In My Secret Life

DISCLAIMER

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

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

This is the final story in my trilogy - The Learning Curve - Loving You Loving Me - In My Secret Life - which deal with my fascination with scat and the farther shores of sexual experience. I doubt whether I'll be exploring the topic further. "Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto," or "I am a man, I consider nothing that is human alien to me." (Terence Roman playwright around 170BCE. At least in terms of contemplation and consideration. Imagination can often be more stimulating than the actuality. And human kind is the species who love stories. This one, In My Secret Life, is for Pascal.

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IN MY SECRET LIFE

I don't know why I fell in love with bumholes but I do know I fell in love with my own when I very young. I have a vivid memory of lying on my back on my bed, my legs swung over my head, and holding them by the ankles to keep them there. I'd dragged the bed as close to the wardrobe mirror as I could but I still couldn't get the image close enough so that I could give my hole the intense inspection I wanted to give it. To be accurate, I could hardly see it. The cream of my bum went all the way to my hole, and the tiny mouth didn't seem to be serrated at all. At least I could hold my legs back with one hand while the middle finger of my other fucked my hole. Then I slid my finger out and sucked it. Of course I knew my hole was where my shit - or as we were taught to call it my 'pooh' and I knew shit was dirty, though it didn't taste dirty when I sucked my shitty finger and I usually went back for seconds.

I say 'fucked' but I'm not sure I had any real understanding of what 'fucking' was. I knew my mum and 'uncles' 'had sex' but even my understanding of that was vague. I knew what it sounded like, my mum was noisy during 'sex' and for quite a while I thought my dad was abusing her.

He was, but not in the way I thought of 'abuse', and given, how cheerful she seemed the 'morning after', I guessed there must be something positive about the experience. I sometimes wondered if my uncles played with mum's hole the way I played with mine.

Would I have taken things any further at that age? You never can tell but Fate stepped in and gave me a little push in that direction.

A sandy beach, a sunny summer day, and shadow-filled caves. And the man had held me in his arms, sat me on his knee, stroked me, and whispered things in my ear that made little or no sense. The words I didn't understand; the feelings thrilled me, and I still remember that heady mixture of tobacco and tweed, of rum and sweat, and the bristles sharp against tender skin.

Of course I shouldn't have been there - on my own - strictly forbidden, but even then if someone told me something was 'forbidden' I couldn't wait to try it. So when the man asked me the way to the beach, the only polite thing to do was show him where it was, and let him take me there.

I knew the man only for a day, but for that warm sunny day he had played with me down on the shore, showing me how to leap from rock to rock, how to edge towards the inrushing tide, then jump precipitately backwards from its greedy grasp. How to chase tiny crabs fearlessly into the nooks and crannies of the sea-weed strewn rocks.

When I grew tired, sun-bleached, skin hot and tender, he carried me into a golden cave that caught the shadows, and played fingers of lights across its walls as his fingers played across my naked body.

If it was wrong, I had no way of knowing it. I felt safe, secure and wanted. And if his lips ran over my chest, my tummy, inside my thighs, to those secret tender places, it made him happy at no cost to me. Why he did this did not even cross my mind? Maybe he was a doctor. Sometimes you had to stand in front of Doctor Mason with most of your clothes off and your little white underpants round your ankles.

Mum had told me: "Just do what the doctor says. I'll be back in half an hour. Wait in the waiting room if the doctor's finished with you." I didn't mind; they had comics in the waiting room so that was fine. But the man did some of the things Doctor Mason did to me though he couldn't do an enema 'cos he didn't bring a tube with him. I loved Dr. Mason's enemas especially when he put the tube up my bumhole and blew through it. That really tickled! And I liked it when Dr. Mason took my temperature by sliding his pointing finger - it was covered with Vaseline - up my bum and sliding it backwards and forwards until I couldn't bear the feeling anyone and felt I was going to make an explosion.

In the cave, I lay stretched face down across the man's lap, my head dangling on one side, my skinny white legs on the other. It was silly but it was kind of fun. My underpants were pushed down my legs. His big thumbs opened the cheeks of my bum. That was rude - but he was the 'doctor' - and "doctor knows best". I felt a finger brush the tiny opening I did my shits through. I knew what a 'shit' was; I'd been at the nursery for nearly a year, and even the nurses called a shit a shit. In fact, one of them called me a "little shit". I'd no idea what the stranger was hoping to find and his fingering only made me giggle.

Then it wasn't his finger.

Whatever it was, it was warm and wet and bent backwards and forwards on the area around my hole. Something began to push into the centre of the hole. It hurt so I tightened my hole up. His thumbs tried to open me up again but he couldn't really get whatever it was inside. I began to squirm a bit, not because it was hurting too much, but because I was getting light-headed and I didn't like the feeling. I was glad when he gently raised me and flipped me over so I was straddled across his lap, face up. I liked looking at the man's face and I knew he liked looking at me because he smiled and licked his lips, murmuring stuff I couldn't really understand. He pulled to a sitting position, tight against him.

I snuggled deep into his chest as he held me and made my senses tingle, made my skin goose-bumpy, and my penis (I even knew the right word.) stand up hot and hard till it jerked between his fingers and something like sugary sherbet exploded in my tummy.

The man kept me on his lap, lying face up, and whispered: "Puff out your tummy." I'd no idea why he wanted me to do that but I did it anyway. He began to knead it and massage, whispering, "Keep your tummy puffed out." It felt really nice until I felt a No. 2 in my bottom. (No. 1 is a pee. No. 2 is a pooh.) I began to wriggle and the man whispered, "Do you have to go?" I mouthed 'yes'.

I thought he'd let me down and I'd run into another cave, so I was surprised when he lifted me up, turned me round, and I found myself sitting or squatting across his face! I tried to hold it in but his big thumbs kept working on my belly and I felt myself opening up back there. My tiny balls were on the man's nose, my penis standing straight up. I began to squirt pee straight up on the air. I felt my pooh (shit) squeezing out of my bumhole but I couldn't imagine where it was going. To tell the truth, I was tingling and trembling all over - and I was loving it. Behind me I heard slurpy, sloppy sounds, and little gulps, but even then I couldn't figure it out until the man lowered me down and opened his mouth wide. His mouth was full of shit, my shit, beige or brown.

He sat in the sand on the cave floor and yanked both legs in the air. I watched mesmerised. His bumhole - it was huge - opened up like the head of one of dad's roses near the end of the season, and out came a huge log of shit. I could almost feel it coming out. I couldn't take my eyes away. It stood on the floor pointing straight up.

"Do you want to give it a little kiss?" the man laughed. "I don't mean the turd," he said. "I mean my arse hole. You can clean it if you like - with your little pink tongue. Go on. Try it. You might like it."

The thought was too wild to process. I shook my head.

"Come on then," he laughed getting up and taking my hand. "Let's have a last dip before I see you safely on the way home."

Ten minutes later, gently, carefully, lovingly he dressed me. He held me again and stuck his big rubbery tongue into my mouth. I could feel his saliva trickle down my throat. I didn't know the taste was a mixture of tobacco and rum and my own bum juices, but I liked the taste, I liked him. I wanted to take him home. He could my daddy. I'd be like the other boys. No, no, not take him home. I wouldn't share my mum with anyone. But if he lived in the cave, I could visit him - and he could do things to me. He could do whatever he liked. And maybe someday I could do things to him, when I knew what they were.

But we cannot keep summer forever, and we couldn't even keep that day forever. Too soon, all too soon, he was gone, and I was clambering up the rocks and heading home, making up a story about where I'd been and what I'd been doing. I even threw the money he put in my pocket away - I can still the notes fluttering away on the sea breeze. I didn't let the man do what he'd done for money. I did because I wanted him to. And anyway how could I explain the money to mum. They know about things like that, so it's best not to tell them about things. Secrets are secrets, and the man in the rocks was my secret. I wonder if he remembers me.

And in time I became the man in the rocks.

I wasn't stupid. After trying to 'finger-fuck' myself a few times without anything to make my hole slippery, apart from sweat and saliva, I realised I needed some sort of cream. To my relief, there was plenty of Nivea around the house and a couple of globs of that smoothed the passage. Nivea smelled nice, too. The funny thing was that Nivea smelled even better when mingled with the residue of slimy shit up my hole. One finger was easy. I'd get it in and twirl it around while playing with my penis. My cock got so hard it hurt, but the throbbing was a good hurt and I wanted more of it. I guess I was making a connection between something up my arse and the amazing feelings my hard-on gave me. Although I was young, words like 'stiffie' and 'hard-on' were becoming common my school.

And I was lucky enough to get some practice with Dirty Danny.

At school, we all had nicknames and Daniel Dartford was 'Dirty Danny', not only was he grubby and unwashed a lot of the time, and his clothes were torn and stained, but he liked to do dirty things, but only with people he took a liking to me, and, to be honest, I liked Danny.

We were down at Cripple Creek, splashing around in the water, when I realised I'd have to go home.

"Danny, I have to go home. I'll be back in fifteen minutes, I promise."

"What the fuck for?" Even at ten, Danny swore like a trooper.

"I need to take a dump - a crap - a shit." (I had to keep up with him.)

"What the fuck? Take a crap here. There's nobody around. I'll keep watch. You take a shit."

"I don't know..."

"Oh for fuck's sake, Paulie, I'll do one with you. We'll just squat over there - behind those bushes. But first let's take a piss. Don't want you pissing all down yourself while you're squatting on your bare arse."

We adopted a tree and stood there pissing side by side. We played who can piss highest up the tree. Danny won easily. His dick was bigger than mine but mine was fatter than his. Neither of us had a single hair.

"Hey, I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he laughed. It took me a few seconds to realise he was talking about each watching the other take a shit - close-up. My heart began to race and my cock to twitch.

"Okay," I said, "It'll be like a dare." To me it was nothing like a dare but Danny only pushed his raggy shorts down to his knees followed by his equally raggy underpants. "Well don't stand there like a numptie. Get behind me," he said as he squatted down, legs apart, hands on knees.

I had a close-up view of his backside. His hands came behind him and pulled his cheeks wide apart. I could see everything. His anal opening was puckered. His big ball sac hung between his thighs. I could hear him grunt as he contracted his stomach. His anus puckered outwards. He contracted inwards and outwards again and again. The opening expanded as his sphincter muscle gave way.

There it was: a knobby, firm turd dilating Danny's ring as it emerged into the sunlight. From the past, I heard a voice whispering in my head: "Do you want to give it a little kiss? Go on. Try it. You'll like it." The turd slid completely free and I heard Danny exhale: "Christ, I needed that."

"Your turn now."

It was my turn and I took it.

"Christ, you needed that," Danny said. "Let's get in the water and clean each other off."

"Clean each other?"

"Of course, you numptie. We'll be sure we're clean that way."

And that's what we did. Two ten-year-old boys stood in the crystal clear waters of Cripple Creek and washed each other's bumholes out. And to make doubly sure, when Danny wasn't looking, I licked my fingers clean. Maybe Dirty Danny was dirty, but maybe I was dirtier.

I'd got a taste for it and what I really wanted was to taste Danny at source... a month later at Cripple Creek Danny gave me the chance.

A sweltering day in mid-July. Schools on holiday. Splashing around in Cripple Creek. Naked. We were used to being naked together. Even getting stiffies (erections) didn't bother us very much.

"Jesus, Paulie. I'm burning up. Even my hole feels like it's on fire."

"Mine, too," I laughed. "Even sitting down in the water doesn't help much."

Danny turned his back to me. Bent over. Pulled his cheeks wide apart.

"How hot does it look to you?"

He stuck his arse high in the air so that I can see his wrinkled rosebud - we were learning new names - then gyrated his cheeks suggestively. "Fancy some of this, Paulie?"

My face burned even more.

"Can you tell you hot it is?"

"'Course I can't," I countered. "Not just by looking at it."

"Well, stick your finger in and have a guess."

Was Danny serious? Was he just goofing around? Was this some kind of trap?

I called his bluff.

"Yeh, I'll stick my finger in, and, if you're just goofing around, I'll stick something a lot bigger up you." I sounded really macho, even to myself.

"Right let's do it," he said waddling to a shallow part of the creek over which crossed a small brick bridge. He leaned both hands on the bridge and stuck him bum in the air. My dick, that had shrivelled in the water, began to stand to attention at the sight of my friend's untanned arse contrasting with the tan of his upper body.

"Get on with it. Get your finger up my arse. You can wash it off in the stream. Or even lick it off for all I care." My semi-tumescent penis tumesced.

I carefully wiggled my middle finger into Danny's dirty rosebud and was surprised how easily it slid through the greasy slime.

"Christ, I can hardly feel that. See if you can use two fingers. No make that three."

Was he serious?

I clasped two fingers over my pinky and worked them up through Danny's outer sphincter. It was tighter this time but apart from a grunt Danny didn't seem to be in any discomfort. "You'd better make that four," he grunted.

I could hardly believe my ears.

Four clasped fingers up to the knuckle.

"That's better now," he squeaked. "Now saw them in and out, backwards and forwards. That'll help you work out the temperature." That made no fucking sense at all but I wasn't going to miss the chance. I dropped on one knee in the water and began to saw my fingers in and out of my ten-year-old friend's greasy arse. We both laughed when he let rip an explosive fart.

"Told you my arse was like a volcano."

We laughed again.

"Okay, my turn now. Get your fingers out of my arse and get bent over the bridge."

I slid my fingers out carefully and had a quick sniff. Not unpleasant. Earthy. The kind of smell you could get used to.

I bent over the bridge and took the position. I hoped Danny wouldn't notice it wasn't as tight as he might expect it. I'd done quite a bit of work on it with the handle of a hairbrush I'd bought in Superdrug. It still me "Ooof" when he jabbed in with what felt like two, even three fingers at once and began sawing away. It took me at least five minutes to work out it wasn't Danny's fingers up my arse - it was his cock. Dirty Danny was fucking Paulie - Paul - me! And I was loving it.

But a boy's got to do what a boy's got to do if he doesn't want a reputation for being fast and loose around the town. I bounced my bum back as hard as I could, knocking Danny straight into the Creek with me falling in top of him, still bound at the anus.

"You fucker. What the fuck you doing!" he spluttered, spitting water all over my back.

"You're the fucker!" I yelled. "You're trying to fuck me. And you didn't even ask me."

"And you were tasting my arsehole!" he yelled back. "And you didn't even ask me."

We both collapsed into the water, helpless with laughter.

Nature took its course and released my dick from his arse.

We helped each other out of the water and stood there laughing.

"Anyway it's too hot for sex," said Danny. "What you doing tomorrow?"

"Shit. Tomorrow's Sunday," I said. "Gotta go to church with my mum and dad."

"What you doing in the afternoon?"

"Nothing in particular."

"Wanna come here to the creek?"

"'Course I do. Only hope it's not so hot."

"How hot was my arsehole anyway?"

"Shit. I forgot to measure. How hot was mine?"

"Shit. I forgot to measure too."

We started laughing again, pulled on as few clothes as we could get away with, and headed for Birdies' Bar in search of a frozen milkshake.

Tomorrow, at least the tomorrow I expected never came. Danny's dad got arrested. I never got the full story until years later but I found out that Danny's dad had been 'diddling' Danny for years. 'Diddling' or 'kiddy fiddling' was the expressions the grown-ups used when one of them did stuff, sexual stuff, with a kid. There was a lot more of that around in our little community than you might expect, and Danny's dad disappeared and so did Danny. I got on with what was becoming an addiction.

Naturally, one finger was not enough. One became two, and I lay on the bed, legs over my head, easing two fingers up my hole, then twirling and stretching it for ages. At first I was worried I might do myself some damage but as my hole seemed to recover quickly, I thought, "What the shit..." and kept on experimenting. Again, stretching my hole was a source of pain but it was a pleasurable pain, I'd hurry home from school, knowing mum was at work, and my younger brother Noah was with my Nan (grandmother) for a couple of hours. I had my own key, I was trusted, given responsibility, and with the key tied round my neck by a piece of string, I'd hare home to have a couple of undisturbed hours playing with my bumhole and my 'private parts'. I wasn't doing harm to anyone, and as far as I knew I wasn't doing any harm to myself.

My bum was my business.

Of course, even two fingers weren't enough, and in a short time I was working hard to get three over-lapped fingers deep in my arse. I'm not going to lie: it hurt, it hurt bad, but I was a determined 'wee bugger', as my granddad used to call me, and the pleasure drove me on. I'd also got into the habit of taking my fingers out of my hole and shoving them under my nose; to tell the truth, I'd often shove a slimy finger up each nostril. It's not a word I knew then but I know now the smell acted as an aphrodisiac that made me stand any hurt in order to get more of the feeling that left me breathless, sweaty and gasping on my bed. I must have been quite a sight: a skinny, pale-skinned, long-haired boy lying on his back, legs over his head, driving three fingers ruthlessly in and out of his anus.

Did I say 'three' fingers?

Yes, I got to three fingers, I even tried four and got a real scare. I wrapped four fingers of my right hand over each other, tucked my thumb underneath them, and worked them into my hole. I made it, but I'd hardly started fucking myself when I realised my whole hand - it was very small -was going to go right up my arse. I'd often inspected my gaping hole after a session - it was big in relation to my tiny arse - but I never dreamed my whole hand could slip inside. I whipped my fingers, thumb and my palm out - ouch! - and lay there with sweat pouring from me. I had the awful vision of my mum coming into my bedroom to find me lying there naked with my right hand jammed up my hole.

