Andrew

by The Composer

Chapter 1

I could see the lights reflecting off the ripples on the water. The sun had disappeared ages ago, and it was dark. It was getting cold now, and I found myself shivering. I was sitting on a pontoon in a marina. Not that I had a boat – not many fifteen year old black kids living in a council care home could afford a boat. No, I was sitting there because I had nowhere else to go. Well, I could have gone back to that 'home', but in reality, it wasn't a home. It was a place I could go to watch television, be fed - well, up to a point - and sleep. That was it. I wanted out, but there was nowhere to go. I had wanted out for a long time. Soon I'd be sixteen. What then?

I had found this place a few weeks ago. I had been in care homes since I was five years old, when my mother had given up and abandoned me. Or I had been taken away from her. I never found out which it was. Anyway, I never saw her again. I didn't even know whether she was still alive. And I had no idea who my father was.

I had been moved around from home to home, from place to place. A few months ago I ended up here, in Gosport, and I've no real idea why. It might have seemed a good idea to someone to move me here, but they never asked me. The home I was in now was much the same as all the others, a shit hole combined with a prison. Actually, that was a little unfair. It wasn't a prison. You could walk out any time you liked, and no one would give a damn. If you stayed out overnight, and came back again the next day, they would want to know where you had been. You could give them any answer you liked, providing they could write it down in the space provided on the form which they had to fill in.

They say Gosport was once really busy with the Navy, but the Navy had shrunk. Nowadays the place is a rundown dump. No one gives a damn. The streets are filthy. The houses – well, some of them might have been quite nice originally, but now they needed paint and looking after. There were some new houses, but they too were cheap shit holes.

There was one thing. All these people with money from London and around the area had these yachts, and they had to find somewhere to keep these yachts. So there were all these marinas, full of these plastic little boats with masts sticking up into the air. There was no way I could get to see them. They were all hidden behind gates with electronic locks whose codes you needed to know. I didn't know the codes. But one day I found out.

I was standing near one of the gates, staring out over the water. A couple got out of a fancy car, and started loading stuff into a trolley. The woman got near the gate.

"I've forgotten the new code, darling."

I heard the numbers. "8861."

I didn't show any sign I'd heard him. I kept standing there and looking out over the water and repeating those numbers in my mind. Later, when it was dark, and people had stopped coming to and fro, I walked up to the gate and entered those numbers. I pushed at the gate. It opened.

I could walk up and down those funny floating platforms. All around me were these boats, rocking and leaning in the wind. Bits of rope were going ting ting ting against those metal masts. It was dark, but it was not quiet. I looked across the water to Portsmouth, where all those big battleships were tied up. I walked up and down those platforms. It was better than walking the streets of Gosport. Slowly, each evening, I explored them a little more. There were times I had to be careful, when people walk past the other way. They looked at me as though I shouldn't be there. They would say, "Good evening", in a loud voice, and I knew I had to say, "Good evening" in an equally loud and confident tone of voice. That was difficult, but I practised it in my room at night, when the lights were out. I would lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, and say, not loudly, but confidently, "Good evening". It had worked so far.

You could walk up and down only for so long before you became conspicuous. I used to walk down the bits that went off to one side, where the boats were tied up. You could go down to the end and sit there staring at the lights reflecting from the water. Wasn't a great deal of fun, but it was better than sitting in the television room at the place they called 'home'. It was better than walking round the streets of Gosport in endless circles.

The only problem was that when the sun went down, and the nights were clear, it was cold. I had a padded jacket, but it was falling apart, and hadn't been much in the first place. I tried wearing two or three T-shirts at the same time, but that didn't help a lot. I knew that if I was to sit there in the dark, it was going to be cold. And it was.

I could hear footsteps striding down those platforms. Usually they turned off into one of those other boats. But this time, they got closer and closer. I cringed into my jacket and tried to look invisible. In the dark, with my complexion, that wasn't difficult. I heard the footsteps slow down. They were just behind me. I heard some noises then, a sudden silence.

"Hello," said a voice cautiously.

I had been found out. What could I do? I turned round very slowly and looked up. There was a man standing on the platform with one hand on a wire round the boat. He was looking down at me. I had been seen.

"Hello?" he said again.

I had been sitting cross-legged on the end of the platform looking out across the water. I stood up, and briefly grabbed that wire around the boat to steady myself. I said nothing. He stared at me.

"Should you be here?"

I looked up at him. He was not that old, though when you're my age, you can't really guess the age of adults. Okay, when they start getting grey hair, or start going bald, they are old. In this light, it was difficult to tell. I had been busted, and I thought I should get out of here. The cold caught up with me, and I shivered.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Now that was a stupid question. I mumbled something and tried to edge past him. That was difficult because the platform was not very wide. He reached out a hand and grabbed the front of my jacket. I tried to shake him off.

"Let me go. Let me past. "

He didn't do either. He held the front of my jacket and stared at me.

"How long have you been here?" There was a note of curiosity in his voice. I wasn't going to tell him that. He was still holding the front of my jacket, and it was cold. I could feel myself shivering.

"You really are cold," he said.

"Yeah, whatever."

"Haven't you a home to go to?" he asked, and his voice was a little facetious.

Something inside me stirred and rebelled. "Oh, yeah, I've got a Home to go to, but it isn't home."

I could tell he was baffled. "What does that mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything. Now let me go."

He let go of my jacket, but it was still going to be difficult to get past him.

"Do you want to warm up for a few minutes?" he asked.

I stared up at him. "What do you mean?"

He jerked his head towards the boat and said, "There's a heater on board. You can come and warm up if you like."

I stared back up at him. "Mummy said not to take sweets from a stranger."

He stared back, and then began laughing. "Is that what you think?"

"So – why else would you ask me to come on board …" I waved my hand at the floating boat.

"So you can get warm?" he suggested.

"What's in it for you?"

He stared at me. He wasn't all that much taller, but an inch or two always gives you an advantage. "Why should there be anything in for it for me?" he asked, curiously.

"Get real."

He looked at me again. "So," he asked slowly. "You think I am asking you on board not to let you get warm but because I have …" He thought about it for a moment. "… designs on your body." He looked back at me. There was a slight smile on his face. "You really think that?"

I wasn't sure. He could have just turned me in to the marina security people. He hadn't. "So why are you asking me to get on your boat?"

"You're obviously freezing cold, and I have got a heater on board. You're welcome to stay for a few minutes to warm up, and I promise I will not molest you." There was a faint hint of amusement in those last few words.

I almost believed him. It was dark, and difficult to see much of his face. There were lights up and down these platforms, but not down here.

