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You are here: Home > Story Shelf > All Authors > N Fourbois > Life after Divorce | N Fourbois

Life after Divorce

by N Fourbois

Prologue

Our flight from Egypt landed early at Gatwick, ten o'clock on New Year's Eve. Everything had gone perfectly for the whole fortnight until… Our coach hadn't arrived and so Simon enquired from a driver from the same firm about it. It had been cancelled for lack of bookings. They tried to phone a couple of days ago to tell me. Coach from Gatwick Airport – couldn't it be possible we were out of the country? The upshot was that we were taken in an otherwise empty coach, put up at a hotel with breakfast, all paid for by National Express. We weren't cross. A night's sleep, a bonus last night in bed with Simon, and arriving home at a reasonable time the next day. What was there to complain about? Simon would ring my mother in the morning. "Happy New Year," I said to Simon.

New Year's Day and the coach was not due to arrive home until one o'clock that afternoon. It was a beautiful sunny day and the sun took the chill out of the air. Simon had arranged to take me to my mother's. With Bethan there Simon didn't know where I was going to sleep, but that wasn't his problem. I could always sleep with him, but those were my lecherous thoughts rather than a practical solution.

Simon lived a four minute walk from the coach stop. He and I trundled our cases along on their wheels, his vanity case resting nicely on the top and the handle. The Bouncy Boys who lived next door stared as we went past, probably at our incredibly deep suntans. He opened the door, picked up the post in order to be able to get in, carried his luggage in and switched on the central heating and the hot water. They should be just right when he got back. He picked up his car keys, backed the car out of the garage, we loaded my luggage and drove off to my mother's house. I took out my mobile and said laconically "I'm in the car." I experienced a noticeable change in my mood.

We arrived at the front door. As soon as my mother opened it, I saw from her face that something was wrong. When we went in, we could feel an atmosphere. Bethan was there. "I've kept dinner for you both," said Mrs Landport. "I hope you're hungry."

"That'll be very nice," Simon replied, "but afterwards I must get going before the supermarket closes. I've nothing to eat in the house."

Dinner was awkward to say the least. My mother immediately noticed the war wound on my neck and cast both Simon and me disapproving looks as if to say 'Simon, I suppose you're responsible for that.' Once we had done with the pleasantries about Christmas and our holiday the silences grew longer, unusual when contrasted against my mother's Welsh garrulousness. Finally she came out with it. "I've got to talk to you about something, both of you." Bethan took that as a cue to start clearing the table. She obviously knew what was coming. My mother composed herself. "Richard, your father wants a divorce. He's shacked up with this floozy and I suppose he wants to make an honest woman of her one day."

"I think it's time for me to go," said Simon.

"No, sit down. This involves you as well." I was still nonplussed. I felt no emotion at my parents' splitting at all. "The upshot is that this house has got to be sold, partly to pay the solicitors and partly as the settlement. The house Philip is living in belongs to his mistress and so can't be touched. So I have committed myself to a one bedroom maisonette. That's all I can afford and so I can't look after you, Richard."

If there was a time to protest, this was it, but the news almost gave me a feeling of relief. "I haven't had time, what with Christmas and your being away, to discuss this with either of you, but I want to ask you a big favour, Simon. I know you have a fairly large house." He'd inherited it from his parents and never got round to selling. Besides, it was his home. "I wondered whether you would be prepared to take Richard in as a lodger or paying guest. All his expenses will be paid by me and his father with extra for the inconvenience."

"And you haven't discussed this with Richard?"

"No. Fair play. There hasn't been time with him away and all that."

"Well, Rich, it's your call," said Simon. "We've coped with one another for two weeks. A sort of dummy run. It looks as if I'll have to teach you to cook, as well." I was the only who knew 'as well as' what.

My mother subconsciously continued to give disapproving looks at my trophy and then at Simon. Finally he was exasperated. "Look, Mrs Landport, if you think I did that, then ask Richard. And if you do think I did it, then I'm obviously not the right person to be asked to look after him." The ridiculous logic of that statement suddenly hit him. We had spent two weeks jerking off and being jerked off, sucking each other's balls dry, filling each other's butts with semen and licking them clean, and here were Simon and my mother getting worked up about a simple love bite.

"He's right," I said. "It was a German boy called Otto I met in the hotel."

Simon stood up. "Thank you for a lovely lunch, Mrs Landport. It's time for me to go. You've obviously got things to talk about. Yes, if it's me or social services for Richard, then of course I've got room for him." It was difficult for him. He didn't want to sound too keen, but he was already making plans in his head for refurbishing and redecorating his house.

He said goodbye to my mother and Bethan. I showed him out. "What do you think about it, Richard?" Simon asked.

"The way I have been pushed from pillar to post, I think it's the best thing that can happen. I know at least I'll be with someone who loves me." Simon took a quick intake of breath at my completely unsolicited remark.

"Do you know something, Rich? I do love you," he said. He gave me a quick kiss on the forehead and got into his car. "And I think you're sexy," he shouted, winding the window down. A passer by walking past sped up. Seeing only a boy in the vicinity, she thought the remark was directed at her. Within ten minutes Simon was pushing a trolley around Waitrose.

---

Life after Divorce

Some time later… I woke up at half past seven. It was still dark, but the glimmer on the eastern horizon promised a sunny, if cold day. But today was different. This was my eighteenth birthday. At long last I was legally fully in control of myself. Thank goodness it was Saturday and I didn't have to go to school. Simon was still asleep. I quietly crept out of bed, picked up yesterday's briefs with their mixture of dried urine and semen on the pouch, put them to my nose, deeply breathed in the aroma and quickly put them on before it gave me a boner. They would do until I showered. Then I went down to the kitchen to make some coffee. I used the cafetière. I felt I deserved some quality on my birthday and there would be plenty left for Simon when he surfaced. I took a sip, went into the sitting room, sank down into an armchair and watched the dawn as the sun came up over the garden. As it did, the frost melted under its rays. Oh, the dried semen? One of my 'heterosexual' schoolmates 1 had jumped me from behind and proceeded to play pocket billiards. Friday afternoon in the sixth form study area was a dangerous place, but pocket billiards is preferable to a wedgie any day. And if you don't like your partner? Just unzip your fly and he can't get near.

Pocket billiards is something on its own, whether a home game or away, that is playing the game by yourself or with a partner. Because of my size I wear briefs made with well elasticated material. My equipment can't move and so it just expands and when I finally come to orgasm it is far more intense than one from a normal wank.

I thought back two years. Simon and I had just returned from a holiday in Egypt. A lot had happened in the meanwhile, life shattering stuff, and I have Simon to thank for my own life not being dragged into the mire. He took me over, made sure I didn't crumble in my GCSE year and kept me on the straight and narrow through the sixth form. I laughed at myself. 'Straight and narrow' was scarcely accurate. Narrow. I would put my hand up to that. My mind darted back to that New Year's Day when the weather was identical to today's. 'Bookends?' I wondered.

I'd been sent to Egypt as 'surplus to requirements' in the homes of my recently separated parents. I was relieved not to have to spend Christmas with my father. We got on with difficulty and I was never able to do right in his sight. I was hurt, however, at having to give up my room at my mother's place so that my sister could spend her Christmas vacation from uni there. The matter was complicated by the fact that in early adolescence I had come out. My father accepted the fact, but tried to have as little to do with me as possible. My mother accepted the fact, but kept it as a dark family secret. Although I was quite open about being out, it couldn't be easily talked about with either parent, with the obvious consequences. I couldn't have a boyfriend. In fact any male friend I brought home, even if only for help on a school project or to play computer games, was viewed with extreme suspicion and he would usually feel too unwelcome to return. I would have to go to his place. What a stroke of good fortune we knew Simon, who not only planned on spending the Christmas period in a warm country after losing his last close relation, but also happened to be gay. I'm not sure whether either of my parents knew that.

So that is how I came to spend two weeks in Egypt and how I came to appear with Simon on my mother's doorstep during the afternoon of that New Year's Day. Things had moved on while I'd been away. Mother and father were to seek a divorce and to cut a long story short, with all the scrabbling for property and assets, it left me without a home. Simon, who was guiding me through the 'sex' of homosexuality, offered to give me a home. My forthcoming sixteenth birthday made the arrangements easier and in order to stay on the right side of the law Simon insisted that I was nothing more than a lodger and that he was not in a 'position of trust' as far as he was concerned. Now that I had finally become eighteen, that was all in the past and by the by. It gave me a new freedom although on the downside it released my parents from any legal obligation to provide for me. Simon did continue to receive some income from my parents to support me and he always said it was sufficient and although my personal allowance appeared generous it did not prove to be when the things I had to provide for myself were taken into consideration.