That would take some explaining.

And still I wanted more, and it was Mum who came to the rescue, although she knew nothing about it.

Before I tell you what happened, maybe I should tell you what I looked like - then, not now - though I'm considered a handsome man if I say so myself. As a boy, I was average height, slim not skinny, with a nice chest. I mean I didn't have muscled pecs or anything but it was a nice chest. I was a wee bit self-conscious about my nipples because they seemed larger and more brownish than the boys around me. I had a flat tummy, not totally flat cos it did curve out a bit, and I liked my belly button, an innie for the record.

Below that, in the area where my pubic hair eventually came - I didn't have single wisp at the time - was flat and smooth. My dick dangled below. It was a bit longer than most boys in my school year (I saw them in the showers) and I wasn't circumcised. I can't remember seeing any boy circumcised. It just wasn't done, and when I found out about circumcision I wondered how a boy could have a proper wank (masturbation) without a foreskin to rub against the head of his cock. My bum sat a bit high, it was a bit roundy, and there was a nice gap between the cheeks. It seems weird to be writing this but I'm just doing my best to describe what I looked like in case anybody is interested.

I had thick, auburn hair that hung down to my collar. I had big eyes, thick eyelashes, and a straight nose. I also had noticeable cheekbones. I was at the age when I could pass for a girl, but then lots of boys wore their hair long, and lots of them at my age could pass for girls at first glance. Funny how I used to laugh at photographs of my dad when he was my age; he had really long hair, but then dad was what they called a 'hippie' who used words like 'cool' and 'groovy'. Mum used to talk about him even after he walked out on us, and, though she still had boyfriends, she told me dad was her first and only love. All a bit soppy, I guess, but I could understand this cos I missed him, too.

I've just noticed how many times I use the word 'but'. Sorreee! But at least you can think of me as your 'Butt Boy'. (joke)

Mum used to brush my hair with her long-handled hair brush, and one day I realised the hairbrush was exactly what I was looking for. Not the hair brush but the handle. You see, when I was finger-fucking myself (that's what it was, so that's what I'll call it) I got frustrated cos I couldn't get it deep enough. When my fingers were in as deep as I could get them, there was always a bit of space left up there, and I wanted to fill it. I worked out that when you were having a shit, especially if it was a long, hard turd, it took ages to come down, and sometimes it was so long you had to nip it off and let it plonk into the bowl before you released the next bit. Sort of shitting in instalments. That emptiness up there caused a sort of ache in my belly, and I figured if I could get something all the way up it would ease the aching, though the aching was sort of enjoyable, too.

Funny how there's sometimes not much difference between pain and pleasure.

I'd already tried different thing up there, things like carrots and candles, but I was scared to push them too far in case they broke off and I couldn't get them out. You won't believe this but there was a boy (Ben) in our school who shoved a marble up his jacksie and couldn't get it out -'jacksie' is the word we used for our arsehole. Don't ask me why he shoved a marble up his arsehole, I've no idea. He couldn't get it out, panicked and had to go to his Form Tutor. Know what they did? The headteacher popped him in his car, whisked him along to the clinic, where they extracted it. I don't know what they did with the marble. Come to think of it, if Ben had asked me, I would have been happy to suck the marble out for him. Actually, I wouldn't have done that at time but I probably would now.

What am I writing about? Oh, yeh, carrots and candles. So they were no good, but my mum's hairbrush was a different story. It had a long, round handle that tapered from thin to thick. It was made of cheap plastic (Mum got it from the £shop.) which was good because the plastic was soft, bendy and wouldn't scratch the inside of your hole (anus/rectum). At first I thought of using mum's brush but then I thought of the smell of the shit. I wasn't certain the smell would disappear no matter how much I washed (or licked) the handle, so I decided to buy one of my own.

Amazing what a boy will spend his pocket money on.

I bought one in the £shop on the way home from school. I got a bit of a shock when the Bangladeshi guy in the shop handed me the brush and said: "That should suit you." For a moment I thought he was talking about my arsehole (perv) - then I realised he was talking about my hair. I blushed, mumbled "thanks", stumbled out, hid my treasure under my school blazer, and fast-walked home trying not to draw too much attention to myself.

I admit I was shaking as I stripped off my school uniform in front of the wardrobe mirror. Standing there with only my tight white underpants on, I could see my erection straining against the fabric. I pushed them down and felt my stiffy bounce against my groin. Naked, I nipped downstairs and grabbed a used sheet from the laundry basket. Upstairs, I spread the sheet out on my bed, sat down and ran a big glob of Nivea up and down the handle. It seemed longer than my mum's, and thicker.

Was I really going to shove the whole handle up my arse? I was shaking as I stretched myself out on my back, hoisted my legs over my shoulders and ran the end of the handle up and down where I guessed my hole to be. I found it and worked the tip of the handle against the pucker, applying pressure until it sort of popped through and the handle slid halfway in.

Gently, I worked half the handle in and out of my anus. Soon that wasn't enough, and with each forward stroke I pushed harder and deeper. I began to fuck myself with the handle, and managed by getting my feet right over my head till they rested on the wall behind the bed, to toss myself off at the same time. With a bit of practice I managed to get the timing of my ass and cock strokes pretty well synchronised.

Was it good?

It was fucking great.

Just a little bit deeper. Resting every now and then to let me hole get used to being stretched so wide. I wished I could see it gaping. I wished I could lick and kiss and suck my own hole. I knew it was dirty, it felt dirty, but I didn't care, it was what I wanted. Weird thing was I could feel not only my hole aching, but my tummy and even my nipples as well. Everything was aching, but it was an ache I never wanted to end. Harder I pushed. Deeper the handle went... until I could feel where the handle joined the head of the brush. That meant there was about six or seven inches of plastic pleasure up my arse; I couldn't imagine where it was all going.

Faster and harder, though deeper was no longer possible. The feeling centred round my cock grew until it was intense. I'd backed off at this point before, but now I wasn't capable of backing off. I didn't care. I didn't give a fuck. My mother could have walked in, Noah could have walked in, but there was no way I could stop now. I was fucking my arsehole fast and hard, I was jerking off fast and hard. I could feel my body soaked with sweat, I could feel sweat trickling onto my forehead, I just wished someone, anyone, was holding me down and fucking me as hard as I was fucking myself.

My body began to buck, my hips rose from the bed, my belly fluttered out of control. My cock was firing bursts of piss up my belly. I knew it wasn't piss, I knew it was 'cum', the stuff the older boys made jokes about in school. I felt it spatter on my belly - three, four, five. I wanted to keep going but my cock protested, far too sensitive.

A few seconds ago I couldn't have stopped jacking off even if I'd wanted to, now I couldn't face one more stroke. I let myself collapse back on the bed. I was muttering 'fuck...fuck...fuck'. I was breathing so hard I felt like passing out - maybe I did, for a few seconds at least. But it was worth it, no matter what it took, it was worth it.

I lay there for a few minutes, blissed out, then remembered the brush handle was still deep in my hole, anus, rectum - I know the correct words now. Gently I eased it out and held the handle in front of my eyes. Know what? I was jealous of that fucking plastic handle, fucking horny little pervert that I was. The handle was slimy but whatever it was that slimed it was mostly still inside me. I sniffed the handle - Nivea and shit, but a lot more shit than before. I wasn't going to tell you about the next bit, but what the fuck, I promised to put down everything, so I will.

I ran my tongue along the handle. I loved the smells that rose into my nose. I slid a couple of inches of handle into my mouth and sucked on them. What the fuck? I slid as much of the handle as I could into my mouth and sucked on it as much as I could. Did it sicken me? I thought it might but it didn't. I liked it! Only the Nivea put me off a bit, that stuff's yucky to taste. But the shitty taste wasn't really offensive, maybe because it was my own shit. I wondered for a moment what Noah's shit would taste like. Then I gave myself a slap in the face with the hairbrush.

My little brother's hole, his shit... you're a fucking pervert, I told myself. I reminded myself Noah was only my half-brother so perhaps that would make it all right.

Time for a shower, so into the shower went me and my new hairbrush. By the time Mum came in, I was as clean and shiny as a new pin, the sheet was back in the laundry basket, and I'd set the table for dinner. Mum even said, "You're smelling pretty nice," though she knew, and I knew that she knew, it was the smell of her body lotion, strictly forbidden for me and Noah to pinch. But I guess my cheerfulness convinced her to forgive me this time. And the burning sensation up my arse kept me cheerful all evening till I went to bed and fell asleep dreaming about... you guessed it -Noah's bumhole!

Please don't think I was nothing but a sex-crazed little pervert in love with his own shit! I wasn't. Like I said, I wasn't the best at school subjects like English, Maths, History and that sort of thing but I was very good at stuff like woodwork and metalwork. I was very good with my hands; I used to do odd jobs for our neighbours, especially gardening jobs. Also it turned out that I was 'dyslexic', though that's a thing they'd never even heard of when I was at school. "He just can't spell," my teachers told my mum, and "he is weak at reading," which meant I was crap. For me the most embarrassing thing on Earth was having to read out loud in class but, to be honest, the other boys didn't make fun of me, and some of them whispered how to say some of the words that I really got stuck on.

Elwyn was an angel.

I didn't say that. It was women who said that. Ladies - ladies he didn't even know - who patted him on the head and said: "What a little angel." And Elwyn would look up at them with that angelic smile of his and they were gonners.

Elwyn was Swedish, you see. Well, he was half-Swedish, so he spoke Swedish and English perfectly. He was 11, like me. But I sometimes looked like I'd been pulled through a hedge backwards; Elwyn looked like he'd stepped out of a Mothercare catalogue.

He had straight blond hair, blond sort of mixed up with gold, over his ears and just touching his collar. He had blue eyes, slightly curved little nose, and lips like a bow. Perfect teeth of course. But the amazing thing about him was his skin, yes, his skin, because his skin was creamy pink and it glowed. Nobody else in our class, in our school, with skin that glowed. It made you want to lick it, like the way you'd like a vanilla ice-cream cone. And when Elwyn joined our class, the teacher sat him next to me.

Bless her.

Elwyn was only at our school for a month. Story is his dad was doing something about an engineering project at the harbour, so his family were having a month's vacation (holiday) in our town. Elwyn's mum thought it was a wonderful chance for Elwyn to practise his English - it was perfect anyway just his vowels sounded a bit funny - so she stuck him in our school during the month. That's the kind of things mums do, isn't it? And Elwyn got parked next to me, which proves that there is a God. Elwyn yammered and yattered away to me in perfect English, and his written English was better than mine - well, most people's was. And, believe it or not, Elwyn's mum made friends with my mum, who agreed to have Elwyn stay with us for his last weekend in our town.

After all, Elwyn was 'a perfect angel', so what mum wouldn't.

Thing is we didn't have a spare bedroom, and there was only one bed in my bedroom. Okay, it was a double bed but she might have asked me first before saying: "Oh, no problem, Paul will be glad to share with Elwyn. They'll probably chat all night. You know what boys are like."

Glad to share?

I was thrilled but terrified. Sharing my bed with the most beautiful boy I'd ever seen, with an angel. Every time I looked at him I wanted to lick his face. How could I spent all night in bed with him without wanting to lick his.....

Friday evening we had an early dinner (can't remember what it was), then mum took us out to see a movie I'd been dying to see all week (can't remember what it was). We got back late. Mum pointed upstairs. "Bed you two, and don't forget to brush your teeth." For a moment I thought she meant we should brush each other's teeth, which goes to show how spaced out I was.

It was early July. It was hot. We opened the bedroom window. A single sheet on the bed was enough. Elwyn stripped down to the tiniest briefs I'd ever seen and jumped into bed - more onto than into. He lay down and pulled the sheet up to his waist. I followed. Stripped to my boxers and slid into bed alongside him, careful not to touch him - my dick was stiff enough to snap in two. Elwyn turned his head, kissed me on the cheek, and said: "God natt," which even I could work out meant something like "Good night." Then he turned away, cuddled his face into the pillow, and that was that.

I lay there, furious and frustrated. He should be chatting with me. We should be lying there, heads on the pillow, face to face, chatting, whispering, talking about the movie, about school, about fucking Sweden, about anything, so that I could look at that face, those eyes, that skin. Maybe he was a fucking angel after all; maybe Elwyn was a fucking saint. At least the bedlamp was on, and I could see how that golden hair lay next to his skin, how his shoulder blades were like butterfly wings, how his back tapered down to.....

Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, and I edged down the sheet so I could see those tiny briefs - and most of his butt - two creamy globes with exactly the same curve as his cheeks. I promised myself I wouldn't, and I kept my promise for all of ten minutes, then with two fingers I edged his briefs lower, a millimeter or less at a time, holding my breath as his cheeks emerged and his briefs were tucked along the top of his legs. I inched myself down the bed until my face was level with his buttocks. If Elwyn woke up, I could claim I'd been dreaming and didn't even remember he was in bed with me.

One, two, three four tiny licks - one, two, three, four little kisses. That couldn't do any harm could it. But my fingers had a mind of their own. I had to see, I had to know. Slowly, gently, inevitably, with the thumb of each hand I prised open his bumcheeks until I could see it - a tiny pinky slit in centre of a creamy valley. If an angel had an asshole, this is what it must look like.

Enough... enough... but of course it wasn't. In went my face, out went my tongue, until the tip touched, then licked the tiny pucker. I lost control. I prised open Elwyn's anus and got the tip of my tongue right inside him. Elwyn groaned. I froze. I pushed on till half my tongue was inside him. The smell told me before I felt it. Something hard against my tongue. It was a turd. It was an Elwyn turd. I held the tip of my tongue against it. Elwyn groaned again and the turd moved down until I could slip part of my tongue alongside it. I held my tongue there for a minute and then withdrew it as gently as I could. There was Elwyn shit right along the side of my tongue. It softened and slid down my tongue into the back of my mouth and down my throat. It was really the first boy's shit I ever tasted that wasn't my own - sweet Swedish shit.

Elwyn grunted. I froze. Elwyn shifted his position just a fraction, but God or whatever was on my side, and the shift only made his anus more accessible to my snaky tongue. If I'd had the nerve and the stupidity, I would have slipped my hand round Elwyn's front, found his penis and played with it. Do angels get hard-ons? This was my chance to find out. But I wasn't that stupid. If he woke up, I could pretend I was moving in my sleep, almost believable, but tossing him off in my sleep - even a Swede wouldn't swallow that.

My own dick was hurting now. Reluctantly I moved my face away from that beautiful bottom, and edged back up the bed. I felt my cock; the head was slimy. I got some of the 'pre-cum' on the back of my middle finger, edge back down, slid the finger between his cheeks, and smoothed the pre-cum onto Elwyn's hole. Then I gently edged his briefs back over his buttocks.

Out of bed. Pad to the bathroom. Lock the door. Push down my boxers. Sit on the toilet. Toss myself off. Slowly at first. Make it last. Images of Elwyn playing in my head. Finish fast and furious. Cum spattering over my belly. Scooping if off. Licking it up. Boxers back up. Padding back to bed. Sliding in beside Elwyn. Making spoons like I used to do with Dad. One arm round his waist. My nose in the hair down the back of his neck. Sleeping with my arm round an angel.

"God morgon. Visste du sova gott?"

That was Elwyn. It was morning. I hazarded, "Yes. What about you?"

The angelic smile.

"Yes. ..... Is it breakfast time? I'm hungry. May we have a full English?" (That's exactly what I'd wanted to give him last night - a full English up his cute butt.)

After breakfast, Mum dropped us off at the ten pin bowling, where we had a brilliant time. I won... but you probably don't want to hear about our day, and I don't want to write about it. I want to get to bedtime and maybe you do, too. Not because I thought I'd have the chance to 'molest' Elwyn again. I'd got away with it the night before, and I didn't want to push my luck. Making spoons again, while I sniffed his neck and hair would be enough. That's not quite how things worked out.

Elwyn stripped first again and dived onto the bed. It was hotter, if anything, than the night before, and he didn't bother to pull the sheet up. I slid onto the bed beside him, expecting him to give me a peck on the cheek, then turn the other way. Instead he lay with his head on the pillow facing me so closely that I could feel his sweet breath in my face.

"I know what you did last night," he whispered.

It felt like I'd been shot in the heart and punched in the gut -simultaneously.

"I'm sorry," I squeaked before I'd the chance to think of an alibi.

The angelic smile.

"Oh, no," came another whisper. "I really liked it. You can do it again if you want to... but..."

We lay there, two heads on one pillow, cheek to cheek.

"But what?" I managed to whisper.

Elwyn put his sweet lips to my ear and told me.

"Okay," I said, and started to slide down the bed.

"Wait a minute," he said. He took my face between his small hands, pulled me closer, and kissed me on the lips. I couldn't think what to do. He pushed my face back a little and said, "You've got to open your mouth, like this," and I felt his open mouth against my lips. In reflex I opened my lips and felt his tongue enter my mouth until his lips were pressed against mine. He wiggled his tongue, moved back, and whispered, "Your turn now." I did as instructed and soon our tongues were taking it in turns to enter our mouths; I could taste the flavour of the mints he'd been sucking in his saliva. I wondered if he could taste anything in mine.

He pushed my head away and whispered, "How do you want me - on my tummy or on my back?"

"On your front, please."

I slid down his body, slipped down his briefs, he raised his legs, and I slipped the briefs all the way off. He spread his legs wide. Hungrily I licked those round creamy globes, prised them open, and once again saw his tiny pucker - his 'fucker pucker'.

