The Learning Curve

THE LEARNING CURVE From: jonkent69@tutanota.com Subject: THE LEARNING CURVE- URINATION

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 a revised version of a story I wrote over ten years ago for Nifty. I have substantially revised it (a) because I'm a much better writer now than I was then, and (b) because it deals with some aspects of sexuality, especially scat, that I couldn't handle them. I needed to write this story to get it out of my system, and that, as they say is that.

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THE LEARNING CURVE

Ben's man-friend wanted to 'meet' me. I wasn't entirely sure what 'meeting' the man would involve, but knowing Ben, it would be scary, thrillingly scary. Ben and I had been at nursery together, then at Junior School, and now, at the age of 11, we would be moving on to Secondary School in September, sharing everything in our lives, including sex, but not sex with a man, a real, live- grown up man.

There were very few men in my life. My dad had disappeared before I knew him, and his disappearance was not a question I could broach with mum. She had her private life; I had mine. Whole areas were off-limits to both sides. To tell the truth, I was quite scared of men, terrified, whether it was the postman, milkman, or a policeman, or even the rentman. I'd vanish into the bedroom until the intruder disappeared. It took me sometime to get used to Mr Murray, our junior school teacher, putting his hand on my shoulder or ruffling my hair, though, to be strictly honest there was something shivery about the touch or smell of a man. But to actually meet a man who did stuff with a boy was both scary and thrilling.

I avoided Ben's invitations. I hemmed and hawed, found excuses, invented excuses, and for the first time in all our years together simply lied to Ben. It didn't work, of course. In the end Ben simply tricked me into the encounter.

Like many of my friends, I was obsessed by snooker. There were three snooker halls within fifteen minutes' walking distance of ur new school, and you could find up to two dozen Wallace Academy boys frequenting these 'dens of iniquity' during the last period on any day of the week. I was really looking forward to becoming a Wallace-boy, so when Ben suggested we skip Friday Period 6 and start the weekend early by playing snooker at his home, I didn't think twice.

The first I saw of Dan was his arse bent over the snooker table. I didn't recognise him at once, not yet being on speaking terms with his arse, but as soon as he turned round I knew it was him, Daniel, Dan, the man Ben claimed he loved and who loved him.

"Louis meet Dan. Dan meet Louis."

Dan beamed and his smile lit up the room. Ben hadn't lied. The man was seriously handsome. Somewhere between 20 and 30. I'm no good at ages. Tallish and well-built. Shaggy brown hair, needing a trim. Strong eyebrows, a favourite of mine. Brown eyes that smiled. Hell, I know eyes can't smile, but they can add to a smile. A generous mouth with little laughter lines. Five o'clock shadow even though it was only 10 to 2. White socks, light denim jeans and a Celtic football shirt - at least he wasn't a blue-nosed Rangers' supporter.

He stretched out his hand to me. Automatically, I raised mine. He took my hand. His grip was strong but not oppressive. His skin was warm and dry. Mine was damp.

"Hi, Louis. Nice to meet you at last. Ben's told me lots about you. He wasn't fibbing."

I tried for nonchalance but it came out as a squeaked "Same to you," though that didn't make much sense.

"Here," said Dan, "have my cue. You two have a game. I'll just lie back and watch you. Just get yourselves warmed up." An alarm bell went off in my head. What the hell were we warming up for? Dan took a few steps and let himself fall backwards onto the bed. "If you need any help," he added, "just whistle. You know how to whistle don't you. Just put your lips together, and... blow. You know how to blow, don't you?"

Ben grinned at me. "That's what Dan calls a blow-job." He kicked off his school shoes and booted them into a corner; I followed suit. The carpet pile was thick below our feet.

We'd been playing for about 10 minutes and I was just finding my rhythm and concentration when Ben called out: "Fuck snooker, fuck me."

As the boy moved, his grey school flannels slid down to his knees, then down to his ankles. The sight was erotic and comical. I wondered if they remembered I was in the room. I pretended to concentrate on the snooker but worked the white to the other side of the table so that the bed was in my line of sight. I watched man and boy tumble backwards onto the double bed.

Ben kicked off his shows and stepped towards the bed.

"Hey, Louis. Come and join us if you get bored with the snooker." That was Dan.

"Fuck the snooker," added Ben. "Come on, Louis. This is a lot more fun."

I mumbled something about needing to practise and bent my head over the table. I could still see what was going on - a wrestling match, boy giggling, man laughing, as they wrestled each other's clothes off until both only wore underpants. Both wore slips, both had obvious erections.

Although Dan was quite young, he really was a man. His shoulders were broad, his chest deep, his nipples intimidatingly big, and he had hair on his chest. Not lots of it, but there was fine black hair, and just below his belly button a thin line of dark hair widened into a delta that fanned out below his underwear. And he had hair on his balls, his big balls.

I hadn't seen that yet but I knew from the dark hair on his legs, and the dark hairs sticking out from the bottom of his slip that he had really hairy balls. I'd never seen hairy balls. Some of the older boys at school, the Sixth Formers, had hair on their chests but I'd never noticed hairy balls, possibly because I hadn't observed that closely. Dan raised his hands and entwined them behind his head.

Hairy armpits!

Seriously hairy armpits.

A man's armpits. I'd noticed a few hairs in Eric's armpits; actually I'd licked them a few times. I knew there were wisps in my own armpits, but nothing like Dan's. Nothing like the thick forests of hair that hung glossily down in each armpit.

Ben's looked pale and vulnerable against the strength of the man. He lay there, stretching along Dan's body, chest to chest, so that he could reach up and exchange kisses and nibbles. I watched as he chewed at Dan's lips, actually chewed on them, then slid his face down to the man's chest. I saw his pink lips close round the brown nub of Dan's right nipple and chew on it. He looked for all the world like an over-grown infant suckling at his dad's breast.

I watched Dan's hands slide down Ben's back, under his slip, then wriggle the underwear over and down my friend's buttocks until they were palely and innocently exposed. Dan caught my eye. I blushed and looked studiously down at the snooker table, but I couldn't keep my eyes down; I had to look, watch, observe, and, I admit it, lick my lips.

Ben's underwear was down at his knees. Dan caught my eye again, and this time he held me. He smiled and patted the side of the bed. I laid the cue against the table and moved to the bed. I sat down. I don't think Ben knew I was there. I could hear the sounds he was making, wet, smacking, gurgly sounds. My eyes moved to Dan's hands and my friend's buttocks.

Using his big hands, Dan gently prised Ben's buttocks apart, then just as gently pressed them together again. He continued doing this - apart, closed, apart, closed, apart, closed...

As he opened the boy's buttocks, his middle fingers slid closer and closer to the little pinky brown button at the centre until the tips of his fingers met right over the hole. It was very warm in the bedroom. The skin of Ben's buttocks was damp with sweat; his little rosebud looked moist.

I watched as Dan held the boy's buttocks open and let his right middle finger tip move backwards and forwards over Ben's hole. I heard Ben sigh and watched his arse push up towards the invader. With a shock I realised this wasn't the first time for Ben, that he and Dan had done this lots of times before, and that it must feel good.

I'd resisted Ben's assaults on my own most intimate place because all the old taboos were still in place. Now I was fascinated by my friend's little brown pucker, the little pink rose at the centre of his being. This spot was as much a part of him as any other part, and as such it deserved to be loved just as much as any other part. The frown on my face was one of concentration, not one of disapproval.

Ben's little ring of muscle, the sphincter, seemed to surrender all at once, much as I surrendered my own prejiduce. Dan's finger slid in to the first knuckle.

knew what Dan was doing. Surely he wasn't going to play stinky finger with Ben. Looking up, I realised Dan was gazing at me. I blushed furiously. He smiled in response, looked down at his handwork, looked up at me again, and nodded. I knew it was an invitation. Well, fuck it, Ben was my friend, too.

Tentatively, I reached a hand and felt Ben's arse; it was smooth, satiny, warm, and rounded, almost like Marie O'Doherty's breasts. My brother let me cop a feel of them when he was in a particularly generous mood.

My fingers were drawn inwards, but I snatched them away when they came into contact with Dan's hands. He said nothing, only smiled. Slowly I returned my hand and fingers until they lay the length of Dan's, my middle finger resting on his, the tip touching Ben's backdoor.

Dan pulled his finger upwards. I winced but Ben only grunted. I saw the little space that had been created for me. Everything seemed dreamy, out of kilter, unreal. I slid my finger forwards and watched the tip slide into my friend's arse; bolder I pushed forward and was surprised when my finger, much slimmer, of course, than Dan's slid all the way in. It was an incredible sight. Dan's big man-finger and my slim boy-finger sliding in and out together of Ben Aitken's arse.

Dan wound his big finger round two of men and worked the three of them inside Ben's rectum. Togther we began to seriously finger-fuck my best friend. He was opening up, groaning as we worked in deeper onto the moist, greasy flesh, smells reaching my nose.

I shifted a little on the bed, trying to get more comfortable. Dan looked at my crotch and smiled, and nodded. I took this for approval. I unzipped and hauled my aching cock into the open; it was stiff and hard, the foreskin already retracted, the head already slimy with pre-cum. Dan whistled; I took that as approval, too.

I played with myself for a bit but couldn't resist beginning a steady wanking rhythm. It was stunningly erotic: Ben's pale, slim, boy's body, his buttocks high and curved, stretched along Dan's much stronger, darker man's body. Dan's middle finger, my middle finger aligned together stroking in and out of Ben's anus, the sphincter gripping tightly like a little hungry mouth.

My trousers and underpants at my knees, my erection gripped by the fingers and thumb of my right hand, throbbing over my best friend's bare bottom.

Dan whispered in my ear. Almost in a trance I slid off the bed, got a snooker cue, handed it to him, and got back on the bed. "Get down there and watch," he whispered. I did what I was told.

The man worked the cue into Ben's bum hole, slowly, carefully, inch by inch, pausing to twirl it, then sliding it out and whispering: "Turn over, Ben, turn over, sweetheart." Ben did what he was told, lying, back on the bed, head on the pillow, while my head lay between his open legs.

Dan was working the cue stick in Ben's hole again, but this time it was the thick end, and sometimes he'd slide it out and hold it still. "Kiss it, Louis, give it a little kiss. I wasn't sure if he meant Ben's hole or the cue stick, but I gave the stick a few little kisses. "Lick it now, Louis lick it clean." I licked it. I licked what was coming from deep inside my friend's rectum. I should have been disgusted, but I wasn't, though I couldn't admit to myself what I want: to lick some more.

The thick end of the cue was deep inside Ben now. "Watch his tummy, Louis, watch Ben's tummy."

I could see movement inside Ben's tummy. I watched the cue slide deep inside the boy, rippling his flesh as it went. "Kiss his tummy," came the whisper. "Kiss Ben's tummy," came the instruction. "Now suck his dick." I looked at Ben's dick. I'd sucked it lots of times, but it had never looked as hard as this, so hard, so stiff, it looked like it must hurt. It throbbed inside my mouth. I sucked hard, his penis throbbed harder. I could hear Ben from far away, meaning, groaning, grunting. Little squirts of cum hit the back of my throat as his bidy rolled from side to side on the bed, my free hand on his belly feeling the cue stick ramming upwards and downwards.

It was too much. I tried to hold back, believe me, I tried. I couldn't. Pushing down my flannels and underpants, I scrambled up the bed and pointed by stiffy at Ben's face. I came in squirts, spurts, the semen spitting onto Ben's chin. I didn't tried to avoid it; in fact, I pulled my shaft down and directed the semen onto Ben's open mouth.

I was mortified, ashamed. My desire and my cock collapsed almost immediately. One moment I was on fire with lust, the next all I wanted to do was get out of that room. The smell of sex was over-powering. I pulled up my underpants, scrambled from the bed, pulled up my trousers, zipped myself up, and couldn't find my shoes. Where the fuck had I kicked them?

"They're under the bed."

Who the fuck was that?

"Louis. Your shoes are under the bed."

It was Dan. I didn't look at him. I dropped to my knees and peered under the bed. Yes, they were there! I grabbed them at hauled one on. It didn't fit. Shit, it must be Ben's. No. Ben's were over there. I realised I was cramming my right foot into my left shoe. Fuck it. I got my right shoe on my right foot, my left shoe on my left foot. I headed for the door.

I couldn't resist turning for a last look.

Ben was down Dan's body. Dan's underwear was round his ankles. Ben was holding Dan's stiff cock straight up. God, the man was big, big and hairy and brutal - and yes, yes, beautiful. His balls were huge; at least huge by any standard I knew. And, yes, they were big hairy balls. Ben was kissing, caressing, wanking the top half of Dan's shaft. Dan was sat up against the headboard, hands clasped behind his head, eyes closed.

"Hey, Louis, don't go," said Ben. "Dan never hurts me. And I want it 'cos I love it! He loves it, too. Stay and help me fist him - together - same time..."

"Sorry, got to go," I called in what I thought was my most manly, my most assured voice though it probably leapt an octave. "Mum's expecting me."

"You don't have to go, you know." That was Dan's voice. His eyes were open. He was smiling at me; his smiles felt like pats on the head.

"Come on, baby, please don't go."

This baby went.

At home, in bed that night, I was so horny I didn't dare touch myself. Now I was so hard it hurt but I knew if I touched myself I'd cum and I didn't want that. I wanted to lie there, right on the edge, and let myself drift back, drift back to when...

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I whispered.

"Yeh, there is," he said.

"Nothing," I repeated.

"Yeh, there is. You don't really like me."

"I do, I really do, but well, maybe this'll sound a bit weird," I began.

I was with Leo. He was on my bed, naked. Come to think of it, I was naked, too.

"Go on. tell me. Am I doing something wrong? Tell me how to do it right."

Leo was eight years old. I was ten years old. So I guess it was up to me to show him how to do things right. He was only eight but he was a quick learner. "What is it?" he insisted.

What was not to like? Leo was cute. No, that's not the right word. Leo was handsome. No, that's not it either. Leo was beautiful. Can't think of any other word. Long blond hair. Mine is long but dirty blond, I think you call it. Leo had big brown eyes. Mine are grey on cloudy days, blue on sunny days. Leo's nose is short and straight. Mine is short and a little bit upturned. Leo has a strong little body. Mine is long and skinny.