My mother's home was sold and because of her job half term was the time to move. I helped her. Where was Bethan when she needed help? And at the same time I moved in with Simon. I was amazed at the trouble he had gone to on my behalf.

After the Egyptian experience we had a discussion about living arrangements and before moving in I was invited on a tour of inspection. It was what estate agents would call an older property, inherited from his parents. It was also on the large size, too big for Simon I would have thought, that is until I was about to move in. The interior had been thoroughly modernised. Downstairs were the usual 'reception rooms', kitchen, utility room and so on, but it was what he had done upstairs which amazed me. The first room he showed was what he called 'our bedroom'. We would sleep there. It had an en suite bathroom and a walk-in wardrobe, besides a huge double bed. He then showed me next door. "This is going to be your room," he said. As the door opened I saw a large room which was fitted out more as an office with a lot of storage space and I could not ignore the bed. It was one of those you could never be sure if it's a large single or a small double. He saw me eying it. "That's in case you want to bring a friend home for the night. I don't mind that, but I'd prefer to have some notice, if possible. Of course, I realise that if you go out clubbing when you're older and find somebody you fancy, you can't tell me in advance, and I'd prefer you to do whatever you're going to do in the safety of our home than in some dark alleyway. I was impressed by the word 'our'. He showed me his private room which was similar to mine except that it had a sofa bed and a lived-in look. "It just remains for me to show you the cellar." We went downstairs. He took a key out of his pocket, unlocked the inconspicuous door under the stairs and switched on some lights. The stone steps were steep and had no handrail. "I only use this on special occasions."

The room held a couple of surprises. The cellar appeared small for such a large house. It was almost filled by the double bed and one wall was made up of mirrors which Simon showed me were in fact the sliding doors of a walk-in closet. The room like mine and Simon's 'private' rooms had a flat screen television affixed to the wall. The rest of the stone walls displayed an array of pictures of attractive boys, most of them dressed, but also some of them naked, and in the middle of one wall a picture of me, also naked from our stay in Egypt.

The pictures immediately took my attention with the usual signs of arousal, licking my lips and building pressure in my trousers, as my dick took an interest too. I later found out that if Simon had 'guests', he was more likely to spend the night with them in the cellar. That was so that I wouldn't be disturbed, he explained. It also dawned on me slowly that the door was always kept locked and that I had no access to a key. Not that it worried me. After all, it wasn't my house and it was probably an anti-burglar device.

And so time went on. I would visit my mother at some time over the weekend and she would send me back to Simon's with supplies of food. I would see my father from time to time, usually at his golf club – anything to save him from having me in his home and near his lady friend who in time was to become his wife. When I did see him, the conversation would consist of close questioning about how I was getting on at school, or was I doing this or doing that, and why not? Never a question about was I happy, am I enjoying life, had I found a boyfriend yet?

'Boyfriends' was an odd subject anyway. In many ways Simon was my boyfriend, although we never openly called ourselves such. We slept together, we made love together, he cared more for me than my parents did and he looked after me. I tried to care for and look after Simon, but I felt so inadequate in that. Simon would have friends who stayed the night and then I would be sleeping alone. Usually the guest would be accommodated in the cellar bedroom, but sometimes not. I never did work out the rationale of that. Less often I would have a friend from school to stay, but it never got to the regular boyfriend stage and I could not help thinking it had something to do with my genitals. It was either a curiosity to see them and once seen and fondled, the curiosity was no more or having been seen and fondled, the curious party took fright. I think I said before that there was little open homosexuality in my school and the friends I brought home were deeply in the closet. To the best of my knowledge I was the only one there who was out.

The sound of some movement in the house brought me out of my reverie. It was Simon. "Happy birthday, Richard. Happy eighteenth. Give me a hug." Simon was stark bollock naked. Not that this was anything unusual. We had got used to that in Egypt. His unbound loins pushed against my bound loins which had the same effect on both of us. He then disappeared and returned wearing a pair of boxers with his junk hanging out of the pee slit. Looks good, especially against dark coloured boxers. Must try it some time, but I don't own any.

"Would you like some coffee, Si? There's plenty in the cafetière." We went through to the kitchen. Yes, there was plenty in the cafetière, but it was cold. Simon made another pot. While we were sitting at the kitchen table drinking our fresh hot coffee, he said

"Okay, Richard, this is your big day. Tell me what you want to do. I'll tell you what's been planned and we'll work out a compromise."

"Weell," I said slowly "I'd like to have breakfast with Justin Bieber and then give him a good seeing to before going out to lunch with Tom Daley and bringing his back here for a shagging and then go out to dinner with Daniel Radcliffe and have him stay over for the weekend to give him the full works."

"Ah, problem there, I'm afraid." Simon picked up some envelopes from the kitchen table, leafed them and read from an imaginary list. "The Biebs is running rather late and has had to cancel. Tom was able to make it for lunch yesterday, but is booked today. He sends hugs and apologies, and Dan sends his apologies, but he's on stage in New York. Otherwise he'd be delighted to go out for dinner and spend the rest of the weekend with you."

That's a bit off," I replied. "I thought at least one of them would make it."

"Can you think of anyone else?"

"There's that William McLarney who lives at the end of the road, you know, the one with the puppy dog. Why couldn't he have gone to our school?"

"Off limits, Richard. A bit young. You'd get your collar felt for that."

"It might even be worth it."

"The news on the street is that he's straight."

"Wow, that makes the challenge even greater. Okay, I give in. All my plans have crumbled. What are yours?"

"First of all, I'll cook us a bumper breakfast with all the things we shouldn't eat. While I'm doing that, you can look through your cards here. After that we go back to bed and do whatever you want to do. Then we have some shopping to do to get your real birthday present."

"Do I get to choose then, Simon?"

"Certainly not. It's been ordered for some time. It just needs fitting." That puzzled me. Clothes? A custom made jockstrap for my king size tackle? Scarcely. Okay, I'll wait patiently for that one. Get me! I don't half fancy myself. "We'll skip lunch, unless you're really hungry. In that case we'll go to Burger Star. We'll try and catch your mother in. After that we'll come back here and spend a couple of hours in bed. In the evening we'll go to the restaurant in the Royal Hotel. There's a ducky little new waiter there and I promise you won't be disappointed. Then back here and whatever. I expect you'll be too tired to do much else when we get back."

"We could have an early night."

"Now, why didn't I think of that?" said Simon. "Of course.

"Now tomorrow I've got a special surprise for you. You will either love it or hate it. There's no in between and I'm going to risk it."

"So what is it?"

"Come along, Richard, I'm not simple Simon. It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you."

Simon got on with the cooking. At least he'd put an apron on. I started browsing through my cards. The top one was from Simon. I opened it and it was a year's subscription to GY mag. "Two presents, Simon. You shouldn't have."

"Well, there's an ulterior motive there. I thought we might share it. You can have first dibs on the centrefold, though." The second card was from my mother. It contained a cheque.

"That's a very generous cheque, but that's all it is, a cheque. She's done her duty by me. I'm eighteen and no longer her responsibility and she's paid me off."

"Richard! That's very cynical of you," said Simon and, after thinking for a moment, added "Of course, you might be right." I recognised my father's handwriting on the next envelope. In it I found a year's subscription to his country club and golf course. "Cor, that must have set him back a bit," I exclaimed. Then I read that it was junior associate membership, a far cry from the real thing, a sprat to catch a mackerel since the management knew that golf was both a highly contagious and addictive game. "I suppose that's to ensure we meet up occasionally on the golf course," I said to Simon. "Anyway, it means I can use the gym and the swimming pool. I might even meet another significant half there."

"My, we are a positive little bunny today, aren't we?"

"On the other hand," I mused "I can play a round whenever I want to, and with you without him being there."

"You can play around with me any time, sweetie. You know that." I giggled.

The rest of the cards were from relations I saw once in a blue moon. Bethan's was included with Mum's. Make the most of it, I thought. They sign off when you reach your majority. Meanwhile breakfast was ready and we tucked in. It was something special, if only because of the love it had been prepared with.

We did the washing up and disappeared back upstairs where we went through a special bedroom work out session for my birthday.

