Author’s note: after spending the last three years or so writing fantasy stories set in alternate universes, this is something of a return to my roots: it’s a straightforward story set in a small town in south-east England in 2012. It’s also something of an antidote to those authoritarian stories where one brother controls another, because although this one starts out exactly like that, the ‘victim’ discovers that just about everything that happens to him turns out entirely to his advantage.
Of course, the usual disclaimer applies: this story features a central character who is fourteen and a cast of other boys between the ages of eleven and fourteen, and it also features quite a lot of sex – so if you’re not allowed to read this sort of material for legal reasons, or if you’re likely to be offended by it, please stop right here. I’m sure there are some cute kittens you could look at on YouTube instead.
CHAPTER ONE
In which Kevin makes a mistake, and Chris takes advantage of it.
Kevin
I guess nobody is perfect: pretty much everyone has something about himself that they don't like. I suppose that if we were all blond, blue-eyed super-fit sports stars life would get a bit boring, but frankly I wouldn't mind a bit of that sort of boredom. The problem is that my brother is a blue-eyed, super-fit sports star. His hair isn't blond, but I guess light brown is probably close enough. I, on the other hand, am definitely not a sports star, unless you're prepared to consider chess to be a sport. I've got dark brown hair and my physique could best be described as 'weedy'. I do have blue eyes, but the colour isn't what people notice: instead they notice the thick lenses that sit in front of them - without my glasses I really can't see very much at all.
You're probably thinking 'chess, glasses, this guy has to be a nerd, right?' Well, wrong: I'm not interested in computers, other than as a means of looking stuff up and sending the odd email, and my school results are strictly middle-of-the-road. Actually my brother knows a lot more about computers than I do, so he isn't a typical thick sports player, either, and his school results are at least as good as mine. I've always thought that if it hadn't been for the pathetic eyesight I could have done fairly well at sports myself, but as things are I never had a chance of making it into any sports team.
Still, I can't really complain, I suppose: apart from the eyesight I'm healthy, I go to a reasonably good school and I'm not exactly short of money...
OK, as usual I've started in the wrong place, so I'll back up a bit. My name is Kevin Stratford, I'm fourteen and I live in a fairly large house in its own grounds on the outskirts of a small town in south-east England. My brother's name is Chris, and he's eleven, almost twelve, and he goes to the same school as I do. And our father is really rather rich; he has a fairly senior position with a merchant bank in the city. He's probably sufficiently well-off that he would only need to work part-time to bring in a decent income, but he's a workaholic who gets bored if he isn't making money for about a hundred hours every week. And that of course means we don't see him that often, because he spends quite a lot of time dealing with important clients in the Middle East, Japan and Korea.
Normally we see mother all the time, because she doesn't work at all: she comes from one of those old families with money who still believe that a woman's place is in the home. To be honest I like that: a lot of the kids I go to school with have to fend for themselves until one or other parent gets home from work, or they find themselves marooned with Granny or Auntie So-and-So or stuck in some dreary after-school club. Chris and I never had that problem... until last week.
Last week our grandmother had a nasty fall, and as our mother is her eldest daughter – the others still have small children – the family decided that she was best placed to go and look after her for a few weeks until she was on her feet again. Grandma lives in the Lake District, about 350 miles from where we live, so there was no way that this was going to involve anything less than mother actually going to live in grandma's house on a full-time basis. And of course there was never any question of father cutting back on his work to look after us: “You're fourteen,” he told me, when I asked. “That's quite old enough to look after yourself. And Christopher's old enough to manage, too. You just keep it going. I'll be back from time to time as usual, and you've got all my phone numbers if anything comes up.”
I thought that in this day and age it was illegal to leave boys of our age unattended, but father said he would be 'on call' to us at all times, and Mrs Jordan would be coming in every day to do the cooking as usual, so there would be an adult on hand most of the time.
He told Chris that I was in charge, and Chris managed to look solemn and say “Yes, Father,” in the appropriate places, but I knew it would be pointless to try to make Chris do anything he didn't want to: we still have play fights from time to time, and these days he usually wins. Still, he's generally not a bad kid, and I thought we'd probably manage fairly well on our own.