'Pucker' is not the correct word because the tiny slit, the entrance to his anus and his rectum was hardly serrated. I began to lick from the bottom his balls, along the thin line into the valley of his cheeks, and onto his hole. Backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards went my tongue. At the same I sniffed those smells that sent my head spinning. No smell of shit. His sphincter muscles were too tightly shut for that, just pure boy smells until with my thumbs and forefingers I began to prise them apart, oh so carefully.

Somewhere far away I heard Elwyn giggle something that sound like "harder harder", but it could have been something in Swedish. Then something that sounded like "open open". I dragged the lips of his hole apart just enough to get the tip of my tongue in, not far because he was so tight, but enough to release smells that were definitely not minty. Elwyn giggled again: "Det are skit." Elwyn had taught me enough Swedish for me to know that 'skit' was 'shit'. What Elwyn didn't know was that I didn't care. In fact.....

I grabbed his hips to turn him onto his back. His prick was like an asparagus stick, creamy white of course, about 3 inches in length, and, like mine, not circumcised. I licked its length.

That giggle again.

"No, not like that, like this."

And, before I could make out what was happening, Elwyn had wriggled until we were in what I now know is the 69 position, my face between his legs, his face between mine, and the head of my stiffy was in his sweet little Swedish mouth. I'd never been sucked off before but I immediately cottoned on to the magic of it. I slid Elwyn's stiff penis into my mouth and copied his actions. I couldn't believe this was his first time. His tongue swirled round the head of my cock, his little fingers worked the skin of my shaft up and down, and..... a finger of his other hand fiddled its way between my buttocks, found my hole and pushed its way in. No standing on ceremony for Elwyn; he was wanking me and finger-fucking me at the same. All we needed was ABBA (mum's favourites) playing loud.

Well, what's sauce for the goose is good enough for the gander, and pretty soon I was giving as good as I was getting, or at least I hoped I was. We managed to keep this up for about two minutes - we were only 11 years old for fuck's sake - when our bodies began to jerk rhythmically. My cum shot out of the head of my cock into his mouth as his cum shot into mine. Elwyn made a lot more than me, probably because I'd cum so hard the night before, and because during the ten pin bowling I'd sneaked off into the toilets to have a quick wank. You try watching Elwyn's bum every time he bent over to deliver his bowling ball!

A couple of minutes later we were lying face to face and Elwyn was telling me: "It's better second or third time. You don't make so much cum but you can last longer."

Do they learn all this in Swedish sex education classes?

We spent the next half hour with Elwyn telling me how he'd learned so much about sex. He'd been having sex for three months with his junior school teacher before he moved on to secondary school! The teacher had refused to fuck him because as he told Elwyn: "I don't want to lose my job," though just before the school year ended he'd been trying to get Elwyn to fuck him.

"I'll fuck you if you like, Paul," he said. "I'm getting good at it."

"Better not," I said, "but....."

I didn't have to finish the sentence. Elwyn rolled over onto his tummy and presented his beautiful arse again. This time there was no hurry and I managed to get about half my tongue inside him before I heard him whisper: "I know what you want. Here it is." Elwyn grunted hard. I pulled my face back a bit. There it was: two inches of hard turd sticking out of his hole. "Fortsätt. Fortsätt. Slicka den. Slicka den." I took a guess and licked it till it started to soften. "Fortsätt. Svälj det." I didn't have much choice. The turd broke off, slid to the back of my mouth, and down my throat. It would soon be in my stomach. Elwyn would be part of me.

Another three inches slid out of Elwyn's rectum.

"Ge det en blow job."

I didn't need that translate. Although this section was distinctly softer than its elder brother, I managed to get my lips round it and suck it till it broke off and popped into my mouth.

"Wait! Wait!"

Elwyn wriggled down the bed. "Share. Share."

The little Swedish angel put his open mouth against mine and we passed the chuck of shit backwards until it dissolved into a creamy fudge that we shared, pausing to run our shitty lips and tongues together. Then we slipped out of bed and padded across the landing to the spare bathroom. Fortunately I've got the attic bedroom and mum's on the floor below. We cleaned ourselves and giggled back to bed.

I'm not sure any 11-year-old boy can be broken-hearted, but on Sunday afternoon as Elwyn and his mother got into the car chauffeuring them to London, and the flight home to Stockholm, it was hard to hold back the tears. My Swedish angel left me with such wonderful memories, and with the nagging thought that a grown-man might actually want sex with a boy - even a boy my age.

Two weeks, maybe three. That's how long I lasted. Even my hairbrush and memories of Elwyn weren't enough, and I couldn't forget what Elwyn had told me about sex with a man, a grown-man. But how the fuck was I going to get a man when I couldn't even get a boy at school? I'm sure there were boys like me at my school but it was incredibly dangerous to admit or even hint you'd like sex with another boy. You wouldn't get punched in the face or your head shoved down a toilet pan but you'd be teased and tormented for the rest of your life at school - unless, of course, you were one of the top-dog sports boys in the school. I was good at sports but I was only in Year 7 - the bottom of the heap. That's a metaphor but could easily become literally true if the school got to know I wanted sex with a boy, a man, and what they fuck they'd do if they discovered I was in love with arseholes didn't bear thinking about. But I was a horny 11-year-old and I had to something.

Another hot day in July. We'd a match (soccer) in the morning and I wandered into town to catch a bus home. Don't ask me about my intentions, I'm not sure I had any. Five minutes later I found myself sitting on the steps outside the public toilets - Men : Ladies. Guess which one I was sitting in front of. Men and boys trotted in and out of the bogs (toilets). I sat there in the sun. I hadn't even made up a story in case someone I knew came long. A couple of guys glanced at me but the place was busy, it was a hot day, and no one seemed interest in an 11-year-old sitting on the toilet step dressed in his football kit.

Then I saw him, and realised this was the third time I'd glanced at him standing on the corner. This time the man caught me gaze and held it for a few seconds; that was more than enough. He was tallish, casually well-dressed, about the age of my mum, early thirties. He nodded at me, I nodded back. He strolled over smiling as if he was my dad or someone like that. I got up, the top of my head reached his chin.

"Where?" he said.

"Macdonald's," I said, hurriedly adding, "The loos there are clean," in case he thought all I wanted was a Big Mac.

He frowned, "No good. Follow me."

Like an obedient puppy I followed him - straight to the fucking bus station!

Of course I knew the bogs well there. Dirty, smelly, busy. We walked in. We each stood at a urinal. The moment the place was empty, he ushered me into the far cubicle. What a stink- piss and shit! Bliss! He put his hands on my shoulders, gave me a little downwards push and I sat on the toilet. He lifted my hand and placed it on his crotch, his zip. I unzipped him and struggled to get his dick out, no easy job, it was as big and stiff as poker. When it was before my very eyes, I wanted to inspect it closely; I'd never seen a grown-man's penis close-up before. Fucking huge, big mushroom head (I couldn't figure out if he was circumcised or not), thick shaft, veins running down into a big bush of black hair. I started to play with it the way I play with mine - get him worked up - but he didn't need any of that.

"Open up," he hissed.

I opened my mouth as wide as I could but I couldn't get more than the head in before I started gagging. This man was no Elwyn. He pushed my head back and hissed again: "Wide open." I obliged until my jaws cracked. Then he started tossing himself off right into my gaping mouth. His fingers and thumb were around the shaft; he worked the skin up and down - he was circumcised - another first for me.

"Play with my balls," he hissed. I opened his trouser belt, the fastening, and edged down his briefs (Calvin Klein), until I could set his balls free. Fucking huge. They hung in his sac like a pair of tennis balls. I thought of Elwyn's walnuts. I played with them as best I could, though it was difficult with my head shuddering backwards and forwards. I tried to slide my middle fingers into the sweaty valley between his buttocks but he clenched them tight (fucking spoilsport). If I couldn't see his arsehole close up, at least I wanted to feel around it.

It was amazing how quiet he was as he masturbated. I couldn't do that. And it took me totally by surprise when volleys of cum hit the back of my throat. This wasn't the milky white spurts Elwyn and I could manage. This was big dollops of yogurty stuff that hit the back of my throat, then began to fill my mouth. I couldn't swallow it all. I gave a loud splutter and gobbed it right down my chin. I've got to be fair on the guy; out of nowhere he whipped a big white handkerchief and wiped it straight over my chin, holding the hankie there till I coughed out the rest. Then he wiped his dick, his pubic hair and the lower part of his belly.

As he stepped back, I stood up, pushed down my football shorts and Y-fronts, turned, bent over the toilet pan, reached round with a spare hand and whipped my football shirt up over my back. I wasn't expecting him to fuck me after shooting a load like that but I'd appreciate a bit of fingering and rimming (I learned the word later.)

Smack!

He slapped my arse, and it hurt, it really hurt. I was too startled to do anything.

"Dirty little fucker."

His ungenerous remark was followed by the slamming of the cubicle door, and there I was, bent over the stinking toilet pan, bare arse in the air, with a red handprint across it, my face halfway down the pan, and my cock so hard against my belly, it hurt worse than the slap.

My first man had not been a great success, at least not for me, but it had shown that men would have sex with boys, and, for that alone, it was a positive experience. I locked the cubicle door, sat down, and enjoyed a leisurely wank in time with a leisurely shit.

All I had to do was find the right man - and it turned out he wasn't very far away.

You can never tell what someone's really like, can you?

If there was anyone in our school who was definitely a ladies' man it was Mr. Cameron - we all called him Mr. C. He was not only in the P.E. department, and taught some English as well, but he had a wife and two kids, one about 8 and the other about 6. We boys thought his wife was a model, like those women you see in magazines like 'Vogue', my mum's favourite, not the old bags you could wank over in mags like 'Busty Babes'. Mrs. C. was tall, elegant and beautiful. Can you imagine the amount of spunk the boys in our school produced over her?

Mr. Cameron ran the Year 7 football team. I told you I wasn't so hot on academic subjects but I was good at sports, and at football, without wanting to boast, I was brill. 'A natural," said Mr. C. I used to catch him keeping his eye on me; I guessed he was figuring how to make the best use of me - he was, but not in the way I was thinking.

Although I was slight for my age, it was hard to get me off the ball, partly because I used my arse to bounce tacklers off me. I had great ball control, quick reflexes, and only wanted one thing: to stick the ball in the back of the net. Even then, I was gob-smacked when, a few weeks after the season started, Mr. C. turned to us in the changing room and announced: "Right, boys, we've got St. Swithin's on Saturday, and..." He pointed to me. "... Paul, you're captain." He turned and walked off. I just stood there blushing. Nobody'd ever asked me to captain anything in my life. My mates came rushing round clapping me on the back. It was all pretty embarrassing, but as usual I said nothing.

We beat St. Swithins 4 - 3. Mr. C. made me captain for the season. Life could hardly better - except I wanted more sex. It was then Mr. C. stepped in to help me - with my reading, not the sex, well, not right away. He was my English teacher, and, after a chat with mum at Parents' Evening, he offered to give me a lesson at his house every Thursday after training. Mrs. C. and the kids were round their gran's and we'd have a bit of peace and quiet, he explained. Mum was delighted; she didn't mind a bit of peace and quiet either, and she could have an undisturbed shagging session with Dan, her newest boyfriend. Dan was a nice guy, I liked him, I was glad he liked me - and my mum.

Mr. Cameron was a brilliant football manager. He was just as good at teaching reading and spelling, which takes some doing with someone who hated both. He turned everything into games, competitions and quizzes, and most of the time I learned without realising I was being taught. We measured my progress every week and I was making amazing progress.

It started about the fourth lesson. As usual, we were sitting close together on the couch in the living room. I had the book in my lap. I was reading out loud. I always forgot the full stop and read on into the next sentence. It didn't matter how often Mr. C. told me, two minutes later I'd forgotten and was reading along as if full stops hadn't been invented.

"This'll help," he said.

The book was on my lap. Slipping his hand under my t-shirt, he put his hand at the bottom of my bare belly. Every time I came towards the end of the sentence, he pressed my belly a little. It worked! I remembered to stop, most of the time. That continued for about fifteen minutes. I read and he applied pressure to tell me when to pause. No big deal. Except, of course, that it gave me a hard-on. I sat there expressionless (I can do it for hours.) while Sir pressed my stomach a couple of inches away from my erection. It was embarrassing at first, but Sir didn't seem to notice anything, so I assumed it was an accident and went on reading.

Next week the same thing happened. This time there was a variation that showed what was happening was no accident. Despite the pressure on my stomach, despite my hard-on, I still forgot to stop at the end of the occasional sentence. "We have to get them all right," laughed Mr. C. He slid his hand under my school jumper, then under my school shirt, just above the waist band of my trousers. Every time we reached the end of a sentence, he pressed his cool hand into my warm stomach, then ran his little finger along my skin just where it emerged from my trouser waist band. It could still have been an 'accident' but when he ran his finger tip the length of my stiffy we both knew it wasn't.

Could this really be happening? Did Mr. C. want me that way? Could I be so lucky?

I think he was giving me the chance to stop him. He guessed I wouldn't tell. No boy in a boys' school gives up a captaincy that easily.

Next Thursday we went to his house as usual. This time he didn't bother with the preliminaries. He told me to lie on the carpet and read to him. Lying flat out would help with my breathing, he said. It was so comfortable lying there, one hand holding the book, the other pillowing my head. I wasn't surprised when he lay down, full length, alongside me. Lying flat out that way meant I was totally exposed, almost helpless. He began the familiar pressure and stroking on my bare stomach. My prick hardened. There was no way I could hide it. He stroked lower and lower until his thumb brushed my erection below the thin grey flannel of my school trousers. I think if I'd protested in any way, even drawing up legs, he would have stopped, and that would have been that. I didn't.

I felt him unclip the top of my trousers and edge down the zip. He edged aside the flaps of my flies, exposing my white underpants. His fingers stroked the bare skin above the elastic, then slipped underneath. He held my stiff penis between his thumb and forefinger squeezing gently as I read on, missing more full stops than I'd ever done before. This only lasted a couple of minutes. Then he closed me up, zipped me up, closed my clip, and tucked my shirt in. I almost groaned with disappointment. How could he do that? Let me lie there with my hard-on pressing through my trousers, demanding, begging for attention. Maybe just a few kissies, a quick splurt, then back to fucking reading.

The lesson went on as if nothing had happened. It was crazy to lie there on the carpet in the living room and do what he did. The living room had a huge window. Anyone visiting or passing by couldn't have missed us. An eleven-year-old boy lying on a carpet, reading, beside a man with his hand in the boy's unzipped trousers. It was crazy. The lesson ended and, as usual, Mr. C. walked me home. As we walked we chatted about the coming Saturday match. Sir did most of the talking; as usual, I listened. I loved to listen, especially to someone who was really enthusiastic about something I loved. We never mentioned the sex, we never did.

Thursday's lesson started with some fun card games to improve my spelling. Then Mr. C. said, "Let's do some reading." I followed him into a small bedroom. On a desk there was a vase of fresh flowers; the scent was lovely. There was a single bed. Sir indicated the bed. "Get on and read this." I lay down on the bed, face up, reading some pages he'd prepared. They told a very funny story about some of my friends and me. There was some light sex in the story. It made me smile and want to read on. I had to fill in the blanks. Coach sat down on the edge of the bed. "Read it to yourself first, and then out loud."

I felt him push up my jumper and my shirt. I wasn't surprised. He undid the clip of my trousers and unzipped me. "Lift," he said. Still reading, I raised my bottom and let him slide my trousers and my underpants down to my ankles. I felt him stroke my stomach, my pubic area, (I had half a dozen wisps of auburn hair), then take my cock between his fingers. I already had an erection. It was about five inches, not bad for an 11-year-old, but my balls were still hairless. He began stroking me, jerking me gently, his other hand tracing patterns over my stomach, my chest and my nipples. Then his lips replaced his fingers. He traced patterns with his lips and tongue all over my chest and belly. He lifted up one arm at a time and licked my armpits. He tried to suck my nipples but that was like trying to suck raisins, I guess. I willed his lips lower and lower. He licked my belly all over, then my hip bones on either side. I felt like a kitten getting licked to death by its mum. It made my cock so hard it hurt. It was great.

"Should I read out loud now?" I asked.

He raised his head. "Yes, go on," he said.

As I stumbled through the story, I felt him swallow my hard-on to the root. His mouth was hot and wet. Slowly at first, but then faster and faster, his head bobbed up and down on my cock. It was weird. When I really got stuck over a word, he'd raise his head, pronounce the word, and then go back down on me. Once I stopped and asked him what a word meant: the word was 'erect'. Sir raised his head. "It means sticking up or standing up. That's where the word 'erection' comes from." I hadn't understood the word 'erection' before then.

"Should I read it again?" I asked. He obviously wasn't finished.

"Yes, please, Paul. Take your time."

I started reading again, more confidently second time round.

He grasped my hips.

"Over."

I turned over so that I was lying face down. His fingers ran over my buttocks. Then his lips. He pried the cheeks of my bottom open. I felt his tongue run along the inside of my cheeks several times, then the hot tip touched my hole. I was nearly sick with excitement. This was the dirtiest thing I could think of anyone doing, yet it was the most exciting. I felt the hot tip of his tongue run up and down the little serrated edge. He gave a push and the tip slipped in - thank God for my hairbrush. I lay there, willing my ring to open so that he could drive more of his tongue inside me. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be fucked, but I did want to be opened up.