After shaving, showering and dressing we were just about ready to go out. Saturday was my day for shaving my pubes. As today was something special I decided to don my aussiebum briefs, which still served me well as I wore them only on such special occasions. "You'll need a shoe horn to get into them soon," Simon said.

"What! Am I putting on weight?" I retorted with surprised indignation.

"No, you'll need it for getting your package into the pouch."

"You're only jealous."

"Why should I be jealous all the time I've got yours to play with?"

We went out in the car and stopped outside a jeweller's. I thought it was just because there happened to be a parking space there, but no, we went inside the shop and the proprietor recognised Simon at once. After the customary greetings he said "So this is the young man who's going to wear it. One moment. I have it right here." He went to a drawer and took out a little box covered in blue velvet. He opened it and handed it to Simon who then showed it to me.

"Now what do you think of that, Richard?" I looked at it and saw that it was a gold signet ring on which were engraved two male symbols entwined.

"It's beautiful."

"Give me your left hand." At that he slipped it onto my little finger. Once it had squeezed past the knuckle it was a perfect fit. "Happy eighteenth birthday, Richard." He kissed me on the forehead. "Just one other thing." He squeezed the ring past my knuckle again. "May I borrow your lens?" he said to the jeweller. Simon handed it to me and I put it in my eye socket. "Look at the inside edge." I read out aloud from the miniscule letters

"'Richard with love, Simon' Wow! That's fantastic. Thank you, Simon," and I kissed him back. I was overwhelmed, so overwhelmed that Richard had to take my arm and help me back into the car as one might an elderly person.

"You'd better not wear that to school," said Simon. "Some schools get funny about jewellery and it would probably cause trouble if anyone noticed it." I took the point.

Simon ran me over to my mother's. We were invited in and I thanked her for my gift, but it was two years since I'd been moved out and I immediately noticed how the occasion lacked emotion. I felt more towards Simon than I did towards my mother. I showed her my ring. I didn't let her study it too closely. Then I told her I was going to use her cheque towards driving lessons, but not until A-levels were out of the way. While she and Simon were talking, the thought struck me. Why hasn't Simon got a regular boyfriend? Okay, he brings guys home, some more than once. He says he meets them through work or at the gym, but he's never settled down with one. It's not really any of my business and he lets me bring friends home and some stay the night, though that's quite seldom. Simon doesn't ask awkward questions. He might sometimes enquire "Is he all right?" especially if he thinks they're a bit weird or scruffy, or an emo or a goth, but then I appreciate he's watching my back. I think he quite liked emo boys. I know I do. Have you ever seen a fat emo? I think there was only ever one goth and he dressed quite normally at school. I don't bring many boys home because Simon's here and the best sex I have is always with him, and of course, until today, although not illegal, I was in his view still underage. He was always concerned that the underground nature of homosexuality would lead me into the drug scene, another reason he encouraged me to bring boys home rather than go back to their place where, in his mind, anything could happen.

I returned to the present when I realised that my mother was speaking to me. "So, Richard," she said in that Welsh lilt which I'd rejected through being born and brought up in England. In fact, I viewed myself more as English. Being rejected by my parents I reciprocated by rejecting my Welshness, and the acid test was that I supported the English rugby team, even when they were playing Wales, something I didn't even dare raise with my father. My method of rebellion was to wear an English rugby shirt on the few occasions I went to see him. "So, Richard, what are you going to do celebrate your eighteenth? Are you having a party with your friends or going to the pub?" That showed how out of touch she was and of course in asking the question she was repressing the fact that I was gay. It was still a problem for both of my parents. Which was worse, being English or being gay? I could almost imagine my father meeting his old friends in the pub back in Wales and on being asked about his son, saying 'What son? He's a poof, the only gay in the family, and do you know what's even worse? He supports the England rugby team!' ' Ach-y-fi !' **gasps of horror all round** 'Phil bach, have another pint of Felinfoel.' But it was their problem, I reminded myself.

"Simon is taking me out to dinner at the Royal Hotel. There's a cute new waiter serving there, I hear." My mother tried to ignore the last remark, but her blushing showed that she had failed completely. I'm eighteen and independent now. That's my way of showing that I won't be cowed any more. "Then Simon's got a surprise birthday treat lined up for me tomorrow."

"There's tidy. What is it, bach?"

"Mother! If I knew, it wouldn't be a surprise." Simon just smiled to himself.

After that Simon dropped me at his hairdresser's. I had a shampoo, trim, perm with lots of curls, and of course the black with the blond highlights redone. After that I made my own way home.

Once I'd got all that over and done with, we thought it best if we had a little rest before we went out in the evening. 'Little rest' had soon developed into a euphemism for fun time. At half past six it was time to get ready. I put a suit on to mark the special occasion and when we were ready we got into Simon's car and drove off.

We passed through the revolving door at the Royal Hotel and went up to reception. We were taken through to the restaurant and greeted by Carl. "I'm your waiter for the evening, gentlemen." I didn't have to look around. This could be none other than the ducky little new waiter. He was older than me, but younger than Simon. He can't have been any taller than five foot six, which I always viewed as an ideal height in a boy for me. His black hair was curled, obviously a perm like mine, but none the less beautiful for that. His blue eyes contrasted with the black of his hair and they sparkled, more so when he smiled. I boned up immediately I saw him, making my choice of aussiebum briefs a bad one as they make your package protrude even more, but not too badly on me since my suit trousers were a loose fit. I had always been taught that a package should not be visible in formal clothing, with the obvious exception of school uniform. He wore a white apron tied round his waist and so it was impossible to judge his package, but, as we followed him to our table, it gave a superb framed view of his pert little bum.

Our meal proceeded at a leisurely pace along with the excellent attention Carl gave us. "Hey, Simon, how did you manage to get him as our waiter?"

"Oh, he was pre-booked with the meal. The receptionist hesitated a bit when I asked, but when I said I would cancel the booking she had a word with the restaurant manager and said it would be no trouble at all."

"How did you hear about him?"

"Oh, someone at the gym recommended the Royal Hotel and the new waiter. So I thought that would be just the thing for your birthday."

"Who was that someone at the gym?" I said, curious enough to ask.

"Oh, the restaurant manager," replied Simon nonchalantly.

It came to the time to pay. When Carl was summoned he politely enquired whether everything had been in order. When he came back with the bill, he placed a business card in front of each of us. It said simply 'You were served by Carl.' I put mine in my breast pocket as a souvenir. While Simon was waiting for the credit card machine to arrive he wrote something on the back of his card. When the machine arrived, Simon conspicuously crossed out the 'gratuities' part of the bill, produced a particularly generous tip from his wallet, wrapped the banknote round Carl's card and handed it back to him. "That makes sure it all goes to him," Simon whispered in my ear. "The compulsory inclusive service charge is supposed to go into the staff box, ha ha."

Everything completed Carl brought across to us two small boxes each containing two Thornton's pralines and we wished him good night. Walking to the car, I asked Simon "What did you write on the back of Carl's card?"

"Did you read what it said on the card he gave you?"

"Yes. 'You were served by Carl.'"

"And on the back?"

"I didn't look at the other side." I took the card out of my pocket. "It's a mobile number."

"Whose, do you think?"

"Carl's I suppose," I said taken aback. "You still haven't answered my question. What did you write on the back of your card?"

"Oh, your mobile number," at which Simon started the car engine and revved it unnecessarily as a marked full stop to that topic of conversation, then drove off towards home. Was this all part of the surprise he'd got lined up for me tomorrow, I wondered, sitting in the car storing Carl's number in my phone. Turning into our street, Simon said "By the way, the waiters and waitresses only give those chocolates to patrons they like… or so I am told."

"Tell me," I said in a thoughtful tone of voice, "did Carl write his number on the back of your card?"

"No. You're the lucky one."

"So do you think he fancied me?"

"C'mon, Richard, you're eighteen now. Don't be so naïve. Of course he fancied you. Think back to the time he spread that linen napkin across your lap. He didn't do mine."

"Oh, yes, and I felt his hand touch my package. I just thought it was an accident." Simon smiled condescendingly.

Once indoors we changed into something more comfortable. I wore a long cotton one piece which reached down to just above my knees so that even my balls didn't hang out. With the central heating on that's all I needed. "What do you want to do now?" asked Simon.

"I'm too hyped up to go to bed. Let's watch a DVD."

"Choose one while I make some hot chocolate."

"No cocoa for me, thanks. I don't want anything else to eat or drink tonight."

