Date: Thu, 1 Sep 2022 15:38:30 +0000 From: olhap8464972175@elude.in Subject: THE MONKEY'S GRIN, CHAPTER 7 THE MONKEY'S GRIN by Oliver Hapland This continues the story of thirteen-year-old Martin who inherits a certain piece of intimate sports equipment with special powers. At last Martin is able to get the box back, but has Colin been tempted to use its magic and, if so, will the monkey make him pay? Thanks to everyone for your comments and encouragement. Do let me know if you enjoy this chapter. I love to hear from readers and it helps me to write more. Email me at olhap8464972175@elude.in Warning: this story contains descriptions of sexual activity by boys. This story is fiction. It is an artistic exploration of its themes and does not condone them. Check out my new story "Schoolboy Stats": https://www.nifty.org/nifty/bisexual/adult-youth/schoolboy-stats Please consider making a donation to Nifty to continue providing all these wonderful stories http://donate.nifty.org/ THE MONKEY'S GRIN CHAPTER 7 Of course, I thundered round to Colin's house first thing the following morning as fast as my bike would take me. I stood on the concrete step with my heart pounding and gave the bell a long push. There was movement from within. Thank God! Colin's mum's face appeared above the door chain. "Oh, it's you," she said, seeming relieved. "Can I see Colin?" I said. "What's happened?" "He's been a bit unwell, but he's much better now. You can come in." As she unfastened the door, she called: "Colin! There's somebody to see you." Colin appeared in the doorway to the lounge. His face looked puffy, especially round the eyes, and his long blond hair was sleep-messy. He was wearing green "Incredible Hulk" pyjamas and bare feet, his skinny ankles visible beyond the elasticated cuffs. "Martin!" He didn't seem pleased to see me. Bungo slunk out of the kitchen and nuzzled round my legs. "Hello, boy," I said, patting the dog and he stuck his nose right in my privates. I glanced up at Martin's mum, embarrassed because she was watching. Colin went into the lounge and I followed quickly. "Tiswas" was on TV with the volume up loud. Colin sat at one end of a worn-out, fake-leather sofa, and I sat nervously at the other. "I thought I might see you," he said, "sooner or later." I was slightly taken aback. "Merv said you had an accident." "Yeah, I did, sort of." He looked uncomfortable. "I banged my head in church." "Was that all?" I was puzzled. "Well . . . not exactly." He sat avoiding my eyes, while the audience of kids on Tiswas screamed enthusiastically. We watched Chris Tarrant receive a custard flan in the face and then Colin said: "I suppose you want your cricket box back." "Yes, where is it?" "I burnt it." He said it gruffly, not taking his eyes off the telly. "You what!" I turned on him. "I burnt it . . . only it wouldn't burn." He looked at me, his face set firm. "But why did you burn it?" He gave no answer and when I asked where the box was now, he said: "Come with me. I'll show you." Colin opened the back door which led from the living room straight into a small garden; this was really a yard with cracked concrete and some parched weedy flowerbeds. "It's in there," he said, brusquely, pointing to a concrete coal bunker in the opposite corner. But he didn't move; he just stood on the concrete, arms folded defensively. I lifted the door of the coal bunker, and it ground in its slot. I managed to get it up just far enough to crouch down and peer inside. There wasn't much coal, but the interior was soot-black and I eventually made out the cricket box somewhere near the back. I reached in and retrieved it. "I don't know what it's made of," said Colin. "It's like kryptonite!" I examined the box. It was blackened and the beautiful leather cushioning round its rim had gone. "Why did you have to fucking burn it?" I rounded on him, resentfully. "It was my granddad's." Colin squirmed, looking at the floor. "Sorry." I started to wipe away some of the soot with the heel of my hand. I decided that the monkey must have done something really bad to Colin to make him try to destroy it. I licked my thumb and smeared the bulge at the front where I knew the monkey was, and Colin was quite right, beneath the charring the surface was pristine; the monkey emerged grinning at me, its eyes and teeth as bright and shiny as ever. It was good to have it back and to be reminded of its power: the instant that the monkey's mischievous face appeared from under my grimy thumb, I got a feeling, which was now becoming familiar, that I could tap into Colin's thoughts. I could feel that, in spite of his frosty reception, he was pleased to see me and that deep down he was actually excited. He stood, arms still folded, looking glum, knees together, one bare big toe on top of the other. Could the monkey possibly be wrong? Colin didn't look very pleased to me. "So why did you do it? You don't just burn people's things because you bang your head." Colin crinkled his nose and thought for a moment. Then he sighed. "All right, I'll tell you. But we'd better go upstairs." He stopped me at the back door. "You're not bringing that thing in though! I'm not having that in my room, not now. No way!" I left the monkey by the back