"Well?" he insisted, his fingers playing with my balls.

"I like you. I really like you. It's just that..." - how could I put it and not sound weird - "do you think you could maybe stick your finger up my bum? I know it sounds a bit weird, and I wouldn't ask if it wasn't..."

"Which finger?" Leo asked, as if he were asking me what flavour of fruit gum I wanted.

"Mmmm, it doesn't matter. You choose," I said, glancing at his fingers. "Well, maybe the middle one."

Leo wriggled down the bed. "Open up." I felt the tip of his finger pushing at my hole. I felt him push harder, and harder. I watched him as he brought his finger to his mouth, slip it between his little pink lips, and give it a serious sucking. For a moment I wondered if sucking Leo's middle finger would feel as sweet as sucking his cock. No, it couldn't be as sweet as that, could it? I guess it depended on where his fingers had been.

He went back to his work. A push here, a twist there, and he was in, up to the knuckle, and then all the way in. He started wiggling his finger around, the tip stretching to explore waht he could reach.

"Does that feel nice?" he asked.

"Great," I grunted. "Do you think you could try two fingers?"

"Yep," Leo said. "Then it's my turn. Deal or no deal?"

As I said, Leo may only be eight years old but he is a fast learner.

"It's a deal," I grunted.

Leo - my first finger-fuck. And the first time I sucked fingers that had been inside another boy's bum. Before that, it had only been my own. What boy doesn't stick his fingers up his bum and then suck them? And Leo's insides tasted so much better than mine. Shit is shit wherever ir comes from, you might say. I don't agree. It depends on whose shit is. If you really like a person, you'll like his shit, too. And I really liked Leo.

So I lay there, remembering how sweet Leo's shit was and feeling guilty, not about that, but about Uncle Willie and where he had taken me. it was Uncle Willie who'd told me I was a fast learner. He wouldn't be telling me that again.

Mum said he'd been trying to climb through the dormer window after losing his keys. He was probably drunk. Anybody could have told him he'd never get through that dormer window in the attic. I used to stand there, naked, peeking through the dormer window. Uncle Willie used to stand behind me, naked, with his finger up my jacksie. He'd teach me the names of the different birds while he was wiggling his finger up there.

To loosen me up.

Then he'd take his finger out, reach it round to my mouth, and I'd suck on it for a bit. Some of you might not know the word 'jacksie'. It means arse, backside, ass, batty, back crack. Like if I was holding a big cucumber, I might say, "You wouldn't like this up your jacksie." Well, maybe you would. I wouldn't. I don't really like vegetables. I think jacksie is Cockney Rhyming Slang but I can't figure out what it rhymes with.

Uncle Willie fell off the roof. He broke his leg. He also broke his neck, which was more serious. Not that it was fatal. What killed him was not being able to move or even cry out for help. It was the cold that killed him.

The lowest temperature for a January in the past fifty years. When the milkman found Uncle Willie, he was stiff, all over, and frosted. It's not as cold as that now and I guess they've got a digger to dig the hole for Uncle Willie. A hole. I think Uncle Willie would like that, going into a deep hole, I mean. But it was hard to feel sad when I was lying on the bed, naked, with Leo, naked, and he's got two fingers up my jacksie. Wait a minute. It's not two now. It's three. That reminds me a lot of Uncle Willie, but I still can't feel sad. Is there something wrong with me?

Uncle Willie wasn't the first to see me naked - apart from my mum, I mean. That was Alfie. Alfie and I have been friends since... since ever I remember, I guess. We grew up about five minutes away from each other, and we're still growing up at the same distance, I guess.

Alfie has got long hair, too, but his hair is just down to his collar. Leo's hair is half way down his back, and mine is right down my back. Anyways, Alfie was the first person not related to me to see my penis, erect, I mean. We were same age as Leo, eight years old.

"My dick's bigger than yours," said Alfie.

"Look the same to me."

"No, they're not. Press them together and we'll see," suggested Alfie.

He was right. His dick was bigger but not by much. And mine was definitely fatter than his.

"My pee hole is bigger than yours," claimed Alfie, adding, "Let's check and see."

We peeled back our foreskins and pressed the little mouths together. It looked like they were kissing.

"Seem the same to me," I said.

"Guess so," said Alfie, "but I've seen a much bigger dick than ours."

"You have?" I asked.

"My dad's," said Alfie proudly.

"You've seen your dad's dick, standing up?" I was impressed.

"Yep," he said. "Mum was having a drink out of it."

"Your mum was drinking pee out of your dad's dick?" I gasped.

"Don't be stupid," Alfie laughed. "It wasn't pee she wanted. It was man's milk."

"What the fuck is man's milk?" I asked.

"Shit, Louis, you know fuck all."

He paused and gave me his 'Alfie's thinking' look.

"Lie down," he said. "There's nobody around. Father O'Malley won't be here for ages. Lie down."

I sat down on the thick blue carpet in the vestiary, then stretched myself onto my back. I could feel Alfie undoing my snake-belt, then scrabbling down my grey shorts, followed by my less-than-white undies. It felt weird lying there with my shorts and underpants around my knees. But that's what Alfie told me to do, and we hardly ever argued about anything. I felt his fingers move up and down my penis which was as hard as a milk bottle. At first he couldn't get the foreskin to go far back, but as he moved the skin back and forwards, the head seemed to get slippery and the skin slid back and forwards easily.

So what?

I'll tell you fucking so what. I could feel my skin start to tingle, not just the skin of my dick, but the skin of my tummy, my chest, my neck, my face. At the same time there was a pressure building. I'm not sure where the pressure came from, but it made me clench the cheeks of my arse. You know when you're desperate for a shit but there's no place to have one, not even any bushes, and you clutch the muscles of your bum really tight. It was a bit like that. But not the same. because the tighter it felt, the better it felt. And my bum began to lift off the carpet of its own accord. I mean I didn't make any effort but my hips and my arse started to rise and fall.

Then Alfie stopped.

"Keep doing that," I hissed.

"Wait a minute," he whispered. "Try this." He ran his fingers round the slippery head of my cock, and then brought his fingers to my lips. "Go on. Lick my fingers," he instructed. I licked his fingers, ran my tongue round them. "That's not pee," I whispered.

"I know it isn't," whispered Alfie. "It's man juice, man milk. Well, it's not really man milk, not yet. We're too young to make real man juice yet, but it's there something."

"For what?" I asked.

"Get up," Alfie told me. He took my place. He pushed down his shorts and his underpants, gleaming white. He stretched out on the blue carpet. I'd been on my back. Alfie was on his front. I noticed he had freckles on his bum. He reached round and pulled the cheeks of his bum apart. I peered in. I knew where his hole was 'cos the skin was slightly browner than the skin around it. If he had freckles there, I couldn't see them.

"Put it in there," he whispered.

"Put what in there," I asked.

"Your prick," he instructed. "Shove your prick up my jacksie."

"What for?" I asked.

"'Cos it will feel nice."

"It won't fit," I said.

"Yes it will," he said.

"No way," I said.

"Wanna bet?"

"How much?"

"50p."

"Okay," I said.

"Deal?" he said.

"Deal," I said.

I think I would have lost the bet. I wouldn't have minded that much. Alfie was right. I only got the head in, but it started to feel nice, very nice. I'm not sure why it felt so nice but I guessed it would feel even nicer the deeper I got inside Alfie's jacksie, when...

"Hey, cut that out, you little fuckers. This is a fuckin' church...!"

We twisted round. It was one of the cleaning ladies. One of the old ones with a wrinkly face and a big wart on her nose. She looked like Oliver Cromwell in my history book. "Get the fuck out of here, you little perverts."

I'd no idea what a 'pervert' was until I looked it up in my dictionary, but I knew it wasn't meant to be a compliment.

"You two will be going to Hell" she shouted at us.

"Yeh well, we'll meet you there!" Alfie shouted back at her.

We scrambled to our feet, yanked up our underpants and shorts, and high-tailed it out of there. Thank fuck we were in shorts. When we finally got into the graveyard, we stopped, panting, breathless, but we still couldn't stop laughing.

"Do you think she saw what we were doing?" I finally got out between gasps.

"Who the fuck cares?" laughed Alfie.

"But she'll probably tell Father O'Malley," I protested.

"Who the fuck cares?" repeated Alfie. "Father O'Malley's a fuckin' pervert." Then he added, "For Christ's sake, Louis, you don't know very much, do you?"

"Yeh, I do!" I bridled. "I know lots more than you - lots more."

"The fuck you do," laughed Alfie. "Do you know that Father lets me dip into the collection plate and drink some of the communion wine?"

"No, the fuck he doesn't."

"Yeh, he fucking does. And all I have to do is squat over him and do a shit in his mouth. And, if it's a hard one, he likes to suck on my turd while it's still coming out of my bum. Father O'Malley gives my turd a blow-job, then he swallows it, then he goes into the confessional and absolves himself of all sin. You know fuck all about Catholics." Alfied paused. "Shit, I feel like dropping a turd now. You don't want to give it a BJ, do you? Free of charge."

I must have taken too long to answer, or maybe my face was red.

"Well, look at you," he said, but he didn't say it unkindly. "Any time, Louis, any time. Just ask."

It was only when I got home and looked up 'pervert' that I had any idea what Alfie was on about. When I figured it out, I realized I had a major problem. It was Thursday. I had confession on Friday, and I had Father O'Malley. I made a deal with God. I promised I wouldn't put my cock in Alfie's jacksie if He (God) didn't snitch to Father O'Malley on me. I even kept my promise, for a few weeks at least, but I'm not sure if God kept His.

Uncle Willie's funeral was embarrassing, at least it was for me. Sitting in the church, I got a stiffy and I couldn't get rid of it. My flannels made it worse. You dress up for a funeral. I don't know why. I mean the guest of honour is past caring about what you wear, but said we had to dress up to show respect to Uncle Willie. He was her brother so I guess that makes sense. Dressing up meant wearing my grey flannel trousers, my school trousers. They're made of a light cloth that's so thin that everything shows through, especially a hard on. Not like our good old corduroys. They're easy to bunch up, and they're so thick you wouldn't even you had a prick, let alone a stiff one.

What made it worse was all the pictures of Uncle Willie that came into my mind, pictures of me and him. Me, naked, sitting in his lap while he, naked, showed me porno on the net while he played with my hard on. "You like having a hard-on, don't you?" he'd whisper in my ear. Even at eight years old, I thought that was a pretty stupid question. Of course I liked having a hard-on. What normal eight-year-old boy wouldn't? And I knew Uncle Willie liked having a hard-on. I could see it standing up between my legs, making my own three-incher look tiny by comparison. Pictures. Playing ride-my-little-pony on Uncle Willie's big double bed. Him, naked, stretched out on his back.

Me, naked, straddled across his hips with his big stiffy jammed in the crack of my backside. Me, holding onto his shoulders, my sweaty hair falling into his face, as I rode up and down so that his big cock rubbed between my bum cheeks. That would end up with a real mess. Not my fault. I couldn't cum yet. I learned that word from Uncle Willie. To 'cum' doesn't mean to get some place like when you spell it 'come'. 'Cum' means when your man-juice, or boy-juice, squirts out of your hard cock and goes everywhere. Uncle Willie used to fire his cum between my bum cheeks or right up my sweaty back until I was big enough to take it you know where? Then we'd go to the bathroom and do other stuff until I got that great feeling.

Having a hard-on in church that was hard to hide was bad enough. All them pictures in my mind was even worse. But worst of all was realising I was sort of happy Uncle Willie was gone. I'm not saying that Uncle Willie's falling off the roof, breaking his neck, and dying of exposure was a good thing, but when I thought about it in a certain way, I had to admit it solved a problem. I didn't mind spending time with Uncle Willie but I wasn't really happy when he started sharing me with his friend Dan. When Dan came along it was back to the basement. That's where Uncle Willie taught me there was nothing to be ashamed of in having no clothes on. That's where he taught me to enjoy my body, and to enjoy his. That's where he taught me how to find stuff on the net, and how to masturbate, which is the official word for making yourself, or someone else, cum. That's where he took pictures and vids of me, of him, doing stuff so we could look at them afterwards and do more stuff.

Uncle Willie was an ace photographer. He'll be missed at weddings, funerals, and such. I wasn't long after Uncle Willie won me over that we moved to his bedroom, but when Dan arrived it was back to the basement. Don't get me wrong. The basement wasn't a dump. It had a sort of bed thing you could raise to different angles and heights, and it had its own walk-in shower room, and it had its own mini-cinema screen. But I didn't like it. If I was going to take a shower, I liked to take it in my uncle's bedroom.

Uncle Willie joked he didn't like stinky boys in his bed., so I'd take a shower in the bathroom next to his bedroom. I'd come back to his bedroom wrapped in a beach towel. Sometimes he's have me take off the shower before climbing onto his bed, but unusually he'd unwrap my body, slowly, as if he were opening Christmas present. I'd lie on my right side, he on his left facing me. He always decided what would be done, when and how. He'd pull me to him. I could feel his hard cock pressing against my tummy. He'd kiss me and tell me how special I was. I felt special. I felt I'd been picked out. Of all the boys he'd picked out me. He'd run his hand through my hair, down my back until he reached my bum, then he'd pull me deeper into him. One hand would stroke my bum while the other drifted round to my front. His fingers would hold my stiffy. "You enjoy this, don't you?" he'd whisper. "Tell me you like it," he'd say.

"I like it," I'd whisper back. There were lots of times like that until Dan came along. Then things changed. I wonder if Uncle Willie regretted sharing me with Dan. I couldn't ask him then. I can't ask him now.

That night - it must have been a Thursday because I'd been to the Cubs. On Thursdays, after the Cubs, I always went to Uncle Willie's. I stayed there until mum picked me up at nine o'clock.

Mum was glad I always had a shower at her brother's because that saved having one at home before bedtime. That night Uncle Willie and Dan were in the living room. "This is a friend of mine. His name's Dan. He just got here. He needs a shower. You can take your shower with him in the basement shower. Let's go down." I didn't argue. I never argued with my Uncle Willie.