"A tot of whisky to prove that you're eighteen?"

"I've got a birth certificate and a passport that do that."

When Simon came in with a mug for himself, I handed him the Outnumbered DVD. "Don't you want to watch a movie, Rich?"

"No. Play one of the later episodes. I just wilt at that hunk Tyger Drew-Honey. Black hair and blue eyes again, and a sexy, freshly broken voice, not to mention a significant bulge in his school trousers. And his stroppiness just makes him even sexier."

"Baby snatcher."

"That's rich coming from you, Simon."

"So when we go to bed, what do you want to do? Your choice, birthday boy."

"I want you to make love to me. I want you dominate me completely. I want you to shag me so deeply that I can taste your juice at the back of my throat."

"Richard, I adore it when you talk dirty. Your wish is my command." We snuggled up together on the sofa, watched one episode and went to bed.

We woke up at eight on the Sunday morning. After a good morning cuddle Simon got out of bed before anything else could happen. "So this is it," said Simon. "We'll have breakfast before we do anything else."

"You're still not telling me what this is all about."

"No, you'll pick it up as we go along. All I'll say is what I said before. If you don't like it tell me and it will stop immediately. It's meant to be a birthday treat."

We had breakfast, cleared away and tidied up the kitchen. "Simon, I'm just going to get shaved and showered."

"I'll come with you." Up in the bathroom Simon said "Right, I'm going to give you an enema."

"Oh, it's going to be that sort of treat, is it?"

"Don't anticipate. It should be the worst part of the day."

"Over the months I've developed a positive liking for your enemas, Simon, especially as it usually means you're going to rim me."

"Did you know that the tongue is supposed to be the strongest muscle in the body?" he asked attempting to divert my attention.

"And the way you use your tongue," I said cheekily "I can well believe it."

"Flattery will get you everywhere." While I was waiting to expel the tepid water, Simon showered in our en suite bathroom. Once we were both dressed, he said "Ready to go, Richard?" I was certainly ready, but to go where?

"Follow me," said Simon. He took a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door under the stairs. "Close the door behind you." It was a Yale lock and so you didn't need a key to get out. He flicked a switch and the cellar bedroom lit up. The cellar was not on the central heating system for since it was windowless, it had air conditioning. It was pleasantly dry and warm down there. I looked at the photos on the walls. There had been some additions since I last saw them, mainly pictures of me, naked and clothed. It was interesting to compare and contrast my physical appearance over the past couple of years. I could have easily fallen in love with myself. (lol) I began to get hard, the ultimate in narcissism.

"Okay, Richard?" I affirmed that I was. "Get your kit off."

"So you are going to rim me, Si?"

"Just keep quiet and do what you're told." I stripped off completely and admired my half stiffie in the mirrors on the wardrobe doors. I was fascinated by the way the foreskin rolled back exposing a dark red, moist and shining glans. I wonder if that's what they call a mushroom head. It's certainly not a helmet or a cleft tip. Simon walked to the head of the bed, took something from beneath a pillow and put it to his nose, taking a long deep sniff. He offered it to me, inviting me to do the same, which I did. I was immediately intoxicated by the musky smell with its traces of dried sweat, urine and semen. I took another long breath and savoured the scent again. Just as my boner was going down, it sprang to life again.

"I'll have to get rid of this first." I unfolded the piece of white cloth and only then noticed that it was an unwashed pair of my old briefs. I was flattered that Simon had been using them as an aphrodisiac. I eventually slipped on my old slip, making sure that my weapon was facing downwards and therefore under a certain degree of control, then posed again in front of the mirrors.

"Still feeling okay?" I nodded. I could feel the adrenalin coursing round my body and my dick trying to extend the bounds in the pouch of my vintage slip. "Put these on. They're to stop you from playing with yourself." Simon handed me an object in soft red leather. "It's a mitten." I slid it over my left hand and did up the velcro strap round the wrist. He then put the other one over my right hand and tightened the strap. He also tightened the strap round my left wrist. The soft leather had a nice feel to it. It was then that I noticed the mittens had no thumb and I realised that I was helpless. Such was my trust in Simon that it didn't worry me. In fact, it just increased the pressure in the pouch of my slip. "Lie on the bed a minute, Richard." I did as I was told and he wrapped soft red leather cuffs round my ankles and fastened them with velcro. "Time for a photo call." Simon got me to pose, front, profile and back.

The formalities over he said "Walk this way." Which way, I wondered, in a very cramped room. He slid open one of the closet doors and walked inside with me following. He closed the door behind us. Then what I had taken to be a wall was in fact another door which he slid open, all very The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe . We stepped out into Narnia, a darkened room. Simon went to a panel in the wall, flipped a switch and then turned a dimmer which raised a red glow from concealed lighting all round the room. As the light got brighter and my eyes accustomed themselves after the brightness of the bedroom, I could make out the whole of the room. I now realised why the subterranean bedroom was so small. The rest of the cellar had been taken up in forming this room, this dungeon. The temperature and atmosphere were still being kept comfortable by the air conditioning. I slowly looked around. The floor, I noticed, was smooth sealed concrete slightly sloping towards the opposite corner where there was a shower, a wash basin and a lavatory pedestal. The wall here was tiled as you would expect with a bathroom. The remaining part of the walls was covered in a soft material, reminiscent of a padded cell, as was the ceiling. To dampen noise and soundproof the room, I thought. No wonder I heard nothing from the cellar. I was beginning to realise how big the cellar space was. Simon said nothing as I continued to take my surroundings in. I noticed against the wall to my right a bed, rather like the ones you see in a doctor's surgery. In the centre of another wall pointing into the middle of the room was… it can't be. It was… a dentist's chair, adapted, and with the leg rest reconstructed like stirrups so that each leg was separate and the dentist could walk in between them. The fourth wall was covered in cupboards at the top and a work surface and drawers against the lower part. The other thing that struck me was the outsize first aid cabinet fixed on one of the walls. Because my mind was working overtime my dick had gone soft, it even shrivelled – well, as much as it ever did – and there was no pressure in my loins at all.

Simon stood behind me, calmly letting me absorb all this in my own time. I had seen places like this on the net, but never really paid much attention to them. He wanted me as relaxed as possible. "Okay, Richard, it's time to get on. This is your last reminder. If you want to stop what we're about to do, at any time, you are to let me know and I'll stop. This is a matter of trust between us." His voice had taken on a harsher, more businesslike tone. He led me over near to the shower. I noticed two crosses painted onto the concrete floor. "Stand on those crosses facing the shower." I did what I was told. He took a six inch bar from behind me somewhere and clipped it onto the D-rings sewn into the mittens, then lowered a hook on a chain from the ceiling. He took the hook, put it around the spacer bar and pulled on the rope and pulley so that my hands were suspended above my head. "Are you comfortable?" Simon asked. I said yes. He then took two more chains joined to rings set into the floor which I hadn't seen and clipped them onto my ankle cuffs. My movement was now severely, but not entirely, restricted. There was certainly no escape. I remembered that this was a birthday treat and so I relaxed physically and mentally in order to enjoy it. Surely Simon wouldn't hurt me. The idea and feeling of being chained made me harden up again. Simon took some photos. "You won't appreciate it, Richard, until you see the pictures, but stretching your body makes your ribcage stick out and your waist look ultra slim. Your body is sheer beauty. I'll be back in a minute."

The minute turned into minutes, the minutes into a quarter of an hour. I lost count. If I had been wearing a watch, I wouldn't have been able to see it. Why have I been left hanging about like this? The door slid back and in came Simon, not as I had seen him before. He was wearing a black leather helmet or mask which covered his head, his face apart from eye slits, nostrils and mouth and his neck. His top was bare, he was wearing black leather cuffs round his wrists and a pair of black crotchless tights which left his tackle free and ready for action. Under different circumstances I would have laughed, but the surroundings and the long wait were beginning to take their toll on my morale.