step. Bungo greeted us in the hallway, his tail beating noisily against the wall and his long pink tongue panting. I put my hands over my crotch instinctively. The dog seemed to be wanting something. "He likes you," said Colin. Bungo followed as we started to climb the stairs. Colin's mum appeared from the kitchen. "Martin can stay for quarter of an hour," she said. "You need to rest, Colin." "Yes, Mum." Once in Colin's little bedroom, he closed the door softly behind us and I sat next to him on the bed. The dog sat next to me on the floor and patted my leg with its paw. I ruffled the bristly fur round its neck, hoping it wouldn't jump up or anything. Colin's room hardly seemed like the same place where we had played our tie-up game a week before: the room looked the same, but the atmosphere between us had changed completely. "Okay, I'll tell you what happened," Colin said. "But you have to swear not to tell ANYONE!" "I won't. I swear to God!" Colin bristled at that. "You'd better not." He looked stern. "I knew that monkey thing was evil," he began. "I didn't like it from the start. But when you left it behind, I couldn't stop thinking about it and what I could do with it. It made me excited being able to see into people's heads. So on Sunday I put it down my pants when we went to church so I could see what people really think about when they're supposed to be thinking about God. "When I was sitting with my mum, listening to Father O'Grady, I looked around and tried to get into the people's minds. It didn't work at first, but at last I got something: only they were all thinking about boring stuff, like what they were going to have for Sunday lunch or what time the pub opened. "So then I decided to focus on Father O'Grady - him being a priest and all that - to see what priests really think about . . . Well, it wasn't God! "The box got hot between my legs and my mum said: 'Stop rubbing yourself there. What will people think?' She made me jump. I don't know whether it was that, but something popped into my head at that moment, and I suddenly knew - I was totally sure - that Father O'Grady was wearing ladies' underwear under his cassock, that he was wearing knickers and a bra! "Anyway, after mass, Father O'Grady came to talk to my mum; he talks to lots of people, but especially my mum. He says he can feel that she has a 'particular affinity with Jesus', or something like that, and her 'spiritual being is very pure', and she was getting all flustered and touchy-feely, like she does when men say nice things to her. "Anyway, all the time Father O'Grady's talking to my mum, I can see in his head that he's imagining what it would be like to take my mum's clothes off and he's imagining what she looks like naked - can you believe it? My mum! And then he started to think about other things . . . oh, I can't even say what other things! They were things he wanted to do to my mum . . . Anyway, I wanted to punch him! "I said, 'Mum haven't you got to help with the flowers?' She didn't want to go but I pulled her: 'What about the flowers?' "While they do the flowers, us kids are meant to get orange juice and biscuits in the transept. But I sneaked off to the vestry after Father O'Grady. I wanted to spy on him but he wasn't there, so I sneaked in and had a look in the cupboards and drawers. I thought I might find some ladies' knickers, or something, but there weren't any. In one of the drawers, though, under some Catholic Heralds, there was a porno mag; it had women with tits, like, this big . . . and hairy fannies and everything. I heard someone coming, so I put it back and hid in an alcove thing behind a curtain. "It was Father O'Grady. He pulled his cassock off over his head, and when I looked round the curtain, I saw that he really was wearing this sexy ladies' underwear, just like I thought! It was white and lacy and you could see through it. I couldn't believe it! But the next thing he did was even worse. He got out the porno mag and started to toss off, right there in the vestry! Priests aren't supposed to do that! And he kept whispering my mum's name - what a bastard! "I kept really quiet, of course, and, even though I was cross, I wanted to laugh: he looked so funny with his big dick hanging out of those skimpy knickers. I was so scared he would find me, though, I didn't even dare to breathe. I just stayed crouched down in that hole: I couldn't stand up, it was too small." Colin's eyes were wide as he related all this to me. I said: "You saw a priest tossing off. I don't believe you!" "I swear! Totally! The porno mag was called Mayfair. And he spunked all over the floor and everything!" I could see that Colin really was telling the truth. "When Father O'Grady finished, he took off the knickers and put on his normal clothes. I stood up, but I forgot I was in the hole in the wall and I banged my head really hard. It hurt SO much, and I said 'Ow!' Then Father O'Grady pulled the curtain back and found me. 'You naughty little . . . !' he said and dragged me out. He was really cross and shook me. 'How long have you been in there?' he said. 'What have you seen?' But I was crying: 'Please? . . . I banged my head!' "He calmed down and let me go. Then he got one of the communion cloths and ran it under the tap in the sink where he washes the chalice, and held it on my head. 