Then I farted - a little fart but a smelly one.

Fucking hell! What would he think of me? Would he call me a "dirty little fucker" like the guy in the bus station bogs? He would he stop. Would he give me a telling off, lines, a detention? Would he take my captaincy away?

I didn't have to wait for the answer. He fastened his lips over my hole as best he could and tried to suck the shit of me. I don't mean that literally, but that's what it felt like. If there'd been a log up there, I'm sure he'd have drawn it down a couple of inches. I wanted to cheer as if we'd just scored a goal! I wasn't the only one that loved bums, arseholes, anuses, rectums, and whatever else was up there. Mr. C. was my perfect man.

I farted again - a big one, a very smelly one.

"That's lovely," said Mr. C. "Try to do another one."

Eager to please, I strained my sphincter and let a real rasper go. It must have inspired my teacher. I felt a big finger slide up my arse almost before the hole stopped fluttering. It slid through the grease and slime and started finger-fucking me. Is there a word 'roiled'? If there isn't, there should be. Mr. C's big finger 'roiled' my hole and, when he found I didn't complain, he roiled ne with two finger fingers turned them round and round to slacken my sphincter and open me wider.

Then I felt the bed creak below us as Mr. C. clambered on and took a position between my spread-open legs.

"Here we go," I thought. "Fucked at last."

But I was wrong, though I didn't work out what he did until a little later.

My teacher continued to roil my hole, keeping it open, while he tossed himself off with his other hand. And, and when it came, he fired big squirts of cum right down my hole. Better than messing up the sheets, I guess. Then he moved again and he was sucking his own cum and my arse juices into his mouth. I know because he flipped me over and started kissing me open-mouthed!

"Up"

I swung my legs off the bed and stood in front of him. He pulled up underpants, then my trousers, tucked in my shirt, zipped me up... all the while explaining how he wanted me to play deep centre-forward on Saturday. "We'll bang in a few more goals that way, Captain," he said. I nodded. He walked me home. Came in for tea and tiffin - my mum's specialty - and reported on my progress. Apparently I was making good progress but there was still a long way to go, he said. (I hoped so.)

This went on for a few weeks but we didn't make the progress I expected. I wanted to inspect his body as much as he inspected mine. I lay on the bed naked while he licked, kissed, caressed, fondled and sucked, back and front, almost as if he was in love with my body. A couple of times he murmured, "God, you're beautiful," but never said anything directly sexual to me.

I loved how he managed to open me up and get his longest finger deep inside me. One finger, then two, though I willed him to go for at least three. Sometimes he touched something deep inside me that made my whole body jump, that sent shock waves through me, and I wanted desperately to have his hard cock inside me. I presumed it was hard; I never had the chance to find out.

Sometimes, when I was lying on my stomach, he'd slip his hand beneath me to knead and squeeze my belly. At the same time two fingers fucked me. When he did this, I could feel the shit in my bowels move - least I thought it did - and I thought he was trying to work it out of me. It was so frustrating when he turned his attention to my dick just as I thought he was getting somewhere, shit-wise.

Sir would always finish off by sucking my brains out, cleaning me up, dressing me, then going on with the lesson as if nothing had happened. There were times I wanted to scream with frustration, rip down his pants, underpants, and jam my little fist straight up his arse. How could he be so inconsiderate? He was the adult after all. He should consider the needs of the child.

It ended as abruptly as it began - not the lessons, the sex. One Thursday after training Mr. C. said: "We're going to your house. My wife's got visitors. Your mum's expecting us. It's tea and tiffin. Yummy. Now, about Saturday's match..."

This wasn't a one-off. I never went back to his house again, at least not for sex, though I went a few times a couple of years later to babysit their kids because I was 'trustworthy and dependable'. I know you're laughing but I never once laid a finger on them; not the way you're thinking at least - even though I got the chance to bath them and tuck them in bed. (I almost typed 'fuck them in bed'. LOL)

That was five years ago.

A few weeks ago, my team staggered into our local pub. They were already pissed; I was stoned (alcohol isn't good for you). Mr. C. was there. We were all in the Sixth Form but they turn a blind eye to what we do outside school as long as we deliver great A-level results. Mr. C. had moved onto the local boys' grammar school.

We gave each other a big smile. He stepped up and we shook hands.

"Hi, Paul, how's going?"

"Fine, sir," I said. "Going to Sports College in September. I'd like to be a P.E. teacher - like you."

"You'll make it, Paul. You can do anything you put your mind to. You'll be a great P.E. teacher, too."

He paused. "But I'll tell you one thing."

"Yes, sir?"

"You'll never have as good a captain as I once had in my Year 7 football team."

"And there'll never be as good an English teacher as I once had."

We laughed. We hugged each other. We said goodbye. We went back to our futures.

But first let's return to my past.

Ten inches.

Eric's cock was ten inches.

I know because he let me measure it. I know because I used to kiss it from root to head. I know because I choked on it.

I was twelve, going on 13. Eric was 15, going on 16. I was in Year 8. Eric had just entered the Sixth Form; he had become one of our gods. He was a god anyway because when he strode naked around the changing room after showers, the hose-pipe swinging between his legs, he was god-like to us. We all wanted what Eric had, especially those boys for whom puberty arrived late. Not me, I was one of the lucky ones. At eleven, I had a more than respectable five inches; going on thirteen it was touching seven inches. Boys in Years 9 and 10 glanced enviously my way. I didn't feel sorry for the boys who had little dicks, but I felt a bit sorry for the younger ones who got hard-ons. Believe me, they got teased. But much as I wanted sex with half the boys in the showers, I was never afflicted with 'sudden erection syndrome', though my dick would thicken a bit.

Eric was in the Sixth Form. He was Captain of Cricket, Captain of Rugby, pre-destined Headboy, and a 'fine representative' of the school. Mind you, I was Captain of Lower School Football, so I wasn't exactly a nobody, and I had my near-seven inches to flaunt. So things were fine except sex was confined mainly to me and my handbrush, my memories and my creative imagination.

It was mid-September, an Indian summer, warm and balmy and sunny. At lunchtimes, a lot of boys used to go down onto the lower playing fields for a game of football. The lower playing fields were at the bottom of this huge crater in the ground (a gift from Adolf H. that had been grassed over by the years.). That day, for some reason, I had elected to play in goal. Everyone had his blazer and tie off (strictly forbidden, but few masters came near the 'crater'). We had a really good game. Everyone was hot and sticky. The first bell went and most boys grabbed their stuff and scrambled up the sides of the crater. A few of us die-hards went on playing. The second bell went. Seconds later, there was only Eric and me left, with Eric taking a few last pot shots at me in goal.

I hardly knew Eric. Apart from the age difference, we hadn't been at the same junior school. He'd been to a school in the West End of the city while I came from 'the wrong side of the tracks'. Eric's family had big money. But Eric was fun, and I appreciated how much he'd befriended this 'fish out of water'. And he was extremely good-looking. Being good-looking is important in all-boys' schools, probably even more so than girls' schools since prestige and status are all-important amongst boys. Well-built, regular features, open face, freckles, well-cared for teeth. And a big prick. A very big prick. An outstandingly big prick. And, trust me, this counts for a lot in boys' schools.

Ten inches. That's what they said Eric had - ten inches. Eric would stand there starkers, towelling himself down, with his hose pipe bouncing between his legs, with half the room taking sneaky peeks.

Back to that September day.

We grabbed our blazers, ties and shirts (yes, Eric and I'd gone that far in breaking the rules) and started to scramble up the grassy slope. Eric was behind me. He slipped (he said), grabbed for something, got me, and together we tumbled back down in the hill. We ended up in a heap of arms, legs and clothing. Then it happened. Eric shifted till he was sitting astride me. He put his knees on my arm muscles, such as they were, pinning me to the grass. He was looking down into my face. He reached behind his arse and stroked my genitals! I was stunned. My face, already red from our exertions, was on fire. I tried to heave him away, but he bore down on me, not enough to hurt, just enough to pin me there and kept stroking me, his fingers fumbling till they found my hardening cock.

He looked down at me and whispered: "You're the kid with the big prick."

"And you're the prick with the big prick," I whispered back.

Eric laughed.

I laughed.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered.

"Don't stop," I whispered.

His fingers and thumb closed round my hard-on and began working the skin along the shaft.

"Do I have to hold you down?"

I shook my head. from side to side.

Eric slid from my body. I sat up.

"We can't stay here," he said.

"I know," I said.

"The sheds," he said.

I nodded.

We scrambled up, grabbed our clothes and headed across the fields, away from the school. The 'sheds' was our name for the boys' outside latrines on the far side of the playing fields. They were rarely used. Smoking went on there. Card games (for money) went on there. Did sex go on there? I didn't know, but I was about to find out.

We got to the sheds and slipped inside. Eric took our blazers and ties and hung them on a hook on the back of the shed door. "I'll go first," he said. I nodded, not sure what he intended. To be honest, the thought of his 'whopper' up my jacksie was as scary as it was thrilling. Eric sat down on one of the toilets and pulled me towards him. He opened my belt, unbuttoned my flies, then dragged down my flannels and Y-fronts to my ankles. I was exquisitely embarrassed. My cock was hard and already slick with pre-cum. Eric fondled me for a bit, then without a by-your-leave opened his mouth and sucked me in until his lips were pressed into my pubic hair (I'd grown some.)

I stood there and watched my penis slide in and out of Eric's mouth, fascinated by the way it bulged his cheeks, and amazed he could get so much of me inside him. Where was it all going - down his throat? I put my hands on his head and instinctively, I suppose, began pushing and pulling to find the rhythms I liked best. One of Eric's hands worked the base of my cock while the other played with my balls.

"Hold on," I said, pulling back.

"What's up?"

"I've got to take a piss," I said. "I'll just be a minute." I turned to a urinal.

"You don't have to go anywhere," said Eric turning me back to face him. "You can go right here."

"Where?" I asked.

"Right here," he repeated, opening his mouth wide.

"You want me to piss in our mouth?"

"Very much. If you don't mind."

"No, no, that's fine."

Eric opened wide.

My cock had gone from stiff to semi-tumescent, so it was easy to slide it into Eric's mouth. But it wasn't so easy to start pissing. He was the most admire boy in the entire school, and I was a little, long-haired twerp from Year 8. I started to flow.

Eric gulp down the stream. I pinched and held to give him time to swallow. Released and flowed again. It was a long piss but he took every drop and when he was finished he smacked his lips. "I'll do the same for you some time."

"Thanks," I said.

His right hand slipped into my crack and headed for my bumhole. I'd been working on it before school, and with the help of summer sweat his big middle finger slipped in easily. I thought of asking for two or even three fingers but thought that might be pushing my luck. Eric brought me to the brink of orgasm three My prick was going frantic, my heart racing. Then when I thought I couldn't stand any more, he let me cum - he let me cum in his mouth! I couldn't believe it. Eric's swallows filled the smelly shed; at that moment the most romantic place on the planet. He waited until I'd softened in his mouth, slipped me out, slipped his finger out, took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped my cock and his lips. Then, without batting an eyelid, he sucked his middle finger clean. The finger that had been up my ass.

"You would happen to need a shit," he asked.

"Sorry," I said.

Sheer class!

"What do we do now?" I squeaked as we did up our buttons, pulled on our blazers, and Eric knotted my tie for me.

"Don't worry, I'll get you into class. Remember I'm in the Sixth." There was a pause. "Have you got a bike?" I nodded. "What're you doing on Saturday?" I shrugged. "Wanna come for a ride?" I nodded. "Right, that's that. We'll fix it up after school."

As we strolled back to classes, he said, "Hey, what's your name?"

"Paul. It's Paul," I said. "What's yours?"

"Cheeky fucker," he laughed - and slapped me hard over the arse.

My face glowed. My cheeks glowed. I couldn't wait for Saturday.

Saturday morning around 11 o'clock and we cycle down the towpath towards Blean Woods. The towpath is lumpy bumpy so it's easy to keep up with Eric on his racing bike. Out on the main road I'm happy to peddle behind him on my trusty rusty Raleigh enjoying the gorgeous view - his arse - the rounded buttocks rising and falling, cheeks pressing against each other. How I wished my face was the bike seat as his bum rises then falls to press hard against it. I imagine how the pressure pushes his anus open as he drops onto the seat, then gently closes as he rises again. If I get reborn I want to be the seat on Eric's bicycle. We're in no hurry, the sky is blue, the temperature already in the low 20s. It's going to be a hot one again - I hope.

I wonder what it will feel like if/when he fucks me. I'm under no illusions. His prick is not only ten inches (and a half) long but it is thick as well. It's going to hurt. At least I've taken the precaution of working my hole with my beloved hairbrush after breakfast. And I've stuck an extra glob of Nivea up there - just in case. I tried to take a shit but my rectum was in no mood to give up its booty just yet.

We peddle along the path at Blean Woods.

"Follow me," Eric calls. "I know a place. Nobody ever goes there."

I follow, wondering how Eric knows nobody ever went there, and wondering if he's taken a boy there before me. I'm not jealous. I wouldn't even mind a third boy.

The clearing near the pond is lovely. Grassy, circled by silver birch trees. The water in the pond is cool and clear, fed by a small stream. We lay out a tartan blanket, and on it cheese sandwiches, digestive biscuits (milk chocolate), and four bottles of pop. We strip to our undies and wade into the pool. "Stand still," whispers Eric. I do and look down. Little silver fish dart between my legs. "See if you can grab one," said Eric. I bend over and concentrate on watching the fish. A push from behind, over I go. Splash! Head first into the water. I come up spluttering and spouting water. Clear my eyes. Eric laughing fit to burst a gut. Dive at him. Knock him over. And we're both sprawled in the pond.

Out we get laughing and stretch ourselves on the blanket, me flat on my back, Eric, propped on one elbow, looking down at me.

"Do you like arses?" he ask.

What the fuck am I meant to say?

"Well?"

I keep my eyes close. Nod.

"May I make love to yours?"

I keep my eyes closed, roll over, lean my head on my elbows, my eyes closed.

Slowly, inch by inch, Eric slides down my wet underpants, up, over my buttocks down to my ankles. I raise my heels and he slides them off.

"Wow, you're lovely," he says.

I feel reassured.

Eric doesn't stand on ceremony. He prises open the cheeks, lowers his face, sticks out his tongue, and goes straight for my arsehole. I can feel him licking all around it, directly on it, then probing it with the tip of his tongue. At the same time a thumb on each side of the hole is gently forcing me open. It doesn't hurt at all. It just feels good. Bless my hairbrush. He gets about half his tongue in and starts to twist it around. I wonder how far into my rectum he'll got. Can he actually touch the walls of my rectum? I don't have much idea about my inner anatomy but I hope he can. What if the tip of his tongue touches the end of a turd? Would he know that's what it was? Would he be sickened, disgusted? I don't want to be called a dirty little fucker again. Yes, it's my rectum, but it's his tongue. He spends ages down there - up there - I don't care - he can stay there forever. I can actually feel his wide open mouth pressing against the inside of each buttock, or is that just my imagination?

"It's weird, isn't it?

"What is?" I ask.

"An arsehole. Yet it's shit that comes out of it."

"Suppose so," I murmur.

"Depends whose shit it is," he says.

I'm startled by that but I say nothing.

"I won't to put the head of my cock inside you? I won't try to get the whole thing in. I promise."

I raised my head from my elbows and give what nod I could manage.

Imagine Eric, naked, straddling me, one knee on either side of my hips, foreskin pulled back, the slit on the head of his cock touching the little slit of my anus, his thumbs spreading the little pucker wider as he presses insistently against the opening. Nothing at first as my sphincter fights the good fight with all its might. The gentle pressure is relentless, then for a moment relieved, as Eric lowers his face to gob once, twice, three times into my hole, then back comes the head, back comes the pressure. I feel the muscles relax, then give, and the head pushes its way past my first sphincter and it's inside me.

"Fuck it!" I yell.

"Sorry, am I hurting you?" comes Eric's voice.

"No, no," I mumbled in a bare-faced lie. My ring has burst into flames.

"Push harder, push all you want."

The head is all the way in. I feel my anus grip the beginning of the shaft. We both relax for a couple of minutes, breathing heavily. Eric pushes again. Resistance again. Is that the second sphincter? If it is, it isn't in the mood to struggle, it gives up, and Eric sinks all the way in. I can feel his thick pubic hair against my arse. I feel the inner walls of my rectum straining. If you looked at my belly, would you see the bulge of the shaft half way up it?

"Fuck me, Eric," I whisper. "Fuck me, fuck me hard."

And he does.

Slowly at first, gently at first, then picking up pace till he is rabbiting me. The shaft slides all the way out leaving only the head to connect us, then he pummels deep again, rising and falling on those strong arms of his, pressing my skinny body deep into the rug, the grass, the earth. Harder, faster, deeper - harder, faster, deeper. The handle of my hairbrush was never like this. Moans, groans, dirty words, licks in my ear, licks along my neck, my own cock stretched hard beneath me.

Then Eric comes down flat on me and stays there. The inner part of his hips, his crotch, his groin, rubs against my much smaller buttocks, and he's shooting his cum into me, spurt by spurt. His body shakes and trembles against mine. I suck my arm, giving myself a hickey.

Stillness, silence, all except for our breathless panting - the heat has stilled the birds - leaving only the audible breathing of two naked boys, the smaller under the larger, stretched out in the dappled light of the grassy clearing.