"I can take care of myself," I said with all the bravado of a fifteen year old.

"I'm sure you can," he said gravely. I got the impression that I was being mocked. "Ah well, it's up to you," he said, starting to climb on his boat.

"Is this yours?" I asked.

He paused and turned round and looked at me. "Yes," he said, "it's mine."

I couldn't help myself. "Did it cost a lot of money?"

I could see him stop and think about that. It was funny – he didn't come back to you straight away with an answer, but obviously thought about it. "It depends on what you call expensive. Expensive for you, but not for me." He thought about it again for a moment or two. "It's not new, and you can pick up second-hand boats quite cheaply. Cheaply, here, is relative."

"You're quite young."

He smiled. "Thank you. Although time will cure that."

I didn't quite understand that. But, "All these people walking up and down these platforms are really old. You know? Grey hairs?"

He paused. "Most of them are retired people, who have the time and the money. I have the money but not the time."

"How old are you?"

That smile again. "If I tell you, will you tell me?"

I thought about it. "Okay."

"Thirty." I looked at him. That sounded about right. "So, how old are you?"

"Seventeen," I said.

He looked at me sceptically. "Do you really expect me to believe that?"

"Well," I said, "I'm actually sixteen, but I will be seventeen in two weeks and two days." Now that was a complete lie. I was actually fifteen, but I would be sixteen in two weeks and two days. If you are going to tell lies, try and make them convincing. I don't think I was being very convincing.

"If you say so," he said rather dubiously. Then, "Why are we standing out here? I want to go and warm up. It's up to you whether you come along."

He swung himself on board the boat and went down to the back and I could hear him fiddling about. I wasn't sure what to do. But it was cold, and I had nowhere else to go, and he didn't seem that bad. I tried to swing myself onto the boat like I'd seen other people do it, but didn't get it quite right. His head appeared above what looked like a sort of hood, and even in that light, I could see the amusement in his face. It pissed me off. I walked to the back of the boat and it was open. There were lights down below, and I climbed down some steps.

"Move out of the way," he said, and started fiddling with some stuff, and then he slid a hatch closed. "Keeps the cold air out," he said.

I really had no idea what was going on. He began pressing buttons and I could hear noises as though hot air were being blown. "Stand there if you want to get the hot air," he said cheerfully. "I'm going to put a kettle on."

It was bliss. I could feel the hot air blowing up my body, warming me up. There was the noise of a kettle starting somewhere. I stood there with my eyes closed. I could hear him moving around doing things. I heard the click of the kettle cutting itself off, and the sound of hot water being poured. A mug was held in front of me and I could smell it.

"Hot chocolate," he said.

I took the mug and put my nose down to it, inhaling the fumes. They were wonderful.

"That's me," I said, and turned and looked at him. He looked blank. I moved my body rather suggestively, and pointed to my cheek with its dark complexion. "Hot chocolate?" I said again.

He still looked blank, and then the penny dropped. "At the moment," he said rather dryly, "you look like cold chocolate." He paused again. "Don't complain about pedos and then make comments like that."

I felt about six inches tall. "Sorry," I mumbled, sticking my nose back into the mug.

It was good, that chocolate. I haven't had anything to eat that evening, and it was fantastic. I looked down at the empty mug, and then back at him. He was looking at me, and I couldn't quite work out what he was thinking.

Then: "Would you like some more?" There was only one answer to that. I nodded, and gave him my mug. He filled it up again. He looked back at me. "Have you eaten this evening?" he asked. I stared into the mug. "You haven't, have you?" I shrugged. "You're lucky." I looked up at him. "I brought some food with me. Would you like some?"

I stared at him. He sighed. "Look, I haven't got designs on your body. But I have got some food. Would you like some?"

Was he for real? "Okay," I said slowly.

"Your gratitude is duly noted," he said in that dry tone of voice.

"Sorry," I said again.

"Not a problem," he said.

He had a microwave and an electric ring. A couple of curries went into the microwave, and he put a pan on the ring to heat up water for rice. It took a few minutes before the rice was ready, then he got a couple of plates and spoons and forks, and started dishing up. I sat there watching him, then he put a plate in front of me, and it smelt so good. I thought I'd better wait for him to start, but he just waved a hand. "Tuck in."

It didn't take me long. He looked at me in slight surprise. "Hungry?" I nodded. "Do you want anything else to eat?" I thought about it, then shook my head. "You're talkative," he said. I shrugged. He gathered up the plates and took them to a sink to wash them up. "I don't know about you, but I'm dead beat." He turned to look at me. "What time do they lock up at that home of yours?"

I shrugged again. "They lock the doors at 10, but there's supposed to be someone on duty until 12."

He looked at his watch. "Well, it's gone 11 already." I gave him another shrug. "What happens if you don't go back?"

"Not much."

"Don't you get into trouble?"

"As long as you can give them an excuse that will fill the box on the form they have to write up, then they don't care."

He stared at me. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"So if you don't go back, where are you going to go?" I gave him yet another shrug. He looked at me, exasperated. He sighed again. "This boat has got three cabins." That didn't mean much to me. He pointed a finger to a door behind him. "That's my cabin in which I sleep. This is the main cabin we are sitting in now." He pointed to a door nearer the front of the boat. "That's the front cabin." He looked at me again. "If you want to, you can sleep there. Entirely up to you. And, no, I'm not going to come in there in the middle of the night to ravish you."

"As if," I told him.

He sighed. "Do you want it or not?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"Why? Because you are a kid with nowhere to go and I have got a spare bed in that cabin there. Now, if you don't want it, it's fine. Just go and piss off into the darkness." He was getting irritated. I looked at him again, and then nodded. "Okay," he said. "Go and open that door."

It was like another room in there. "Find the light switch," he told me. I fumbled around until I found it and clicked the light on. "There's a folded up blanket there. Spread it out over the cushions." I did as I was told. "You will find a duvet folded up in that black plastic bag." I spread that out over the blanket.

"Right," he said. "Okay, the next thing I need to do is to show you how to use the heads." I looked at him blankly. "Okay. What I mean is the toilet. We are not on shore. We are a boat afloat. It works differently. You don't want to get it wrong." He opened another door and waved. There was a room which looked something like a bathroom, and there was a toilet. He waved at it. "You can't flush it like a normal toilet. Come here and I'll show you." I was a little wary, but didn't want to get things wrong. He showed me how to use the thing, with a handle to pump up and down to flush it. "You got that?" He asked. I nodded. "Right. The rest of it is fairly obvious." He thrust a towel at me. "I'm going to go into my cabin to give you some privacy whilst you wash. Okay?"