When you're nine you don't argue with the grownups, do you? They know best, don't they. I'd taken showers with my uncle before. He washed my back and I washed his. Then we did the more private bits. The bits Uncle Willie said were beautiful, too. When he asked me to take a shower with his friend Dan, I nodded yes because I knew that was the right answer. I knew the answer 'no' was not the right answer.

By the time I got my clothes off, Dan was in the shower waiting for me. He was a bit older than my uncle and a lot hairier. His dick hung down from its bush of hair like a big soft banana. Dan turned the water on and began soaping me. The soap got in my eyes but I could feel his prick growing against my balls, my dick, my belly. It grew till is passed my belly button. I thought it was going to reach my nipples.

Uncle Willie had his movie camera ready and began taking pictures. Dan turned me every which way as if I was a rag doll. Then I felt his big stubby finger poking at my bum hole. I clenched it a bit but he kept stroking the little opening, stroking and pushing into the second knuckle. "Turn him round," said Uncle Willie. "Bend him over. Finger fuck him. I want some of this."

I guess that was the beginning of the end. I trusted Uncle Willie. I trusted him to protect me. But he didn't.

"Get him on the table," said my uncle. When I got the soap out of my eyes, I was on the table, stretched out, face down, bum up. Uncle Willie was pushing his prick into my jacksie. Dan was feeding me his big penis. I was choking a bit. The head of his dick was huge and my mouth was full of soapy bubbles.

I was coughing and spluttering.

It didn't make any difference. They kept fucking me at both ends. They were laughing, tell each other how good it was, what a great fuck I was. "You got any more like this one," I heard Dan ask. "Yeh, got a couple," answered my uncle, "and one of them's even younger than Louis. Don't you just love the Cubs?"

Hold on! Hold on!

Yes, I hear you Dear Reader.

You're wondering how all this fits together. To younit must seem like a jigsaw thrown into the air and landing on the carpet not making much sense at all. But don't forget that I'm dealing with repressed memories. The memories are coming back to be but their fragmented and I'm trying my very very best to put them in some order. So bear with me. Or don't. It's up to you. Now where am I?

It was two days after Uncle Willie's funeral that Ben punched me in the face. It was a bit of a surprise because Ben and me are friends, not close mates, not like me and Alfie, and not really friends, but not enemies, and that makes all the difference, so it was a surprise when he punched me in the face, in my own bedroom, too. He'd even tried to comfort me about Uncle Willie. What he actually said was, "I know he'd want you to be happy for him," which didn't seem to make any sense at all, so I didn't say anything back. It came into my head while they were lowering Uncle Willie into his hole, and in a way I was glad it did because it took my mind of the erection I was trying to hide. It's funny in life some things go down while other things stay up. But anyway I was glad what Ben said came into my mind 'cos it took my mind off my hard-on, and even better it got that fuckin' stupid song out of my head.

The song in question was Katrina and the Waves' 'Walking on Sunshine'. I heard it the morning of the funeral while I was taking a bath, and it stuck in my head all day. If there's a song you don't want stuck in your head during a funeral it's 'Walking on Sunshine'. Shit, it's back in my head again. Even in the church when we were plodding through 'Abide With Me' and 'The Old Rugged Cross', Katrina and the Waves kept breaking through and I sat there humming '...and don't it make you feel good?' My gave me a couple of queer looks, the last thing I wanted with the hymn sheet cunningly placed over my lap and stomach rather than up in front of my face. Anyways, it was a surprise when Ben punched me in the nose in my own bedroom. I thought he'd come around to get a note of the homework. Even though somebody might not be your friend, we all help each other out when we need to know what homework was set for the weekend.

We were up in my bedroom. I was reaching for my Planner to find the homework note. There was a tap on my shoulder. I turned round. Kapow! Ben's fist connected with my nose. Down I went. When I looked up at him from this fresh perspective - one hand cupping the blood dribbling from a nostril - I saw Ben's lovely features contorted by rage and anger. I say 'lovely' because that's the best word. Ben is lovely. Tall, slim, blond hair, dark eyelashes, nice nose, flawless (one of my big sister's words) skin, and long legs. Also I'd never seen Ben angry, even though we'd been in the same class for two years. Nor had I ever heard what he said next.

"You piece of shit," he said.

"I think you've broken my nose," I burbled.

"I should break your fucking neck, you piece of shit."

It seemed Ben was keep to establish I was a piece of shit. I admit I'm not always fragrant but for the life of me I couldn't think what I'd done to deserve the tag from Ben..

"I don't know what it is you think I've done, Ben," I spluttered, "but whatever it is you think I've done, I promise you didn't do it. And even if I did it, I didn't mean it."

"You've fucked my little brother."

Ooops.

Ben's little brother is Leo, ah yes but, no but...

"I haven't... not yet anyway."

Fuck it. Why can't I keep my big mouth shut? Where did that 'not yet anyway' come from? Talk about signing your own death warrant. I closed my bloody nostril, closed my eyes, and waited for the kicking I richly deserved. Not for fucking Leo 'cos I hadn't done that - yet - but for making such a stupid mistake. Wasn't I a good Catholic boy? I'd had lots of practice in confessing just enough and here I was spilling the lot. Talk about throwing out the baby with the bathwater. I'd just thrown out the fuckin' bath as well. Sorry for the expletives (bad words) but fuckin' Katrina is back in my fuckin' head... "I'm walking on sunshine and don't it feel gooood?"

I waited for a kicking that seemed as inevitable as three Hail Marys and an Act of Contrition when...

"It's me you should be fucking, not my little brother.. Leo's just a spoiled brat. He always gets his own way."

Doth mine ears deceive me? Is that light at the end of the tunnel, and it's not the 3.45 from Victoria thundering down on me.

I opened my eyes and looked up. Ben was reaching his hand down to me. I took it and let him pull me to my fight. "You're nose is bleeding," he said. Statement of the Fucking Obvious but none the less welcome for that. He stepped in, gently moved my hand away, and - I'm not making this up. - started licking the blood away. For once the word 'awesome' was appropriate. I stood there and let him lick away. I could feel Katrina subside as my prick swelled within my boxer shorts. It wasn't that long after breakfast. I was still trying to get dressed. It was a Saturday morning. And then he was kissing me. Then we were kissing each other. All the way. With blood and spit all mixed together. I discovered Ben not only has long legs but a freakishly long tongue, what you might call a 'tonsils tickler'. Ever the optimist, I pressed myself against him and discovered he was as hard as me. After around one zillion years, I pushed him back, gasping,

"Why didn't you ask?" I asked.

"'Cos I'm so fuckin' shy," he whispered.

I did a quickfire calculation. Saturday morning. Mum and Big Sis out shopping. Dad off to the Bookies. House empty. Mine all mine.

"Well, I'm not," I said.

I backed Ben towards my bed, then shoved so he fell backwards onto the bed. Then I lowered myself onto him, and we started frenching again. I slid down his body and pushed his jumper and t-shirt up. What amazing skin!

Now I really understood what 'flawless' means. Skin like creamy ivory. And another surprise. His nipples. My nipples are like little starfish, and they don't go hard when they get teased, tweaked or sucked like it says they should in porno stories. And they're not really sensitive. But Ben's nipples were plump, sort of sticky out.

Not weird or anything. Just a bit like plump raspberries. I ran my lips and tongue up and down his body from his nipples to his little belly button, an innie for the record. It was great but a bit frustrating because I couldn't reach everything, so I yanked at his jumper and t-shirt till he got the message. He half sat up and I yanked them over his head. I tossed them across the room. He fell flat on the bed again.

I was happy to see he didn't close his eyes. I yanked off my t-shirt and pressed myself against him. Back to the frenching. That didn't last long because I wanted all of him, every last inch. I slid down his body again and worked open the belt and the zip on his jeans. I heard him kicking off his trainers. Ben raised his bum from the bed, and I worked down his briefs (M&S) and his jeans in one go, and tossed them across the room, and...

Fuckin' hell. Ben was big. Down there, I mean. His dick must have been seven inches, if not a little more. It was thick, too. And creamy, and ivory, at least until the head where it got red and purplish. The head was already stick out of the foreskin, which is a good sign 'cos tight foreskins are very boring. There were a couple of little blue veins that started at the bottom of the shaft and ran round it till they sort of petered out as they reached the head. The pipe thing - is it called the 'urethra'? - was thicker than mine and looked like it could pump out a flood of cum. There were a few wisps of blond hair above Ben's dick but nothing on his balls. Can you get a dick that big before you get through puberty? (Make a mental note to check this out).

"You now," whispered Ben.

It only took me seconds to wriggle out of my t-shirt and boxers. No time to get my socks off. I slid back up Ben's bed, kissing and licking as I went. I avoided his hard-on 'cos I had the feeling if I made any mouth-contact with it he's shoot his load all over us. I wanted to take time, to make it last, to get him out of his head, so that he'd be up for anything, literally speaking. I didn't know if Ben knew anything about fucking. It's not that easy, not when you're twelve years old. It can be incredibly tight down there. It takes work to get it loosened, to get it slick and greasy, to get it to relax, to open up. I'm not as big as Ben down there but I knew it was gonna hurt him if I went in without preparing him first. And my fingers and my tongue are not as long as Ben's but I knew what I was aiming at - his prostate. It might be tiny, it might be hard to find, but I knew where to look, I knew what it was for, what it could do, and I was gonna get it to do it, but first I wanted to explore every inch of his body, and I mean every inch. What' had he said? "It's me you should be fucking, not my little brother." He was nearly right. I knew what I should be doing. Fucking both of them.

You're probably thinking I know about stuff like the prostate because of 'Uncle' Willie. That's partly true but you've got to give credit to Dr. Watson, too. It was Dr. Watson who introduced me to my prostate, and I was only seven when he did it.

Mum took me to the doctor's that day and left me there. It wasn't child neglect because we'd had the same family doctor for years. In fact, it was Doctor O'Reilly who delivered me so I wasn't bothered about waiting in the waiting room. Then my number came up. Confidently I knocked at the doctor's door. "Come in," said a voice I didn't recognise, but I did recognise it wasn't the voice of Dr. O'Reilly whose Irish was thicker than Father O'Malley's.

"Ah, young man, what can I do for you?"

There are some questions that aren't really questions so I didn't make any kind of answer. "Let's see," said the doctor. "It's Louis, isn't it?" I nodded. He'd got that right. "Louis Anderson." He'd got that right, too. I nodded again. He scanned a sheet in his hand. "Well, Louis, this won't take long," and "By the way, where's your mother?" That question needed an answer. "Shopping," I said. "No problem," he said, and "Let's get on with it, shall we?" I nodded again.

What a nice man. His voice was warm, sensitive, reassuring. A man I could trust.

"Well, if you just like to drop your trousers, we can get started," he said.

"Sorry," I said.

"Your trousers. Just drop them. Don't be shy. I've done this lots of times," he added.

"Mum said you'd just want to have a look," I said.

"Yes, I do, Louis," he said, "but I can't really have a good look if you've got your trousers on. Don't worry. It's the normal procedure."

Like everybody else, I've learned that 'doctor knows best', so I undid my snake-belt and pushed my trousers down to my knees.

"Ankles," instructed Dr. Watson, "push them all the way down to your ankles. Underwear, too. Ah, I see you like Spiderman. Lots of boys your age seem to like Spiderman. Let's do this standing up, shall we. Just lean against that wall with your legs apart."

Doctor knows best. I shuffled to the wall, leaned against it, and spread my legs. I couldn't resist turning round to have a peek. Dr. Watson was slipping on a single latex glove. "Now, Louis, this might be a little uncomfortable at first," he said, "but you'll seen get used to it. Be a brave little boy and think of Spiderman."

"Jesus, Mary!" I blurted, "What are you going to do?"

It was the doctor's turned to look bemused. "What do you mean what am I going to do? I'm going to stick my finger up your back passage?"

"What? What for?"

"To check your prostate?"

"Why? What for?"

"Because that's what your mother asked me to do. It's right here in the notes."

The doctor was beginning to sound a little exasperated. Doctors know best, but mothers know even better. So, like a good boy, I turned round and faced the wall, leaned against it, and stuck my bum out.

"That's a good boy," said the doctor. "Just think about Star Trek." Whatever happened to Spiderman. "Just think of the space shuttle coming in to dock." Frankly, the idea of a space shuttle docking up my jacksie was horrible, but I just faced the wall and prepared for whatever.

The good doctor inserted a latexed middle finger - I presume it was his middle finger. That's easier to write than to experience when you're seven years old. But he was gentle. It still hurt but he took his time and he was gentle. He wiggled the tip of his finger at my opening until something started to give. Then the tip was inside. Docking complete. Not by a long shot. He wriggled and jiggled and wiggled about until the first knuckle was in, then the second, then the whole finger until it felt like it really was space shuttle up my anus. Then suddenly to my amazement my little penis shot straight up and out, hard as a brick. And it felt good! I had a raging hard-on of the kind I'd only ever seen on our dog when he's really up for it and humping at someone's leg.

I felt Doctor Watson's other hand reach round, his finger feel my little hard-on and give it a tweak or two. "That's a nice healthy erection you've got there, Louis," he said. "Thanks," I said. I wasn't sure what an 'erection' was but I'm a polite boy so I said thanks. He slid his finger out, slipped off the glove, turned me round and helped me slip up my things. "I'm not sure why your mum wanted your prostate gland examined. It's a bit unusual at your age but you're really never too young to start."

"My prostrate gland," I echoed.

Dr. Watson laughed. "No, not prostrate - prostate. Sit down. Have an orange juice. I'll explain it to you." And explain it he did, with diagrams and all. I couldn't understand half of what he was telling me, but the half I did understand was really interesting. When he was finished, he took up his folder, my folder really, sayi8ng "I'll just make a note of that. Then you can be on your way."

"Right, it's Louis, isn't it? No Charles, just Louis."

I nodded.

"And Andersen. That's A-n-d-e-r-s-e-n, isn't it?"

"No," I said. "It's an 'o'. It's not an 'e'."

"Pardon," he said.

"My name is 'Anderson'," I said. "It's A-n-d-e-r-s-O-n."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

My faith in Dr. Watson was shaken.