'What did you mean by spying on me?' he said, but I couldn't look at him. Then he said: 'Have you been there since I came in? Did you watch me? Answer me, boy!' I nodded; I was scared he was going to hit me. "But he just said: 'I suppose you can see now that you aren't the only one who practises self-abuse' - he already knows that I do it, because I have to confess it every week. He said: 'Even priests have to battle with the appetites of the flesh.' Then he waved his finger at me, like this . . . and he said: 'But it's wrong to spy on people!' I rubbed my head and he made a big sigh and he looked up to heaven: 'Perhaps God, in his wisdom, has chosen to teach you a lesson today . . . and me.' "Then he gave me a ten pound note so I wouldn't tell anyone." Colin went over to his piggy bank on the window sill and extracted a note, folded up neatly, and opened it out to show me. "Are you going to?" I asked, ". . . tell anyone?" "No, only you, because you're my friend." Then his mischievous smile broke out. "I wonder how much money he would have given me if he knew I'd seen what he wanted to do to my mum!" I really wanted to know what Father O'Grady had been imagining, but it didn't seem right to ask. I looked at Colin's puffy face, feeling perplexed. "I don't see why you had to burn the box though, just because you banged your head and got ten pounds." "I haven't got to the worst part yet," he replied. "Mum noticed the bump on my head and when I woke up on Monday morning my face was swollen up. It came up all in a rash; it was red with white blotches." He touched his eyelids, his forehead and cheeks. "I couldn't even open my eyes. It was really sore! We went straight to the doctors' and he reckoned it was probably shingles that I'd picked up from someone in church. But he said he'd never seen anything like it." "Yeah, that'll be what it was," I opined, trying to reassure myself. ". . . Shringles - or whatever you said." "But that's not all!" Colin's voice dropped down low and he leaned in close to me. "It's on my dick, as well! Look!" He pulled out the waistband of his pyjamas so I could see. It did look swollen and sore. "I couldn't sleep," he continued, settling back. "I was so itchy and scratchy and I kept seeing that grinning monkey every time I lay down and closed my eyes." I recalled my own experience on the bridge, when I saw the monkey's grin in my mind just before I came off my bike. I also remembered the mystery illness I had had after the first time the monkey worked for me. "I didn't get any sleep for two whole nights!" Colin said. "I was like a zombie. Mum got so anxious - more than I've ever seen her. That's when I got desperate and I got some lighter fluid and I burnt the box. I used a whole can, but it still wouldn't burn!" I looked at Colin's serious and sad face. He seemed more grown up today - not at all the cheeky prankster that I usually saw at cricket. I understood his fear of the monkey and why he had wanted to get rid of it. I felt that I probably would have done the same in his place. "It's OK," I said, with a shrug. "One good thing did come out of me getting ill," he said. "Mum hasn't had a drink since Sunday. That's six days! It's the longest she's gone since Dad left." He looked delighted. "Mum said to me: 'If I'm not here to look after you, Colin, who's going to? Usually you look after me! From now on, I'm going to really try to be a better mum and look after you properly.'" Colin's eyes were bright. "I really hope she does!" We sat there on his bed looking at one another. Then, on impulse, I gave him a hug. He hugged me back. He seemed relieved to have the story off his chest. When we let each other go, neither of us seemed able to look the other in the eyes. We sat for some moments in an awkward silence. The dog was pawing me again. "He probably wants to hump your leg," Colin said. "He usually acts like that when he's going to do it. Once, when Father O'Grady came to tea, Bungo got hold of his leg and wouldn't let go. When we got him off, there was white stuff on Father O'Grady's cassock!" I eyed the dog warily. All of these revelations were making me feel sexy. My mouth was dry; I swallowed. "That thing we did last time I was here." I ventured. "Would you . . . err . . . I mean, can we, maybe, do it again sometime . . . That is, only if you want to?" "Of course I want to," he said immediately. "But not now, because of my mum." We smiled at one another then, both of us relieved and excited, I think. He sank down on to his back on the blanket. His pyjama top, with the Hulk's massive green fist smashing out of it, rode up a little to reveal a strip of pale-pink tummy. Colin's mischievous grin returned. "Your dick's not as big as my cousin's, you know," he said, smirking up at me. "I couldn't get all of my cousin's in my mouth." He wanted to wind me up, evidently, like he did the boys at cricket practice: to get a reaction. "That was two years ago," I replied, slyly. "Your mouth was smaller then." I could see him chewing over a smart answer to this. "Anyway," I teased. "YOUR dick's about the size of a prawn." "Well, I'm only twelve," he