We lie like that for five minutes. Then I feel him pissing up my arse, straight into my rectum. Hot and wet. I can feel the piss hitting my inner flesh. It's wonderful. I wonder how far up it will go before it reverses and starts to flow out of me.

Eric withdraws, rolls off me, and lies on his back, shielding his eyes. I roll onto my front, prop myself on an elbow, and look him over. He is, like me, awash in sweat. His cock had lost its hardness but it's still floppy huge. I move over him, lower my face, and start to lick his cock. The head slips into my mouth. I suck it like a gobstopper. He's too sensitive for that, so I return to the shaft and lick it up and down. What are the tastes? Nivea, cum, saliva, piss and shit. Now there's a combination. I don't care. I want it. I'm the mother cat this time, and I'm licking my kitten clean.

Two minutes, five minutes, ten minutes. Eric rolls to face me. Grinning, takes me in his arms, kisses me open-mouthed and sticks his tongue deep in my mouth. We snog like that for a couple of minutes. He withdraws his tongue, looks deep in my eyes, and says: "Hey, don't keep all the good stuff for yourself." I laugh.

"Hungry?" he says.

"A bit," I nod.

"Right. Let's have a cheesy before... "

Before what?

He leaves the sentence unfinished. We get up, drape our wet undies on a branch, settle down on the blanket, unwrap a cheese sandwich each, open a bottle of Coca Cola, munch, share the Coke, spit some of it into each other's mouth, and fall in love - or at least I do. We lie there chatting about everything under the sun - school, football, movies - everything under the sun except what we've just done.

"Your turn," says Eric, taking the last mouthful from the bottle and rolling onto his front. There it is - my first man's bum - though this man is only 15 going on 16. He opens his legs wide in invitation; I crawl between them and stretch his cheeks wide. There it is - his arsehole - larger than mine, browner than mine, with hair - real hair around it! Not lots of it, but enough to start me drooling. My thumbs edge him open, he grunts, I lower my face and sniff deeply. Shit! There's no doubt about it, though it must be deep inside; the scent is faint and the opposite of offensive. Hard to describe. What are you going to compare shit with except shit?

I draw my face back and have a good look. The lips of his anus are much larger than mine, puffier, and look bruised. The lips actually stand up slightly from the surface. I lick the lips. Kiss them. Pull them wider and try to peer in. There's definitely a redness but nothing too definite. I'm about to try my tongue when I heard Eric's voice.

"Get the bottle, it's still got some Coke. Work it in."

Did I hear him right?

Is Eric asking me to work the neck of the Coke bottle into his arsehole?

"You heard me, Paulie. Get the bottle. Work the neck in. Go easy. Don't do anything till I tell you."

Who am I to question a Sixth Former?

I reach for the bottle, touch the neck end to his hole, and apply gentle pressure.

"Twist it round. Keep pushing - not too hard."

It takes about five minutes, then with a sloppy pop it's in. It slides in easily until it reached the bulge of the main bottle. What now?

"Keep twisting. Push slowly. Not too hard. See how much you can get in."

I follow orders and am amazed to find two thirds of the bottle slides right in. I see how the mouth of his anus stretches to accommodate the bottle and grip it tightly at the same time. I guess he wants me to fuck him with it, so I start Coke-fucking him.

"Fuck, Paul, not so hard. If the bottle breaks, I could get really injured. In and out, slowly at first."

I do what I'm told and get a nice steady rhythm going. I love the way his anus stretches round the bottle like an elastic band. I wonder if the Coke fizzed up, out and into him. After a couple of minutes, Eric whisper, "Slide it out and finish the Coke."

Out comes the bottle, down goes my face, my lips fastened over his hole, and I suck and suck. It's true what they say: 'Things go better with Coca Cola'!

Eric roll over on his front.

"You're doing really well - so far," he tells me. He raises his legs and swings them backwards over his shoulders. Told you he was athletic. His bum looks magnificent.

"Shove three fingers in," I hear him say.

I can get three fingers into my hole, so why not Eric's?

I cross the first three fingers of my right hand over each other to form a wedge. Then, starting with my middle finger, push against his pucker. The Coke bottle has done its job; the wedge of fingers slides right up to the knuckles. I start fucking Eric's hole, slowly then faster. "Add your other finger," he instructs, though this time there's tension in his voice. I add my 'pinkie' to wedge and repeat the process: in they go. The smell of shit is stronger now; if Eric notices it, he doesn't say. More fucking. "Take them out. Add your thumb. But go really slowly this time."

I added my thumb and am stunned when most of my hand slips inside.

Eric's groaning now.

"Work your hand in up to the wrist," he moans. "Twist it round and round. Make me feel it."

It's hot in there. Hot and moist. No, not moist - mushy. That can only mean thing: I'm in deep shit - Eric's shit. My erect cock throbs in response. I'm so turned on I can hardly breathe. "See if you can open and close your hand a bit," he said. "No, no, too much. Stop. Just keep turning your hand from side to side."

"Now start punching."

"Punching?"

"Punching. Not too hard at first. Then speed up the punches when I tell you to. Pull you hand all the way back to the wrist then punch as deep as you can. Easy at first. Easy."

I do what I'm told. Soon I'm punching so deeply that my wrist and arm slip in all the way up to the elbow. After a few punches my arm is covered in shit, Eric's shit, and he's moaning as he if was straining out a big one. I speed things up, making shorter and sharper strokes.

Finally: "That's enough. Out now - slowly - very slowly."

I pull and slide out. My hand wrist and arm are covered in shit. Eric lowers his legs, sits up, looks at me, glassy-eyed. He's drenched in sweat, so am I.

"Do you want that?" he asks looking at the shit. He makes a long, licking motion with his tongue. I shake my head.

"Best go and wash it off."

I wander down, naked to the pond, kneel, wash my hand in the water, raise it, look at it, lick it, stick it back in the water and clean myself vigorously. I go back thinking, "That's it," but it isn't because Eric's lying on his back, his ten inches sticking up in the air.

"Sit on it," he says.

I sit on it, feel the head push past my sphincter muscles, pull myself as wide open as I can, and let myself slide down his cock until I'm sitting with his entire ten inches inside me. I look down at my stomach wondering if I'll see the outline of his erection bulging in my belly. No luck. Eric starts tossing me off. I try raising and lowering myself but that really hurts, so I sit there letting Eric wank me. It's great. We are able to watch each other's eyes. All too quickly my legs begin to shudder, my tummy does little leaps, my eyes roll back in my head, my skinny body arches, and I orgasm harder than I've ever done. Two, three, four spurts shot out - three of them hitting Eric's chin and the fourth going where... I've no idea.

Eric lies still until his cock softens enough for me to slide off it. It's covered in shit. I blush but Eric laughs, slides a finger along his cock, then pops the shitty finger in his mouth! He sucks it clean, takes it out, shows it to me, and goes "Yummy, yummy."

A serious look comes over his face.

"Hey, Paulie, there's nothing wrong if we both want to do it." He pauses. "Anything you want to do before we clean up?"

"Well," I hesitate. "You need a shit. Is it okay if I watch you?"

Eric laughed again.

"That's exactly what I wanted to ask you."

A huge grin crosses my face.

"You go first," he says. "Come over and squat over my face. Just let it go when you feel like it, but make it slow 'cos I want to watch close-up."

"Do you want me to shit on you?" I ask.

"No," he laughs. "I'll roll away at the last second. 'Cos we want to save something for next time."

My heart leaps. Hurrah! There's going to be a next time.

I won't take you through the whole shitting thing because maybe that's not something your into. But when Eric squats over me, I don't dare blink because I want to watch every second of it. I watch his anus swell, puff up, and then open to show the tip of a dark brown turd. I watch as it bullies its way through the sphincter. His anus stretches until it gapes. Gapes almost as wide as the Coca Cola bottle - thick end. To be honest, I opened my mouth wide, but then at the last second rolled away and let it pile up on the grass. I lay propped on one elbow till Eric finished, then we jumped up and hand in hand - romantic or what? - ran straight into the pond. We washed and splashed each other for about fifteen minutes, got out of the water, and lay down on the grass to let the hot sun dry us off.

Amazingly enough, the whole thing had lasted only a couple of hours. We dressed, packed up, got on our bikes, and cycled to Eric's house where he introduced me to his mother and father. Eric explained I was Captain of Lower School Football and we needed to discuss teams and matches for the rest of the season. Eric's mum and dad were great, really nice. They insisted I stay for high tea, then made us rest for an hour before they allowed us into the swimming pool.

Yes! They had their own swimming pool.

Around four in the afternoon, Eric's dad piled me, Eric and my bike into their People Mobile and drove me home. Eric charmed my mum, we shook hands, and he said he'd see me at school on Monday morning.

That night I went to bed sun-burned, knackered (exhausted) but intensely happy.

And the thought of using my brush handle didn't even cross my mind.

Eric introduced me to a world of sex I didn't know existed but I like to think we had a special relationship, and not only because of our fascination with arseholes. Of course, we couldn't have much contact in school: Eric was in the Sixth Form, I was in Year 8. Sixteen-year-olds did not hang out with twelve-year-olds, though my position as a school sports captain helped smooth the way. But our bike rides continued every now and again, as did my visits to his home where his parents welcomed and seemed to like me. Eric was amazingly believable as he spun stories why, for example, he needed to tutor me in Maths in his bedroom/study during a long, wet Sunday afternoon. Even I started believing him!

But I don't want to start recounting some of our encounters of the dirty kind in Eric's bedroom, or in en suite bathroom when the shit hit the fan almost literally. Nope, I want to tell you how I discovered that my little brother - sweet, cute, innocent Noah - started to take an interest in sex. It's quite a story.

Blame it on 'The Exorcist' - I mean the book, not the movie.

It happened during the Christmas holidays after the 'Summer of Eric'. We were on a skiing holiday in Switzerland. Mum's newest boyfriend had money, a lot of it, and he took the three of us to a place called Crans-Montana, somewhere in the Swiss Alps. We'd never been out of England before, so you can imagine how thrilled Noah and me were. We got popped into a boys' boarding chalet - the boyfriend arranged that - and we had skiing lessons every morning and afternoon.

We had a skiing instructor called Jack D., everybody called him JD. He came from California. He was incredibly popular amongst the 12 boys in the 'Ski House' - and he deserved to be. Not only good-looking but kind, considerate, generous, fun, patient, etc. etc. Jack took an interest in me and Noah! I think he did that 'cos we didn't see much of mum and her BF -nobody did. They seemed to spend most of the time in their 'exclusive' chalet. I guessed they were fucking most of the day; they both looked knackered at dinner time. Don't get me wrong. I loved mum like crazy, and I accepted she had a life of her own. Must admit I sometimes wondered if the BF took her up the arse - but I never jacked off thinking about that, honest I didn't.

Me, I took to skiing like Eric to my arsehole; Noah spent most of the time on his cute backside; but it was me who crashed out. On my fourth session - disaster. I swear a tree ambushed me. The bastard stepped into my path as I flew down the piste far too fast. I got hurt, not too bad, but bad enough. My tibia (shinbone) had a hairline fracture. They put a cast on my leg, ordered me to keep the weight off it and said it would take six to eight weeks to heal properly. I really didn't understand the medical gibberish I heard but I did understand a few days in bed was mandatory with as little movement as possible. At least the fabulous view from the window was.... borrring. And everyone, including Noah, was gone by nine o'clock. That was the bad news. Where was the good news?

It was JD!

I got JD who told me, in what I took for a Californian drawl, that he was 'to do' for me during lunchtime. He did a lot more than that. He gave up his free-time from the slopes to come in and keep me company - chatting, teaching me backgammon, cards, and generally just being there. Then I discovered the bonus - JD had to give me body washes! And even more than that he had to help me on my bedpan, then dispose of my body waste (piss and shit). These guys really earned their Swiss francs. He told me not to be embarrassed; I said okay, and could hardly wait to feel his hand, fingers and sponge on my body. I had a laugh to myself what Eric might do with a panful of my hot, steaming shit.

Did I tell you what he did with the gobstopper?

Body washes I looked forward to, after I got over my initial shyness. What adolescent boy doesn't worry about his body compared to that of the real thing?

JD would strip off my pajamas, top and bottoms, and cover me with a single sheet. Then with a cloth and warm soapy water, he'd wash me all over. Of course, I got erections. I was nearly thirteen! But JD ignored them and after a while so did I.

I usually pretended to read a book. I was still too shy to watch his hand as it circled over my neck, my shoulders, my chest, my stomach, my legs, my knees, my feet. Then he'd wash my pubic hair. It really was beginning to grow. If I'd been able to keep my cock down before he did my pubes, I certainly couldn't when he reached them with his wet, warm cloth and hand. Up would spring my five inches of creamy, pink flesh with the head peeking out of the foreskin. I'd bury my nose deeper in my book and pretend I didn't notice my prick bouncing against my belly, and JD's fingers.

Blame it on 'The Exorcist'.

I'd reached the part where the young girl starts fucking herself with a crucifix. I'm not religious, but that really turned me on. My prick was as stiff as a poker. I couldn't stop re-reading the passage, and, of course, I started imagining fucking Eric up the ass with the crucifix. That was the moment I realised I was going to Hell. I felt warm fingers close around my prick. For a moment I thought JD was only going to wash it. I felt his fingers gently jerking the shaft. A moment of panic, but only a moment. I lay back, closed the book and my eyes, and opened my legs.

JD accepted the invitation.

He nursed, caressed and stroked my hard-on with one hand while the other fondled my balls. Bliss! I wondered if he'd masturbate me to orgasm, and if he did, what would he do with my cum. He had plenty of soapy water and a hand towel, so that didn't worry me much. What I liked was the care and attention he gave my prick. I'd started wanking when I was ten, but the routine had got pretty boring. A quick jerk-off didn't really satisfy anymore. Now, here was a good-looking guy taking a loving interest in my prick. It felt like I was having a doctor's minute examination of my male organ of reproduction. No vein was left untraced, no hair unkissed.

I jumped, as much as a cripple can jump, when his mouth closed over me. JD meant more than quick toss. This was serious business. In my mind I began to do things that made the bitch in 'The Exorcist' look like a novice. JD was bobbing up and down on my cock, his mouth like a wet furnace. He was squeezing my balls, gently but to great effect.

"My asshole, my asshole," I whispered in my pathetic version of his Californian drawl.

JD obliged. Finger-fucking me in time with his bobbing on my cock, his fingers working the shaft. It wouldn't be long before my head was spinning through 360 degrees!

Did he want me to cum in his mouth? He gave no signal, so I warned him, "I'm cumming, JD." He sucked me harder, faster in short strokes while he finger-fucked me faster and deeper. My cock spat cum into his mouth as my bun bounced off the bed. I hadn't tossed myself off since the crash, and my body was making up for it now. My belly rumbled; I farted. I'd have happily accepted another broken leg at that moment as I squirted myself into JD's mouth.

The door burst open.

It was Noah.

He was still wearing his ski goggles.

"What the fu....!" he began. "What you doing to my brother?"

"Get the fuck out of here, Noah!" I yelled at him.

The little fucker turned, half fell out the door, slammed it behind him.

For a moment I prayed he hadn't seen what was going on because of the goggles.

Fat fucking chance.

I looked up at JD. I expected to see him in panic. He was laughing.

"What the fuck are you laughing at?" I yelled. My shyness had gone.

JD put on his serious face, the one he used when he was telling you not to take risks on the piste, the look I'd ignored.

"Sorry, Paul," he said. "But you'll sort it out with Noah. He's your little brother. In case you hadn't noticed it, he worships the ground you walk on - or at least the ground you'll be able to walk on in a couple of weeks."

I couldn't help laughing, too.

Then I put on my serious face.

"JD. There's something I have to tell you."

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"I need to take a shit. It feels like a big one. Could you lift me up, please?"

"'Course I can," he said, stepping towards me.

"And, JD," I added.

"I'm still as horny as fuck."

Eric had taught me a lot in six months.

When Noah came in around 3 in the afternoon, I was ready for him to ask a thousand questions. He didn't ask one. What he wanted to tell me was how great the slopes had been, and he'd landed on his backside only a couple of times.

"And JD said I was a natural," he glowed. A few minutes later, he disappeared into the Games Room where the boarding boys congregated after every skiing session. I reached for 'The Exorcist', flicked open to page 125, and got on with the bitch's battle with Satan wondering into which orifice she'd plunge the crucifix next. I also sighed with relief. The sigh came too soon. The bombshell came just before dinner.

About half past five the door opened again. Noah strode in and threw himself on his bed. He lay on his back, turned his face to me, and beamed, triumphantly, "I had sex with JD, too."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"This afternoon. I didn't go to the Games Room. I found JD. I told him I'd sprained my wrist. That was a fib. JD knew it. He didn't even look at my wrist. He just asked, 'Well, how can I help?'....."

I interrupted Noah.

"Okay, okay. Tell me what happened."

"Well, I told him I didn't want use the showers downstairs, cos I was a bit shy. Could I use the bath in the clinic, so nobody could see me? And could he wash my back cos it wasn't easy with a sprained wrist. He just said, 'Meet me there in five minutes."

"So?"

"So I went there and started running the bath. Isn't it huge? You could swim in it, I bet. Anyway, I got all of my clothes off, I mean all of them, so when he got there I was standing there starkers. He couldn't tell me to put anything on, could he? Cos there was nothing there to put on. And anyway I'm only 9."