One of the first things you learn when you go to school is how to spell your own name, and I'd never heard my name spelled with an 'e'. As far as I knew, it had always been spelled with an 'o' as the second last letter.

"Just a minute, Louis," said the doctor looking even more bemused here than before. You are Louis Andersen of..." and he rattled off an address I'd never heard in my life.

"No, I'm not. My address is..." and I rattled off my address with the confidence I could rattle off my own name.

"Bugger of hell," said Dr. Watson, sounding for a moment just like my dad when the tele plays up. "If you're not Louis Andersen with an 'e', what are you here for?"

I pointed at my throat.

"Tonsils," I said, proud that I'd remembered the word mum had drilled into me on the way to the doctor's.

"Fuckin' shit," said Dr. Watson, using another of my dad's expressions.

"Come here," he said. "Open up," he said. "Wider," he said. "Wider," he added. I was glad he wasn't talking about my legs. He shined a little torch down my throat. He removed the torch. "Close it," he said. I closed it. "Nothing wrong. Come back when you're eleven," he said.

As I was sitting in the waiting room, waiting for my mother, I heard the receptionist call out, "Mr. Andersen... Dr. Watson will see you now." An elderly gentleman got up and sort of stumbled towards the door. As he passed me, I thought to myself, "I know where you live."

So it was my tonsils that should have been check, and they were, and I didn't go back when I was eleven, and here I was at twelve-years-old with Ben's seven-inch dick tickling my tonsils. God, he was big down there. For a while I bobbed up and down on Ben's stiffy and I was great sliding my lips up and down that creamy-skinned shaft, tickling the little mouth at the top, then sliding down again as far as I could go. I tickled his hairless balls with one set of fingers while the other hand played with his nipples. Like I said, his nipples were lick reddish brown raspberries and although I couldn't see them I could feel them grown and harden under my fingertips. I wanted to get my lips round them but my mouth was otherwise engaged. I wanted this to last forever. Of course it couldn't but I wanted to make it last as long as I could. I wanted to get Ben so wound up, so excited, so aroused that he wouldn't care what I wanted to do. So when I felt his dick harden even more between my lips, and felt his balls tighten, I'd back off a little, slow down, and let his excitement die own a little. Uncle Willie had been a good teacher, and of course there's no better teacher than experience.

I maneuvered Ben - never releasing him from my mouth until he was sitting straddled across my tummy, leaning forward across my chest, thrusting his cock in and out of my mouth. He seemed a little shy at first, probably because I was able to look at him. His eyes were closed, head thrown back, his blond hair bouncing on his shoulders like one of those shampoo ads on the tele, sweat building up on his face and shoulders. I kept one hand round the base of his cock because, as his excitement increased, he was thrusting harder, deeper, staying there longer. Now and then I felt like I was choking so I eased him back out before he made my tonsils black and blue. I've no idea if you can bruise someone's tonsils but if you can Ben was on the way to doing it. I didn't fancy going back to Dr. Watson for another check up unless it was to have my prostate tickled again.

The fingers of my other hand were working on Ben's bumhole. Never forget the bigger picture. I don't think he'd any idea my fingertips were playing with his opening, at least not consciously, but I guess he was too far gone to care. God, he was tight, but then so was his little brother Leo, and Leo was only eight. Not that I'd fucked Leo. I'm not a perv! I'd played with Leo's anus a few times - he liked that as much as me - but I hadn't fucked him. And I had no plans to. If it happened, it happened. I'd just let nature take its course. But to be honest I was really aroused by the idea of Leo fucking me.

I wasn't sure how many times I could take Ben to the edge and bring him back in time, but his thrusting was so hard, so deep, so insistent I knew he couldn't hold out much longer. I pushed him backwards until his hard cock slid out of my throat and mouth. The horny fucker fought against me but I managed it and pulled him down so we could french again. This time it was Ben taking the lead! Fucking hell, he flattened our sweaty bodies together, mashed his lips against mine, and jammed his tongue down my throat. For a moment I wondered if his tongue was seven inches, too!

Ben let me wrestle him onto his front. I wondered if he was wondering about what would happen next. I slid down his body and yanked his legs apart. Before he could protest, I jammed my head between his bum cheeks and started sucking on his bum hole. It wasn't easy. The hole was tiny but I managed to purse my lips against it and tickle the opening with the tip of my tongue.

Ben turned his head: "What the fu...?" I raised my face for a moment and grinned: "You'll love this," I whispered. I yanked his hips off the bed till he was more or less in the doggy position and put my lips face between his buttocks again. I reached round and played with his cock. It was hard, wet and slippery. I wanked him gently, careful not to have him shoot his load and lose that "Whatever it is, I love it," feeling. My fingertips and tongue managed to get the flesh round his anus squishy. I put more and more pressure on the external sphincter muscle until I felt it give a little. A musky smell broke through, not unpleasant, just pure boy, pure Ben. The tip of my tongue wiggled in. I took my other hand away from Ben. His fingers took the place of mine. Using both thumbs, I gently pried his bum hole open, faintly brownish skin gave way to pink flesh.

The idea of opening someone's bumhole seems open seems weird, strange, dirty, but I'm actually doing it - if it's someone I've got the hots for -it's incredibly erotic (I think that's the right word.) Not sure why. Maybe because it's a sort of surrender. I know when Uncle Willie and Dan were opening me up it was like a total surrender, like they were taking the inside out of me, eating me from within, which of course they were doing sometimes. So I shouldn't have been that surprised when Ben's hands and fingers came round to help me hold him open. I got my middle finger in. I heard him "Oooof," but he didn't protest. I sawed my finger in and out trying to go deeper and deeper. There was a sort of protest when one finger became two but he returned one hand to his prick and go on with that. I began to stretch my middle and index fingers apart and watched the flesh round his hole become more and more elastic. Now and again I'd jam my face back in, harden my tongue and drive it in like a spear. When two fingers became three, Ben grunted then groaned.

"Want me to stop?" I asked.

"Don't fuckin' dare," I heard his muffled voice call back.

I steadied myself on my knees. Ben steadied himself in the doggy position. I pressed the head of my cock against his hole. His flesh was firm. It didn't seem possible, but I'm a patient as well as polite boy. I increased the pressure. Suddenly the external muscle gave way and the head was in. I felt his entrance grip my cock like a tight elastic. I heard Ben yelp. I waited giving his anus time to get used to the intruder. Then gently I rocked backwards and forwards until about an inch of the head and shaft was inside him. I felt Ben pushing back. I felt myself slide in, centimetre by centimeter. I don't know if there's an internal sphincter muscle. I'm just guessing at the anatomy. But there was more serious resistance, more pushing and thrusting until I suddenly felt something give and I was all the way in. I haven't got Ben's seven inches but I've got five of my own, and I knew I was all the way in. I held onto his hips and began rocking back and forward. I could feel the skin at the entrance to his anus gripping the length of my cock as I thrust in, pulled almost all the way out, and then thrust in again.

The next bit is embarrassing but what's the point of telling a story unless you tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I think I managed ten or twelve thrusts before I couldn't held back any more. I rammed my cock in as deep as I could go and felt the semen race up my cock and fire spurt after spurt into Ben's bowels. I say spurt after spurt but there were probably only three or four real spurts (I'm only twelve for God's sake so don't expect miracles.) but my hips went on hammering my lap into Ben's buttocks. I pulled myself out, still hard, but, as I said, I'm a polite boy who's brought up to consider others. I flipped Ben onto his back. He actually toppled onto his back without much help from me, and I dived on his cock, this time running my lips up and down his shaft as tight and as fast as I could while jamming two fingers back up his hot, sloppy anus. I don't think Ben held out more than a few seconds. He rammed my face down onto his lap, his hips bucked, and he drove his cock into me as deep and hard as he could. Lucky for me, he came after three or four thrusts, and it was his turn to spurt and squirt into me. His whole body was shaking. I managed to get his cock out of throat, pulled myself up his body, and pressed my mouth against his, lips open.

Mouths open we shared Ben's cum.

I felt like wriggling down there again and getting some of my own cum out of his bottom, but I didn't want him to think I was gross. All that stuff would come later. For now I was content to hold Ben tight against me, kiss him and listen to him whimpering. Brave boy that he was, he didn't whimper long, and I was surprised to feel his cock stiff against me. Don't know why I was surprised. Perpetual hard-ons are what you can expect from twelve-year-old boys. It would be nice if our first fuck finished on that romantic note but it didn't, not quite.

Ben went into the bathroom. I bet he was looking at his bumhole, wanting to see if any damage had been done, wanting to make sure it had closed up again. I know 'cos that's what I would have done, that's what I did when... but this is about Ben.

"What the fuck?" I heard him yelp through the door.

"What's up?" I yelped through my side of the door.

The door swung up. Ben stepped out,. still naked, still with a hard-on but holding mum's hand-mirror.

"Look at that."

I looked.

It was a bit fat hickey on the side of his neck. For a moment I thought about denying it but it was fresh and draw.

"Oh, shit," I said, staring at it. "I'm sorry."

"You will be fuckin' sorry," Ben whispered.

"I didn't mean to," I offered.

"So fuckin' what?" he said. "What's my mum gonna say when she sees it?"

"Mmmmmm..." That was me thinking, but nothing... until...

"Hey, maybe she'll be proud of you. I mean, her big boy growing up and all that sort of stuff." I was cooking with gas now. "Hey, make sure your dad sees it first, accidental-like. Bet he'll be proud of it, of you, of his 'little man'." Sometimes my dad called me his 'little man', which to me sounded incredibly stupid, but then there's no accounting for parents then.

"Mmmmm..." I was Ben's turn to think. "You're right. He'll think it was Sally, across our road. He thinks she's a right slut anyways. I'll sort of drop hints." He glanced down at himself. My glance followed his. His cock was still hard. It jutted way above his belly button. "I can't go home like this," he murmured. He stepped forward, out his hands on my shoulders and pressed down. I dropped to my knees. Ben, like Leo, was a fast learner. Must run in the family. Twelve-year-old boys, perpetual hard-ons.

Twelve years old.

It's confession time. I'm not twelve years old. I'm fourteen years old. What I've been trying to describe is how things were when I was eight, nine, twelve years old, but I'm not twelve years old now. I'm fourteen years old. I guess you already guessed that. I mean, most twelve-year-old can't write the way I've been writing even though, I have to say, I was pretty good at writing even when I was only twelve. But I couldn't write this stuff when I was twelve. I could do it, but I couldn't write it this way. So you'll have to forgive me, and if you want to stop reading now, I'll understand. But if you want to know about the stuff that happened after me and Ben (Ben and I) got together you should read on. But I have to warn you... it starts to get a bit sexy from now on. Not that my life was nothing but sex, far from it, the whole of life was there and it had to be lived. Like the time when Alfie was going to kill me because I blew his eyebrows off. That definitely wasn't sex.

"And don't forget light the oven," said mum closing the door behind her. I made a mental note not to forget to light the oven and I would've done it if Alfie hadn't come prancing naked into the kitchen just as the door closed.

"For fuck's sake, Alfie," I whispered. "What if mum's forgotten something? What if she comes back?" Alfie gave me his special idiot grin. He does this by turning his back, bending over and pulling his buttocks as far apart as he can. All thought of mum, the oven and the chicken therein disappeared. I sprang an instant boner. Alfie skipped off up the stairs to my bedroom. I followed as fast as I could, which isn't very fast when my jeans were already at my feet.

Kit was already on the bed, on his back, both legs swung over his chest, his feet touching his ears, his hands still holding himself wide open. I hobbled to bed, tripped and fell face first between his bum cheeks. Father O'Malley is right. There is God, and God is good. I burrowed my nose into his hole. You'll have gathered by now I'm a bit anal. I have to admit I started to slobber as my tongue run up down the tiny mouth, as I tried to fasten my lips against it, as I speared his hole with the tip of my mouth. I wondered if Alfie has made it this time - his cock in his mouth. I knew he could lick the head. I knew he sometimes shot his cum right down his throat. I wasn't sure if he'd achieved his dream of sucking himself off properly yet.

"Fuck me," I heard Alfie whisper. It probably wasn't a whisper but my ears were jammed between his buttocks so came as a muffled whisper to me. I stood up, stepped back, tripped over my jeans and fell flat on my arse. "Hurry the fuck up," called Alfie, trying to stifle his giggles.

"Oh, shit," I said. "I forgot to light the oven."

"I'll do it," said Alfie. "You get your clothes off," and he clambered off the bed and headed downstairs.

"Oooof!"

That wasn't me. That wasn't Alfie. That was the oven. It didn't go "Boom!" or "Bang!" as you might expect. It went "Oooof!"

Shit!

I'd turned on the gas but I'd forgotten to light it. I dragged my jeans up over my sorry arse and hobbled downstairs.

Alfie was standing there. His face was sooty black. His eyes were wide open. He was blinking. He was rubbing his chest where the chicken had hit him. He didn't seem to be hurt, and for the first I could remember he was speechless. I helped him into the kitchen, grabbed a sponge and started to clean him up. It was only 'soot'. He would be fine. Well, most of him would be, but I suddenly realised he was missing... his left eyebrow! It was gone. For a mad moment I wanted to rush into the kitchen and find it. Then I realised. There were a few singed wisps left. But why only the one eyebrow? Why only the left? father O'Malley was right. Life is full of little mysteries that beyond us, like what happened before the Big Bang.

I looked at Alfie. "Houston, we have a problem," I murmured. That was our secret code. We used it when we wanted to tell each other, "We're fucked." I added, "Better come into the bathroom and see." Alfie didn't move. Post explosion, he was temporarily deaf. I ushered him into the bathroom, stood him in front of the mirror, and pointed at the point where his left eyebrow should have been.

"What the fuck?"

Knowing Alfie couldn't hear himself, let alone me, I mouthed and hand-signaled to him what had happened. There was nothing for it. We trooped upstairs and waited for Alfie's hearing to return. We had sex while we were waiting, but I have to admit the original spark had gone and it was rather like going through the motions. Still, it cleared our heads and helped us think. First I tried drawing on an eyebrow using mum's mascara pencil, not bad, but not completely convincing, something was missing. We decided to try a falsie. I trimmed a bit of his hair - he had lots hanging on his shoulders - got hold of some double-sided sticky tape and stuck individual hairs on it, which wasn't as easy as it sounds. I stuck the fake eyebrow on and sat back to admire my handwork.