"We're ready to go," said Simon. From the corner of my eye I could see him open a drawer. He took out a blindfold. He put it over my eyes. From the feel and smell I could tell it was leather. I didn't know it until later, but he turned down the red light and flooded the room with bright light from halogen bulbs then. Again I was left to my own devices for some minutes. I heard Simon moving around, opening and closing cupboards and drawers. The instruments of torture I flippantly thought, only to be surprised later at how ironically correct I'd been. The next thing I felt were ear muffs being placed over my ears, but within seconds I discovered that they were not ear muffs, but earphones as the strains of a Justin Bieber CD attacked my already befuddled mind. 'Oh no!' I thought. 'Biebs, I love you, I want you in bed. I just can't abide your singing,' and so I had the double torture of a Justin Bieber song, played not once, but the same one played over and over again, and of now being aurally as well as visually cut off from the world. The whole bondage thing was making me hard again. I was in desperate need of some sexual relief, but there seemed no prospect of that. My slip was not just damp, but wet with precum. Then came the next stage of my torture, my birthday treat so called. The tip of Simon's tongue was licking my lips. It just reinforced my hardness, but the frustration was that as soon as I put my tongue out to touch his or as soon as I tried to kiss him, he withdrew. Again I do not know how long it went on for, as long as I was willing to play the game, but I now know the meaning of 'exquisite torture', for the more he gave, the more I wanted and then the more he denied me. Finally I summoned up all my willpower to stop playing the game. Then I was allowed to rest for a minute or two. The tension on the little man between my legs started to relax too, but this time the intense feeling in need of orgasm was exchanged for an urgent need to piss. The feeling was just as intense.

I drew in a deep breath. "Simon," I wheezed "I need to take a slash – bad." He pinched my nose and I felt something the size and shape of a ping pong ball being forced into my mouth and strapped with velcro behind my neck. How I cursed the man who invented velcro. 2 It had a hole through it to allow me to breathe through my mouth. It was not until the debrief afterwards that I learnt I was not supposed to speak except to end what was called the 'scene'. The gag made me salivate. I felt the dribble run down my chin, drip onto my chest and run down until it got soaked up by my slip. I felt cold metal against my side, then on the other side. My slip fell to the ground. It had been snipped by a pair of scissors. With its sudden release my dick sprang to it full length and stiffness. Again the double torture of the need to jerk off and the need to pee, just like morning wood, but more painful. Gradually my prick began to droop. The need to pee got so bad that I just had to let it go. So that was the reason for the sealed concrete floor which sloped towards the drain hole in the shower. I was so grateful for the relief.

I tried to relax by hanging on the hook that was holding my arms aloft, but the strain on my armpits was too great and so I had to let my legs and feet take the weight with little room to move them. I was not left in peace for long, if having the low volume noise of the same Justin Bieber song stuck between your ears can be called peace. I felt the chill of K-Y gel and warmth of Simon's finger first along my arse crack, then onto my rosebud and into my hole. My dick reacted with an immediate erection. Simon fingered beautifully, artfully, thoroughly, but I wanted more. I wanted to shout out 'Lick me, Simon, rim me, push your tongue in there,' but no comprehensible sound came out of my mouth. In fact, as his finger wiggled inside me touching my prostate, it moved something and a loud prolonged fart was released. I could feel rather than hear it through my body. I thought Simon was going to work my prostate, something we performed consummately on one another in different circumstances, but again it was the torture of frustration. He stopped just as it was about to get interesting. I felt something else probing at the entrance of my arse, then suddenly penetrate and enter. The pain of piercing the sphincter quickly changed to pleasure, but it was not what I had been longing for. It was a butt plug albeit a longer and thicker one than I was used to. The silicon soon warmed to my body temperature. What next, I wondered, standing there in my limited world of enhanced feeling. They say that blocking one sense increases the ability of the rest. Here was I with two senses paralysed.

The next phase was about to begin. Simon was anointing my body with oil. At least my dick was taking some rest. He started with my neck, then shoulders, back and chest. As he rubbed the oil into my nipples he would pinch them, squeeze them and yes, it hurt, but the pain also gave me a sexual thrill marked by the stiffening of my cock a little more each time he hurt me. I felt his hands knead my incipient sixpack. I must spend more time on that if I get out of here. I must go to the gym with Simon, something worth spending my birthday money on. He went lower stopping short of my dick, but not for long. He started rubbing oil into my cock and balls. It was fantastic, but… Simon knew me too well. He knew the signs of my imminent orgasm and he went that far and stopped, building within me a feeling of sheer frustration. He went on to oil my legs, up to my butt cheeks. I loved the feeling of the plug inside me. Then he played with my balls and cock, again bringing me to the brink of orgasm without any satisfaction.

I don't know exactly what happened next, but it felt as he was running a pinwheel over my body. Again exquisite torture. On my body it tickled, but the pain increased as he ran it over my nipples, then the bottom of my feet and followed by the ultimate thrill and pain as he ran it over my perineum, across my scrotum, the underside of my prick, the joyous hell of running it over my frenulum and glans, followed by a blow job, again to the edge of orgasm. He certainly knew how to judge it to a tee. Was this ever to end?

Next I felt Simon beating me with what I was later to discover was a flail, but it was gentle, not as you see it in those Jonny Depp pirate films, and it stimulated me again, especially in the groin area.

The following episode was the removal of the butt plug, quickly to be replaced by the real thing. This was no torture. This was Simon at his best. I could feel from the heat of his dick that I was getting it raw, the real thing. He seemed to prolong his slow thrusting for ever until he could no longer control it, but speeding up he reached his climax and I felt his orgasm shudder throughout my body, soon to be followed by his rimming me as my bottom involuntarily expelled his semen. His tongue went farther than it had ever gone because, as he pulled my butt cheeks wide apart, my hole was in the fully open position, no rosebud to be seen. Heaven and hell. I had experienced both of them that morning. At times that had become indiscernible and perhaps hell was not so bad after all.

Only one thing was left. After a pause I felt a freshly oiled hand coming between my legs and liberally lubricating my balls and shaft. My flagging penis became as hard as it had been throughout the session. It felt different, intriguing, being taken from behind. I must get him to do it again. He must have moved round to the front for I felt one oily hand fondling my balls while the other, just as oily, was running up and down my shaft, ignoring my rolled back foreskin and directly rubbing my glans. Now that can be painful when you do it to yourself, but the pain is excruciating when someone else does it to you, as the pleasure is concurrently increased. Heaven and hell again combined. I felt the pressure building. Simon felt my balls contracting, but carried on rubbing my dick and finally he allowed me my orgasm. I felt myself relax in my shackles, but the ordeal was not over.

I was given a couple of minutes to recover and then it felt as if Simon was putting my slip back on me, fastening it with two safety pins to stop it from falling off. Then came the shock as an ice cream carton of ice cubes were poured into the pouch. Silence. Even Biebs had stopped crooning. And I was left there with the crown jewels being frozen and I could do nothing about the cold. When the ice cubes were practically melted, the gag was removed and I felt those sweet lips pressed against mine, this time with a full French kiss, although my cock remained stubbornly unimpressed and sulked. The headphones came off, then the blindfold. I blinked and looked around the red lit dungeon. Simon faded the red and brought up the normal yellow light.

"Welcome to a real man's world. How do you feel, my brave boy?" Simon asked.

"I don't know. Exhilarated. As if I've been through a great ordeal, a test of merit, a coming of age ritual."

"Would you do it again?"

"Yes," I said without hesitation. "But a different programme because I would know what's coming otherwise."

"Do you still love me or do you hate me now?"

"Love you? I adore you. You have shown me how to withstand adversity."

"You've been doing that for the last two years. The change I've seen in you has been astounding and made you a beautiful, self-assured, considerate young man, far from the coy little boy who studied his shoes rather than look the person he was speaking to in the eye."

Simon lowered the hook, undid the velcro on the mittens and I pulled out my hands and unclipped the chains on my ankle cuffs. I was free. My dick was waving about in that half way state between flaccid and erect. "Go and get showered. There's a towel out for you. Your clothes are on the bed. Have a rest while I clean up here. Stay down here because we haven't finished yet. Are you hungry?"

"A bit."

"I'll get a snack when I'm done here. Give me that slip. If I dry it out, it might still do for sniffing. I'll have to nick another pair of yours out of the laundry basket."

"Better than that. Help me produce a new one. I can provide slips to order."

"Go on. You can't have come to much harm if you can answer back."

The next I knew was when I woke up fully dressed on the bed in the cellar bedroom. Simon was next to me, awake, cradling me and making sure I was all right. "Stop there," he said. "I'll just go up and get the food. It's all ready."

"What's the time?"

"A quarter to four."

"Have I been asleep all that time?"

"Half an hour or so. Time passes at its own speed in Narnia. That's why you will see no clocks down here."

Simon fetched the food and drink. When he returned, I said "I've got loads of questions."

"Let me start off and then you can ask away. Do you know what BDSM is?"

"I've heard of it."