I laid 'The Exorcist' down and turned my full attention to this... this... spawn of Satan."

"Well, we stood there chatting about how well I'd done on the piste. The bath filled, I climbed in, and nearly disappeared under a mountain of soap bubbles. JD squatted at the side of the bath, took a soap bar, and started rubbing it all over my body. I'd already stuck the big sponge down the toilet. It was the best feeling ever. I could feel his fingers on my neck, my chest, my tummy; he even did my pits.

"'Stand up and I'll wash off the soap.'"

"I stood up. Paul, my dick was sticking straight out from my body. Not up towards my tummy, straight out. It looked really big. I know it's only four inches but, wow, it looked much bigger sticking straight out. Then he took the shower head and sprayed all the soap off me."

Noah paused for a second, gave me a look as if he was making up his mind, then whispered: "JD said 'Let's make sure your clean', and he went on one knee, pulled me towards him, and took my penis right in his mouth. Honest, Paul, I swear to God, JD gave me a blow-job."

I was as startled as a rabbit in the headlights.

Where the fuck did my little brother learn words like that? Next he'll be telling me JD 'rimmed' him.

"Yeh," said Noah. "JD gave me a blow job. I bet it was as good as yours yesterday... and then he rimmed me."

"Listen, you little fucker," I said. "You better not talk about this anybody. You could get JD into serious trouble. You have to keep your trap shut."

"Gimmee a break," said Noah. "I'm not stupid. You can't give blow jobs to little kids. They've got be in secondary school first. Anyway, JD sucked me off..." Where the fuck was he learning this language? What the fuck's going on in junior schools nowadays? "...because he knows I was jealous of you. He just wanted to make us equal, that's all. You know what Mum always says: 'If one of you get something, the other one's got to get it, too.'"

I couldn't help laughing.

Noah relaxed and gave me his biggest smile.

"Hey, Paul, would you like a blow job? I bet I could suck you off as good as JD."

'The Exorcist' hit him right in the chest.

What the fuck are the younger generation coming to?

As soon as I typed that, I started laughing. I was one of the 'younger generation' and, like I said, Mr. C. and Eric took me through doors I didn't know existed. Eric, in particular, introduced me to boys I'd never have guessed shared our interests, at least some extent. I'm not going write an account of all of them, not even of most of them, but there are a couple I'd like to record to remind myself of the journey I was on.

It was near the end of Year 8, I'd just hit my 13th birthday, and it happened after the final cricket match of the year. Not that I played cricket; I hated it. But Eric was the Sixth Form's star bowler, batsman and captain, and he talked me into becoming the side's official scorer. That meant I could sit back on a deck chair and record the score as it ticked along. Of course it also gave me the chance to watch Eric in action. You should have seen his arse as he ran into bowl, buttocks churning away as if I was twisting a Coke bottle up his rectum. Sorry, I digress. (We learned the expression in English and I'm a natural digresser.)

After the final match - We won by 31 runs. Eric took 5 wickets and hit a half century. - most guys hurried away to get ready for Saturday night. I accepted I couldn't go with Eric - He was 16, I was 13. - not possible. At least he said we'd go for a ride on Sunday, but there's a favour he wanted me to do for him, and added mysteriously it was more of a favour for me. No idea what it could be, but if Eric was asking, I was doing. A couple of the side were staying to have a shower at the Sports Pavilion. Could I stay and get the key from them when they were finished?

I was about to enter the shower room when I heard a couple of voices. The shower room is a bit of a boom room, easy to hear conversations if the showers weren't on, and they weren't.

"They fucked that kid - Ross what's-his-name? - out at Blean Pond after school yesterday."

I froze at the name 'Blean Pond'.

"They didn't."

"They bloody well did."

"What the fuck happened?"

"Two of them in Year 11 asked him to go for a bike ride, and the silly little fucker went with them."

"Shit. He's only in Year 7. Cute though. Would you fuck him?"

"Naw not me. Too much like a girl. Those eyes. Looks like a bushbaby. That hair. Those lips."

"Methinks you protest too much."

"Don't use that Shakespeare on me, just cos you're going to Uni. Well, I guess I wouldn't mind those lips round my cock. Your dick up his sweet arse, mine down his cute throat. Anyway, he was stupid. If you're 11-years-old, you don't go with those sex-crazed 15-year-olds in Year 11. I reckon he knew what he was doing."

"You're a fucking homo."

"You're a queer."

"You're a poof."

"You're a shirt-lifter."

I recognised the voices of the opening batsman of the school's senior cricket team. I banged the door to let them know someone was there, then stepped into the shower room.

"What the....?"

"It's okay," interrupted the other. "It's Paulie. He's cool."

The homo and the poof were Theo and Lendon, a couple of Eric's best mates, though I'd no idea they batted for the same side as him - correction us. The shirt-lifter - me - had arrived. They were standing under a shower head, naked, waiting for.....

"Come on, Paulie," said Lendon. "Eric said you might be up for some. If you are, get out off your kit. If you're not, get the fuck out of here." He said it with a friendly laugh, Theo joined in. I didn't have much choice, so I started laughing and stripping off.

"Jesus, you've got a big one," said Lendon.

"Must be the Son of Eric," said Theo.

We started laughing again. I threw my clothes onto a bench and stepped into the shower area. Theo wrapped an arm round my waist. Lendon reached for a knob (a shower knob) and twisted on the water. A cascade of cold, cool, lukewarm, warm, fairly hot water hit us.

"What were we talking about? Remind me," said Theo.

"Fucking kids," said Lendon.

"Oh, so were," said Paul. "Let's soap this down first." Lendon passed him bar of Wright's coal tar soap. Theo started soaping my back. Lendon dropped to his knees, took my cock, which was already stiffening, looked up, said, "Waste not, want not," and slid it into his mouth. Theo didn't stay long on my back. He dropped to his knees, opened my buttocks and began licking the valley between the cheeks. He paused for a moment and called up to me, "This is the Sixth Form's way of saying thanks for keeping the scores all season." He returned to my arse, this time drawing the soap back and forwards against my pucker, then easing a finger up my hole as far as he could, calling, "Wiggle, wiggle!"

Honest, I thought I was going to be sick laughing, but it was all I could so staying erect (on my feet) while Lendon sucked me off and Theo finger-fucked me. It took me a couple of minutes to work out they were both finger-fucking me. I thought Theo had jammed two fingers up my jacksie until I realised only one of them belonged to Theo.

I felt the familiar and irresistible pressure grow in me. I expected it to be over in a couple of minutes and was, to say the least, when both boys stood up. They read the expression on my face. Theo laughed. "Hey, that's only starters, you know, and we are here for a shower - but not yet."

"Rub his belly," said Lendon, "That should do it."

"Do what?" I thought to myself, but as they rubbed my belly I found it. I began to shit. Embarrassed I tried to step away but they withdrew their fingers, stood up, and held me gently as a snaky turd slid out of me. The stink was evil.

Lendon reached down, scooped up half the shit and began to rub it across Theo's chest. "Great for the skin, they say," he laughed. "Help us out, Paulie." I took the hint scooped the rest up and massaged Theo's belly, pubes, cock and balls with the shit. "Don't think you've got enough," laughed the shit-covered boy and let loose an almighty splatter from his arse. Lendon knelt down, got two handfuls and started doing his best friend's legs. I got the rest and carefully covered Theo's face, staying well away from his eyes. Within five minutes, Theo was totally covered with his shit.

"I think this dirty boy needs a good shower. Don't you, Paulie?"

"I most certainly do."

But first we hosed each other down with our piss.

Later sitting in the sun outside the pavilion, Lendon surprised me: "You know half of the Sixth Form are in love with you, don't you, Paulie?" Again he surprised me by using my Christian name. "Yeh, half of us are in love with you, and the other half just want to fuck your brains out." I had to laugh along with them. "But you don't have to worry, everyone knows Mr. C.'s got the hots for you, and nobody's going to risk offending him."

Theo took up the thread of the conversation. "Don't forget Eric. Anyone messes around with Paulie is gonna get royally fucked by Eric - and not just up the arse. Eric doesn't take just any kid to Blean Pond."

"He took you," laughed Theo. I looked at Theo and my heart skipped a beat, though, oddly enough, I didn't feel jealous.

It was true; he was the best-looking boy in the school. There was nothing girlish about Theo, but his golden hair, symmetrical features, high cheekbones, big hazel eyes, and ready smile turned heads all around the school, including those of half a dozen teachers. Yet there was nothing boastful or arrogant about Theo; he simply laughed and got on with life. Rumour had it he was a born -gain Christian who read a bit out of the Bible every night. If Elwyn had an elder angelic brother it was Theo.

I looked at them and smiled.

"Have you two ever fucked a kid at the same time?" I inquired.

They shook their heads.

"Well, now's your chance." I paused, then added, "And I don't mean one in the mouth and one in the arse. I mean both of you in my arse, at the same time. Just pretend you're Eric." Looking back, I think the last remark was a bit cruel. They looked at each other, nodded and looked at me, like a couple of ferrets weighing up a rabbit. Some ferrets; some rabbit.

That's what we did. And it wasn't easy, but we managed. Theo on his back. Me sitting down on his cock. Lendon shoving his cock up my hole from behind. My hairbrush handle and Eric had made it easier for me, but not easy. It hurt like hell for a while, but I was able to look down into Theo's big hazel eyes and that took most of the pain away. Actually, I think what they found most erotic was their cocks rubbing against each other rather than being up me. That's probably why they came at the same time, while, a minute later, I had to get their cocks out of my arse, and wriggle up Theo's body so he could suck me to a climax. Then they proceeded to kiss me and share the cum in a three-way snog.

We walked to our homes. Lendon turning left after about half a mile. Theo was with me for another five minutes or so, then he turned left, I turned right. But as we said 'Bye bye', he took me, held me, and kissed me on the mouth, right there in the street.

School finished for the summer. I never saw Theo again. He didn't stay on in the Sixth Form but left for college and an apprenticeship. But I remember that face, that kiss - and the favour that Eric did for me.

Hey!

Before I tell you anymore, can I just say something?

I loved sex, I still do, but it wasn't the only thing in my life. I mean I didn't wake up every morning with a hard-on (usually I did) thinking whose arsehole can I kiss today, or will I get the chance to watch someone taking a shit, or would I really let someone shit on me, or in my mouth? I loved football, and the woodwork and metalwork lessons at school. Most of all I loved gardening.

Remember I told you I used to do gardening jobs for the neighbours?

Well, at the start of Year 9, when I was 13, Toby and I started our own gardening business. Toby lived three doors away from us, he was in my tutor group at school, and in some of my classes. He was a 'brainbox' - but not a nerd - and he was in the grammar stream. It turned out Toby loved gardening, too, and one day he said: "Why don't we start a gardening business? Charge the neighbours, and anybody else for the gardening jobs we do." It seemed such an obvious idea, that's probably why I didn't think of it. So we printed some 'business cards' in school and stuck them through letter boxes in the area. We were amazed at the number of calls we got. In the end, our mums said: "Get those phone numbers off those cards." They were fed up of guys phoning up asking if they wanted their bushes trimmed. (That's not true, I made it up.) But we had plenty of clients (Toby's word) anyways, so that was fine.

We only worked on Sundays and three days a week after school. We didn't work from November to February (end of) because that time was for my sex business (not true, made up). And I never fucked Toby during working hours - definitely not true! Toby didn't seem interested in sex with anyone; when I made jokes about wanking and such, he just frowned and looked at me as if I'd crawled out from under a rock. No sex jokes then because you shouldn't mix business and pleasure (probably true).

I'm just telling you this so you don't get the impression: this kid loves for nothing but sex. I did. But I lived for other things, too. And I'm not writing about every sex adventure I had. That would take too long, become boring for me as well as for you, and I've forgotten a lot of them. So it's mainly the important ones you're getting - well, important to me anyway.

It's amazing how naive parents can be?

I knew the first time I met I knew he liked boys that way. Derek was my mum's latest BF. I can understand why she took up with him. He was good-looking, had loadsa money, though no apparent job, a Porsche Cayenne, and, as mum said, "Derek has a way with kids." So I wasn't surprised when he moved in. It was the looks he gave me and Noah, like the cat that's at the cream when it thinks no one is looking. Sometimes I caught him almost licking his whiskers, not that he had any. Derek was always well-groomed and freshly shaven, or maybe he didn't have to shave much at all. I used to stand in front of the mirror gazing at my face and wondering when I could start shaving. Hair down there, yes, wisps under my armpits, yes, but, apart from a bit of downy fluff on my upper lip, nothing.

Derek bided his time. It wasn't till he'd been with us six weeks that he offered to 'baby sit' us. Alarm bells should have rung in mum's brain, but, being a female type creature, she jumped at the chance for a 'night out with the girls'. It was obvious to me Derek fancied a night in with the boys. Not that I minded too much. I knew how to say 'no thank you' if that's what I wanted to say.

"Bye, Bye, Mum. Have good time."

"Bye, boys." Kiss, kiss. "Be good. Do what Derek tells you. Don't give him a hard time."

Tell that to Noah.

No sooner was mum out the door than Noah dived on Derek, and they started fun-wrestling on the carpet. It was strictly no contest, so I dived in, too. I was still slim/skinny but I was a wiry fucker, and Derek had a job pinning both of us down. His aim was to pin us down, our aim was to haul his sweat pants down. He was tickling us, we were rolling round the carpet laughing. I could feel his hands all over me. Noah got the front of his sweat pants and yanked them to Derek's knees. No underpants! Thick, dark pubic hair. A big floppy cock. Balls in a floppy sack.

"We won! We won!" yelled Noah.

Derek heaved us off, jerked up his pants, and laughed along with us.

"Okay, you won that round, but just wait till the next one. Now let's settle down and watch the movie. Where's that tape?"

I looked around for the tape. Noah disappeared upstairs. I shoved the tape in. Derek and I hauled over the couch so we could all sit in front of the TV and watch the movie together.

"Noah! Movie's starting!"

Noah came waddling down the stairs and into the living room, his boxers at his ankles, his t-shirt pulled down over his crotch. He giggled, jerked up his t-shirt, and revealed - a full-blown hard-on! A good four inches sticking straight up. A little nest of black pubes. He turned round, bent over, yanked his cheeks apart, and farted!

"I've won! I've won!" he yelled.

Derek and I fell about laughing.

"Are you going to watch the movie like that?" asked Derek. "Showing all your naughty bits?"

Noah jerked his boxers up and sat with us on the couch. Derek lowered the lights. I hit the 'On' button. The tele flashed into life. The titles rolled onto the screen, and away we were. Terminator II. A great movie, except I'd seen it about half a dozen times. This was Noah's first time; he was glued to the screen. I was a bit bored and my tibia was aching; it sometimes did that, though it never gave me any problem on the football field. Derek looked a bit bored, too, though now and again he made enthusiastic comments for Noah's sake.

Our coach was huge. I nipped upstairs, stripped, put on a shirt and boxers, grabbed my favourite duvet cover, nipped back downstairs, and whispered, "My shin," to Derek, then stretched myself out on the couch. Noah didn't do as much as glance my way, even when I budged along the couch to the left, plonked a cushion on his lap, my legs across Derek's lap, feet on the other end of the couch, and the duvet cover draped over me. You've got to believe me: I only wanted my shin massaged, nothing more, nothing less. I know you don't believe me, but it's true.

Derek started squeezing my calf muscle gently, at the same time stroking my shin. After a few minutes my muscle relaxed, the ache ebbed away. I sighed. "Do you want me to stop?" whispered Derek. "No, go on," I whispered back. "Shut up," whispered Noah. My cock was at half mast; that's only natural when any part of you gets stroked, isn't it? I tried to say something else...

"Shut up," said Noah, loud and clear, grabbing his cushion, diving onto the carpet, and stretching out to watch the movie in peace and quiet. Peace and quiet in Terminator II? I don't think so. Canons to the left, canons to the right, Derek could have fucked me there and then, and Noah wouldn't have paid the slightest attention.

To make myself even more comfortable, I pulled up my right leg, and felt Derek's hand slide up between my legs till he reached the bottom of my bum. I could have stopped him there but I was curious to see what happened next. Anyway, what could he do with Noah lying right in front of us? I said nothing. I eased my legs apart a little more, not quite sure why, but knowing instinctively this would appeal to Derek. The squeezing began again; this time the lower part of my buttocks got the treatment. My cock gave little jumps and stiffened to its full length.

The hand stroked my buttocks, slid higher under my T-shirt. The feeling of Derek's cool fingers on my naked flesh made me hold my breath. Then the fingers sneaked their way under the elastic of my boxers until the hand was flat against my naked arse. It was now or never. I could make a vague muffled protest and the hand would slide away. Or I could do nothing, and let what happened happen. I did nothing.

The fingers slid into my crack. My face was glowing , but no one could see it in the half light of the darkened room. I felt Derek's fingers exploring my crack, though he steered clear of my bum hole. His finger tips stroked the bottom of my scrotum, and I hunched up a little to give him easier access. He gently manipulated my balls, his fingers managed to reach the base of my shaft. My hard cock strained against my belly. His fingers edged my foreskin back, and he began working the skin up and down my shaft. My balls tightened in their sac, I could feel my heartbeat in my asshole, which, I guess, is impossible.

Under the duvet, Derek worked my boxers down to my knees. His fingers worked over my crotch, my genitals, and the flesh between my thighs. I lay there watching Edward Furlong on the back of Arnie's motorcycle. I wondered what it would be like to be fucked by a Terminator. I wondered what it would be like to fuck Edward Furlong. Hasta la vista, baby!