retorted. "You're older than me . . . And your dick's got a fat head like a mushroom." I was puzzled for a second, until I realised than he must mean with the foreskin back: my penis does have a prominent head, and it did even at thirteen and a half. "Prawn!" I taunted. "Mushroom!" "Shrimp!" "Mushroom! . . . Toadstool dick!" He smirked at me and I smirked back. Then I lunged at him. He twisted away and I threw myself on the bed, getting him in an arm-lock from behind. He squealled with delight and struggled free and we wrestled until my greater strength prevailed and I got on top of him, my legs twisted round his and my hands gripping his wrists above his head. "I suppose you like that, you bender," he said provocatively. "You're the one who sucks dicks," I reminded him. The boner in my jeans was sticking right out; he must have felt it. He wrenched his hands free and grabbed me in a bear hug and we rolled this way and that on his narrow bed. He was strong and slippery as an eel in his stretchy pyjamas. He kept getting himself into a position where his arms were trapped inside mine, and then he would squeal with laughter. Several times I got my hand down between his legs and groped the front of his jim-jams; his prick was stiff as a peg. We made ourselves so breathless with laughing and wrestling that I'm not sure quite what happened next. Suddenly Bungo clamped tight hold of my leg and I could feel the hard bone of his dog-cock jabbing into my calf; this surprised me, but it wasn't entirely unwelcome. Then, with my own legs clamped around Colin's, I lost control of my loins and a warm blissful rush began pumping into my underpants. I kicked the dog off and rolled over on the bed. Colin's chest was heaving as much as mine, his hair a tangle about his face. I was sweating. Embarrassment had replaced lust. I wondered if Colin had come as well. The dog's ugly alien appendage hung obscenely. "What are you boys doing?" Colin's mum's voice came from behind the door. "It's time for Martin to go home." We sprang up off the bed as if it had become electrified. "Yes, Mum! We're just coming down." Once we were downstairs, Colin's mum said: "What's that disgusting black thing outside the back door?" "That's Martin's. He's taking it away." I retrieved the box quickly with a red face. "Are you playing in the next match?" I asked. "It's against Mestridge CC." "Colin's not quite well enough yet," his mum answered. Colin didn't protest but he looked disappointed. There was a sogginess about the waistband of my underwear as a cycled home. My dick was stuck painfully to the cotton fabric. As I cycled past the park, I noticed a group of kids sheltering under the big slide in the playground. They were some way off and a woman pushing a toddler on the swings obscured my view. I knew immediately who the kids were. I pulled up on my bike and stopped. I would have known Peter's shaggy brown head a mile off and I could see he was with Charles. The pair of them were with a couple of girls whom I was pretty sure were Margaret and Philippa from our year at school; Peter had been keen on Philippa for ages. He now seemed to have his arm around her as they sat in a huddle on the bench built into the structure of the children's slide. All four of them seemed to be having a jolly time laughing as they passed round a cigarette. I certainly didn't want them to notice me on my way home alone, and it suddenly felt childish to be out on my Chopper bike. It hurt to see my former best friend apparently having so much fun without me. I peddalled away, head down, under the cover of the park railings. I wasn't angry with Peter anymore; I understood that he wanted to go with girls - even if the idea did feel somewhat alien to me. But selfish feelings ate me up, nevertheless: I was jealous because I wanted Peter for myself. I didn't just want him as a friend: I wanted to "have" him in the other way too. I had resigned myself by then to the fact that I liked boys more than girls; the little bits of sex play I had had with Peter and Colin had reassured me of that and made me itchy for more. But I didn't want just to play at sex with Peter, with our clothes on: I wanted to have "proper" sex with him - naked sex. Would I ever be able to get him now that he was seeing girls? *** Readers can email me at: olhap8464972175@elude.in Check out all my stories: Schoolboy Stats -Joseph gets a shock when some girls reveal his most shameful habit to the class. But he's not alone! https://www.nifty.org/nifty/bisexual/adult-youth/schoolboy-stats The Monkey's Grin -13-year-old Martin inherits some intimate sports equipment with strange powers. https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/the-monkeys-grin The Lustful Little Mouse -the budding young son of a Russian diplomat discovers sex in Victorian London. https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/the-lustful-little-mouse/ Little Lord Barry -the tale of a wicked rich boy in the time of King George. https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/historical/little-lord-barry Gulliver's Pageboy - a comedy about the traveller's sexual adventures with a larger-than-life adolescent. https://www.nifty.org/nifty/bisexual/celebrity/gullivers-pageboy