Of course, there's one other thing that's important to a fourteen-year-old, and that's sex. Naturally I had no chance of pulling: not too many people are queuing up to go out with a boy who has the Hubble Space Telescope stuck in front of each eye, even if he has got a bit of money (yes, we both got very generous allowances, which I suppose was father's way of compensating us for his constant absence). And, just to make it even harder for me to find That Special Someone, I had recently come to the conclusion that girls were never going to be my thing. For the past year or so I had listened to the boys in my class talking about girls and passing round girlie mags and dodgy photos they'd found online, and I'd kept telling myself that I'd start to feel the same way soon... only I didn't. And now that I was well and truly into puberty, with proper hair and balls that did their job, I realised that I never was going to feel that way. Instead I found myself looking at other boys. There were a couple of boys in my class that I thought about sometimes, but the one who occupied my thoughts most when I played with myself was Chris's friend Colin, a stunningly-attractive twelve-year-old, who was every bit as physically fit as Chris (they played football for the same team) and was also – okay, I know it's a stereotype, but I can't help that – tall, blond and blue-eyed. To be fair, Chris's other close friend Mark was thoroughly attractive, too, and he had black hair and brown eyes, but if I ever had the chance to pick one – like that was ever going to happen! - it would have been Colin every time.
I've said I wasn't much good at sport, but there was one physical activity I did excel at, and that was masturbation. I got plenty of opportunity to practise, after all. I only ever did it in my bedroom: I'd heard stories of boys doing it in the toilets at school and getting caught in the act, and I swore that was never going to happen to me. Except it turned out that my bedroom wasn't as safe as I'd thought it was...
Chris
I like grandma, but her falling over turned out to be one of the best things that had happened to me so far. I mean, I'm glad she's going to be all right, but mother being out of the house for the better part of two months opened a lot of doors for me. Quite how I managed to keep a straight face when father told me Kev was going to be in charge I don't know, because the whole idea was screamingly funny: Kev hasn't got a clue, and if he tried to make me obey him he'd end up locked in his cupboard again – I did that to him once at the end of one of our play fights and I left him there for the next hour. He didn't dare make a noise because he knew how stupid he'd look if mother had to come and let him out.
Kev's all right, though – he knew it would be pointless to throw his weight about, and so he didn't try. And so for the first three or four days everything ran smoothly: Mrs Jordan came in every afternoon and got supper ready for us, and all we had to do was to heat it through around six, or whenever we felt hungry.
On the Friday evening I was supposed to have football practice, only it hurled it down with rain and our coach gave up on it after about half an hour. Colin's mum gave me a lift home, and as a result I was there about an hour earlier than Kev had expected. I let myself in quietly in case he was doing his homework, but I found the downstairs study empty. Oh well, maybe he's doing it in his room, I thought. I left my shoes in the hall as we always do and went upstairs to have a shower, but as I reached Kev's door I heard a noise that suggested that it wasn't his homework he was working on...
He'd left the door open, which is something he doesn't usually do, but I suppose he thought there was nobody in the house and so it wouldn't matter. Well, we all make mistakes...
I got my mobile out of my pocket, selected the camera option and crept closer to the door, and when I got there I peered carefully around the edge into the room... and how I didn't burst out laughing I'll never know, because Kev was lying on his bed, stark naked and flat on his back, and he was wanking steadily. He'd taken off his glasses, which meant that he probably wouldn't see me at all unless I moved too quickly: I've tried wearing those things and it's like looking through a goldfish bowl full of water. So, very slowly, I moved inside the door and started taking photos. The camera arrangement on my phone is completely silent, so he never heard a thing.
Then I decided that I might as well see just what I could get away with here, so, moving very slowly, I switched to the video function and started recording. And I'd timed that about right, because ten seconds later Kev tensed up, arched his back and shot onto himself. I was quite impressed, to be honest: okay, he is a couple of years older than me – two and a half, if I'm going to be accurate – but I hadn't realised he could produce proper spunk like this. I hardly produce enough to dampen the head – but then I'm barely into puberty, I suppose.