I nodded, and he disappeared behind that door. I used the toilet and then washed as best I could. I took my things and went up to that room – sorry, cabin – and got ready for bed. I closed the door behind me and pulled the duvet over my head. I went fast asleep.

I've never slept like that before. Usually, in the night, I wake up half a dozen times. This time, when I woke up, there was light coming through that window above me. I looked at my watch. It was nearly ten o'clock. I must have been asleep for hours. I had never done that before. I got out from under the duvet and opened that door and looked out. I can see him sitting at a sort of table, with what looked like maps in front of him. He looked up as I clambered out. "Sleep well?"

I nodded. But there was something more urgent. I really really needed a pee. I shuffled down the cabin and went straight into the bathroom. I peed. I really peed. I needed that. I looked down into the bowl, and what I saw didn't look very nice. I followed the instructions on how to pump the thing out, and how to flush it. I thought I had better flush it thoroughly. I washed my hands and stepped out. He looked at me. "You obviously needed that," he said with a slight smile.

"Yeah, well," I mumbled.

"Do you want to have a proper wash?"

"A proper wash?"

"A proper wash. All over."

"And I suppose you want to give it?" He looked at me, and then suddenly, in the way he looked at me, I felt about six inches tall again. "Yeah, okay. What do I do?"

He opened the door behind me. "Fill the sink with water that's hot. There's a sponge there. You can sponge yourself down. And there's some soap." He looked at me again. "You'll be safe enough. I'll go up on deck until you're ready."

I looked at him, and he gave me a brief smile, before stepping up and going outside. I peeked around the corner. He was outside fiddling with bits and pieces. I filled the basin like he said, and began sponging myself down. It was quite a nice feeling running that sponge up and down my body. I looked down at myself. That brown skin, smooth and hairless, apart from the bush around my dick. I didn't have any hair on my arms and legs. I didn't know why – lots of other kids did. Perhaps it was being black. There was some hair under my arms, but not much. Perhaps I would get more when I got older. I slowly ran that sponge up and down me. It felt nice. I knew I was going to get hard if I kept on doing that, so I squeezed the sponge dry and pulled out the plug in the sink. I opened the door a little bit and reached for my towel. I slipped on my boxers and T-shirt and went for the rest of my clothes. I wasn't sure what to do with the wet towel, so went up to the stairs to ask him.

I suddenly realised I didn't know his name, and I had never told him mine. I stood looking at him. "Is there a problem?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know your name."

"Charles." Trust him to have a fancy name.

He looked at me questioningly. I knew better than to give him my real name. With blokes like this, you needed to be sure they couldn't follow you or stalk you or whatever. "Andrew," I said using a name I had sometimes used before.

He tilted his head slightly. "Andrew?"

I nodded. "Yeah? And?"

"Nothing." He looked at the towel in my hand. "Go down to the chart table and if you rummage in the shelf above it, you will find a couple of clothes pegs."

"Chart table?"

"Where I was sitting earlier."

It took me a little time to find them, then I came up and he told me to hang the towel over the rail and put the pegs over it. He looked at me again, and I looked back, uncertain what to do next. He tilted his head again, in the way that he had before.

"Well," he said, "are you going ashore or coming for a sail?"

"A sail?" I asked, not sure what he meant.

He nodded. "That's right. A sail. That's what you do with a sailing boat – you go sailing."

I felt a bit of an idiot, but a little annoyed because he had embarrassed me. "What do I have to do?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. I'm used to handling this boat by myself. If you want, you can just be a passenger."

"I don't know anything about boats."

He smiled again. "I guessed that." I looked at him, slightly annoyed again. He held up his hands in a sort of peace gesture. "Don't get too wound up about that – I mean, it was pretty obvious, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, well," I mumbled.

"So what's it to be?"

I stared at him. "You want me to go out with you in this?"

"Oh, you're quite safe as long as you are on deck. It's when we go down below that I'll start molesting you."

"Don't."

"What?"

"Make fun of me like that." I looked up at him. "Kids like me – no family or anything, in care homes – we're targets for all the pedos and perverts around."

He looked back at me steadily. "Even if I were a pedo or a pervert, I hope that for my own peace of mind that I can keep my hands off vulnerable children."

I glared at him. "I'm not a child!"

He shrugged. "You're certainly not grown-up yet." He had a point. He smiled again. "Don't sulk."

"I'm not sulking," I mumbled.

"Are."

"Am not."

He grinned, and I couldn't help grinning back.

He stood up. "Let's get this show on the road."

"What do I do?"

"Nothing. Just sit there and don't move unless I tell you to."

He was doing all sorts of things that I didn't understand, but he looked as if he knew what he was doing. Suddenly the engine revved, and the boat started moving backwards. I clung onto a rail. He began steering it through all the other boats and then out into the harbour. I had stared often enough across the water in this harbour, but now I was sailing on it. We headed out towards the entrance together with loads of other boats, then we were outside.

"Where's that?" I asked, pointing out some land opposite.

"The Isle of Wight," he replied. He looked down at me. "How long have you been in Gosport?"

"Um … nine months."

"And you've never seen the Isle of Wight before?"

I thought about it. "No. Heard of it though. Some of the boys in the home are from the Isle of Wight. Never knew where it was, though."

He shook his head as though he didn't believe me, then shrugged. Then he suddenly started doing things again, and these big white sails went up. He switched off the engine, and it was suddenly quiet apart from the sound of the water. He looked round. "It's a nice day for it, which is just as well. The forecast for tomorrow is dreadful."

"What do you mean?"

"It's going to be pouring with rain and blowing old boots."

"Can't you go sailing when it's raining?"

He looked at me as if to check whether I was being serious. "Yes, you can, but it's bloody uncomfortable."

We seem to be moving through the water quite nicely now. He looked around, and then patted the bit of seat next to him. "Come and sit here." I gave him one of those looks. "Don't be silly," he said. "Come and sit here".

I moved there next to him. It was rather nice in a way. He was solid and somehow comforting.

"Hold this wheel."

I took it automatically without realising what it was, and then suddenly realised it was the wheel that steered the boat. I jumped and jerked the wheel, and the boat lurched off course. "Careful," he said.

"What do I do now?"

"Steer us back onto course."

"How?" I asked, slightly panicked.

"Use the wheel."

It took a bit of getting used to. He took the wheel back from me after a time, and we sailed back and forwards. He told me to steer again after he had started the engine, and wanted to take the sails down. I steered towards the harbour entrance, but as we got closer, he took over. We finally ended up back in the marina, and he went around the boat tidying things up. I helped where I could.