Derek shifted his position. His fingers raised the duvet, and I suddenly felt his hot breath on my stomach. I panicked. I reached down and gripped his hair, holding his head away from me. I wasn't scared at the prospect of his mouth around my cock; that seemed a natural progression. I was scared Noah might turn around and see our 'baby sitter' sucking me off! Generally, we brothers kept each other's secrets, but that would have been stretching loyalty a bit far. And, knowing Noah, he'd probably insist on joining in - when the movie was over. I know I might disappoint some of you, but I've never had sexual feelings for my brother - not the slightest - in fact even the idea makes me puke.

Derek returned to stroking my cock. The waves of pleasure built to an intensity that couldn't last. I held back the whimpers and moans in my throat. I began to shove hard against Derek's fingers and hand; in fact, I was fucking his hand, then my crotch, thighs and hips bucked, and little jets of hot liquid spurted from my cock. Where my cum was going, I didn't give a fuck. You don't at the point of no return, do you? That was Derek's job. He started it; he could clean up the mess.

When I got my breath back, I yanked up my boxers, slid from under the duvet and nipped upstairs to take a quick shower - the smell of cum lingers. I returned to the lounge wrapped in a huge fresh bath towel and settled down to watch the rest of the movie - to watch Edward Furlong if the truth be told. At the end of the movie, Derek ushered Noah upstairs amid the usual protests and saw him into bed. Then he came downstairs again.

I was a bit tired and had turned over on my side. I heard Derek come in and kneel by the side of the couch. He half-tried to turn me over, but I resisted, and he seemed to give up whatever he had in mind. He edged down the bath towel until it was bunched at my ankles. My bare ass presented itself to him. He began to rub and stroke. How did he know that's the one thing I can't resist? I felt him part the crack in my buttocks, I felt his tongue slide up the inside of my thighs. The tip poked at my bum hole. I couldn't believe it. Here was my mum's new BF, a man who had 'a way with kids' licking my asshole. Then he sat up and put an arm round me.

"Know something, Paul, you're something special. You could make lots of money, and all you would have to be is my special boy."

"And what would that mean?" I said warily.

Derek laughed.

"Listen. I organise parties, special parties, for special men and special boys. You'd be my special boy, my assistant if you like, and you wouldn't have to do anything you didn't want to do. Of course it would be nice if you did stuff, but only whatever you chose to do. If you said you didn't want to do it, that would be it - even if it was something for me - with me I mean. And that's a promise."

I was intrigued.

"Are we talking sex parties?"

"Yes we are. Special sex parties. See my Porsche. I made enough money on the last three parties to buy that Porsche. Think of the money you could make."

"I don't understand. How could I make money if I didn't have to do anything?"

"Because you're a good-looking kid, my kid so none of the guests would lay a hand on you with my permission, and I would never give permission unless you said 'yes'. Of course you might have to encourage some of the boys - the new ones - to get on with it. You'd kinda be a big brother to them. But you wouldn't have to 'do' anything you didn't want to do. And that's a promise. How's about it?"

"I'll think it over," I said.

I thought it over and next morning agreed to give it a try.

Derek arranged everything. He was going up to London for the weekend - business - and could he take me along with him. Time he learned the ropes of the business, though he didn't specify what the business was. Mum gave the okay. Derek was a very successful entrepreneur and I could learn lots from him... and, most importantly, she could trust him completely. So Saturday off we went and spent a brilliant day, shopping, seeing the sights, the London Eye, the London Dungeon, had an early dinner at our Mayfair hotel and off to the party around seven o'clock.

Where was the party? I've no idea. Derek drove north through London to what was nothing less than a two-storey mansion, and I was stunned when he casually said: "This place is mine. Only use it for special occasions - and this is a special occasion. Enjoy."

The place was ablaze with lights. The huge entrance hall was full of men, well-dressed, well-groomed, well-presented. They turned and clapped when Derek and me entered. Derek put his arm around my shoulder: "Gentlemen this is Pascal. Pascal is my special boy." Heads nodded in approval. "You know the rules. You can look but you can't touch. Your special boys are upstairs. There are ten bedrooms and three bathrooms upstairs. There is also a room marked 'Supplies'." Nods of approval. "There is plenty to eat and drink down here. Nothing to be taken upstairs - at least nothing for simply eating and drinking." A round of laughter. "There is one rule, but it is strict: none of the merchandise is to be damaged. You damage - you pay - and fines are very heavy. Other than that have a wonderful evening. And remember the evening ends at midnight. And none of the merchandise may be removed from the premises. Other than that, go, find your special boy, or boys, and share as you will."

A final round of applause and the men took to the stairs.

Derek took me into his private sitting room and served us both a glass of champagne. I took a gulp rather than a sip and most of it came flying down my nose. Derek laughed. "Don't waste too much of that, Pascal. That's a Dom Perignon 2009. Follow my lead and you could be serving that one day."

"Why Pascal? That's not my name."

"We never give real names here, Paul. And if we can't use 'Paul', I though Pascal sounds classy. It's a name you don't forget easily. And if you saw the way those men looked at you, you'd know they're not going to forget the name either. They'll be back asking for Pascal."

"But they ain't gonna get him."

Derek laughed again. "Quite right. It's all up to Pascal." He paused. "Why don't you hang up your new blazer and go for a wander. See if there's anything you like. Join in if you want. Don't forget: you're Pascal - Derek's special boy."

At the top of the stairs, I saw ten doors, clearly the bedrooms, three bathroom doors, and a door marked 'Supplies'. I tried the first door opened it, stepped in a stood quietly watching.

On a huge double bed sat two men. Now out of smart clothes, they were fat, flabby and hairy. I stepped forward. On the bed, between them, lay a small body, a boy, a little younger than Noah, his eyes wide open, though they looked distinctly glazed.

"Cover his mouth," said the man on the right. He was holding a small bottle in his hand. A huge hand covered the small mouth. The man snapped off the top of the bottle and held it under the boy's nose. His head swung left to right on the pillow as the bottle was held below his nose. "That'll relax him," said another voice. "You take the top I'll take the bottom."

At the bottom of the bed, the man lifted the boy's legs and draped them over his shoulders, one either side so they were spread wide open. Pascal stepped forward. The men gave him barely a glance. The man was eating out the boy's tiny hole, though to Pascal it looked for all the world that he was eating the boy from bottom up.

At the top of the bed, the other fat hairy man was slapping the boy in the face, none too gently with his thick, flaccid, circumcised cock. He was smearing whatever was coming out of his penis on the boy's lips. Then opening the red lips and small mouth wide he inserted his cock head while jerking the bottom of the shaft. The boy's own penis was rigid, sticking outwards rather an upwards. Pascal sat on the edge of the bed and ran his finger over the boy's tummy; it was rigid. He picked up the discarded bottle. The label read 'Hard Rock' which explained everything and nothing. he gave it a sniff. Yuk! It smelled like bathroom deodorant.

"Do his arse."

Pascal looked around. Presumably the remark was addressed to him.

"Shove the bottle up his arse."

The fat, hairy, flabby fucker, who was still trying to get his flabby cock to harden in the boy's mouth, repeated: "Shove the bottle up his arse."

"Shove it up your own arse," snapped Pascal.

He rose from the bed and turned to the door. "See if you can find it again." He closed the door behind him, counted eeny meeny miny mo, landed on Door No. 7, and off he went.

"Ah, you must be Pascal, my new assistant," came a high-pitched voice from behind a white face mask. "Dr. Derek told me I might have your assistance. If you'll just put on that lab. coat and face mask. My operating room is no place for germs." He gestured to the said items hanging on the back of the door. I took my time putting them on as I surveyed the doctor's operating room.

The only thing giving any hint it was an operating room was a high-backed lounger of the kind at Dr. Mason's. At the side stood a small wheeled-table on which, neatly-laid, was a selection of medical instruments. On the lounger lay a boy, about my age, naked, legs drawn up so his bum balanced on the edge. His arms were secured to the arm rests. He was gagged with a crisp white bandage. At the end of the lounger were two bar stools. On the left side stood a TV monitor.

Dr. Joy - as he introduced himself - summoned me to a stool.

"Sit, observe, learn."

I sat and observed - ready to learn.

"Prise open his anus a little for me, if you please, Pascal."

Pascal pleased, and, reaching forward, I prised open the lips of the boy's anus and was surprised it opened easily to the diameter of a 10p coin.

"As you see, we still have much work to do. Pass me a speculum, if you please."

Pascal pleased but didn't have the faintest idea which of the instruments was a speculum. He took one and hoped.

"No, no, we're well beyond that. We're well beyond half an inch. Let's start with two inches," saying which he took up a shiny, metallic instrument that looked for all the world like Donald Duck's bill with two handles at on end. Dr. Joy gave the speculum a few quick quacks and placed the tip on the boy's rosebud. "Open Bobby a bit for me, please." Dutifully, I prised open Bobby's anus and Dr. Joy shoved Donald's bill in. I felt the lounger shake.

Dr. Joy parted the handles and Bobby's hole began to stretch wider. The lounger shook. I looked up. The boy's head rolled from side to side, his eyes - big and brown - blinked furiously. His fists were clenched. Was it pleasure or pain or a mixture of both? His hole was now open like a 50p coin.

The good doctor took a tube from the table.

"As you can see, Pascal, there's a small camera fitted to the end of the tube. The tube is wired to the monitor. There's also an LED fitted to the tube making it the ideal endoscope device. So now let's see what we shall see." Without more ado, the 'doctor' slid the tube up Bobby's arse and the monitor flickered on. Bobby's rectum was crystal clear.

"What are we looking for?" I asked.

"We're looking for the boy's prostate gland. Maybe we can look for yours later. The prostate is a like a little chestnut at the base of the penis."

"Yes, but what does it do?" I asked.

"Observe and learn."

The man slid his middle finger into the boy alongside the tube and I watched his finger tip rub the inside of Bobby's rectum.

Suddenly, Bobby's bum rose up, right off the lounger and he not so much rolled as writhed. His penis - around 5 inches - was erect. So erect I followed my instincts, stood up and began to jack him off. He shoved his penis inside my grip and tried to fuck my fist. Whatever a prostate did, it was doing it for Bobby! Waste not, want not, I thought and leaned over to suck him off. I was so absorbed I hardly felt my trousers and undies behind pulled down to my knees, and, even when I felt a finger push into my hole, I was too far gone to care, though I did pause and glance around.

It wasn't a fucking finger. It was that tube, that endoscopy thingie. It was up my arse and showing pictures of my insides on the TV monitor. Fair enough, but if Dr. Joy touched my hole with Donald Duck, I'd fuckin' kill him.

Bobby bounced, moaned, groaned through his gag. I guessed he was about to shoot his load when I felt my mouth, face and head being eased away. "No, no, Pascal, there is so much more to do. More experiments. Come, sit down."

I sat down and watched the doctor remove the speculum from the boy's arse. He took up another speculum. "Watch how his one locks," and, fitting inside Bobby's hole, turned the screw on the side until the hole gaped twice as big as before. You didn't need a camera to see his rectum now.

Dr. Joy stood up, unzipped his trousers, fished out a big, flaccid dick, gave it a shake, pointed the head at Bobby's stretched hole, and said: "Watch closely. I'm going to urinate as hard as I can into Bobby's rectum. I shall try to keep the flow centred on his prostate. I want to make him orgasm through the power of piss alone." He let go and fierce stream of piss fired into the boy's rectum. I was amazed how much piss went into his rectum before it began to overflow and stream from his anus.

Bobby did not have an orgasm.

But he did piss. Straight up in the air. Straight through his erect penis, as all boys will tell you it's not easy to do. The piss splattered over everything. I managed to jump back but the good doctor didn't. Not only was his operating table splattered in piss - he was too - and screamed something like: "Ach, Gott in Himmel!"

I'd had enough of this shit - or piss, if you like. I ripped off my mask, flung off my Lab. coat, and bundled myself out of the room, laughing first to bust a gut. If Dr. Joy was really a doctor, I wanted nothing to do with him. Give me Dr. Mason any day!

If No. 7 opened the door to medical insanity, Room 3 was, according to Pascal, simply silly, though erotic if you liked role play. There, on a mock-marble throne, sat the 'Emperor Tiberius' while around him frolicked his minnows and tiddlers, boys so young it was difficult to guess their ages. The visitor watched as the august emperor, a man so fat he made Jabba the Hutt look positively trim, flung open his toga and sprinkled his grizzly, old genitals with flakes of chocolate. The boys - a toothsome trio - scampered to the man and kneeled to lick him furiously, scooping the flakes with their tiny pink tongues.

"Ah, young Caligula, you're here at last. Divest yourself of your garments, attire a toga, and join the merriment. You may choose whichever tiddler takes your fancy. Pascal chose not to divest himself, nor attire himself, nor join the merriment but sat back in an armchair and watched the strange proceedings.

'Uncle Tibby' as the boys called him organised fun and games, the first being to determine which boy could suck fresh flakes of chocolate from uncle's floppy cock fastest. Lucky 'Lucius' won! The second competition involved which boy could get uncle's big toe up his arsehole. Tiny as it was Felix was the victor, though the other boys protested 'Felix' had been practising with a cucumber (no longer to be seen).

The third round proved the most challenging. Uncle pushed a very large gobstopper deep into his ancient arsehole and challenged the boys to suck it out. Try as they might - How they did try! - no boy succeeded in extracting the large, round, multi-coloured object from the august arsehole. The looks of dismay brought pity from the emperor. With a flourish, he whipped off his toga and stood in wrinkled splendour before them then squatted and, with much groaning, splattered a pile of foul-smelling shit onto the vestment. Somewhere in that shit was buried the gobstopper!

"To it, my tiddlers, to it!" he yelled in an accent pure Scouse rather than pure Roman.

Like slippery dolphins, the boys leapt into the pile of shit scrambling for the prize, imperial excrement flying everywhere until red-headed 'Rufus' arose triumphantly crying out: "I have it! I have it!"

"That you do, Rufus, that you do! And while you are sucking on your prize, Lucius and Felix shall suck on you. Not only suck on you, but lick every trace of the royal waste from your body. That is the imperial edict. So it is said so it must be done."

The boys knew better than to question a direct command and set themselves to the task, if not with a will, at least with a way.

"Ah, young Caligula, which of these tiddlers will you have. Have them all if you wish. Dr. Joy has had his time with them, and two of them, Lucius and Felix, have begun to prolapse even when they sneeze. I shall not be using them again. Do what thou wilt with them."

Pascal said nothing. With a bow to the emperor, he backed his way to the door and out into the corridor. He made a mental note to look up 'prolapse' when he got him and hoped he might have better luck with the next door.

He didn't.

In the centre of Room 3, two men were kneeling on all fours. They were naked. They were facing away from him. Their arses were raised high. Two boys knelt behind them. They were naked. One of the boys (Ted) was his age. The other (Leo) was Noah's age. Standing behind them was a tall, muscled, hairy man. He was holding a cane in his hand. He rapped the cane on the floor.

"Do what you're told and you'll be in the club. Don't do what I tell you and you'll be back where you came from. He rapped the younger boy lightly on the bare arse. And Ted won't be able to protect you there, will he, Leo. Here you'll get me up your sweet arse once a week. Back there you were getting fucked every night, weren't you, Leo?" The small boy nodded again. "They even made Ted fuck you, didn't they Leo?" He nodded. "Here you'll get well-looked after. Just do what we tell you when we tell you. Got it?" Leo nodded. "Got it, Ted?" The elder brother nodded.

"Ted, suck your little brother's cock. Get him hard."

Ted leaned down, Leo's legs, and slipped his little penis in his mouth. At first, he sucked gently and slowly, but speeded up until the penis was erect and stiff in his mouth.

"Leo, stick two fingers in your brother's hole and fuck him."

Leo hesitated for a moment. The man touched his shoulder with the cane. The then tips of two fingers wormed their way inside Ted's hole and began to saw in and out. Leo was a quick learner even when he didn't want to learn.

"Leo take your fingers out and let Ted suck them." He did what he was told, as did Ted. Now, Leo, use both hands to pull Ted's bum cheeks apart and suck on his asshole - that's the brown rosebud in the middle. Ted, start sucking Leo's dick again but don't make him cum. I know he only has dry orgasms but he mustn't even have one of those. I want him right on the edge. If he cums you'll both be sorry." He whacked the floor with the cane as he strolled over to Pascal.

"Sorry, sir, I didn't see you there. Sorry to keep you waiting. I'm Bruno - Mr. Derek's right hand man. You're his special boy aren't you?" Pascal said nothing. "Just tell me anytime you want to join in." He paused, non-plussed by the boy's non-response. "That's a comfortable armchair. And that's Dom Perignon on the table. Help yourself. Nothing but the best for Mr. Derek's special boy."

Pascal passed on the champagne and sat back to 'watch and learn'.

"Now, boys, follow my instructions exactly. Fold your fingers over each other. No, not over each other's fingers. Over your own fingers." Bruno gave Pascal and apologetic glance. "That's it, Ted. Show Leo what to do." With loving patience, Ted folded his little brother's little fingers over each other."

"Now, lean forward and work your fingers into your man's arse hole. Twist and wriggle your hand until all your fingers are in." The boys did as they were told, and Pascal was surprised how easily the fingers seemed to slip in. He heard both men, in their doggy positions, groan and moan, and saw them pushes their arses onto the fingers.