“Nice one, Kev,” I said, and he almost fell off the bed in shock. He groped for his glasses, and by the time he had them on I had the phone safely out of sight once more: I wanted that evidence safely stored on my computer before he knew I had it.
“Wh- what are you doing home?” he stammered, frantically mopping his chest and stomach with a tissue from the box beside the bed.
“It's raining – or were you having such a good time that you didn't notice?” I asked. “Mr Clifford sent us home early.”
“Oh,” he said, looking flustered and clasping his hands over his groin. “Look... don't tell anyone about this – please, Chris?”
“That depends,” I said, grinning at him. “You'd better be nice to me from now on, hadn't you?”
“I'm always nice to you.”
“That's true, but it's only because you know you'll get beaten up if you're not. Anyway, I was going to have a shower, but I guess you'll probably want one too after that. So you can go first.”
“Thanks, Chris,” he said, but he was a little less thankful when I said I was going to come into the bathroom with him so we could talk while he was in the shower. And I made him wash facing me, which he clearly found very embarrassing: normally we never saw each other undressed at all. I didn't actually threaten to tell anyone if he didn't let me watch, but I'm sure that's what he thought would happen, and he seemed particularly keen that I shouldn't tell Colin or Mark. I suppose that's because they're both round here quite a lot and so they know him.
Anyway, I watched him shower, and that gave me a chance to see that his cock isn't that big really – it's probably not a lot bigger than mine – but that his hair is coming along nicely. I still haven't got any, but I suppose that's not too unusual for an eleven-year-old.
Afterwards I suggested that he should get dressed and then go and get supper ready, and once he was out of the bathroom I locked the door, got undressed and had a good shower. And while I was at it I had a wank myself: watching my brother had been sort of exciting, somehow. I'd never actually done it in the shower before: Colin had told me a couple of days ago that he sometimes does it like that, and I found that he was right when he said that the warm water running all over your body makes it feel really nice. I thought maybe I'd suggest it to Kev – I thought it might be fun to watch all his stuff coming out and getting washed away at the same time.
I didn't say anything else to him about it that evening, but after supper I downloaded the photos and the film clip onto the computer. They weren't the greatest quality you'll ever see, but Kev was clearly identifiable, and I was sure I could improve the quality next time around...
Kevin
I don't think I've ever been as embarrassed as I was when Chris caught me playing with myself – at least, not since I wet my pants at school when I was eight. I swore to myself that in future I'd make sure the door was shut and locked before I did that. Still, I suppose it could have been worse: he could have had Colin with him, and I think I'd have died of shame if that had happened.
To be fair to Chris, after supper that evening he didn't say anything more about it. I hoped he wouldn't tell Colin, but it must be hard to resist telling a story that starts with 'You'll never guess what I caught my brother doing last night...' But when Colin came round the following afternoon he treated me just the same as always – which is to say he gave me little more than a polite 'Hello'. And when Mark appeared on Sunday afternoon I couldn't see anything different about his attitude to me, either, so perhaps Chris was going to do the decent thing and keep quiet about it.
Father was home on Sunday. I suppose it was our first weekend alone, and so he wanted to make sure everything was working out. We both assured him that it was, and he seemed satisfied about that – at least, he told us he'd be going to Riyadh and then on to Tokyo the following week as he had originally intended, so I suppose he felt confident that we wouldn't actually burn the house down in his absence.
Monday evening was the night I stayed behind after school for Chess Club, or sometimes, as this week, for a match. There's a fair bit of psychology in chess, and for once my appearance helps: any opponent clapping eyes on a skinny kid with thick glasses is going to think him a total chess nerd straight away. Of course, it doesn't always work like that: the top board in my team is an athletic kid who also plays rugby for the school. But if you're playing someone who looks as though he lives for chess you're at a psychological disadvantage from the start. Anyway, I won my game comfortably, and the school won the match by four and a half boards to one and a half, and so I was in a good mood when I got home.