It was actually quite late by then. We went down, and he closed the hatches. "Supper?" He asked. I nodded. It was odd. We had hardly spoken to each other all day. "It will have to be tinned stuff," he warned. I shrugged. He gave me another of those glances. "Talkative again, I see."

I gave him another shrug. "What you want me to talk about?"

"Anything you like. After all, you're here to entertain me."

"What do you want – a striptease?"

He banged down a spoon. "Don't do that!"

"What?"

"Make those sorts of comments."

"Where I come from, people say much worse."

"Well you're not there now, so behave with a bit of decorum."

"What's decorum?"

"It means behaving like a civilised human."

"I'm not civilised," I told him, and I made those sort of monkey gestures which other boys made to me, as though scratching under my arms, and making "huh huh huh" sort of noises. They did that to black boys.

He looked at me and I could see in his face a sort of distaste. "Don't do that."

He had that sort of power to make me shrink back to being six inches tall. He had done it before, and he could do it well. "Sorry," I mumbled.

He slid onto the cushion on the other side of the table. "Look," he began, and then looked at me again. "Is your name really Andrew?"

"Yeah."

He stared at me across the table, and I looked back. Fortunately with a complexion like mine, you couldn't see that I was blushing. I stared back at him, defiant.

"I'm sorry," he said. I gaped at him. For a moment he looked embarrassed. "Living in those sorts of places probably doesn't help."

"And what do you know about 'those sorts of places'?"

"Not much," he admitted. "But I can imagine they are not very pleasant."

"Not very pleasant? Well, you got that right."

One of the pans started making a hissing noise. He stood up again hurriedly and went over to sort it out. He began rummaging through plates and knives and forks, not looking at me, and then start dishing up the food. It might have come from tins, but it was good, and I was really hungry, and there was a lot of it. I finished before he did, and took my plate to the sink and filled the sink with hot water, then began washing the pans. I took his plate when he had finished, and washed that as well. When I had finished, I turned and stared at him, and he looked back. Neither of us said anything. It was a long silence.

"I'm sorry for the other things that I said today," I mumbled.

He nodded, then suddenly stood up, taking me by surprise. He wasn't actually that much taller than me, but he was quite solid. He wasn't what you would call good-looking, but he wasn't ugly either. He had been kind to me and I had been rude to him.

"Thank you," I said awkwardly. He raised an eyebrow. "I really do appreciate what you've done. You've been kind to me." He tilted his head. "Can I stay another night?" He nodded. It was him who was being silent now. He moved out of the way, and I started getting ready for bed. I was still unhappy. He had been kind to me and I had been mean to him.

I climbed under the duvet. It was still early, but I was really tired. I fell asleep. I woke sometime in the night, and I knew it was the pattering on the roof above me that had woken me. It was raining, I think, and I could hear the wind now. It was making funny noises around the masts of all these boats. I thought about Charles. He had been kind to me. You have to be careful if you are like me. Sometimes you see people looking at you and you know what they are thinking. They know that you are a piece of trash living in some council home. You go into shops and security people look at you carefully. Mind you, I didn't blame them. Almost everyone in those homes was a thief. Somehow, I felt it a point of honour not to steal. I wouldn't have taken anything from this boat. Sometimes men look at you, and you know what they are thinking. They're creepy. Was Charles like that? I didn't know. I did know that he would never hurt me. I don't know how I knew that, but somehow I was certain of it.

But I did know something about what blokes did together. Not that I had done anything myself, but I found out about it late one night. It was when I was twelve, and for some reason – they never told me why – I was in this home just for a few weeks. It was for older boys, teenagers at least, and I was a very underdeveloped twelve year old. I had to share a room with another boy. He was quite big – not muscled, but certainly big boned. His name was Simon. He was also quite well developed, and not shy. That first evening he walked around before bed dressed just in a T-shirt, and to me that great hairy thing between his legs was a monster.

One of the great taboos in a care home was gay sex. Once you are in a care home, you don't stay innocent for very long. Sex was a perennial topic of conversation – all about feeling up girls' tits and passing round porn mags. 'Gay' was one of the ultimate insults. When one of the male members of staff did something to annoy us, there were all sorts of comments like, 'I bet he takes it up the arse,' or 'I bet he sucks dick.' I hadn't yet hit puberty, and so a lot of this was quite meaningless to me. But I was about to be enlightened.

I've never been a heavy sleeper, and I was woken up by someone opening the door. He came into the room, closed the door, walked over to Simon's bed, and pulled down his boxers. I see his white bum. There was a lot of whispering. I pulled the duvet over my head. Then I heard the rhythmic squeaking from the bed, and I peeked out. The other boy was lying on top of Simon. Simon was lying on the bed on his stomach. I see the other boy, his bum in the air, riding up and down on top of Simon. They were ignoring me completely. I could see the other boy speeding up, and I could hear the noises he was making – 'uh uh uh'. Then it all stopped, and the two of them lay there for a minute or so. Then there was more whispering. The other boy got up, and slightly to my surprise, gave Simon's bum a light slap. Then he stood up and put his boxers back on again. Yuck, I thought, remembering where he had put his dick. Then he walked out. Simon pulled the duvet back over himself as if to go back to sleep.

I lay there half excited, half terrified. Was this the sort of thing that older boys did to each other in this place? Would someone want to do it to me? Would I have to fight them off? I hadn't really any idea what sex was really like. I could hear the noises the two of them were making. Were they enjoying themselves? And what I didn't understand, and still don't understand, was what was in it for Simon. He had just laid there whilst the other boy fucked him. And he didn't even get a wank out of it.

Nothing happened the next night, and I thought that perhaps it was just going to be that once. But on the third night, I was woken again. Again they took no notice of me, and I got a free show. But this time, it was different. Simon was on his back with his legs up in the air, and that other boy took him from the front. I saw him fumble between Simon's legs and he seemed to have a tube of stuff which he smeared onto his dick before leaning forward and pushing. It was noisier this time. The whole bed seemed to be squeaking with the exertions as the boy got faster and faster, then I heard him saying, 'yes – yes - yes.' Eventually he disentangled himself, and there was more muttering, until he got off the bed again and pulled on his boxers.

I used to sit in a corner of the common room, a small boy along all these bigger heftier boys. I used to wonder whether I would find someone wanting to do that to me, and I shivered. There was no way I could have fought some of these boys off. And I used to wonder who that boy in the night was, because I didn't recognise him.

It didn't happen every night, and I wasn't even sure whether it was the same boy each time. It was difficult to tell. But to get your own free sex show – well, that was something else. But I knew I wasn't going to be here for very long. Soon I would be moved somewhere else.