"It stands for bondage, domination, sadism and masochism."

"I know what sadists and masochists are, but you'd better give me the proper explanation."

"What you have gone through today is bondage. You were bound for sexual enjoyment. There's no point being bound if there is no one to dominate you. So I was the dominator, or dom or master. You were the sub or the slave. Some people will argue that you can't have BD without SM. I don't agree with that because sadists and masochists get their kicks from causing or inflicting pain. My satisfaction came from the sex, though aroused in a different way from normal, not from causing you pain. In fact, did I cause you any pain?" I thought for a moment.

"Mmm, not pain exactly. A little discomfort at times, maybe, but that led to a greater joy."

"So it's not relevant to ask you if you got your satisfaction from pain?"

"Not really," I said.

"I rest my case. Now it's your turn."

"Why did you keep all this a secret from me for so long?"

"Because you were underage and we were treading a very fine line with our relationship anyway. As soon as you were eighteen, I opened the dungeon up to you."

"Eighteen years and one day. So when you have a guest and you sleep with him downstairs here, is that because you use the dungeon?"

"That's right. And what's more they pay to use it."

"Pay?"

"Correct. As you saw, it's very well equipped and the room and the hygiene have to be immaculate. For instance, I had to swab down the floor with disinfectant after you pissed on it and left dollops of spunk, I had to soak the gag and the butt plug in disinfectant and spray all the other things we used. I don't make any profit from the dungeon. I invest the money back into the business so that I don't have any tax complications."

"So how much do you charge?"

"A minimum of £100, and that's just for a 'scene'. If a client wants to spend the night that's more and if he wants to spend the night with me that even more still."

"So these people are masochists?"

"That's right."

"They must be to pay those prices."

"You've recovered quite well, by the sounds of it. Now, I'm going to show you the video of your scene. If you're interested, I'll show you some others, but not today. When you've seen it, I want you to think about your attitude to BD and when you're ready, we'll talk it through. If you don't like it, that's the end of matter. If you like it, it may define our relationship differently. You might even like to become part of the firm. No comment at the moment. Just think about it."

Simon switched on the TV set, went into the wardrobe and the screen flickered to life. The vid started with me undressing and getting the kit on. We then saw ourselves in the red room, with Simon in his kit. He looked awesome and his tackle bigger than ever. As soon as I had the blindfold on the full lights went up, Simon took off his leather helmet and pulled on some sweats and a tee shirt. Then the film carried on as I described the experience. What I didn't know was that I just missed soaking Simon when I had that piss. That made me laugh and I just missed him again when I shot my load. I got a good view of him rimming me, something naturally I'd never been able to see before. I was amazed at the amount of spunk in that cream pie. At the end Simon put on his helmet, he already had his sweats off to shag me, returned the lighting to red and took off my blindfold. My facial expression was one of joy. I was right about the pinwheel. Now I tried to make up my mind which was the horniest bit, but came to no conclusion. A birthday treat? I should say so. Now try explaining that to my mother.

"Okay, Richard, we'd better get organised for the rest of the day. Rather than cook, let's grab a pub meal. Come back here and have an early night. You've got school tomorrow and I've got work. I suggest that after all we've been through we sleep in our own rooms tonight." Simon saw the disappointment on my face. "Don't pout. I mean it. Go on the way you've been going on, by the time you reach my age you'll have worn that little stump of yours down to a tiny peg." I couldn't help laughing.

I had to admit that the following day at school I was out of it. I must have been a joy to teach. After games I hurried home. I wanted to get my homework out of the way and have a little nap before Simon got home. Monday was one of his gym nights and so he would be later getting home. By then I hoped to be in a position to talk to him about my birthday 'treat' and ask some questions.

I was woken just after seven by the front door opening. It was Simon back home freshly showered and looking fit. I went into the kitchen to greet him. "You look better than you did this morning," he said. "I wondered if you were going to make it through the day."

"I felt better in the afternoon. I just had that washed out feeling."

"You went through a lot this weekend, especially in the dungeon. The first time is always mentally draining as well as sapping a lot of nervous energy. I warn you now, Richard, however good your future sessions may be, they will never be as good as your first one. Oh, good, you've laid the table."

"Tell me what you want to eat and I'll get on and cook it. Then when we've finished, can we go down to the cellar again, perhaps watch those videos you promised of other subs."

Halfway through our meal I felt my mobile vibrate against my package. I retrieved my phone from the pocket of my 501s and looked at it. "A text," I said to Simon. I looked at it and then at Simon. "It's from Carl. Says he's free next weekend and would like to meet. Wants me to call him when he finishes his shift at ten. What do I do?"

"Richard! I do not believe you! You shouldn't even be asking that question! You ring him when he finishes his shift at ten. And if he wants to date you, you let him date you. And if you can get him to come back here for the night, that's a bonus and I don't see the problem." Simon had made me feel simple.

"Okay, I'll do that."

The meal took its course to the end. Simon changed the topic of conversation. "Apropos of our session in the cellar, you will remember how I kept it secret from you until you were eighteen. I would be grateful if you would now guard that secret too. There's nothing illegal about it, but if the wrong people got to hear, it could lead to embarrassment."

"Can I still go down there?"

"Sure, but I'd prefer it if you went down there with me. You've only had an introductory session and there is a lot more to the dungeon, as I hope you will discover later."

"Will you give me a guided tour?"

"Certainly, but not tonight. I've got a client on Saturday morning and you can help me clean up afterwards."

"That's the apprentice's work."

"Indeed. I do hope at some time in the future you will become my assistant, but there's a lot more water to pass under the bridge before that happens. Anyway, you have far more important things to think about at the moment."

"What? Homework and A-levels? I did my homework as soon as I got in this afternoon and the teachers said after the mocks that I'm well up to standard for my real exams."

"Richard, you still don't understand, do you?" I looked at Simon enquiringly. "You could be on the cusp of something momentous."

"What?" I asked, still not comprehending.

"For an intelligent boy you act so dumb at times. I mean Carl. He could be your first boyfriend, and if you're really lucky, your only one."

"Do you think so?" I said to Simon casually, still not having appreciated the significance of the opportunity life was offering me. "I am going to ring him, Simon. Don't worry. There's still two hours and three minutes to go until he finishes his shift." Simon laughed at himself for underestimating the seriousness of my intentions. We cleared everything away and went and sat on the sofa together to watch TV.

"You know you were going to show me some DVDs of your clients, Simon?"

"Yes."

"Can we watch them now?"

"I've got a compilation disc I sometimes use for promotional purposes. It doesn't give too much detail. It makes a good introduction and then if anything in particular interests you we can look at it in detail."

"Do you video every session?"

"Yes, in case something goes wrong, mainly. Sometimes the client asks for a copy and £30 for a twopenny disc is good business."

"Do the clients realise they are being videoed?"

"They all sign a disclaimer which says they are being recorded and gives their permission, but I doubt half of them do. Just those that ask for a copy, I would think."

Simon went down to the cellar and came back with a locked box. He opened it and selected a disc and put it into the player. It was overawing on the large screen in the living room. It showed the preparations from the bedroom into the dungeon. It showed various clients undergoing various procedures. It made me realise how easy Simon had been on me. I snuggled up to him on the sofa. It gave me some comfort among the other strange feelings. My flesh would creep at the pain inflicted, but at the same time I was nursing a boner in my sweats. Yes, I was repulsed and sexually aroused at the same time. I slipped my hand between Simon's legs and he was definitely aroused as well. He responded with a kiss. I foresaw an early night tonight. Then suddenly I yelled out an 'OMG'. "Pause the film," I said to Simon with some urgency. "Now rewind a bit. Yes! I thought so. You know who that is, don't you, Si?"

"Yes, it's Todd. I wouldn't call him a frequent client, but definitely a regular one. Why?"

"We don't call him Todd, but we might from now on."

"Don't you dare," warned Simon. "This business is established on strict confidentiality. If you know who it is, you'd better tell me now."

"It's Mr Casey, Peter Casey. He's the deputy head at school and he's a shit."

"I take it you don't like him."

"And hundreds of others."

"Okay, Richard, this is where being eighteen and a young man demands maturity. Whatever he might be at school, he is that at school, not here. Whatever he does in his private life is of nobody's concern but his, and you've got to keep it like that."

"Yes, but how am I going to keep a straight face if I'm going to see through his trousers and recollect that misshapen tool, his outsize foreskin with the clothes peg attached to it and those miniscule testicles of his?"