Chris stopped me at the door. “Father said something to me before he left this morning,” he said. “He says we have to do our homework as soon as we get home, not leave it until we get to school next day – I admitted I had done that sometimes. So we're to check each other's work and make sure everything is done before supper, or if you have a lot, you can finish straight after supper. He seemed to think we'll both sneak off and watch TV in our rooms if we don't keep a check on each other.”
“Well, we could do that anyway,” I pointed out. “If we both do it and keep quiet about it he won't find out, will he?”
“No, but he made me promise. And I think he's right, actually: it's better to get it done straight away, rather than having to rush it next morning. Besides, if I get stuck and we're both in the study together, you can help me out.”
“I thought there must be something in it for you. But, be honest, when you've come to me in the past I have helped you out, haven't I?”
“Usually. But I thought that since father's trusting us we ought not to let him down. And I thought of a way to make sure we don't cheat: I'll lock my bedroom and give you the key, and if I need to use the computer to look stuff up you can come and supervise me to make sure I'm not playing games instead. I don't get my key back until all my homework is done.
“I suppose I could take your key, but I bet you've got a spare, so I thought of a better way to make sure you don't sneak off and watch TV: from now on you're only allowed to wear your glasses downstairs. Once you've done your homework you can watch TV on the big one in the lounge if you want – in fact it'll be nice if we watch together sometimes. But if I've got your specs you can't barricade yourself into your room to watch telly before your homework is done. And there's nothing else you'd need them for upstairs, is there? I mean, you can find your way to the bathroom without them, and we already know you don't wear them for what you were doing on Friday evening...”
It was the first time he'd mentioned that incident since the day itself, and I hoped it would be the last, too. And I supposed he was right about not needing them to take a shower or have a bath. It meant that if there was something on late at night I'd have to stay downstairs to watch, but then that hardly ever happened. It seemed a bit of a drastic way to make sure I did my homework, but I couldn't see any reason to put up a proper resistance to the idea. And so I said yes.
“Right,” he said. “If you go upstairs when I'm not here – on Fridays, say – you're to leave your specs on the telephone table at the bottom of the stairs. If I come back from football and find you upstairs and no specs on the table you'll be in trouble. I'm sure you wouldn't want me to mention a certain event that took place last Friday, would you?”
Well, like he said, I didn't need my glasses to masturbate anyway, so provided I remembered to lock my door there was no reason why I couldn't at least do that on Fridays – and every other night of the week, too, provided I got my homework done first...
Chris
Once he'd agreed to the 'No glasses upstairs' rule he was done for. Of course, he had no way of knowing that at the time, and it was quite a while before he found out, but the battle was won right there and then. This was because on the Sunday I’d asked Mark, who seems to know pretty much all there is to know about computers, to talk to me about webcams, and on the Monday he’d come round again to set things up for me. My webcam was a top-line model that could be configured to activate whenever something moves in front of it, and by the time he went home on Monday I had it attached to my laptop, which was in turn connected to a 750Gb external hard drive (I’d bought it to keep music on, and so far had used no more than a couple of Gb). We’d found a suitable spot for the camera in one of the bookcases in Kev’s room, and with the laptop and hard drive hidden behind the bookcase there was virtually no chance of him seeing it even with his glasses on, and none at all without them.
I tried it out before Kev came home: I went into his room, sat on the side of the bed and read a book for five minutes, got up, went out, came back ten minutes later and danced about in front of the camera, and then removed the whole set-up back to my room and had a look at what the camera had recorded – and it turned out to be every moment that I had been in the room, and only a minute or so (after my first exit) when I wasn’t. Even when I hadn’t been moving very much, while I was reading, the camera had caught everything.
And then, once he had agreed to the no glasses thing, all I had to do was to get it set up in his room once more. I could have done it any day, but settled for Thursday. I usually catch the bus before the one he takes: it means leaving exactly on the bell and running, and he’s too lazy to do that: instead he usually just waits fifteen minutes for the next bus. Fifteen minutes was about ten minutes more than it took me to set up the camera, plug the laptop and the hard drive into the multipoint adapter Kev uses for his own computer – the cables were out of sight behind his computer desk and the bookcase – and then get back to my own room. By the time he got in I was already in the study starting my homework, and I was able to hand him the key to my bedroom without a qualm.