Just before I was about to leave, I was sitting on the side of my bed, when Simon came over and sat down next to me. He was just wearing that T-shirt, and I could see that monster between his legs. I could see that great bush of hair. I thought of him trying to get that inside me and shuddered. But he just started chatting away, and I relaxed slightly, then he put his arm around my shoulders. No way. I rapidly slid a couple of feet away, ducking from under his arm. He just smiled slightly, and carried on chatting.

I honestly had no idea what he had in mind, but I didn't want to find out.

That was the only time – at least the only time I knew about – that boys in those homes did that sort of thing. As I said, the worst thing you could call anyone was gay. And there were some boys who got the reputation of being gay, even if they weren't, and usually their lives were made hell. I knew by now that I preferred boys to girls, but I would not have dared to make a move on anyone in one of those homes. I didn't want to get beaten up or jeered at.

Was that the sort of thing that men wanted to do with boys? Is that what Charles would want to do with me if I let him? Or – maybe – the other way round. It was only fairly recently that I actually put two and two together about liking boys. All the boys used to get these porn mags, and there would be a huddle of boys staring at one, glassy eyed, making all sorts of comments about the woman's tits or whatever. Tits didn't interest me. Mind you, I'm not sure whether dicks were that interesting either. But I found myself looking more and more at other boys. In the bathroom, with just a towel round their waist. Their broad shoulders.

Was Charles attractive? He certainly wasn't a boy. He was grown-up, and solid – but there was something nice about that. I imagined being held by him, hugged by him. Warm and reassuring. All this was having an effect on me, and I rolled over and tried to get back to sleep again.


I woke up again early in the morning, and it was the sort of waking up when you knew you wouldn't get back to sleep again. And I needed to pee. I had that towel, and thought I could have a wash like I had the day before. I opened the door to the cabin a little bit, and looked through. The main cabin was empty. As quietly as I could, I made my way down the cabin, put my towel down and went into that place he had called the heads. Why it was called the heads I had no idea. I had a good long piss, and then took my T-shirt and boxers off. I filled the sink with hot water and then began sponging myself down. I liked the feeling. Like yesterday, I looked down at my body. When I had been younger, I had been really skinny. I wasn't as skinny now. I didn't have muscles though. I carried on sponging myself, then I thought I had probably better stop.

I put the sponge down into the sink and turned round, opened the door, and stepped out. I got a shock. Charles was just outside, obviously just about to open the door just as I stepped out. By the look of complete surprise on his face I could tell that he didn't expect to find me there. And he didn't expect to find a wet naked half hard black fifteen year old six inches in front of him, right in his personal space. He was wearing just a T-shirt and boxers, and the T-shirt was loose and rather short. I could see his arms, with a fine layer of hair. Golden hair, which the light had caught. He had frozen as we nearly collided, and I was standing very close to him. I could feel his warmth, straight from the bed. I couldn't help myself. I put out a hand and touched him through that T-shirt. There was a sudden whimper from him and I suddenly realised I had power over him. I moved my hand slightly, feeling the cotton slide over his skin. It felt nice. He was solid and warm and comforting, and I liked my hands on him. "Please … don't …" I heard him say. But I knew I had power over him. I knew that whatever he said, he liked this. I knew that it was only the surprise that had prevented him from pushing me away.

I moved in closer to him, wet and naked as I was. I moved my hands up and down, only the thin cotton of the T-shirt between us, and I could feel the firmness of him, the smoothness. He tried retreating, and I followed, until eventually he had his back against the closed door of his cabin. He could retreat no further. My hands roamed over his chest. Feeling him through the cotton was somehow even more erotic. "Andrew …" I heard him say. I looked up at him. I could see the agony in his face.

I knew the power I had over him. "You like this, don't you?"

"Stop, please. Please."

I suddenly slid my hands under his T-shirt and onto his stomach. He was fit. He hadn't gone flabby like most men do. The feeling I got from having my hands on him was immense. I was harder than I ever had been in my life. I looked into his face, his eyes. "Why do you want me to stop?"

"Because it's wrong."

"Wrong? What's wrong about this? You are so kind and so sexy. I mean that." I stopped moving my hands for a moment and held him. I looked into his eyes again. "You know what you are doing to me, don't you?" He must have known from the way I had started pressing my body against his. He was so warm, so comforting. He was strong and he was solid, and I knew that I had him at my mercy. I wanted to enjoy him. I didn't really know what that meant, somehow. Sex with a man? For real? Did I want that? I wasn't sure. But I knew I wanted him, and my body knew that, as I wrapped myself around him. "Hold me," I whispered. "Hold me," I said, looking up at him. I saw his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed. I moved a little way away from him. "Hold me," I told him. Very slowly, his arms came around me. I knew I had won. I knew he was mine. I buried my face in his chest.

"Tighter," I commanded. I could feel his arms, his hands against my naked back. He was holding me, hot, wet, and naked as I was. I pulled back a little and looked up, reaching a hand to smooth the hair away from his forehead. I held my hand against his cheek. His cheek felt a little rough with the early morning stubble. He was staring down at me, but I couldn't read the expression in his eyes. Then: "Why are you doing this?"

I didn't really know myself. All I knew was that when I stepped out, and he was there, he was so … I don't know, erotic? That wasn't quite right. He was just there, and he was just Charles, and he was big and comforting and he made me feel very very randy.

"I don't know. Can you believe that?"

He tried to make a joke of it. "I didn't expect a young boy to fling himself into my arms so early in the morning."

I put a finger over his lips. "Shush." I nuzzled my face in his neck, and then looked up again. "I want you so much. I really do." I paused. "Do you believe me?"

He looked at me for a long long time. "Seriously?" he asked. I nodded. He hesitated. "You know that's really difficult for me to believe?"

Again I pulled myself a little way from him. "It's true."

A long long stare. "Why?"

"I don't know. But just then, when I nearly stepped into you, and you were there, and you were so solid, and you were … just you. You turned me on. I don't know why." I looked at him a little longer. "Take your T-shirt off." He shook his head. "Take it off." He shook his head again. I put my hands under the T-shirt and lifted it up. His stomach and his chest were open to me. He wasn't hairy there. I could see his nipples, tight. I leaned forward, and ran my tongue over one of them. I felt him squirm. I licked it again. "Please," he groaned. I looked back at him. "I want you," I told him. "Take off that T-shirt."

He didn't want to. I stared at him. "Do it," I told him. Slowly he lifted it over his head, and I took it from him and I threw it behind me. I pulled away to look at him. I suddenly realised he was looking at me. I smiled. I moved back a few paces and stood there, my legs slightly apart, my arms at my side. I was as hard as I ever had been, and it showed. I wanted him to see it. I wanted him to see me. I raised my arms slightly. "You're so beautiful," he whispered.