"Perfect," I said.

"What?" he said.

"Perfect!" I yelled.

"What?" he said.

Oh, fuck. I mouthed the word 'perfect'. I could still taste his semen.

"Are they even?" he asked.

"Even Stevens," I mouthed, which, come to think of it, made no sense then, and makes even less sense now.

"Let's have a deco," he said, reaching for my hand-mirror.

He studied his new eyebrow from every possible angle before announcing, "This is going to be great."

I'd no idea what the fuck was so great about a false eyebrow, but if Alfie was content I was relieved. I was puzzled by his next announcement: "I'm going to take it off at night." I couldn't resist asking why. He gave me the look that suggests I'm a complete idiot and said, "In case I swallow it, of course." There's no arguing with logic like that. We realized then not only was Alfie's hearing coming back but that we were ravenous. Our thoughts turned to the chicken, or what was left of it. At least we could salvage the drumsticks.

So you see life was not always a bowl of cherries or even a bowl of drumsticks. And while I take responsibility for nearly killing Alfie, I refuse to take responsibility for killing his cat, who, ridiculous as it seems, went by the name of Kit-e-Kat, or Pussy for short. I like cats as much as the next boy, which is to say not very much. That's because dogs need a master but cats need a servant, and what fuckin' self-respecting boy is going to be servant to Pussy? And if I did have a cat, which I didn't and I won't, I definitely wouldn't have it if I lived on the tenth floor of an exclusive high-rise building which is where Alfie, his family and Pussy lived. And to make things even worse, Pussy was a jumper. I say 'jumper' because Pussy like to jump, and I say 'was' because Pussy is an ex-cat.

Pussy jumped. She jumped around the furniture, and her favourite jump was from the sofa to the sideboard. Don't ask me why, ask Pussy, which is no longer possible because... Who knows why - as Father O'Malley says, etc. etc. - Pussy decided to use the sofa as a springboard, apparently forgetting the furniture had been rearranged, so that when she thought she was heading for the sideboard, she was in fact heading for the living room window, an open tenth-floor window that led directly to the street below. Pussy might have landed on her feet - we'll never know - because she splatted the concrete so hard it was impossible to figure out where her feet were or had been. Cats have nine lives, so I guess Pussy used one life for each floor she passed and had nothing in reserve as she flew past the tenth. Way to go, Pussy!

So what was my part in her demise? Only that I'd opened the window. Only that I nearly caught her but didn't. All I remember, apart from a flash of fur, is Alfie flying past me. His head out of the window. And screams of "My Pussy! My Pussy!" I defy anyone not to laugh but when I got control of myself I tried my best to help.

"You can't blame yourself," I told Alfie. "It was an accident, a freak accident. And even if Pussy was planning to jump out of the window, how could you know about that?" I handed Alfie what was left of Pussy, wrapped up in a plastic carrier bag, M&S.

"I'm not blaming Pussy," hissed Alfie. "I'm fuckin' blaming you. You opened that fuckin' window. You, you, you."

"Shit, Alfie," I countered. "How the fuck could I know your cat was planning to kill itself? I'm not a fuckin' mind reader. I'm not that fuckin' Derek Brown off the tele. Who knows what's on a cat's mind? I'd no idea Pussy was planning to kill herself. Who the fuck could know a thing like that?"

Alfie looked at me sadly.

"It's happened before," he sighed

What do you say to something like that?

I racked my brains, and at last managed to come up with something appropriate.

"Wanna fuck me?" I asked.

Alfie mused.

"Naw, I'm still feeling too upset," then added,

"But you can fuck me."

Twelve sailed into thirteen like Spring sails into Summer. A whole year had gone by, and I'd been able to keep away from men since Uncle Willie had been parked in that deep, dark hole up the cemetery. I'm not saying I wasn't tempted but then we're all tempted by things we know aren't right for us. I think I'd have been able to keep away from men if they'd been able to keep away from me. Sometimes I think I must give out those sex pheromones. Those chemical that trigger of reactions, and bring other males to them like dogs to bitch in heat. But I was surprised when the next man in my life turned out to be Alfie's dad!

It happened on a school day. We'd won a football match against Archbishop's 4-2. It always feel good to fuck a Church of England school. Alfie asked me to take his kit home (I couldn't resist that). He was going to round to Leo's to try out a new Xbox game. Can't stand that stuff myself. Alfie gave me his key, his mum and Dad would be at work till six. I wandered round there, let myself in and plonked Alfie's kit in the hallway.

"That you, Alfie?" called a voice from the bathroom. It was Alfie's dad, Dan. What was he doing home at four in the afternoon?

"No, sir, it's only me, sir. It's Louis," I called back. "Just bringing Alfie's football stuff. He's gone round to Leo's. They're playing on Leo's Xbox."

The bathroom door opened. Alfie's dad stepped out. He was naked! No, he wasn't naked, but he had only a bathtowel wrapped round his hips. Christ, he was built, which shouldn't surprise me because Alfie's dad is a builder. When I say builder, I mean he owned his own building company. Who did he look like? Got it! He looked like a young Sean Connery, not like he looks now, but when he was in them early Bond movies. Dark brown eyes. Shock of dark hair. Dark hair on his chest, too. I wondered if...

"What's up, doc?" he asked. If he glanced down at my football shorts, he'd see what was up. We didn't live that far from the school and the football fields, so I hadn't bothered to change. 'Cept for my boots, of course.

"Alfie's not here," I said, sounding stupid as I stated the bleedin' obvious. "He's gone round to Leo's. They're playing on Leo's Xbox. I'm bringing Alfie's... stuff," I stuttered, distract by the shapes under the bathtowel.

"Tell that to the Marines," laughed Dan (He liked us to call him Dan.) "If my son isn't giving his mate a blowjob by now, he's not the boy I think he is."

I wonder if my mouth fell open, if my flabber was gasted. Adults aren't supposed to talk about blowjobs to kids. Kids my age aren't even meant to know about blowjobs. They're definitely not meant to be giving each other blowjobs. They're meant to be playing on Xboxes and shit like that.

"Sorry, Louis," laughed Dan, "you might not even know what a blow job is. I just figured Alfie would have demonstrated by now."

I was indignant. "'Course I know what a blowjob is," I protested. "In fact, if you really want to know..."

"Whoa, whoa," grinned Dan. "I was only joking. But can't stand here like this dripping on Alfie's mum's carpet. C'mere and keep me company while I towel myself off."

I followed Dan into the big double-bed room. "Park yourself on the bed." I tried to park myself, winced, groaned, then got myself settled.

"What's up, doc?" asked Dan, facing away from me while he toweled his back, buttocks and legs, not realising that his magnificent arse would get me worked up as quickly as any other part of his gorgeous anatomy. He pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms, but not before I'd caught as glimpse of a small trunk swinging between his legs.

"Get a kick of two then," he asked.

"Yeh, those fuckers from the Archbishops are supposed to be Christians but they're even rougher than us. One of them kicked me in the small of the back," I rubbed the tender area, "while I was on the floor. Mother fuck..."

"Fucker...," Dan finished for me. "Here, turn over and let me sort it out." I was glad to have an excuse to lay on my belly. My hard-on was already starting to ache. I felt fingers pulling my football strip up to my neck. I felt fingers, hands, palms caressing my back, working their way down to a bruised area above my right hip.

"How old you now, Louis?" asked Alfie's father.

"Thirteen," I whispered out of the comfortable trance I was slipping into.

"Old enough is big enough," whispered Dan enigmatically, then added, "Hey, if you guys are experimenting with each other, it's capital 'N' for normal. At your age your hormones are telling you to 'Go for it, go for it, go for it, baby. So fuck the world and go for it." The man's voice was husky, his touch was like feathers on my bare skin, this was the perfect way to relax after a match. He pulled up strip upwards. I raised my head so he worked it over my head. I hit the pillow again.

Fingers roamed my back, dug into tender flesh, kneaded the cheeks of my bum. I couldn't remember being kicked there, but Dan was the man, and the man knew what he was doing. My legs, thighs, calves, up and down, up and down. His breath on my neck, behind my ears, on my cheeks. Then my feet. When did my socks come off? Who cares? My toes. My feet. My happy feet. Up we go - calves, thighs, brush my balls. Up we go. My armpits. If I wasn't so comfortable, I'd blush a bit because I'd grown a few hairs in my armpits, nothing much, but definitely there.

"Feel good, baby?"

"Mmmmmm....."

"Roll over. Let me do your chest."

I did what I was told. I was lost in a world of sensation as the man's big hands and fingers played over my chest, my hips my belly. I raised my bum from the bed in invitation and felt my football shorts and underpants slide down to my legs, my knees, my ankles, off and away. A thumb and finger made a circle round my brick-hard dick and moved the skin backwards and forward. I tried to stifle a groan. I failed and it was met with a throaty chuckle. I knew I couldn't hold out long.

"Climb on, baby," I heard Dan say from far way. I'm not sure how we managed it but my body was stretched out along his. His prick felt huge jammed into my belly. I wondered if he could feel mine at all. One hand stroked my hair, the other brought my face to his. He smothered my face with kisses, pushed his tongue against my lips until I opened wide and allowed him entry. I was being devoured, swallowed whole, eaten alive, and it was what I wanted. Unashamedly I kissed, licked and sucked at him. Felt shame when I realized I missed Uncle Willie. Shame came and went. Dan pushed my head back so he could look at my face. His eyes were huge. He licked my eyebrows. Licked my eyelashes. Ran the tip of his tongue up and down my nose. I giggled, tried to stop, couldn't. Dan's eyes were smiling. "Like it, baby," he murmured. I could only nod. "Lots more to come," he murmured.

"Down you go," he whispered. "Do whatever you feel like doing."

The man pressed my slim shoulders. I slid down his body. His nipples looked hot, hard, swollen. I fastened my lips round a nipple and sucked like a hungry infant. It was Dan's turn to groan. I chewed the right, then the left, slid farther down and fastened my mouth onto his belly button, struggling for a moment to find it in the swirls of dark brown hair. Took my time. Feasted. Slid father down, push his drawn-up knees apart, inspected his swollen erection. The head was huge and purple, like a swollen plum. Slippery with pre-cum. I forced the foreskin further back. Slobbered on the head. Ran my lips up and down the shaft. Snuffled in the thick, dark hair.

Further down. Suck on the loose skin of one ball, then the other. Got underneath his balls. Pushed at his shins with my elbow until he draw his legs up even tighter. Got under his balls. Ran the tip of my tongue along the perineum to reach his anus. Hair - thicker, darker, in swirls. Found his open and slobbered it as Dan had slobbered against my lips.

I knew what I had to do, wanted to do. Dan's fingers closed round the shaft of my hard penis. For a moment I thought he was going to stop me, but he placed the head against his arsehole and held me as I pushed. I slid in. He was tight, but he wasn't Alfie, he wasn't Ben, and he definitely wasn't Leo. I was all the way but far from the bottom. I could feel his big hands clutching my buttocks, forcing me to go faster, harder, deeper until my hips took control and thrust and thrust and thrust like the mindless animal I was happy to be. If I could have reached his face, I would have kissed him like crazy at the same time but I could only reach his chest so I chewed on the hair I found between my lips and teeth.

I was fucking, fucking, fucking - a man, a man, man.

And was loving every thrust.

Wherever you are, Uncle Willie, thanks.

I came, I came, I came. Didn't know I was going to cum until I did. Felt like I was being turned inside out. Emptying myself totally into this man. Wanted to disappear inside him. Squirting not only my semen but everything that was me into him. Then blackness. Did I pass out? Not sure. But when I came to, I was in Dan's arms again, cuddled, snuggled, held tight against his hairy chest, while he whispered into my ear. Couldn't understand much of it - "Baby, baby, baby..." That's what I was - a man's baby, his boy, his little man.

Giggling.

But it wasn't coming from me. It wasn't coming from Dan. It was coming from the other side of the room. Weakly, I raised my head and focused my eyes.

Alfie!

Alfie was standing at the door, grinning, a mini-me of his Dad.

He was in tight-whities, but not for long. He took them off as he hobbled towards the bed. Fell onto the bed on the other side of his dad.

"Sorry, I'm a bit late," he laughed. "Had to play some of the fuckin' Xbox with Leo. Hope I didn't mean any of the action."

To his Dad, "Hi, Dad."

"Hi, baby."

To me, "Hi, Louis. Let me show you what Dad really likes."

That afternoon I found out what Alfie's dad really liked, and I found out a whole lot more. I found out how Dan the builder made a lot of his money. I found out why he was away from home most weekends, and why Alfie had started to along with him.

"It's not dangerous," Alfie told me, a little breathlessly. "Dad makes the rules so none of the men is allowed to hurt you. They're not even allowed to fuck a boy. Well, they are but that's pretty expensive and they're not allowed to damage you. Like Dad says, damaged goods is useless goods," he laughed. "I mean, Dad's never let any of the fuck me though I got to say that lots have asked." I heard the note of pride in my best friend's voice. But sucking off a big dick never hurt anybody, 'less you start to choke on it, of course." Another little laugh.

"How's about it? Dad lets me have fifty quid a time. I don't get the money. He puts it in a special bank account. I've seen it. It's in my name. Mum doesn't know a thing about it. It's men's business, says Dad. You could come along and just see what happens first time. We could do stuff together. The punters - that's Dad's word for them - pay lots and lots to see what sort of stuff. You know, boys on boys. Come on. What about it?"

"Do you know any of the other boys?" I asked. "Would I know them?"

"Defo no," said Alfie. "I don't know where Dad gets them from. We travel quite a bit to other towns for the shows. Dad says never shit in your nest. So there's no worry 'bout walking into school and seeing the guy you fucked the night before." Another laugh.

"You've fucked one of them?" I asked.

"Yeh. 'Course I have. Last weekend I fucked two, and got sucked off two times as well. I was fuckin' knackered. That's why I missed school on Monday morning. Dad let me have a long lie-in."

