.”
“Yes, I know, but I want to try to see if we can make you feel nice in other ways, too. So for the rest of the time we’re in here you’re in charge. We’ll do anything you want.”
Sim was silent for a moment. “But… you’re always in charge,” he said, eventually. “That’s how we’re supposed to be. I’m here to obey you and to make you feel nice, because that’s what you deserve.”
“What do you mean, it’s what I deserve? Why should I deserve to be made to feel nice, while you don’t?”
“Because… well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Because you’re clever and good looking and kind…”
“So are you.”
“No, I’m not! I’m ugly and I’ve got a stupid lisp and I don’t deserve a friend like you…”
“You’re not ugly and you haven’t got a lisp any more – or haven’t you noticed? And you deserve to be happy, too.”
It was obvious from Sim’s expression that he didn’t believe this.
“Oh, God, you can be really dim sometimes,” said Uzzy. “Look, why do you think I want to spend all my time with you? And why do you think I offered to stop doing sex with you if you didn’t like it? It’s because I want you to be happy, dimbo! I want you to stop thinking you’re ugly and stupid and worthless and to start seeing yourself the way I see you – as the best friend in the world.”
“D… do you really think that?” asked Sim, who seemed on the verge of tears.
“Of course I do. I’ve never had a friend like you before, Simmy. I love you.”
And that was too much for Sim, who now did start to cry, and Uzzy held him and soothed him and waited for the crying to end.
“I’m s… sorry,” said Sim, when he had finally got himself back under control.
“That’s okay. But… do you believe me?”
Sim hesitated, but then gave a shaky nod. “I don’t understand it, but I do believe you,” he said.
“Good. Now, where were we? Oh, yes, I was about to see if I can make you get the special feeling without having to put mine up your bum… let’s try this.”
Although by now they were quite experienced at both oral and anal intercourse, neither of them actually knew how to masturbate. But Uzzy squeezed and stroked and played with Sim’s erection and after a while Sim said, “I think it might be starting to happen…”
So Uzzy kept doing the things he was doing, and Sim started to wriggle about as the feeling grew inside him, and it got closer and closer and it grew and grew… until finally it was too much for him to control and it burst inside him, making him cry out and thrash about in Uzzy’s arms.
“Okay?” asked Uzzy, when he calmed down.
“That was so good, Uzzy,” said Sim, smiling at him. “It felt magic!”
“Was it better than when Awais spanked you?”
“Well… it was different. I don’t know if it was better or not. But I really, really liked it.”
“Then we’ll have to carry on with our experiment,” said Uzzy. “In an hour or so we’ll go and see if Awais and Robin are free, and if they are we’ll go back to where we camped and I’ll talk them into spanking you – not that I’ll have to do much talking, I suppose… and then we’ll see if it happens again, and if it’s better or worse than what just happened. If you’re okay with that, of course..?”
“Okay. I like the way Awais giggles when he’s teasing me, somehow.”
“Good. But first we need to give you the chance to recover for a bit, so… what would you like to do? We could go and play chess for a while if you like…”
“Okay. But… can we just stay here like this for a bit first? Only I like being bare with you like this.”
“Me, too.” And Uzzy hugged him again.
They lay quietly together for half an hour or so, holding each other close, and then got up, put their clothes on and went up to Uzzy’s room to play chess for a while. And then Uzzy phoned Awais up, discovered that he and Robin weren’t doing anything in particular, and told him that they’d be round to collect them shortly.
The four of them rode back to their camp site, and then Uzzy grabbed Sim and addressed the other two.
“Sim’s been misbehaving,” he told them. “He’s been rude and stroppy all day, and he needs punishing, and as you two seem to have done a good job on him last time I thought you might like to do it again. So here he is: you can do whatever you want to him. Take his clothes off, chase him, beat him, do whatever you think he deserves. And finish off by giving him a really good spanking, like he says you did last time, because this time I want to watch.”
He pushed Sim towards them and they grabbed him, forced him down to the ground and, despite Sim’s efforts at resistance, pulled all his clothes off. Then Robin sat on him while Awais went and pulled a couple of stems of bracken up and stripped off the leaves, leaving a nice pair of makeshift whips.
“Start running,” Awais advised Sim. “Because if we catch up with you before you reach the end of the field, your bum’s going to be sore.”
Sim stood up and was on the point of setting off, but Uzzy called for him to wait. He dug into his bag and threw a ball of string and a pair of scissors to Awais.
“Tie his hands behind his back first,” he said. “That way if he meets anyone he won’t be able to hide his rude bits.”