I didn’t get a chance to check the results until late Friday evening, when we had finished our homework and Kev was watching TV. I told him I was going to the loo, but instead I nipped into his room, removed the entire set-up, dumped it in my own room and went back downstairs. I’d been afraid that the laptop would go into sleep mode after a while and so not pick up what the camera was seeing, but Mark had assured me that the operation of the camera would be enough to turn it on again – and it turned out he was right about that, because the camera had worked perfectly: it had captured images of Kev getting undressed and getting into bed on Thursday night, and although it had shut down shortly after he turned his light out – there was insufficient light for the camera to see anything after that – the recording started again the following morning.
So I had an interesting little film of him getting out of bed with an erection and tweaking it for a few seconds before heading for the bathroom, and then coming back and getting dressed. And the next segment, which started about fifteen minutes after he got home from school that afternoon, showed him removing his school uniform, fumblingly hanging the blazer and trousers in the wardrobe (I was delighted to see that he wasn’t wearing his glasses, so he was keeping his word there), and then taking off the rest of his clothes, lying on his bed and masturbating slowly for several minutes.
“Naughty, naughty,” I muttered. “You’re supposed to be doing your homework…”
Eventually he spurted again, cleaned himself off, got dressed and left the room, and that was all there was. But this time the quality was a lot better - as I said, it’s a top of the range webcam – and once I’d transferred it from the external hard drive to the hidden folder on the internal one on my main computer I was able to set to work with the editing software Mark had downloaded for me, getting rid of the boring bits and keeping the interesting stuff.
Next morning while Kev was in the shower I nipped back into his room and set it all up again – after all, I was pretty certain he’d get up to something over the weekend, especially on Sunday morning, when I had a football match…
Kevin
Chris seemed in a particularly good mood that weekend: obviously he liked the freedom of not having either parent around. Colin’s mum came and picked him up to take him to his football match. I almost said I’d go along to cheer them on, but the weather was still a bit unpleasant - it was cold and drizzling – and so I decided to stay at home instead. I have been to watch once or twice, and I try not to make it too obvious that I’m watching Colin in particular, who looks amazing in shorts. I thought maybe I should volunteer to help somehow – perhaps I could look after the kit, or something, and that would give me an excuse to be in the changing room after each match…
The thought of that was enough to get me hard, and as nobody else was at home I decided to make the most of it, so I went back to my bedroom and got undressed. It was cold outside, but we had the heating going and so my room was nice and warm. Once I was naked I lay on the bed and began to stroke myself slowly, and then I had a thought – well, two of them, actually. There was a photo of Chris’s team in his bedroom and, since nobody was going to be at home for a couple of hours, there was no reason for me not to borrow it. The second thought was that I wouldn’t be able to see the photo properly without my specs, but since Chris was out of the house I could also see no reason not to go and get them – as long as I put them back before he got home he’d never know.
So I went downstairs and collected them from the table in the hall and then headed for my brother’s room, where I borrowed the photo that had been taken at the beginning of the season and carried it back to my room. Colin wasn’t the only stunningly good-looking boy in the team by a long way: there were fifteen boys in the picture, and five or six of them were definitely worth a second look. Come to that, there weren’t really any who could have been described as ‘ugly’ – there were a couple of dodgy haircuts, one case of sticking-out ears and some outsize teeth, and there was also one boy with bright red hair, if you don’t happen to like gingers. Personally I thought he looked good.