I lay back and thought about it while Alfie sucked my hard-on.

"I'll do it," I said.

"Grfff... mmmm..." Alfie's head came up. His eyes were a bit bleary.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. Leave that alone a minute," I said.

"I said I'll come along. Tell your Dad. Tell Dan. But I ain't doing anything if I don't want to."

"Great," grinned Alfie.

I pushed the top of his head.

"Now get down there. And stick a finger up my bum. You know I like that."

"Grfff... mmmm...." came the reply.

I can't remember the name of the first town. There's been so many of them. They all look alike. Even the places where we give the shows look pretty much the same. Don't get the idea the places are dirty and dingy. They aren't. They are usually in the host's living room, specially done up for the show. And these guys, the punters, have got money, lots of it. They are businessmen, and doctors, and lawyers. One old fucker was even a High Court judge. I'm not sure what that is, but Dan, Alfie's dad, says that's really high up. And there is usually food, 'nibbles', and lots of booze, but not much beer, it's all wine and whisky, and even champagne. These guys know how to live.

There's usually about ten men and about six or eight boys. I was shocked at first because some of the boys seemed so young, even younger than Leo, but they never got treated badly or roughly. In fact, the men were nicer to them than to me and Alfie. Some of the men liked to be called 'Daddy', which sounded sort of silly to me, but I soon got used to it, though it felt really strange to be sitting in man's lap, me naked and him in a suit, and him asking "Who's my little man?" and me whispering "I am." Sometimes I wanted to burst out laughing but Dan warned me that these guys didn't like being laughed at, and I went along with what Dan said.

All the guys had money but some of them were really old, like more than 50 years old or even 60. Some of them had grey hair, even their chests and pubes. I never really get used to see some little tyke sitting in an old guy's lap - both naked - the man slobbering over the kid while the kid bounced up and down on the old guy's prick. I mean with the man's prick inside him. They must get used to it, the kids I mean. After all, Leo got used to it, and I remember once when he was with Alfie and Ben and me, we tried to... but that's not part of what I'm talking about now.

Alfie and I make our best money when we put on a show for the guys. Sometimes they all crowd into the bedroom and watch Alfie and me doing our thing on the bed. If you pay a bit extra, you can sit on the edge of the bed and feel us up while we're fucking. One guy paid an extra fifty quid just for getting to feed my hard-on into Alfie's bumhole - as if my prick couldn't find its way in their on its own (LOL - laughs out loud).

Another time a guy paid an extra fifty quid just to watch me taking a shit! Next time the same guy paid me a hundred quid not to do anything. All I had to do was watching fisting another boy. I'd no idea what fistingw as but by the end of the session I knew exactly what it was. Let's call him Mr. C.

Mr. C. chose a boy about 13 years old and bent him over his naked lap. At first I thought he was only going to use the strap on his but then I saw him reach for a plastic box. He scooped out a wadge of shit and begin to work it up the boy's hole. The boy, called Noah, squirmed beneath him as two fingers, then free fingers worked the shit sludge deep inside his round little bum. Mr. C. fed Noah poppers and whispered stuff in his ear. Three then four fingers revolved in the boy's arse hole and then with a push Mr. C. whole hand slid inside Noah. The man began to fist fuck the boy rhythmically. Then his fist slid out - followed by a circle of red, shiny, wet flesh. I didn't know it then but I know it now - Noah, thirteen-years-old had prolapsed.

Mr. C. slid his fingers round the boy's prolapse, leaned forward and began sucking on it. I was horrified and mesmerised. This was the deepest part of the boy. It was his insides sticking out and a full-grown man was sucking on it. Then - I couldn't believe my eyes - a little log of brown turd poked out of the prolapse. Mr. C. leaned forward and kissed and licked the protruding turd and the prolapse at the same time. This was too much for me. I turned and slipped out the room. I knew that one day that would be me - but I didn't know if I'd be Mr. C., the man, or Noah, the boy.

I mean all I did was sit on the toilet and take a dump. It wasn't that easy 'cos I had to get be naked and get my feet up on the toilet pan so he could watch the turds come out my hole. And I had to hold them in and let them down while he kneeled on the floor into front of me to get a real close up! I think he thought he was a movie director or something like that. Then he asked to wipe my ass - actually he asked to lick it clean, but Dan saw my face and told him no, but he could wipe it with toilet paper. He took ages over that. It's hard not to laugh, bent over the toilet bowl while some guy is wiping your hole ever so slowly and carefully. He stayed in the toilet after I left but I don't want to imagine what he was doing in there.

The big climax is always the same. We boys pile onto the bed, or on the carpet, and do whatever comes into our heads. Sometimes we take directions from the punters.

Last weekend I ended up fucking some kid, about Leo's age, on the carpet while another kid was licking my hole out. I looked back and couldn't believe how young this kid was. I lost my hard-on for a minute or so. I mean, you have to draw the line somewhere, but, as Dan says, business is business, and the parents of these kids get well-paid and nobody gets hurt. I don't know about that. I leave the grown-ups to work things out. They're the ones who know best, aren't they?

Anyways, like I said, I'm 14 now, and Dan says my 'career' is nearly over. The punters don't like you so much if you've got hair where you should have it at my age. Don't worry, Alfie and I are going to be Dan's assistants. Like we're going into the movie business, or at least the vids business. Not that you're going to see them on YouTube (LOL) though I bet they'd get millions of viewers. But Dan says that's where the real money is - videoing the shows and selling them all over the world on the Net. Isn't the Net fucking fabulous? I'm even thinking about getting this story published on the Net. There's a great site called... sorry, I'm getting off track again.

But if you're reading this, it means I did get it published.

And last thing.

Next time you're watching those kids, keep an eye out for those anal shots. The fingers and the cock you see might even be mine (LOL). As they say:

You never can tell.

...

I came, I came, I came. Didn't know I was going to cum until I did. Felt like I was being turned inside out. Emptying myself totally into this man. Wanted to disappear inside him. Squirting not only my semen but everything that was me into him. Then blackness. Did I pass out? Not sure. But when I came to, I was in Dan's arms again, cuddled, snuggled, held tight against his hairy chest, while he whispered into my ear. Couldn't understand much of it - "Baby, baby, baby..." That's what I was - a man's baby, his boy, his little man.

Giggling.

But it wasn't coming from me. It wasn't coming from Dan. It was coming from the other side of the room. Weakly, I raised my head and focused my eyes.

Alfie!

Alfie was standing at the door, grinning, a mini-me of his Dad.

He was in tight-whities, but not for long. He took them off as he hobbled towards the bed. Fell onto the bed on the other side of his dad.

"Sorry, I'm a bit late," he laughed. "Had to play some of the fuckin' Xbox with Leo. Hope I didn't mean any of the action."

To his Dad, "Hi, Dad."

"Hi, baby."

To me, "Hi, Louis. Let me show you what Dad really likes."

That afternoon I found out what Alfie's dad really liked, and I found out a whole lot more. I found out how Dan the builder made a lot of his money. I found out why he was away from home most weekends, and why Alfie had started to along with him.

"It's not dangerous," Alfie told me, a little breathlessly. "Dad makes the rules so none of the men is allowed to hurt you. They're not even allowed to fuck a boy. Well, they are but that's pretty expensive and they're not allowed to damage you. Like Dad says, damaged goods is useless goods," he laughed. "I mean, Dad's never let any of the fuck me though I got to say that lots have asked." I heard the note of pride in my best friend's voice. But sucking off a big dick never hurt anybody, 'less you start to choke on it, of course." Another little laugh.

"How's about it? Dad lets me have fifty quid a time. I don't get the money. He puts it in a special bank account. I've seen it. It's in my name. Mum doesn't know a thing about it. It's men's business, says Dad. You could come along and just see what happens first time. We could do stuff together. The punters - that's Dad's word for them - pay lots and lots to see what sort of stuff. You know, boys on boys. Come on. What about it?"

"Do you know any of the other boys?" I asked. "Would I know them?"

"Defo no," said Alfie. "I don't know where Dad gets them from. We travel quite a bit to other towns for the shows. Dad says never shit in your nest. So there's no worry 'bout walking into school and seeing the guy you fucked the night before." Another laugh.

"You've fucked one of them?" I asked.

"Yeh. 'Course I have. Last weekend I fucked two, and got sucked off two times as well. I was fuckin' knackered. That's why I missed school on Monday morning. Dad let me have a long lie-in."

I lay back and thought about it while Alfie sucked my hard-on.

"I'll do it," I said.

"Grfff... mmmm..." Alfie's head came up. His eyes were a bit bleary.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. Leave that alone a minute," I said.

"I said I'll come along. Tell your Dad. Tell Dan. But I ain't doing anything if I don't want to."

"Great," grinned Alfie.

I pushed the top of his head.

"Now get down there. And stick a finger up my bum. You know I like that."

"Grfff... mmmm...." came the reply.

I can't remember the name of the first town. There's been so many of them. They all look alike. Even the places where we give the shows look pretty much the same. Don't get the idea the places are dirty and dingy. They aren't. They are usually in the host's living room, specially done up for the show. And these guys, the punters, have got money, lots of it. They are businessmen, and doctors, and lawyers. One old fucker was even a High Court judge. I'm not sure what that is, but Dan, Alfie's dad, says that's really high up. And there is usually food, 'nibbles', and lots of booze, but not much beer, it's all wine and whisky, and even champagne. These guys know how to live.

There's usually about ten men and about six or eight boys. I was shocked at first because some of the boys seemed so young, even younger than Leo, but they never got treated badly or roughly. In fact, the men were nicer to them than to me and Alfie. Some of the men liked to be called 'Daddy', which sounded sort of silly to me, but I soon got used to it, though it felt really strange to be sitting in man's lap, me naked and him in a suit, and him asking "Who's my little man?" and me whispering "I am." Sometimes I wanted to burst out laughing but Dan warned me that these guys didn't like being laughed at, and I went along with what Dan said.

All the guys had money but some of them were really old, like more than 50 years old or even 60. Some of them had grey hair, even their chests and pubes. I never really get used to see some little tyke sitting in an old guy's lap - both naked - the man slobbering over the kid while the kid bounced up and down on the old guy's prick. I mean with the man's prick inside him. They must get used to it, the kids I mean. After all, Leo got used to it, and I remember once when he was with Alfie and Ben and me, we tried to... but that's not part of what I'm talking about now.

Alfie and I make our best money when we put on a show for the guys. Sometimes they all crowd into the bedroom and watch Alfie and me doing our thing on the bed. If you pay a bit extra, you can sit on the edge of the bed and feel us up while we're fucking. One guy paid an extra fifty quid just for getting to feed my hard-on into Alfie's bumhole - as if my prick couldn't find its way in their on its own (LOL - laughs out loud).

Another time a guy paid an extra fifty quid just to watch me taking a shit!

I mean all I did was sit on the toilet and take a dump. It wasn't that easy 'cos I had to get be naked and get my feet up on the toilet pan so he could watch the turds come out my hole. And I had to hold them in and let them down while he kneeled on the floor into front of me to get a real close up! I think he thought he was a movie director or something like that. Then he asked to wipe my ass - actually he asked to lick it clean, but Dan saw my face and told him no, but he could wipe it with toilet paper. He took ages over that. It's hard not to laugh, bent over the toilet bowl while some guy is wiping your hole ever so slowly and carefully. He stayed in the toilet after I left but I don't want to imagine what he was doing in there.

The big climax is always the same. We boys pile onto the bed, or on the carpet, and do whatever comes into our heads. Sometimes we take directions from the punters.

Last weekend I ended up fucking some kid, about Leo's age, on the carpet while another kid was licking my hole out. I looked back and couldn't believe how young this kid was. I lost my hard-on for a minute or so. I mean, you have to draw the line somewhere, but, as Dan says, business is business, and the parents of these kids get well-paid and nobody gets hurt. I don't know about that. I leave the grown-ups to work things out. They're the ones who know best, aren't they?

Anyways, like I said, I'm 14 now, and Dan says my 'career' is nearly over. The punters don't like you so much if you've got hair where you should have it at my age. Don't worry, Alfie and I are going to be Dan's assistants. Like we're going into the movie business, or at least the vids business. Not that you're going to see them on YouTube (LOL) though I bet they'd get millions of viewers. But Dan says that's where the real money is - videoing the shows and selling them all over the world on the Net. Isn't the Net fucking fabulous? I'm even thinking about getting this story published on the Net. There's a great site called... sorry, I'm getting off track again.

But if you're reading this, it means I did get it published.

And last thing.

Next time you're watching those kids, keep an eye out for those anal shots. The fingers and the cock you see might even be mine (LOL). As they say:

You never can tell.

Summer was a cummin' in and we were all going cuckoo. We sat the examinations with the temperatures in the mid-80s. I felt I'd done well in the circumstances and, since the results wouldn't be known till late August, flung myself into a whirlpool of sport and romance. So buoyed up was I that I turned out for House cricket side and - wait for it - ran out Eric Murray!

Fielding in the deep, and taking advantage of the only shade, a battered old elm tree, for miles around, my mind was on lower things when the inevitable red rocket came bombing out of the sky towards me. Eric had hit a belter, a certain six, and all I had to do was get out of its way. I panicked, flung up my hands to protect my face, and felt the vicious little leather bastard thwack into the palms of my hands. In a boys' own story, I'd have held on for a magnificent catch but real life is rarely so generous. The ball plopped at my feet. I picked it up. I looked to the cricket square and saw Eric ambling home for an easy four. Sighing, I picked up the ball and flung it back towards the end he was strolling towards. I'd forgotten about the tennis. I'd forgotten hours and hours of tennis day after day, week after week, month after month had strengthen my right arm abnormally. The ball curved against the blue in a low parabola, the standard y2 = 4ax, where 2a is the distance between focus and directrix (okay, I'm showing off).

Too late, Eric worked out the mathematics. The ball soared towards the wicket. Then dropped plumb onto the bails. Eric stopped dead, a good three feet outside his crease, dropped his bat, pulled off his gloves, and saluted me - with his middle finger. Both sides fell about laughing. Eric saw the funny side and joined them. I stood there in the deep blushing aplogetically and wishing the ground would swallow me up.