So Awais did that, and Sim took off with the two younger boys in hot pursuit. It’s hard to run at full speed with your hands tied behind your back, and so they were able to keep up with him, keeping him moving with little flicks of their whips on his bum, not really enough to hurt but enough to keep him trying to escape. And once again Sim was aware of what he looked like, and he loved it, so much so that by the time he’d been chased to the end of the field and back to where Uzzy was waiting he had a very stiff penis.
Next they tied him to a tree and played with his erection for a bit. And finally they took him back to the fallen tree and got him into position for a spanking, with Awais gripping his penis as before.
“Just keep going until your hands are too sore to carry on,” Uzzy advised them when Awais asked how many they should dish out, and at that the two younger boys grinned at each other and set to work.
And this time Sim thought it felt even better, because not only was he being punished by two much younger boys, but this time his best friend was there to witness his humiliation and to hear his little yelps of pain… and soon that feeling was back, slowly swelling up inside him…
“Bet I can make him yell louder than you,” said Robin, delivering an extra hard slap.
“Bet you can’t,” replied Awais, trying to outdo his friend, and twisting Sim’s penis for extra effect. And Sim wriggled and yelped and squealed, and inside him the warmth grew and grew, expanding, filling his lower body… and he tried really hard to contain it, but once again he couldn’t, and his orgasm drowned out everything else – though once again the continuing spanks delivered to his bum seemed to prolong and amplify the orgasm considerably.
Finally – after it had been going on for what seemed to Sim to be at least a year – the feeling subsided, and he slowly sank back into himself. The spanking was still going on, but now he was ready for it to stop, so he looked at Uzzy and said, “Okay, Uzzy, it’s happened,” and Uzzy told Awais and Robin to stop. Which they did, reluctantly.
“My hand isn’t really hurting yet,” complained Robin. “Can’t we carry on?”
“No, I think he’s learned his lesson. For now, anyway. But next time he’s bad you can carry on where you left off, because you two do a really good job when you work together like that.”
“We’re the Punishment Squad,” said Awais grinning. “Naughty Simmies are our speciality: if he misbehaves, we’ll make his bum go red.”
And it certainly was red: Sim had his hands over it, feeling the heat.
“You’re not mad at us, are you?” asked Robin, who still found it hard to believe that he could do this to a big boy and not make him angry.
“Of course he isn’t,” scoffed Awais. “He knows that we’re allowed to punish him if he’s bad – you heard Uzzy say so. And he told us the same thing that night in the tent, remember?”
“Well, yes, but… it just seems a bit strange, and I want to be sure he’s not going to get me back for it later.”
“’I won’t, I promise,” said Sim, pulling his pants back on.
They escorted Robin and Awais back to Awais’s house and then rode the rest of the way back to Uzzy’s and went back into the tent.
“So, was that better?” asked Uzzy. “It sort of looked it, somehow, though I don’t really see why.”
“I don’t know if it was really better. It was different, and it felt really, really good, but then when you did it to me earlier that felt good as well. I think it’s in my head: when they’re spanking me I can sort of feel how much they’re enjoying it, and I can hear them laughing and having a brilliant time, and somehow that makes me feel good, too: it’s like by being punished I make my friends feel good, and that’s a really exciting feeling.”
“That’s amazing, Simmy: even when it’s supposed to be about making you feel good you’re thinking about making other people feel good, too. It just proves how special you are. ‘Cos when you’re sucking me I don’t care how you feel as long as I feel good… well, I do care a bit, I suppose, because I wouldn’t let you do it if I didn’t think you liked doing it… but I’m really only interested in getting the feeling myself. But when you’re getting the feeling you still want the people doing it to you to feel good as well. Now can you understand what a brilliant friend you are? I don’t know anyone else who cares about his friends as much as you do, Simmy. And that’s why I want us to be friends for ever, because even if I live to be a million I don’t think I’ll ever meet anyone else who’s half as nice as you are.”
And he hugged Sim hard, and Sim hugged him back and thought that maybe it didn’t matter after all if he was a bit unusual: according to Uzzy, it was a nice sort of unusual. And maybe Uzzy was right. And in any case, as long as Uzzy was his friend it wouldn’t matter what anyone else thought about him: he had a friend who loved him, and that was all he really needed to be happy.
So maybe at last Sim can stop worrying about being strange and just try to be happy instead - even if sometimes it's doing strange things that makes him happy. But happiness is clearly not on the agenda as far as the NF Youth Wing is concerned – things could turn really nasty here.
There are probably only a couple more chapters to go, so if you've read this far without responding, you're running out of time. Just in case you skipped over this bit in all the earlier chapters, but have for some bizarre reason decided not to skip it this time, the address you're looking for is gothmog@nyms.net
Copyright 2008 – all rights reserved. Please do not reprint, repost or otherwise reproduce this or any part thereof anywhere without my written permission.
David Clarke