"That is your problem, Richard, but I expect you to sort it. You will see far funnier sights than that and you will have to go on acting professionally if you decide to join me." I had never heard Simon talk so strictly to me. I had obviously touched a nerve and that nerve was called 'the confidentiality-anonymity nerve'. The situation was saved by a vibrating noise coming from my groin. I pulled out my mobile. It was an 'alarm call'. Ten o'clock. Time for me to ring Carl.

"If we date can I bring him back here?"

"I said, no problem."

"For the night?"

"Still not a problem," Simon replied in an encouraging tone.

I went up to my room and closed the door. I pressed the button to speed-dial Carl. He must have had his phone handy for it had scarcely rung before he answered it. "Hallo, Carl?" / «Hi, Richard!» The voices clashed on the phone in their excitement. They started again.

"Carl?"

«Yes. Richard?» You would have thought that we'd have left our adolescent gaucheness behind years ago, but this call was something special, something different for both of us. Carl took charge of the conversation. «I hope you don't think this queer… I mean odd…» I could hear the embarrassment in his voice at the wrong choice of words. I thought it was apt, but said nothing. «I had a patron who, instead of giving me a tip, gave me two tickets to the theatre for next Saturday and it happens to be my free weekend. He said he'd like to have asked me himself, but he couldn't make it, but we get a lot of customers like that, usually middle aged men, and we're trained to ignore the remarks in a polite way. So I was wondering whether you would like come with me.»

"Why me?" That wasn't very subtle, nor gracious. I could feel the heat of Carl blushing over the phone.

«I… er… noticed the ring on your finger and just thought you… er… might be the right sort of person to ask.»

"You mean gay?" I said. I wasn't being cruel. I just thought we both had more to gain than to lose by my being open. Luckily I won that gamble. The earpiece was red hot now.

«So am I.»

"I know. That's why we asked for you when we booked."

«How did you know?»

"Simon, my guardian, works out with your boss. Anyway, I'd love to go to the theatre with you. What's the play?"

«Well, that's another thing.» More hesitation. «Actually that's a bit of a problem. It's not a play. It's a visiting dance company and er… I wondered whether you were into ballet.»

"What? All those boys in tights? What full blooded gayboy wouldn't be into ballet?"

"So you're okay with that?"

"Pas de deux, pas de problème, mon ami."

«I've got one other problem. It ends a bit late. Do you mind sharing a taxi home afterwards because I'll miss my last bus,» said Carl.

"I've got a better idea. Why don't you stop over with us? We've got lots of spare beds and my guardian won't mind. Stick a toothbrush and clean pair of undies in your suit pocket and we'll provide anything else you need. We could probably provide the toothbrush and undies too."

«It's a date then?»

"I'll be more than pleased to call it a date," I said ambivalently.

«See you outside the theatre at seven Saturday then. Bye.»

"Hugs," I said and cut the call.

I dashed down to the living room. Simon was tidying up after sorting out the DVDs. "It's on," I shouted.

"What's on?" replied Simon. "The kettle for a malted milk drink before we go to bed?"

"No…"

"Well, shouldn't it be?"

"Simon, be quiet and listen instead of trying to wind me up. I'm dating Carl, or rather, I suppose, he's dating me really. We're going to the ballet next Saturday."

"The ballet? Are you some kind of poof?"

"Of course I am. You know that. Stop trying to get me going and listen!" Simon decided to behave.

"That must have cost him an arm and a leg."

"No, he was given the tickets by a diner at the hotel instead of a tip, and what's more he's got difficulties getting home afterwards and so he's sleeping over here."

"Would you like to rephrase that?"

"What?"

"Sleeping over."

"Why?"

"Well, if I know you, Richard Landport, he won't be getting much chance to sleep here." I blushed.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Simon. You'd think I played loud music all night or practised the drums, the way you speak."

"So, is this going to be another night stand?"

"I hope not. I feel different about this one and don't forget that Carl made the running. In the past it was usually me that had to do the hard work."

"And with all the excitement remember that I'm on a promise tonight."

"Aren't we every night?" I grinned. "One way or the other and it's your choice tonight."

On Saturday I was suffering from a great deal of impatience. I normally sleep in after the strains of the school week and although I still felt tired, the excitement of my date that evening did not grant me any rest. Simon had to get up early since he was expecting a client that morning and that had certain ramifications. He couldn't have sex that morning because he had to save himself for the dungeon. However, he did have the decency to suck my cock, providing I promised not to reciprocate or deliberately arouse him in any way. Imagine that. It was funny. He put on compression shorts to commit the dirty deed. It was either that or a cock cage, he said. When I asked what a cock cage was, he told me to wait until the afternoon and I could ask whatever questions I wanted to. Also I had to make myself scarce round about ten when the client was due and eleven to half past when he was due to leave. For a hundred pounds plus clients expected a full sixty minutes in the dungeon and only afterwards did they clean themselves up and get dressed, which meant at least thirty minutes of dead time. Some even expected coffee and biscuits after, while others just got dressed, pulled up the hood on their hoodie and disappeared as quickly as possible, but even that took at least ten minutes.

Once I was up, I disappeared up to my room to make sure that I was as up to date as possible with my schoolwork for I knew none would otherwise get done until I had a 'free' on Monday morning. I then decided to go into town for the second half of the morning and I called in at the hairdresser's salon, the one with the rainbow pole outside, so that I would look my best for Carl. When I returned home, Simon and I had lunch. "You're in luck," he said. "I got most of the clearing up done after my sub left."

Finally with lunch cleared away, my conducted tour of the cellar started in the bedroom. In the bedside cabinet was a selection of condoms, lubes, dildos and cock rings. The dildos and cock rings were in sealed plastic bags. "They have to be thoroughly cleaned in a special steriliser after use," said Simon "and then hygienically sealed. 'Elf 'n' safety, but also sensible to prevent the spread of infection." In the drawers were towels and various 'uniforms'. In the closet which ran along the long wall were fancy dress costumes: Superman, Spiderman, Batman and Robin. "They're all very popular." Simon took me through 'Narnia' into the dungeon. At first he brought up the red lights which I was how I was introduced to it. I could see sufficiently to make my way around, although after a couple of minutes my eyes accustomed themselves to the gloom. "I can do blue and green as well." He demonstrated, then turned some dimmer switches and flicked some other switches and the dungeon was flooded with a combination of hidden neon and halogen light. It was brighter than the brightest day. Now I could look around and I was astounded.

"Si, I didn't realise the cellar was so big."

"Well, that's because I bought the cellar from the neighbouring house and had the walls knocked through. It was a bargain. The work cost more, especially as a supporting girder had to be installed, but whatever else happens, the ceiling won't collapse. Also it meant that there's now an emergency exit. More 'elf 'n' safety. The walls have been lined and sealed and so the only way water can get in is if there's a flood and someone opens the cellar door or the emergency exit and as you know, it's air conditioned with the heating and the electricity in the main house on different systems.

I still could not take my eyes off the dentist's chair. "So tell me about the chair, Simon."

"We call it a Rowan Chair, named after its inventor, or usually just 'The Chair'. 3 Yes, originally, it had been a dentist's chair. You sat in it and it raised and lowered and tilted, but I changed it. I removed most of the part you put your legs on and replaced it with stirrups, up and to the side. Then I added arms. They are all adjustable. Once my sub is in it, strapped in it – yes, the straps are all there – I can change his position as I wish. I can get at his dick and balls and arsehole without any interference, and there is nothing he can do about it. It is good for flogging too, and many other things. It is one of my favourites.

"One man who was in it I had kept on the edge of coming for six hours and then flogged him to orgasm. Then I shagged him very hard, and very long." I stood by the Chair with my hand resting gently on the seat. My head was whirling with luscious images.

"What are all those straps for?" I asked. Simon turned his head slightly towards me and looked out of the corner of his eye. It was enchanting.

"Um… well, they're to hold someone in it."

[ pace Jack Rowan]

My eyes took their fill of the Chair. "Come along, Richard. I've got other things to show you," and we walked across to the cage. "This is dual purpose. As it is at the moment you walk into it and stand there. You might be handcuffed to the bars, you might not. It comfortably accommodates two, uncomfortably three, but look at this. The crossbar is in fact a hinge and you can lower the top grille so that it becomes the top of a much smaller cage that you can only crouch in. The lock works on a swipe card, but there is an emergency mechanical way of opening it in case of a power failure. Eventually I plan for the dungeon to have its own generators, but that is not a priority.