The match was on Friday. Mercifully there were no more inter-school matches, so we had Saturday afternoon free.

"Why the hell can't we leave on Saturday morning? That'll give us the whole day. Why wait till Saturday lunchtime?"

Eric wasn't best pleased, and I couldn't expain to him that Saturday mornings were sacrosanct. That Saturday morning was free but I'd promised it to Leslie. It was the last Saturday before the last week of school and I wasn't sure how much I'd see of Leslie during the summer. I knew Leslie and his family spent most of the summer in Montrose, only 30 miles away, but for me it might as well have been on another planet. Much as I loved Eric, and I did, oh how I did, I couldn't give up my last Saturday with Leslie.

"Okay then, but we're leaving early. One o'clock, sharp. It'll take us about an hour and half to bike out to Inverbervie. You bring the sandwiches; I'll bring the drinks. And be ready, Louis!" Eric turned to go, turned again, and grinned: "Great run out, you lucky wee shit," slung his cricket back over his broud shoulders and strode off home.

I watched him go - what an arse! - then turned back to the tennis courts. I could get in half an hour's serving practice before bundling off to Ben's for tea. For a moment I wondered whether Dan might be there; I wasn't sure whether the prospect appealed or appalled.

Saturday 10 minutes to 1, and there I stood in T-shirt and tight shorts, waiting for Eric, horribly self-conscious. I'd borrowed Iain's bike, a fucking racer. I hated bicycles at the best of times - terra firma for me, please - and there I was propping a 20-speed racer against a pair of tight silver Lycra shorts. I had the feeling everyone in the Square was hiding behind their curtains, peeping at me, giggling at my humiliation. Shit, what if a boy got a hard-on in these things! My cock stirred at the thought, and I switched my focus to the sandwiches I'd made. Peanut butter sandwiches, my favourite. Smooth peanut butter, not that crunchy stuff that sticks to your teeth and makes you feel you've got to brush them again and again.

Eric raced round the corner, tilting his bike so far over, that I thought, hoped, he'd fall flat on that gorgeous arse of his. He braked within inches of my legs, throwing dust all over my freshly-washed cotton tennis socks. Prat! But I loved him even more for those little human weaknesses. Who was Eric trying to impress if not me?

What the fuck was that noise? It was coming from the carry-bag fixed to the back of Eric's bike. What was that? Something about being a naughty boy and letting your knickers down. Got it. It was the Beatles. Googoo-goo-choo, or something like that. Must be one of those transistor radios. Fuckin' expensive.

"Hi, sweetheart. Come on, let's get going."

Sweetheart!

Eric Murray had just called me 'sweetheart'! Then I remembered. That's what Mr Murray called his boys, and now I was 'sweetheart' to Eric.

Off we peddled into the bright hot sunshine. We turned into the industrial state, deserted on a Saturday afternoon, and took the dual carriageway that led deep into the heart of the country. I was relieved that Eric took the official cycle track that ran just above the roadway proper. No cyclist I. And I wanted to concentrate on Eric's arse, those powerful thighs, and his curving back rather than be totally focussed on carwheels that whizzed by only inches from my unprotected legs.

Have you ever had a perfect day? I've had a few perfect days, but few more perfect than that last Saturday of the school year. In the morning Leslie had been great fun, worked his ass off, and finally managed a dependable backhand, switching from low slice to kicking topspin just as I wanted it. If he worked at the same level during the next six months, he'd be a helluva player, and a helluva tennis partner. Okay, that's a little selfish I know, but the idea of spending time at my favourite sport with my favourite person... guilty flushed through me as I watched Eric peddling stoically on.

Why couldn't I just love both of them equally? Maybe I did, but there was no way to test that. Maybe 'love' was a word in neither of their vocabularies. I sighed, bent my head, and peddled hard to keep up with Eric.

Eric was right. Inverbervie was worth it. High grasses, burned golden by the unnatural summer sun, swished down to a river that still gurgled merrily with the freezing waters from the Grampians in the distance. Apart from the throaty bubbling river noises, all was still, even the birds stunned by the afternoon heat. It felt like Eric and I were the only ones left outdoors in Scotland; everyone else had fled to the shade of bars, pubs, restaurants and hotels.

Our t-shirts hung on a bush. Shoes and socks were tucked in its shade. Eric lay flat on his back, not in the tickly grass, but on the tartan blanket he'd brought. I sat above him, drawing a blade of grass down his chest, sweeping it across his nipples, down over his muscly stomach, into his belly button, and then down across the crease marks the elastic had made across his waist.

"That tickles."

"I know. It's meant to."

"Do something."

"Do what?"

"Kiss me."

Kiss him! First it was 'sweetheart', and now Eric Murray, heart-throb supreme, was asking me to kiss him. Straight out. No beating about the bush. Kiss him.

"Kiss you where?"

I looked down at Eric's face. He was puckering up! Either that or he was going to spit at me. I leant down and put my lips cautiously against his. He grabbed the back of my head and pulled my lips tight against his. Yahoo! Within seconds we were crashing mouths, mashing lips, bruising skin. His tongue pushed against my lips. I surrendered and opened to him. My tongue was deep in his mouth. I tasted his saliva. Then his tongue was deep in my mouth, mixing his saliva with mine. I couldn't breathe. Who the fuck needs breath anyway? I felt my skin wet and hot against his; I felt our chests slide against themselves; I heard the popping of sweat bubbles. Then I was seriously short of breath. I pushed myself up on my arms. Eric dragged me back. I pushed away again. I looked down at Eric again. His eyes were closed. Beads of sweat hung from those thick eyelashes.

"Kiss me."

"Where?"

"Anywhere. Everywhere."

My eyes gulped in his powerful shoulders, that sculpted chest with its twin raised raisins, the flatness of his tummy, the little innie button, the narrow waist, the wide hips, the creasy crinkles where the elastic had been. I leaned across Eric and ran my lips across his chest. My tongue lapped at his nipples. I wasn't sure what he wanted but I knew what I wanted: to lick him, lap at him, chew him, drink him, swallow him, make him mine, and keep him forever - keep this moment, this hour, this day forever.

The transistor tinkled in the background. I recognised the song: Hey, Jude.

I made love to Eric Murray's body. There's no other way I can put it. I worshipped his body with my tongue, my lips, my eyes, my skin, my hands, my fingers... anything that could touch him I used to worship him. I reached his shorts. He raised his bum from the blanket. I eased down his shorts and his white cotton slip at the same time. His huge cock sprang into the Scottish sunshine. Na-na-na-na-na-na... Hey, Eric! I pressed its length, its girth against my face. Hot, sweaty, sticky - pure male incarnate. I circled my thumb and fingers to draw back the foreskin, revealing the thick purple head that asked to be kissed. I kissed it, then ran my lips the full ten inches of his shaft.

Ten inches.

It really was.

I wonder if I'll ever see a cock like that again. I don't think I'll ever seen one like that on a 13-year-old boy again. I suppose on some boys it might look freakish; on Eric it looked perfect. The perfect cock for the perfect day, and they were both mine. I felt the shaft pulsate in my mouth. I wondered if Eric was going to shoot his load. Was this another ten-second wonder? No matter. We'd solved that problem by letting Eric cum whenever he was ready; then we'd go on for the second load, and the third when he was particularly horny. As far as Eric was concerned, I thought I had everything under control, there were no surprises left.

I was wrong.

"Just a minute. I want to get comfortable."

I released Eric from the back of my throat and from my mouth. He surprised me by flipping onto his front. "I want to lie here and listen to the river," he said. "You do what you want," he added.

Taken by surprise, I blurted out, "And what am I meant to be doing?"

Eric looked back over his shoulder. He was smiling, but his smile was almost solemn.

"You do whatever you want... and take those shorts off. You must be boiling in them. And they LOOK fuckin' silly." He lay back down, his head resting on his entwined fingers.

Self-consciously, I struggled out of my Lycras, and sat there, listening to the river, wondering what I was meant to be doing. Then I looked down. My eyes ran the length of Eric's body, and I knew.

I sat naked, cross-legged and leant down over Eric's naked length. I pressed my lips to the back of his neck. Shit, this was sexier than kissing his front. I reached for a thermos of raspberry pop and drizzled some down the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades. I kissed and licked the sweet liquid away.

"Mmmmmmmm..."

That might have been me, but it was Eric.

I let the cool liquid run down his shoulder blades to gather in the hollow of his lower back. I applied my lips again. I kept my hands away. Hot skin to hot skin was not needed on a day like this. Eric turned his face to the side. I poured some of the sweetness against his lips. I returned to his back and observed the way it fitted into the rounded curve of his buttocks. Those muscled buttocks with their big dimples on either side. Oh, things of beauty are a boy's buttocks forever. I wondered... "whatever you want".

Oh well, all he could do was kill me.

With my left hand I eased his left buttock away from its twin. Dare I? Dare I? Dare I? I dared. The dribble of raspberry pop ran into the cleft of his bum and collected at its sweet little centre. I wasn't afraid to admit it to myself. Boys' bottoms were beautiful. Maybe all bottoms are beautiful, but it was boys' bottoms that hypnotised me, mesmerised, enchanted and entranced me.

"I can't let the raspberry juice stay there," I rationalised to myself. It'll just get sticky and uncomfortable. I lowered my face into Eric's buttocks, into the abyss between. I cast aside the thermos flask. This was a two-handed job. It was also terrifying. What if this was too much for Eric? What if he found it, found me disgusting and dirty? What if he sprang up, hit me, and cycled off home without me? He'd have to put some clothes on. That would give me time. Time for what? Time to beg for forgiveness. Time to promise him that I'd never never try anything like this again.

Like this.

The tip of my tongue touched his ring.

Like this.

The tip of my tongue pushed and probed his little back door.

The tip of my tongue rubbed Eric's magic lamp. Open, open, sesame. Says me! I wasn't sure what I'd do once I got into the cave of wonders, but I'd figure out what to do once I got there.

"Is that all you're going to do?"

That was Eric's voice. Impatient. Urgent. "All...all..." Was that ALL I was going to do?

"You won't hurt me, you know."

"Okay, okay, wait a minute."

What the fuck did he mean? Surely not. Oh, surely he didn't mean that. I remembered Dan and Ben. "He's not going to hurt me. And I LIKE it."

Despite the heat, I was trembling. I looked down at myself. My erection was hot and hard. I waddled on my knees between Eric's legs. I moved them apart. I wasn't sure what to do next. Or even if that's what I was meant to be doing. Eric's hands came round behind him; he grasped his buttocks and pulled them apart. There could be no misunderstanding now.

I pressed the tip of my finger against his sphincter. Hot, moist, giving. I ran the tip of my finger backwards and forwards, increasing the pressure. Nothing would give until it did. My finger was outside, and then it was in, straight to the second knuckle. I finger-fucked Eric. I hate that expression, finger-fucking, but only in relation to Eric. It was so much more than that. I heard him grunt. Was that intended as encouragement? I added a second finger. It took another five minutes before it slipped inside. I continued the sawing motion, staring intently as the little brown eye seemed to open wider. Then I tried for it.

Pressing the head of my cock against where I imagined Eric's anus to be, I leaned forward, resting my weight on out-stretched arms. No luck. I was nowhere near it. I tried a third finger, and now Eric's grunts were closer to a steady moan. Tried my cock again. It stayed rock hard but I just couldn't get that initial entry. Come on, Louis, think, think. You're a Wallace boy, trying to fuck another Wallace boy, by the banks of the Tay at Inverbervie. You're top of the class, so think, think.

Peanut butter!

No, that was ridiculous, outrageous, out of the question. But what the hell. I loved the feeling of my lips pressed against Eric's anus; I loved peanut butter; it was the perfect solution. And thank God, I used the smooth creamy kind. Thank goodness, I'd kept the peanut butter in its jar, intending to do the sandwiches at the last minute. Twisting like some circus contortionist, I managed to extract the jar from the carry-bag, twist the lid off, get out a great gob on my middle finger, and apply it to Eric's hole. If Eric knew what I was doing, he didn't let on. I tasted the peanut butter; it now had a sourish taste but was far from inedible. In fact, it was finger-licking good, so I licked it from my middle finger, then shoved another gob up Eric's bum.

Then the delicate part. I looked around. No wasps - yet, but be quick. A huge gob in my right hand, grip my five inches and run the butter up and down its length. The butter was already running in the heat. I leaned over Eric and whispered in his ear, "Help me."

"Hold me open," he whispered back.

Ah, teamwork, nothing like it!

I held Eric's buttocks wide apart. The creamy butter was frothing at his hole a a bit. His unsighted fingers caught me and pulled me towards paradise. I felt the head of my hard penis touch his hot spot; he held me in place as I leaned forward on my hands again. "NASA, we have entry!"

How could it be so easy now when it'd been so difficult only a few minutes ago. I felt Eric open up to me. I felt myself slide in. He was hot and tight, and I felt the friction against my shaft, but it wasn't difficult. I was in, all the way in, I felt my pubic bone against his buttocks and knew I was all the way in. Eric returned his hands to rest his head. I knew what to do. No lessons were needed. In one way or another, men had been doing this ever since they discovered the pleasures their bodies could give them.

I raised myself on my hands, extracted my cock to its head, and then lowered myself to slide deep into Eric's arse. I could see us both as if I were having a near-life experience. I saw two boys, on a tartan blanket by the river, making love. The smaller boy above driving his penis again and again into the boy below. I wanted this to last forever. I could feel, or imagined I felt, the walls of Eric's rectum take and hold my shaft, reluctant ever to release it. And as soon as the shaft was released, all it sought was the joy of that dark, warm, moist place again. But Nature has its own imperatives, and my hips began to speed up almost against my will.

I found myself driving harder and deeper into Eric, the long thrusting became short little stabbing thrusts. I could hear my grunts and Eric's groans above the babble of the river, above the tinkle of whatever was playing on the radio. What was that song that mum wouldn't let us hear every time it came on the radio: Moi, je t'aime non plus. I was slamming into Eric now; I could hear my flesh slap hard against his. I wanted to slow down, make it last, but my body said "Fuck it! We're going for it." If I were a dog, I would have howled.