"You want me?" I asked him. I could see the agony in his eyes. I moved forward again. I put my arms on his shoulders. "You can have me. All of me. I want you. All of you."

"You mean that?" he whispered.

I nodded. "I mean that." I moved closer and kissed him. I had never kissed anyone before, and I didn't really know how to do it. I tried again, and then his hand came up, cradling the back of my head, holding me to him, and suddenly I felt his tongue. It brushed against my lips, and I shivered. I felt it push my lips apart. He ran his tongue all the way along my lips, then leaning forward, he gently took my lower lip between his teeth.

I have never done anything like this before. I have never had sex before. I had imagined sex as some quick jerky physical release. I hadn't expected this. His teeth were still holding my lip. My body burned. I had to pull myself away. What I could see now in his eyes was lust.

I smiled. "You want me, don't you?" He didn't answer. I asked him again. "You want me."

"Yes." It was a whisper.

"I want you," I told him. "I'm going to have you. You know that, don't you?" I didn't really know what that meant, and I don't think he did either.

But I was learning something already. The best way to have sex. Slowly.

I looked at his arms, shoulder, chest. I couldn't help myself. I ran my hands up and down his arms, over his shoulders, down his chest. Dark skin and white skin.

"Hold me," I told him. His arms came around me. "Tighter." He squashed me against his chest. This was perfect. I wriggled up and nuzzled his neck, then moved my cheek against his rather scratchy one. I squashed my nose against his. I opened my eyes and looked into his. "Do you want me?" I asked him. "Do you want me?"

"Yes, " he whispered.

I stepped back from him. "Show yourself to me."

He knew what I meant. But he was shy.

"Show yourself to me," I told him.

I could have pulled them down myself, but I wasn't going to. I was going to make him do that.

"Do it," I told him. I stood back and opened myself to him, showing him my body, as I stood there, legs apart, arms by my side. "Do it."

He knew what I wanted him to do. I looked him in the eye, and held out my arms. "Look at me." His eyes moved up and down my body. "I'm not ashamed of myself. Now show me yourself."

He looked back up at me. I was there in front of him, naked, offering myself. "You can have me, you know? Any way you want me. Just tell me," I said to him.

"You mean that?" I can see that there were tears forming in his eyes. I nodded. I reached out a hand, brushing my fingers down his chest.

"Any way you want me."

"Why?" he asked again.

"Because…" I leaned forward, wrapped my arms around his head, pulled him towards me and whispered in his ear. "Because you make me harder than I ever have been in my life," and to prove the point, I pressed myself against him. "You do this to me." I stepped back again. I looked down at his boxers. The bulge looked interesting. "Take them off," I told him. I could see the agony in his eyes. "Go on. Just do it."

Slowly, timidly, he began to wriggle them down. He was half hiding himself from me. The boxers slipped down to his ankles, and he stepped out of them. "Go on," I told him. "Stand up so I can see you." He did. He was big. Well, bigger than me, although I had seen boys who were bigger than him. He was also quite hairy. A line of hair began at his belly button, and ran down to his bush. Although I wanted him, I was not quite sure what to do with him. What did men do together? Well, I had some idea in theory, but practice was something else. I looked him over from head to toe. I could sense his embarrassment as my eyes looked him up and down. Well, he had seen me, and I was not ashamed that I have shown myself to him. I looked him in the eye. I could see lust, embarrassment, shame. I stepped closer, not quite touching him. I put my hand on his shoulder and ran it down his arm. I couldn't help myself. "You are so so sexy."

This time it was astonishment in his face. "You find … me … sexy?"

I nodded. "Yes." There was a moment or two of silence. I leaned against him and there was no doubt that he was hard and I was hard. I put my arms around his neck and hugged him. "I want you," I whispered in his ear.

"You do?" There was doubt in his voice.

I pressed myself against him. "What does this tell you?"

He pulled away and looked me in the eye. "You mean this, don't you?"

I was harder than I had ever been. I gripped his arms, and pulled him away from that door. I opened it and pushed him inside. There wasn't much light there, but I could see the rumpled duvet. I put my hand on his chest and gently pushed. He fell backwards onto his bed. I climbed onto the bunk and slowly, carefully, gently, laid myself on top of him. I looked him in the eyes. "I want you," I told him.

"I've never done this before," he whispered.

"Do you want me to?"

"Oh my God, yes."

"I don't really know how to do this," I confessed. Watching other boys doing it was not the same as doing it yourself.

"Really?"

"Really."

"We need some sort of lubrication." He reached to a shelf to one side and picked up a bottle.

"What's this?" I asked.

He was embarrassed. "It's for when …" He held up his hand, and made the universal gesture for wanking.

I looked at him, and grinned. "So who's a pervert then?"

"Are you going to tell me you never do it?"

"Well, I don't keep a bottle of lotion handy."

"You will find it … very handy."

"Very funny." I looked at the bottle. "What do I do with it?" I whispered.

"You put some down there," and he gestured, "and then on your … before …"

I got the idea. "Can I feel you down there?" I asked.

He nodded. I stroked his balls – I could see the effect that had on him – and then I moved my fingers down. He was certainly hairy down there. I could feel the opening that I should be going for. I rubbed some of the lotion onto my fingers, and put them back there and it was so odd, sliding my fingers up and down like that, and I heard him making some noises, whimpering sort of noises. I moved up and down on his opening, and suddenly he whispered, "Put your finger in."

"Seriously?"

"Well, you're going to put your dick in there, aren't you?"

"Do you want me to do this?"

I could see him looking up at me. "Do you want to do it?"

"I think so."

"Then a finger."

It seemed gross, sticking your finger up a bloke's bum. But as he said, I was going to stick something else up there. I pushed, and suddenly my finger slipped in. I heard him give a gasp. "Are you okay?" I asked. In the dim light, I could see him nod. "It gave me a surprise, that's all." I wasn't sure what to do next. Waggle my finger? "Two fingers," he said. "You've been reading up on this haven't you?" I accused him. There was another slight smile from him. "Two fingers," he told me.

I tried it. It wasn't that easy, and I felt him tense for a moment. I knelt there, not knowing what to do next. "Get into position," he told me. I did my best. "Have you got plenty of lotion on it?" he asked. "Yes," I whispered. "Do it," he told me.

I wondered whether it was easier to do this with a girl. It probably was. But I didn't want to do it with a girl. I wanted him.