There was one black kid and a couple of Mediterranean types (including Chris’s friend Mark, whose father is from the Greek half of Cyprus), and the rest were white Anglo-Saxons, with hair that ranged from black to ash-blond. Colin was about the tallest boy in the team, with blond hair and blue eyes and an amazing smile…
I put the photo down on the little table beside the bed and started stroking myself again, glancing at the photo from time to time and trying to imagine what it would be like if I could get to know him better. I knew a bit about First Aid – perhaps Colin would get hurt playing football and I’d have to look after him. I imagined taking him back to the changing room, his arm around my shoulders for support, and then finding myself alone with him there… of course we’d have to wash the mud out of the wound on his leg before I could bandage it, so I’d have to help him undress and then carry him to the shower. Then I’d have to kneel in front of him and wash the leg for him, getting rid of all the mud and blood – and maybe he’d have hurt his arm, too, so I’d have to wash him all over, because he wouldn’t be able to do it himself…
Of course it didn’t take long before this train of thought led me to another great orgasm, and when I finally finished shooting onto my stomach I put my specs on the table with the photo and went to the bathroom to have a shower. Of course when I got back I was feeling a bit guilty, both for putting my glasses on – though really I could argue that the rule shouldn’t apply at weekends, and I decided I would talk to Chris about it when he got home – and about wanking over his best friend. But there was no reason why ether Chris or Colin should ever find out about it, so I suppose it was stupid to feel that way.
I put my specs back on, took the photo back to Chris’s room and went downstairs to watch TV, and I was still there when Chris got back from his game. Colin was with him, looking as stunning as ever, and again I had to try not to stare.
“Did you win?” I asked.
“Four-one,” said Chris. “I scored one and Colin got two. Dwayne got the other one. So what have you been doing?”
“Nothing much,” I said. “I probably should have come and watched you lot, because there’s nothing worth watching on TV. Maybe I will next week.”
“We’re away next week – who’ve we got, Col?”
“Ravensbourne, I think. They’re not too far away – you could get there on your bike easy. Or there might be room in someone’s car – you could probably come with us if you want.”
Sharing a car with Colin – wedged against him in the back seat, squashed right up close because there were four people on a seat made for three, perhaps…
“Hello!” yelled Chris in my ear. “Is there anyone at home? Colin was talking to you.”
“Huh? Oh, sorry, I was miles away… Yes, okay, if there’s room in your car I’d definitely like to come. Thanks, Col.”
Of course, probably Colin would sit in the front next to his mum and I’d be wedged against my brother instead, or against the kid with the big ears or someone like that. But perhaps his dad would come as well, and then Colin would have to sit in the back…
“It won’t be a very good game,” Chris warned me. “They’re bottom of the league, so we should win by miles. But you won’t have to run up and down to follow the action: just stand next to their goal and you’ll see everything close up. You’ll get to see me score some goals, for a start.”
“And me,” added Colin. “In fact everyone ought to score next week – we’ll probably even let Ryan come up for corners so he gets a chance, too.”
I knew that Ryan was the goalkeeper – he was another blond, blue-eyed boy, the only one in the team who was as tall as Colin, though he didn’t have Colin’s perfect features.
“You can keep count if you decide to come,” said Chris. “Mr Clifford usually runs the line at away games, so he doesn’t always keep up with who scores for us. I don’t want Col claiming more goals than he actually scores.”
“Bet I get more than you!”
“Well, you should – you’re supposed to be our main striker. It would be shameful if you let someone else score more than you.”
“I might just be unselfish and set them up for someone else.”
“And you might just miss and pretend you were trying to pass instead of shoot.”
“Just because you can’t even score a penalty.”
“It was only once! That was the first time I’d missed one all season!”
“Yeah, right.”
They grabbed each other and started wrestling, and I watched with interest: it was exciting watching Colin exerting himself, his shirt coming untucked and revealing a couple of inches of bare flesh around his waist… I sat down hurriedly, afraid that if I didn’t the state of my trousers would be a dead giveaway.
There was a hoot on a car horn from outside the house and Colin stood up and said he had to go, but that he’d see Chris at school next day. And away he went.
Chris
I didn’t get a chance to retrieve the laptop and camera until Monday evening, when Kev was busy at Chess Club. I’d been a bit worried about letting him wear his glasses in his bedroom, but he was right that it was a bit unfair to make him leave them downstairs at the weekend after he’d finished his homework. But, glasses or no glasses, he apparently hadn’t noticed the camera, so there was no harm done.