"Now, boys, on my count to three - that's 1, 2, 3 - ram your hands right up their arses."

Silence.

Then.

"1 - 2 - 3."

The boys rammed their hands in and were swallowed past their wrists. This time, the men didn't groan - they screamed, but almost before the screams ended, they pushed themselves backwards so both skinny arms disappeared up to the elbows.

"Bravo! Bravo, my little ones. Now make fists and punch in and out of their guts. Punch as hard as you can."

The boys now seemed to treat what they were doing as a game, a competition, as each tried to outpunch his sibling. Moans and groans. Pleasure or pain? Who the fuck cared?

"Now, boys, open your fists. Make your hands as wide as you can, and pull them out, slowly, slowly.

Pascal couldn't believe what we he was seeing and took steps forward and knelt down just behind the men's arses.He half-expectec the boys' hands and arms to be covered with shit but that was not what he saw. The bigger man's anus bulged outwards about four inches and began opening up. A baseball-sized rosebud slid into view until bright-red rectal flesh protuded from the anal lips. The slimy rosebud retracted, the man grunted, the prolapse appeared bigger and fleshier.

Bruno stepped forward, got Ted to his feet, and guided the boy's erect penis into the red flesh.

"Fuck that prolapse, boy. Get your balls in as well and fuck him good and hard."

Ted did what he was told. Bruno grabbed Leo and pulled him beneath the same man whose cock hung down like a floppy hose. He laid Leo on his back. "Suck him. Don't stop sucking him. Even if he cums or starts pissing don't stop sucking or you will get a taste of this." He rapped Leo across his tummy with the cane. Leo did as he was told. His mouth bulged with cock while his brother did his best to fuck the 'rugby ball' of red meat that hung from the man's arse.

"What's that?" said Pascal pointing at the 'thing' that hung out of the man's arse.

"That's the inside of his arse, part of his rectum, his bowels, his shit bag, sir," said Bruno. "Do you want to see one close up?"

Pascal nodded.

Bruno knelt beside him. Almost casually, he folded his fingers and rammed them up the other man's arse followed by his hand, wrist and half his arm. The man screamed. Bruno jerked. A glistening, bright-red prolapse emerged and bloomed into massive extruded rectum. Rectal mucus and debris dripped onto Bruno's hand. The man leaned forward and swiped his tongue all over the rosebud, tasting the arse juices that coated every fold of the man's prolapsing bowel. "Like a little lick?"

Would Pascal have taken a lick? We shall never know, for at that moment the tip of a thick brown turd emerged from the centre of the huge prolapse followed by a log that slid noisily from the inside-out arsehole. Bruno leaned forward and slid his lips round the nobbly turd.

Pascal rose, turned and walked to the door.

He turned and looked. Leo's naked little body lay under the huge, hairy man - his face below the dangling, hairy balls - gagging as cum and spew ran down his chin onto his neck and chest. Ted was ramming himself backwards and forward, though none of his genitals were in sight among the thick, black hair that sprouted from the man's arse. Bruno was doing something with what was left of the turd and the man's prolapsed rectum. Pascal couldn't figure what Bruno was doing. He opened the bedroom door, stepped out and closed it behind him.

Room 10 - the final room.

A boy lay on the bed. Not so much a boy. More like Eric. The boy was naked.

"Are you the special boy?"

Pascal nodded.

"I used to be the 'special boy'."

Pascal stripped off his clothes and got onto the bed.

The 'special boy' took the 'special boy' into his arms.

Two hours later, Uncle Derek drove them to their hotel.

"Well, Paulie, are you going to be my special boy.

Paulie looked into the darkness and said nothing.

"Come on, Noah, it'll hurt at first, then you'll like it. You'll be my special boy."

That was Uncle Derek.

"Fuck off. Leave me alone."

That was Noah, and I could hear the tremble in his voice.

"Come on, baby. Turn over. Bite the pillow. It'll be our secret."

"Leave me alone. Please, please."

I could hear the fear in Noah's voice.

I didn't wait. I turned the handle. Kicked the door open. Snapped on the light. Saw...

Noah on his back, his pyjama bottoms at his knees. Derek standing over him, his pyjama bottoms at his ankles, his big, fat cock standing in the air.

"Paulie..." began Derek. "I can explain..."

"Noah. Get to my bedroom. Get to my bed. Get to sleep."

Noah scampered off his bed, pulled his jammies half up, tripped and stumbled out of the room.

"Now look here..." whispered Derek.

"No, you look here," I said out loud. "If you're here in the morning, I'm telling mum everything. I'll say you tried to rape me. Noah'll say that, too. Just get the fuck out of our house. Don't come back."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" swore the man.

"27 Worthing Drive, Hampstead. 020 7658 8234"

"You little shit," said the man. "How did you get that address?"

"I'm a special boy."

"Listen, Paul, we can talk..."

I turned and slammed the door behind me.

I got into bed with Noah. I pulled him to me. I took his thumb out of his mouth.

"Paul..." he said.

"Yeh, sweetie," I said. That's the first and last time I ever called my brother 'sweetie'.

"Paul... I don't like men. I like boys and girls."

"I know that, honey," I said. Another first and last.

"Go to sleep I said. In the morning he'll be gone."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

In the morning Uncle Derek was gone. Everything was gone. He was gone, and he never came back. In fact, we never heard from him again.

Of course, Mum was mystified. Noah and I just shrugged our shoulders. Mum was miserable for a few days, then I heard her say under her breath, "good riddance to bad rubbish." She started to sing 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow'. Weirdly enough, that's the song she always sang when she was in a really good mood.

Two weeks later she said: "Boys, I've got an announcement to make. I've made a new friend. This time he really is the man for me.. I think."

Noah and I looked at each other, then chimed almost in harmony:

"Aw, for God's sake, Mum."

"Boys!"

As the Beatles' song goes, "It's getting very near the end."

Like I said, my years at school were great. I found lots of sex, and lots of boys I liked, and who liked me. I was sad for a while when Mr. C. and Eric left. They were special friends to me. But I never loved them. I'm not sure boys in their early teens can love people outside their family. Until I met Robert, and, like most of the good things in life, that was luck.

Remember I said I was good at football. Maybe I was a bit more than that 'cos I'd been in my school sides and district sides all the way through, and now I'd been selected for the County side, made up of Under-17s. I was really lucky to get a place because I'd just turned 16 at the start of Sixth Form. Being in the County side meant going to Soccer Camp for a long weekend once a month. I was nervous when I got there, except when I was actually playing. Then the only thing mattered was sticking the ball in the back of the net, and that was never a problem for me.

I hardly ever scored spectacular goals from far out, and I couldn't head the ball against a barn door if I was standing next to it. But over 10 yards nobody was going to catch me. I was a poacher, pure and simple as that, but poachers have to play inside the rules of the game like everyone else. I'd stand on the shoulder of the last man, alert for the through ball, turn like a rabbit being chased by a fox, cover a couple of yards like a whippet, and pass the ball into the far corner of the net. Nothing fancy, no frills, just stick it in. Defenders hated me.

"Just tell me where you want me to stick it."

That's the first thing that Robert L. said to me.

Honest, it is.

When we arrived at camp, we were paired up and given a room to share. I got Robert; he got me. Robert arrived late, just in time for the first selection session. I was so nervous I didn't notice him until I heard his voice behind me - "Just tell me where you want to stick it." I was playing up front, Robert was in midfield. We had a couple of minutes before kick-off.

"You're Paul right?"

I nodded.

"You're the little fucker who keeps scoring all those goals, aren't you?"

I nodded.

"Well, now you're scoring for us. I set up the chances. You take them. Deal?"

"Deal?"

Big smile. Warm handshake. Instant like.

I'd heard of Robert L., but I'd never played with him or against him. That's because he'd played in the next county until his family moved in August. He wasn't coming to our school. He was at one of the local grammar schools, so he had to be really bright.

The whistle went. The match was on. Only one thing mattered: sticking the fucking ball in the fucking net. I managed that four times. Three of the goals were set up by Robert. I scored the fourth when I tried to head a cross. The ball hit me full in the face, knocked me on my arse, and flew in the back of the net. Our coach shook his head sadly.

"Nice one, Paul!" shouted Robert, who could hardly shout for laughing. I could have been annoyed, but I saw the funny side as well. At the end of the session, the Coach came up to me and said: "You're in for Sunday morning. Don't waste your time trying to head a ball. Jimmy Greaves couldn't do that either." My face was on fire. Coach had just compared me to Jimmy Greaves - England's greatest-ever goal scorer.

Robert strolled over to me - actually Robert strolled through the whole match. He put his arm round my shoulder. "It's true what they say about you."

"What's that?"

"You can't play football for fuck, but you sure can stick it where it counts. Come on. We're sharing a room. Last one under the shower's a homo." My heart sank a little when he made that last remark. I shrugged my shoulders and trotted after him. I didn't care if I was last; I knew I was a homo; but I only pick up speed when I have to. I slowed my trot to a stroll and watched Robert's gorgeous arse race ahead of me.

By the time I got to our room - like all the others it had its own shower cubicle - Robert was stripped and waiting.

"Hurry up, homo," he said. "We're only allowed ten minutes hot water, so we have to share. Get the kit off."

Robert must have seen the look on my face as I stripped.

"Hey," he said. "Don't take it like that. You're not the one here who's a homo. I am. Homo. Poof. Queer. Nancy boy. But don't worry. I'm not going to pounce on you when you're asleep. I'm going to wake you up first."

I took a deep breath and said, "Robert, ..... "

"It's Rob to you. My friends call me 'Rob'."

"Rob," I said, "I'm a homo, too."

A huge grin spread across his face.

"Ace. Fucking Ace. ... Now let's get under the shower. ... Wait a minute."

"What?"

"Fuck it, Paul, your dick's bigger than mine. What is it - 7, 8 inches?"

"Yeh, but your nuts are like tennis balls. I've only got ping pongers."

"True. Right, let's get under the shower. We'll compare later."

Ten minutes of really hot water. Then we towelled each other off. Wrapped our towels round us and sat on Robert's, sorry Rob's bed. Rob stood up, flicked on the radio - David Bowie - searched in his hold-all, pulled out a tin and extracted what looked like an over-grown cigarette. I raised my hand. "I don't smoke," I said. "Neither do I," he said, adding, "These are fags for fags." I didn't get the joke then; I get it now. He lit the ciggy, drew deeply on it and held the smoke in.

"It's called a joint. Try it."

I took a deep draw. Something hit my chest and lungs. I tried to cough up what was left of my lungs. My eyes watered.

"Don't take such deep draws - amateur," Rob smiled, taking the joint from me. Another draw and he passed it back to me. This time I didn't draw so deeply, and, following instructions, held the smoke in my lungs. I coughed, not nearly so much. I started to feel light-headed, incredibly relaxed, like I was melting, and took another puff.

"Hey," said Rob, "Share, share, fair, fair." I grinned like an idiot, passed the joint, but kept my hand out for my next turn. Two more draws and I lay back on the bed, my head full of fluffy clouds.

Under my damp towel, my cock was thick, semi-tumescent. I felt Rob's fingers. "Go on," I managed, adding, "Please." I raised my arse an inch and he tugged the towel away. His fingers raised me up, his mouth took me in. He sucked long and slow, his lips kissing their way up to the head, then swallowing me till those lips pressed against my thick pubic hair. Fingers ran the length of my body, tracing the shape of my shoulders, my arms, my chest, my nipples, my belly, my hips. I felt I was being sculpted. My erection was stiff and hard.

The pressure rose but Rob moved away from my penis to concentrate on another part of my body. He pushed my legs apart and kissed and licked under my balls along that place they call... I don't know what they call it - the place between my scrotum and my arse hole. That bit where you seem to be joined together. Is there a name for it? Back would come his lips and mouth and throat to my cock to take me in again and start the whole process over.

He stopped.

I sat up. He still knelt on the floor. I sat there watching Rob's dirty blond hair (long), his powerful shoulders (freckled), and his spine (curving into his towelled ass) while my thighs trembled, my hard-on throbbed. I was puzzled. "What's wrong?" I asked. "Nothing's wrong," he said. I tried to form a question into my head.

"I want you to fuck me," he said. "With this," he added, pulling my erection to his face to kiss it.

"Would you? Will you?"

I stood up. Rob stood up. His towel fell to the floor. We stepped into each other's arms, chest to chest, belly to belly, hair to hair, stiff cocks pressing against each other. We kissed open-mouthed. Hysterically rather than romantically, as if we wanted to swallow, to devour each other. Rob lay face down on the narrow bed, his head on a pillow. I stood at the end of the bed, knelt - the bed was very low - pulled his legs wide part, then the cheeks of his arse, and slid my face into the valley.

Blond hairs around his pucker, his starfish, the serrated entrance to the most intimate part of the male body. I slid the tip of my tongue along the tiny mouth, pulled back, spat on it, kissed it, sucked at it as much as I could. Used my thumbs to prise him open - reddish pink - I tried to suck it out with no idea what 'it' was. Retreated. Penetrated him with a finger - one, two, three, as he moaned and groaned above me. Five minutes, maybe ten. Pulled out my fingers.

His hole gaped for a moment, then closed itself.

I stood up. Knelt on the bed between Rob's legs. I didn't have to ask. He reached back and, with fingers and thumbs, pulled himself open again, not gaping but enough. Enough for me to burrow the head of my cock in. I let myself fall forward thrust my cock into his bowels. I know it hurt; I heard him squeal. "Fuck, fuck..." That was Rob, not me.

I fucked him hard and fast, almost desperately. I wanted to make him mine. My back arched, my head flew back, it was my turn to squeal. My cum shot deep inside him, again and again. The bed shook and shuddered below us. I fell the length of Rob's body; we were glued together by our own sweat. We lay there for a quarter of an hour, neither of us wanted to move.

When we finally moved, Rob looked at me sheepishly.

"We'd better dump this sheet," he said. "I've cum all over it." There was a huge stain to prove it. We both grinned. "Looks like the shower again," he added. It was my turn to look sheepish. "Rob, can I ask something?" He looked puzzled. "Well, I've got a thing about arseholes - and yours is beautiful." It was incredibly difficult to say it but I did it. "Is it okay if I suck my cum out of your asshole?"

For a moment I thought he was going to hit me.

"You, too?"

I nodded.

"Fucking hell, me too. Okay, here's the deal. You suck the cum out of me now. Tonight, before showers, I fuck you and suck my cum out of you."

"Deal," I grinned.

Rob got on the bed, lay flat on his back and hooked his legs over his shoulders. He eased the lips of his anus as far apart as he could, then grunted, "Go for it, babe."

I did.

And that night, before showers, he fucked me hard, then sucked his cum out of me. I don't know who was happier, me or Rob.

At bedtime we pushed the beds together and lay side by side, our heads sharing the pillows.

"I don't know either," said Rob. "I can't remember when I wasn't fascinated by arseholes. It's not easy to tell anyone this, but I love kissing them, licking them, sucking them..."

"...making love to them."

"That's it exactly," said Rob. "What about shit?" he added.

"What about shit?"

"You know - playing with it, shitting on someone, letting them shit on you. Some guys even eat it."

"No."

"Honest?"

"Yeh, honest. What about you?"

Rob seemed thoughtful for a moment.

"No. I used to think I might. I just wasn't sure. I mean I'd like to watch someone taking a shit, but I think that's because I want to see their hole in action. You?"

"Same here. I've seen guys taking a shit. It gets me incredibly hard and horny, but, when I look at the shit, I know that's not what's doing it. I love looking at an arsehole opening and closing, I love to see an anus gaping, buit the shit itself doesnt do anything for me."

"The same here," said Rob. "It's such a relief to be able to talk about it - to someone who knows, someone who understands." He got up on one elbow, leaned down and kissed me. He lay back down.

"I've got a theory," I said.

"Tell," he said.

"Well, I used to have this fantasy about crawling up inside a guy's arsehole, past his sphincters, up into his rectum, into his bowels, and then - you'll think I'm crazy - "

"I know you're fucking crazy. Go on."

"Well, when I was deep inside, all of me, I could become that person. I would still be me but I would be that person as well. But you'd have to love that person, I mean really love that person to want to do that."

"Fuck, Paul, that's brilliant. Even if it isn't true - and I think it is - it's fucking brilliant."

"Now can we go to sleep?" I asked. "We've got early training tomorrow. Seven fucking a. of the m."

"Yeh... but can I ask one more thing?"

"Go for it."

"Tomorrow morning, before we have a shower, can we watch each other shit, close up, very close up I mean?"

"I thought you'd never ask," I laughed. "Now let's hold each other till we fall asleep. Last one asleep is a homo."

We fell asleep in each other's arms, and we slept the dreamless sleep of two boys who have come home at last.

And that, as they say, is

THE END

Not quite.

Do you remember that night when I met Mr. Cameron in the pub? And I told him I was going to Sports College in September to train as a sports teacher? And he wished me well. And we hugged and said goodbye.

One thing I didn't tell him, because it wouldn't have meant much to him, was that I wasn't going alone. I didn't tell him I was going with Rob. And that we were still playing together - not for the county, but for the Youth Side of a Premiership team. Maybe he knew, Maybe he was waiting for me to say. But I didn't.

And where was Rob?

In the toilet - having a shit.

I closed my eyes and watched a turd emerging from that beautiful, beautiful rosebud.

Close your eyes and you'll see it too.

THE VERY VERY END