I pulled out my fingers and pressed my dick there instead. I was totally hard. I pushed again, and it seemed as though it wanted to slip away. I grabbed it, put it there, and tried pushing again. Suddenly I felt something happen, and he gave a sort of yelp. I froze. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yeah. Just hold it a moment." It was difficult, but I tried. "Go on," he told me.

I leaned against him, and felt myself slowly sliding into him. He was making gasping noises. "Are you okay?" I asked again.

"Just give me a moment."

"This is so embarrassing," I told him. "Is it going to be like this every time?"

"I hope not. Okay, go ahead."

I arched my body over him, and began to move very slowly. I knew he was making noises. I couldn't go on like this for ever, and tried speeding up. I could see his face now. His mouth was half open. His hands came up and gripped my arms. "Okay?" I asked. He just nodded. Then my body took over. I couldn't help it now. I was thrusting into him and I could hear the loud whimpers, but there was no way I could stop. I leant over him, and when I came, it was not just my dick but my whole body erupting. I was panting for breath as I came for my last spasm. This was so immense. And then there I was, leaning over him, staring into his eyes, with that sort of smug feeling that a fifteen year old boy gets after his first fuck.

" Andrew," he gasped. "Please …"

"Sorry." I was still hard. I eased myself out of him. I heard him gasp.

"Tissues over there." I reached for a handful and gave him some. We wiped ourselves clean, and he threw the balled up tissues towards the doorway. I collapsed onto him, still panting for breath.

I don't know how long we lay there. It seemed like ages. Eventually, I stirred, and propped myself up on my elbow. I looked down at him, smoothing the hair from his forehead. "I hurt you, didn't I?" I asked quietly. He didn't say anything. "I hurt you, didn't I?" I repeated. I could see him nod slightly. "I'm sorry, I tried not to."

"I know." He turned his head slightly to look me in the eyes. "It was worth it."

"Really?" He nodded again. I couldn't quite process all this. Suddenly I was no longer a virgin. Okay, it wasn't with a girl, but with a man. Not even a boy of my own age, but a man. I've never ever imagined or fantasised about having sex with a man, but here I was, and I had done it.

He looked back at me. "Was it … was it all right for you?"

I smiled down at him. "It was fucking embarrassing. All that fumbling around."

"Perhaps you need more practice."

"Not just yet." I could see him wince at the thought of it. I leant over him and kissed him very gently on the forehead. "Did I really hurt you?"

"I'm going to be sore." He shrugged. "I'll recover."

I looked down at him again, smoothing that hair back from his forehead. "Charles … Charles, would you … would you do it to me?" I had heard the noises he had been making, and part of me didn't want to do this. But I knew I wanted him to do it.

"You want me to do it to you?" I heard the astonishment in his voice.

"Please," I said in a very small voice.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Now."

He half sat up, staring at me. "Now?"

I knew what I might be letting myself in for, but I wanted him to do it. I wanted him.

"It hurts, you know. And I've never done this before. And I'm bigger than you, and I really don't want to hurt you."

"I don't mind. Do it. Move over," and I pushed him away from me, so that I could lie on my back. I opened my legs. I looked at him again. "Do it."

He stared at me for a long long time, and I stared back. I stretched my arms above my head and opened my body to him. He began to realise that I really did mean it. There was the usual complicated manoeuvring, as we adjusted our bodies. He took some of that lotion, and I felt his hand go down between my legs. I spread them as far as I could. I could feel his fingers gently moving up and down. I liked that. I looked up at him. "I trust you." And then there was a finger inside me. I gave a jerk of surprise, and I could see the expression on his face. "You didn't hurt me," I told him. "It was just … unexpected." There was a slight smile on his face, and I felt the finger move. It felt very funny. He was looking down at me, and I smiled back at him. There was a sudden extra pressure which made me gasp again. "Two fingers?" I asked. He nodded. I could tell that he was positioning himself now, and I laid back, relaxing myself as much as I could, closing my eyes. And then …

It really did hurt. It hurt a lot. He propped himself on his arms, obviously trying to keep as still as he could. "Wait," I told him. It got a little easier. "Do it." It hurt. I can hear myself whimpering. I bit my lip and tried to keep quiet, but that was difficult. He loomed above me, pushing himself into me, back and forward, back and forward. I held his shoulders, my fingers digging into his skin. He was making noises – 'uh uh uh' – and then it changed to a series of grunts, and I knew he was coming. One or two last spasms, and he collapsed forward. He was already shrinking, and he eased himself out of me. I couldn't help giving an enormous gasp of relief. He was lying on me now with his full weight, squashing me. I could hardly move. I managed to pull my arms free, and wrapped them around him, rubbing them up and down his back. He was panting in great deep breaths.

I let him lie there for a minute or two, until his breathing had eased. "Charles?"

A gulp. Then: "Yes?"

"You're squashing me."

"Oh, God. I'm so sorry." He took his weight on his arms and then rolled off.

Finally I could breathe. I turned sideways so I could put my arm across his chest. I was sore and aching. I didn't mind.

He turned his head towards me. "Did I hurt you?"

I nodded. "Yes." He looked horrified. Then I quoted his words back to him: "But it was worth it."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"You really wanted me to do that?"

"Yes, I did."

"I don't understand."

I nuzzled my face into his neck, and then said, not quite looking at him, "You can do anything you like to me. You can have me any way you want me. You can take me any time you want to."

There was a long silence. Then: "Why?"

It was difficult to explain. I didn't even really know myself. "Because … out there, when I stepped into you, I've never felt like that before. I was – turned on - more than I have ever been turned on. You did that to me, and I couldn't help myself. I had you pinned up against the door, and was nothing I wanted to do more than to hold you, rub myself against you, put my arms around you. And then we came in here, and you let me do that to you. I can't explain it."

He didn't say anything for a long time. "You know, you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."

"What, me?"

"Yes, you. When I saw you come out from the heads like that, you were naked and dripping wet, and then I saw the look in your eyes. I didn't want to do this. I'm a grown man and you're a young boy. No, really, you are, and I've taken advantage of you."

I moved my fingers across his lips. "You've got that wrong. I took advantage of you. Everything we've done is because of me. I wanted to do it. I wanted you to do it."

He gave a long long sigh. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Well, now you're going to put your arms around me, and hold me as tight as you possibly can." He did. I laid my head on his shoulder, and we lay there for what seemed for ever.

Suddenly, he pulled himself from under me. "Just before you came out of the heads dripping wet and naked, and raped me, I was going to have a pee. And I really really need to have that pee."

I let him go, and lay there in the half light of the cabin. Soon he was back, and we snuggled up against each other. "Did I really rape you?" I asked him.