When I watched the film from Sunday morning I couldn’t believe it and had to watch it again in case I’d been seeing things that weren’t there. But no, I’d been right the first time: my brother was actually wanking while looking at a photo of my football team. Well, obviously, this had me shaking my head in disbelief: my brother was gay??? Up to now I hadn’t read anything into his lack of a girlfriend, or of any professed interest in a particular girl. For a start, we go to a boys-only school, which limits contact with girls rather, and for a second, with the best will in the world Kev is hardly a girl-magnet – those glasses would put most girls off. But now it looked as if he wasn’t interested anyway.
Don’t get me wrong here – I don’t have a problem with gay boys. One of the boys in our football team reckons he’s gay, and although we tease him a bit we’re still mates with him – actually he’s a good laugh. But when it’s your own brother – well, it still comes as something of a shock. And then of course there was the question of who exactly he was looking at in the photo while he was playing with himself. I looked at it myself – it was on the shelf above the computer – and tried to guess. I’m not sure what makes a boy attractive to other boys, but I’d guess looks had to be the most important thing. Well, probably at least half the team could be considered good-looking, but as I had no idea whether Kev liked blonds or brunettes… or maybe it was Lee’s red hair he fancied – or could he perhaps have a thing for black boys like Dwayne?
No, there was no way I was going to guess: I’d just have to ask him. Because now I really had him in the palm of my hand: that film of him doing it while thinking about someone on my team was absolute dynamite. I thought Kev would do absolutely anything to avoid having it shown to anyone, and that meant that I could do pretty much anything I wanted to him and he’d just have to put up with it. This called for some serious planning: how was I going to play this, and how was I going to punish my brother for taking my photo? And for wearing his specs upstairs, for that matter, though that paled into insignificance beside perving over my friends.
I thought for a while, but this was just too huge for me to deal with on my own, so I called Mark and asked him to come over. Mark doesn’t live too far away, so he was with me inside half an hour. I told him what I’d found out and then showed him the film, and he was as surprised as I was.
“I’d never have guessed Kevin was gay,” he said.
“Me neither. So what are we going to do about it?”
We looked at each other and cracked up – obviously we were both thinking similar thoughts here.
“We could do absolutely anything, couldn’t we?” he said, his eyes shining.
“Yes, we could. I don’t want to go completely overboard, though – he’s still my brother.”
“Yes, but he definitely needs teaching a lesson. I mean, I’m in that photo – I just hope it wasn’t me he was looking at.”
“I doubt it. I’d guess it was one of the big blondies – Colin or Ryan or Clive. He wouldn’t be looking at a little dark dwarf like you.”
Mark hit me, which I suppose I’d asked for, but at four feet seven he was one of the smaller kids in the team, as well as being four inches shorter than me and seven inches shorter than Colin.
“We’re going to have to find out who he fancies, though,” he said.
“I reckon we can make him tell us. But this really is too good to miss, so what else are we going to do to him?”
“Well, to start with you’re going to make a copy of that film and give it to me – you can put it on my USB stick. That way if he goes completely bananas and smashes up your computer we’ll still have the evidence. And then we could rig up more cameras in his room so that he knows we can see everything he does. And… we could stop him wanking altogether for a month or so. That would be fun.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“We’d need to find someone in his form at school to help us, but if we can do that we can make sure that he never gets an opportunity to play with himself. What we do is this…”
He explained his idea, and I thought it was brilliant – we could humiliate Kevin completely, and gradually we’d get more and more of our friends involved… This, I thought, was going to be tremendous fun.
We copied the film onto Mark’s USB stick, and I also made another copy on a DVD and hid it away inside an old encyclopaedia in my bookcase – just as insurance - and then we waited for Kev to get home from Chess Club. Boy, was he in for a surprise…
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Well, that's the first chapter. Comments, reactions and questions may be sent to gothmog@nyms.net and I make a point of replying to incoming mail – other than flames, of course.
Copyright 2012: all rights reserved. Please do not reprint, repost or otherwise reproduce this or any part of it anywhere without my written permission.
David Clarke