Something exploded in me and out of me. I felt my body disintegrating into a million fragments. I felt as if I were shooting stars. For the first time in my life, I felt the sperm leave my balls, race the length of my urethra, and squirt into whatever awaited it in the wide wild world. I felt as if every pore in my body were open, every hair standing on end, my nakedness exposed for the Universe to see -and applaud.

Of course, there were no words at the time. Nor even thoughts. Nor emotions. Only feeling. Naked, exposed feeling.

I'd lost any sense of time. I was lying along Eric's back, my penis still inside him.

"Hey, hey, Louis."

"What? Where?"

"Hey, Louis. Let's clean up in the river."

"What? In the river? Okay."

"Take your prick out first."

"Your prick. It's up my arse. Take it out, please."

Gently, slowly I raised my own arse up, felt my incredibly sensitive penis, still half hard withdraw, heard a kind of plop, and smelled for the first time the total overwhelming smells of all-the-way sex. I rolled onto my side on the blanket. I felt arms go around me. Felt Eric's lips against my own. Opened my eyes. His eyes were an inch away. They were smiling. I told you eyes can smile.

"Come on. Let's lie in the river."

"Eric," I whispered, "before we go into the river, can I do something?"

"You can do whatever you want, sweetheart."

There it was again. The most popuar, the most admired, the most respected boy in Wallace Academy, and he had just called me 'sweetheart'. LIfe couldn't get any better than this. Maybe it could, maybe it could.

"Mmmm... can I clean you out a bit first," I murmured. "B-b-but if you think..."

"Is that all?" he laughed. "'Course you can," turning onto his stomach and raising his big, round arse into the air.

I knelt between his legs and prised open his buttocks. His hole looked a bit red and raw. His hole opened easily and I risked pulling the serrated edges as wide apart as I could without hurting him. I sniffed deeply, stuck my tongue into the red, moist flesh and licked up and down, side to side and deep as I could. The deeper I went, the more intese the smell. I tasted slime on my tongue, my lips, my own slime, part of me that had been inside part of Eric.

And there it was - hard and brown - I didn't need to see it to know what it was: the tip of a turd, Eric turd. I shocked and thrilled at the same time. Is there anything more intimate than a man's, or boy's turd coming ou from deep inside him.

"I know what's there," said Eric. "It's okay, just do what you want to do." He paused. "I've wanted to do that from the first time I saw you. I want to eat you - all of you."

Eric grunted. His hole blossed. About half an inch of solid hard brown turd stuck out from his bum. I kissed it, licked it, fastened my lips gently round it - Eric's turd that was going to become part of me. It broke off and slid into my mouth. I held it there, afraid to lose it.

"Have you got a bit?"

My silence told him I had.

Eric was up, his arms around me, his lips against mine, his mouth opening to share what I had taken from him, out lips mashing together in a flurry of shit.

"Right then," he said, chewing at the same time. "Last one into the river has to suck off my dog when we get home."

Disgusting!

Our feet pattered down to the river and we jumped right in. A Scottish river! Scottish water. It was freezing. It was wonderful! Before lay there, laughing, shitting in the river.

Later, towelling and dressing on the bank of the river: "Eric, can I ask you something?"

"'Course you can."

"Today, when we came here, before we came here, I mean, did you know, did you know we were going to... you know..?"

"Make love?"

I was grateful for that.

"Yes, make love."

"No. At least I wasn't sure. I knew I wanted it, but I wasn't sure if you did. I was hoping for today, but, no, I wasn't sure."

A thought struck me.

"Eric... Eric, do you want me to do that for you?"

Eric was silent for a moment. Then he laughed. "Me up you? What do you think?"

I looked down Eric's body. Even in the freezing water his cock looked like a young python.

"Well, maybe not. Not yet anyway."

"I wonder," said Eric, "I wonder if girlfriends will like it, be able to take it, I mean. I guess they will. They're built for it, down front, I mean."

Eric must have seen the look in my eyes.

"Hey, Louis, I'm not a homo. I'm gonna have girlfriends. I'm gonna fuck them. Then I'm gonna have a wife, and I'm gonna fuck her, and I'm gonna have kids, maybe a dozen of them."

"But... but..." I wasn't sure how to put it. I was always the one with the words, but I just couldn't frame what I wanted to say.

"But what am I doing here with you, doing this, you mean?"

"Because it's YOU, you silly fucker, only because it's you."

I felt his cock harden and lengthen against my belly, and I understood.

Because it was me, only because it was me.

That perfect day drifted into the perfect weekend, the perfect week and the perfect end to the school year.

On Sunday afternoon Ben and I sat in the Aitken's' private garden, slurping noisily at giant knickerbocker glories, quaffing ice cold orange juice - Ben could squirt the stuff through the tiny gap between his two front teeth - and burping at each other as rudely we can could. Ben's mum and dad had wisely commandeered the shady side of the garden.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What do you think of Dan?"

"Dan's all right, I guess."

"'All right?' Just fuckin' 'All right', you guess. You dumb piece of shit." Ben and I had an extensive range of endearments for each other. "Daniel Marlow is more than 'all right'. Daniel Marlow is gorgeous, and intelligent, and successful, and... fuckin' great at sex."

"I'm not arguing," I replied. "I said he was 'all right', didn't I?"

"Yeh, you did. But you said Dan's all right... but."

"I didn't say 'but'."

"You fuckin' well did." Ben scooped out a load of vanilla icecream and aimed his spoon at me. "Admit it. You fuckin' said 'but'."

"I didn't actually use the word 'but'."

"I know you didn't, smart arse, but it was there. I heard it. You don't have to say it for me to hear it. So come on. But what?" Icecream was running down the spoon, down Ben's wrist. Expertly he caught it with a flick of his tongue. I was reminded of a chamelon we'd seen on a nature programme at school. One flick and the dragonfly was gone.

"Well... look... Dan's a nice guy, and he's good-looking, and he's your Dad's solicitor, so he must be bright. But, damn it, Ben, he's a man... and you're a boy. Isn't that a bit..." I hesitated to say the word. "... isn't that a bit pervy?" There it was out.

"Yeh, it would be 'pervy'..." Ben tinged the word with a sneer. "...if it wasn't me that wanted it first. If there's a perv at this table, it's me. Oh, yeh, and you. As a matter of fact," he drawled, "it was your finger up my bum, not just Ben's, yours, too. How's that for pervaciousness?" I blushed furiously.

"Are you boys all right?" called Ben's mum across the garden. "Not too hot for you, is it?"

"No, mum, we're just fine, thanks," Ben called back.

"You don't care if Dan's older then?" I asked.

"No, I don't. In fact, that's one of the reasons I like him. And we don't fuck like bunny rabbits all the time. A lot of the time, yes, but not ALL the time. Did you know that Dan is teaching me how to drive?"

"A car?"

"No, a scooter, you fuckin' idiot. Of course a car."

"I didn't know that."

"No, you wouldn't. Not since you get engaged to Eric The Wonderboy Murray. By the way, have you fucked him yet." I said nothing. "Well, good for you," Ben laughed. "That tight-ass has needed something up his bum for a long time. Imagine it being my little Louis." Ben said that with exactly the same intonation his mum used. "And what about that kid in First Year? Don't think I haven't noticed? You must be shagging both of them. You're too shagged to help me out at school these days."

All this was said with a friendly conspiratorial grin. Ben and I could never be lovers, but we'd always be friends.

"Anyway, I do a lot more with Dan than you'd guess. I go fishing with him and dad every Saturday afternoon. You wouldn't know because you're never around. And he's taken me to the Law Courts three times. It's great, Louis, really great. You should come along with us sometime, you really should."

"Yes, but..."

"Come on, spit it out."

"Well, do you think a man should be going out with a boy?"

Louis laughed but it wasn't unkind.

"Going out? Going out? I gardly think we're 'going out'. Dan likes my company; I like his. I can talk to him like I can't talk to anybody else -except maybe you. But we know it's not gonna last. At least I do. Listen, Dumbo. I'm 13, nearly 14. I like my life. I admit I'm dead lucky but that's the way the cookie crumbles. I don't know if I'm a homo, or anything like that, but if I am, so what?" He laughed. "Mum'll still love me anyway."

He squirted some juice between his teeth. "And I met Dan. And I fancied him, and I put the moves on him, and he... loves it. And we're not hurting anybody. In fact, I think I've learned more about life, spending time with Dan, than I ever knew before. And, tell you something, Louis, I'm gonna enjoy it while I've got it. I like the way he looks at me. I like the way he speaks to me. He pays attention to me, real attention, not like Dad, as if I was some afterthought, but real attention. You know something? I think we'd be just as happy together if there wasn't any sex, but there IS, and I like it that way."

I hadn't heard Ben make a speech like that for years. In fact, I'd never heard him make a speech like that. He was serious, deadly serious. Them were his secret thoughts, and he'd shared them with me. Those two little boys in their pinafores in the nursery were growing up fast.

"And what about you?" he asked.

"What about me?!"

"Is it Eric Murray or that kid in the First Year?"

"Leslie."

"Leslie?"

"Leslie Morrison. That's his name. The First Year." My look warned Ben not to take the piss.

"Well, is it Eric or Leslie?"

I spooned some choc ice into my gob.

"I don't know. I just don't know."

"You poor fucker," he commiserated. Then added brightly, "Why not have both of them - together?"

"That wouldn't work," I sighed.

"Why not?" came the reply. "It nearly worked for me."

"What do you mean?"

"You and Dan. I nearly had you and Dan at the same time. That was my idea, you know, not Dan's, strictly mine."

It was my turn to load the spoon and take aim.

"Hey?" I asked. "Have you ever had a knickerbocker glory up your arse?"

"No," laughed Ben, "but I bet you have. Between us, YOU're the Bum Boy."

The ice cream cauught him right between the eyes, and I nearly made it to the pool before he caught up with me, rugby-tackled, and sent us both splashing into the sparkling blue.

Did I say perfect?

Not quite. Because maybe nothing is perfect in this world. Maybe the best of all possible worlds can never be perfect. And why not perfect?

"Say you'll come. It's my dad's idea as much as mine. Mike'll be there, too. It'll be a laugh. Go on, say you'll come."

That was Eric. That was Wednesday.

The Murrays had a cottage in Devon. Not theirs, an uncle's. I knew Devon was in England. I knew it was about as far away as one can go and still be in England. They were going for a fortnight, two weeks, and I was invited. Me, a boy from the wrong side of town, from the wrong junior school, with the wrong accent - I was invited to spend a fortnight with the nobs.

"No cricket, I promise," Eric added. "But the tennis courts are very good. They're public. They're never used. Maybe you can coach me. Maybe I'll pick up the game at last. And Dad and Mike'll take us fishing, deep sea fishing, not cissy river stuff. They go fishing a lot. We don't have to go on all the trips. We can stay home sometimes. Have the place to ourselves. Do whatever we want." He hesitated for a moment, then added, "You can bring the peanut butter. Go on. Say you'll come. We're leaving next Monday morning. Driving all the way. With an overnight stop. Say you'll come."

"I'll have to ask my mother."

"Great. Ask her then. Ask her. She can phone my dad. Or he can come round to your house and talk to her. You won't have to pay anything, just pocket money." The last remark was made almost apologetically, and I appreciated Eric's sensivity.

"Okay, I'll ask her."

"Great, great. Ask her tonight."

"Okay, I'll ask her tonight."

But I didn't think I would. Because there was something else I wanted to ask her, and I'd planned to ask her that night.

"Montrose? With the Morrisons? For a fortnight?"

My mother's arms were folded across her chest. This meant she'd take some convincing. But at least she'd met Leslie three times and liked him; she'd even met Mrs Morrison, once, in the supermarket, and they'd liked each other. They'd ended up in the coffee shop nattering like old hens while Leslie and I inspected the sports gear.

"Well, it's only Montrose. That's not far away. But they're not taking you for nothing. Mrs Morrison works in the bank and she's got her husband's pension..." Mum knew more about the Morrisons than I did! "...but they're like us. They aren't made of money. "But she's getting the house for free and..."

"You know! You know all about it!" I managed to blurt his out even though my mouth hung open. It isn't easy to do, try it.

"Of course, I do. You don't think I'd let a son of mine go off with strangers. We settled things a couple of weeks ago. I was only waiting for you to ask, or not to ask, in case you had other plans. You don't have other plans, do you?"

My face flushed, but one of the reasons I adored my mother was because she allowed us our secrets, the secret lives of teenage boys. That's not to say we had carte blanche to do what we liked; far from it. But she trusted us, and that trust extended to letting us have parts of our lives that were strictly our business.

"One thing..." Ah, that not of caution. "Leslie's a bit younger than you."

"Yeh, but he's taller than me. Nearly an inch."

"That's not what I meant. What I mean is - take care of him."

"I will, mum, I will." I grabbed her and whirled her round our small living room. We fell backwards onto the settee laughing. Of all the sounds in the world there are none mor beautiful than the sound of a boy and his mother laughing.

That afternoon, in English class, we'd been studying the poems of A.E. Houseman. A couple of his verses stayed with me:

Into my heart an air that kills

From yon far country blows: What are those blue remembered hills,

What spires, what farms are those?

This is the land of lost content,

I see it shining plain, The happy highways where I went

And cannot come again.

I decided that I'd take those happy highways, and I'd let them take me wherever they went, so at least I'd be able one day to look back and know that I'd travelled them.

....

Thanks for your kind comments on some of my stories over the years. Some of you have asked if I've written any others. I have indeed. Here are those I have been able to locate. The rest are somewhere in the Nifty Archives. Only God knows where and He has yet to divulge their whereabouts to me. By the way, only the email addy atop this story is functional.

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/little-miners

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/jason-carter/

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/once-upon-a-time

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/first-time/true-colours

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/first-time/true-fiction

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/beautiful-game

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/loving-boys

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/oscar-my-love/

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/sweet-william-mine

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/still-life-water-colours

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/urination/kaleidoscope

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/suddenly-that-summer

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/rescue-me

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/urination/life-with-the-darlings

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/falling-in-love-again

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/urination/boys-like-us

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/sweets-to-the-sweet/

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/you-never-can-tell

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/sandhaven