"As near as."

"I gave you plenty of time to say no."

"I don't suppose it would have made much difference if I did."

"So how was it for you?"

"You mean – when I –"

"Yeah."

"Well, as you said, it was a bit embarrassing at first, sorting out what to do, then I was terrified I would hurt you, but after that? Sheer bliss."

"You've never done this before? A bloke your age?"

"No."

I didn't know what to say. "So you've been in the closet all these years."

"Until now."

We lay together in silence. I liked lying next to him. He was warm and comforting.

It was hunger that drove us out. We put on T-shirts and boxers, and he began preparing breakfast. I was ravenous. Eventually I leaned back and looked across the table at him. "That was good."

He looked back. "The food or the sex?"

I grinned. "Both."

He put his fork back onto his plate and fiddled with it for a moment or two. "You know I've got to go to work tomorrow?" I nodded, a hollow feeling in my stomach. "I'm going to have to go fairly soon." He looked back up at me. "What are you going to do?"

I knew what I wanted to do, but I was almost too afraid to ask. I summoned up my courage and looked across at him. "Can I … can I stay here in the boat?" He looked startled, and then slightly wary. I knew what he was thinking, and it suddenly irritated me. "Look," I said, "I might be a whore but I am not a thief."

He looked at me, horrified. "That's not what I meant. And what do you mean – you're not a whore?" Suddenly I could feel tears in my eyes. I didn't know why. "Look," he said awkwardly, "I'll trust you not to steal anything. But there's more to it than that. This boat has got all sorts of bits and pieces, and you don't know how they work. The last thing I need is you to turn the wrong handle and sink the boat."

"Is that likely?"

"Not really," he admitted. "It's really quite difficult to sink a boat like this. But … why do you want to stay?"

"You remember when you found me? Friday night? I was sitting out there in the cold because it's better than that home."

He looked at me for a long long time. I looked back, meeting his stare. Finally, he sighed. "God knows why I am doing this." I could have said, 'Because you've just fucked me', but that sounded too much like the sort of comment a whore would make. I just looked back at him. "I'll leave the keys with you. You know how to lock it up?"

"I think I can work that one out."

"I've got another set at home. And I'd better tell the marina staff that you're looking after the boat."

"I promise that I will steal nothing. I promise that I will tamper with nothing. Okay, I'll use the kettle and the cooker and the toilet and the washroom, but leave everything else alone." I paused. "Do you trust me?"

He looked at me, and then his gaze softened. "Can I trust you?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. But I promise that I will not steal anything."

He nodded. "Okay. I can't guarantee this, but I think I can come back on Wednesday evening."

"Wednesday?"

"I've a lot on this week, and it would be difficult to re-arrange it. But, yes, Wednesday." He cast an eye over me. "You've been wearing those boxers and T-shirt since Friday, haven't you?" I nodded, feeling a little ashamed. "Were they clean on Friday?" I shook my head. He gave me a long look, and sighed. He went back into that cabin of his, started rummaging, and came back with some clothes. "These boxers used to fit me, but they're a bit small now. So's the T-shirt. And there are some socks." He held them out to me.

I stared. "For me?" He nodded. I picked up the boxers and held them to my nose and sniffed. But they didn't really smell of anything.

"What are you doing?" he asked curiously.

"You've worn these, haven't you?"

"Yes."

I looked up at him. "I can wear your boxers? Ones you've worn?"

He nodded, and then suddenly went a little pink. "Are you some form of fetishist?"

"What's one of them?"

"Someone who likes wearing – different clothes."

"Like ladies underwear? Is that what you like?"

"I'll pass on that."

I still hold the boxers crumpled in my hands. Wearing his boxers. I couldn't think of anything more sexy.

"You are a fetishist, aren't you?" with that amusement in his voice again. Reluctantly I put them down. "Go and have a wash and then change."

"I had a wash earlier. Remember? How wet I was? Do you like me all wet and naked and dripping?"

"You're seriously kinky. And anyway, after what you have just been doing in there, you had better have a wash."

"Only if you have a wash too."

He grimaced. "You're right. I probably need one too."

"We could have one together," I said, looking up at him slyly.

He stared at me. Then I can see the possibility going through his mind. "You are seriously kinky."

I stood up and pulled off those dirty clothes. "Now you," I told him. He stared. "Go on," I told him. Slowly he pulled the T-shirt over his head, and then slid down his boxers. I stared at him just like he was staring at me. He was half hard, and I was more than that. I reached out a hand, took his arm, and pulled him into the heads. There wasn't much room in there with two people and the door closed. It felt like his hands were going everywhere. Mine certainly were. I giggled, grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away. "Naughty," I told him. I filled the sink with hot water and then began sponging him down. All over. When I had finished, I gave him the sponge, and he returned the favour, making sure he had cleaned every nook and cranny of my body. I opened the door and took him outside and picked up the towel. I dried him very carefully, and then passed the towel to him. We both knew what we wanted to do next. He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed me hard.

"I can't. I really have to go." He pulled away from me, and I looked up at him. "You're staying here?" I just looked at him. "Okay, you're staying here. Have you got money for food?" He must have seen the expression on my face. I had a couple of quid in my pocket and that was it. He took out his wallet and pulled out the money that was in it, then held it out to me. I looked at it and shook my head. He looked puzzled.

"I don't want your money. I'm not a whore."

He looked exasperated. "This money is not for services rendered. We can talk about that later. This money is to buy food to keep you alive."

I still didn't want to take it, but I snatched it from his hand and put it down on the table. Somehow, I felt humiliated. I don't know why. But for him to be giving money to me like that seemed wrong. "Sorry. Thanks for the money. I'll spend it on food. I promise."

He held his head on one side as he regarded me. "You really are honest, aren't you?" I looked up at him, and he must have seen the expression on my face. "It's my turn to apologise. Look, I'm sorry, but I really do have to go."

"You'll be back on Wednesday?" I asked in a very small voice.

"Wednesday. I promise."

He got dressed very quickly, whilst I watched him. He turned and pulled me to him and squeezed me. I was still naked. He turned, opened the hatch, climbed out and then slid the hatch back again. I peered through the window as he walked away down the pontoon. What now? I opened the door to his cabin and looked inside at the rumpled duvet. I climbed onto his bed and wrapped that duvet around me, staring at the ceiling. What had happened to me?

Why I asked him to do it to me I still don't know. It hurt. I knew it would hurt. But there was something indescribable about him being inside me, on top of me, holding me down, violating my body. And I wanted him to do it again. He said he would be coming back. Would he want to do it again?

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