"Here's the couch. Again various functions, bed, stretcher, you can be tied down on it for torture. If you look at the floor, walls and ceiling, various rings and hooks for restraints are embedded in them. Restraints can be ropes, chains, nylon or leather straps, stretcher bars. You've already been suspended from the ceiling. You'll see harnesses which hold you off the ground and open you up back and front. Round here we have two crosses, the Roman and the saltire. You strap your sub to them. The saltire is better if you want access to both his hole and his tackle." We walked across to the cupboards and drawers.

Simon opened the cupboard doors that ran sideways on rollers. "That saves space." At the back there hung various whips, ropes and chains, and a large clock.

"Why do you keep the clock in a cupboard?"

"For the sub there is no such thing as time. We do our best to disorientate him of any senses and sense of time is one of the important ones, but it is important to the dom. Time is money."

In the drawers, all on rollers for easy access, were more instruments: pinwheels, dildos and butt plugs, clothes pegs, white night lights – in case of power failure, I wrongly supposed – penis plugs. "What are they for, Simon?"

"They're inserted into the urethra… the piss hole…"

"It's okay, Simon. I know what the urethra is."

"… to cause discomfort, but mainly to clip an electrode onto for genital electric shock treatment." Simon opened more drawers and I looked in. It was more than my mind could take in. He picked up two pieces of apparatus, one plastic, one stainless steel. "These are cock cages." He demonstrated. The ring goes on like a cock ring, your dick goes into the tube, it's held in place by a small padlock. As you can see, you can pee out of, but it stops any sexual activity. No way are you going to get an erection in that.

"I'll tell you a story about when I was at school. When we left, it was traditional for the upper sixth to spend a week in Cornwall, in Newquay. We gayboys managed to book our own accommodation. Anyway, one boy who was gay was such a pain that his brothers, one of them his twin, put a cock cage on him on the morning they were due to leave. Then to make things worse they posted the key in front of him, second class, just after the post box had been emptied for the weekend. What made him even more pissed off was that his twin brother, who was also gay, had the spare key with him all the time. We must get on.

"I try to get clients to sponsor a piece of equipment, either through their businesses or personally. When they know that I do this to offer a service and that the dungeon is not run for profit, they can quite generously show their gratitude, especially if it's equipment they want used on themselves and let's face it, poor people would never get a look in here. Another reason for keeping the fees high – exclusivity. Don't judge them by the clothes they wear when they come here. Would you want dribble, snot, spunk, blood and occasionally piss and shit on your best clothes?

I looked in one of the drawers and picked up a particularly puzzling instrument. "What's this, Simon?"

"That's an anal speculum, a particularly evil instrument I only use on the most intransigent subs. You insert it into the butthole and then a screw arrangement forces your hole open, whether you like it or not. Doctors use it to peer into people's bums." I opened other drawers. Gags I knew about from experience, but didn't realise there were so many different types. Hoods, masks, clingfilm, duct tape and it went on. "I'm working on getting a set of stocks," said Simon. "I have a friendly carpenter and joiner who enjoys my services on a barter basis. He built the crosses." Simon looked at his watch. "Time for tea. Then you have to get ready to go out and I have to get ready for tonight's client." I thanked Simon for showing and explaining everything. It had really got my juices going – and his, I noticed – but I had to save myself for later. I was reminded of the ice cubes poured into the pouch of my slip. Then something else struck me. How could all this have been going on without my knowing about it? Simon must be very discreet.

As the evening on Saturday approached, I became more and more excited. When I went out of the front door, Simon called "Have a great time," and I knew that if Simon said it, it would happen. He also reminded me that he was entertaining a client that night and would be sleeping in the cellar bedroom. He and the client would see us at breakfast.

I got off the bus and walked the hundred yards to the theatre. Ten to seven. I was in good time. I nervously kept looking at my watch. Five past seven. I anxiously looked in both directions, especially when a bus pulled up along the road. I hoped I wasn't going to be stood up. At that moment a girl or young lady came up to me. She was dressed in a long black evening skirt down to her ankles and a white blouse on top covered by a thick shawl against the coolness of the evening. She wore her black hair short, obviously permed, and little if any make up. Why I was noticing all these things about a girl, I do not know. I hoped I wasn't on the turn. "Hallo. Richard?" I said yes, wondering if this was one of the girls from school I should have recognised. "It's me. Carl," and before I could react, he kissed me gently on the lips, teasing them with his tongue. Immediately I could smell that it wasn't a girl. That was quickly followed by his pushing his groin against me and I could easily discern his cock swelling against my package. "This evening I'm Carlie," she he said and then whispered "or at least until you wickedly lure me into your bed tonight and seduce me. Then you will find out that I am all male." As we separated, I could see those deep blue eyes. They could only belong to the Carl I met on my birthday.

We went into the theatre and Carl produced the tickets from a 'Miss Selfridge's' bag. "What on earth have you got in there, Carlie?"

"Goodness, Richard, you know you should never ask a girl what she carries in her bag."

"But you're not a girl," I started naïvely. Carl just put his finger across my lips.

It must have been a well satisfied patron who had donated the tickets for we found our seats in the front stalls from where we had a magnificent view. The lights dimmed. We held hands. That was as far as it went. Carl made it clear that we were here to watch ballet and anything else would have to wait until later. I'm glad he did for it made me concentrate on the danseurs and I was soon mesmerised, not only by the bulges in their tights, but also by their tight buttocks and the musculature of their legs. I believe there were also some danseuses in the troupe, but I found I had little time to pay them any heed. My groin was bulging and leaking throughout, but there was no opportunity to do anything about it.

In the interval we went to the bar for a drink. I had half a beer, the first legal one I had bought. Carl sipped on JO2. "Nothing stronger?" I asked.

"I never mix sex and drink. Remember the porter scene from Macbeth ?" I did indeed. Talking to Carl, I realised that he was quite cultured. He often visited the opera or ballet. Though our town rarely offered the opportunity, the surrounding towns were considered provincial cultural centres and did attract a higher class of entertainment. I asked him why he was working as a waiter in a restaurant. He was waiting to go to university and was filling in until then. He found that working in a service industry did have its perks, as this evening proved. How did he come to enjoy ballet? "Difficult to say," he replied. "I can't deny I like it because I'm gay, but on the other hand it is intellectually fascinating when you learn more about it. If I'd had the opportunity and the encouragement when I was younger, I might have got involved, but I came from a family where 'ballet was for girls and poofs' and look what happened to me. I like to dress as a girl and I'm a poof."

"Do you live with your family?"

"No. My father died in a traffic accident, my mother died from cancer and I have no brothers or sisters. At least they waited until I was old enough to escape the clutches of social services. With insurances and compensation there was enough for me to live on, but that's it. It's just enough for me to live on and it won't last for ever. And so I'm a waiter to tide me over until I get a proper job. Oh, dear," he said. "I've probably just insulted thousands of waiters. They might even let me work part time at the Royal while I'm at uni." The first bell rang for the end of the interval.

He wrapped the shawl more securely round his shoulders. Both he and I had noticed that various men had been ogling him and as he explained, he didn't want them to discover he had no tits. He refused to wear falsies. He was all man and he just liked wearing girls' clothes. That apart there was nothing feminine about him "as I am sure you will find out later," he said, then planted a light kiss on my lips.

We arrived back at our seats and sat there a couple of minutes before the orchestra struck up and the curtain rose. Although Carl was sitting beside me, I was alone with my thoughts. Why did I like this boy so much? It couldn't be the way he was dressed. Logically I shouldn't like anything in a skirt anyway. He oozed personality. He was talkative, but he also listened. He had a personal charm. It was all in his eyes.

The ballet started again. Once more my eyes were firmly planted between the legs of the male dancers. A particularly cute one appeared in the second half who hadn't been in the first. He wore white tights, a gold military style tunic in satiny material with a scarlet trimming. He was fair of face, his package not bad for his age, but his winning feature was his butt, perfectly outlined in his brilliant white tights. I tore my eyes away from him for sufficient time to search for his name in the programme. I felt sadness and regret when the finale was being danced. The audience applauded so enthusiastically that the cast reprised it. I involuntarily stood up as I clapped. The apprentice danseur came forward to take his bow. I felt that I could just stretch out my hand and touch his package or caress his bum. It began to worry me that I was at that moment greatly attracted to three guys, Simon at home, Carl as a boyfriend, if he were to have me, and now this youth on stage before me, all three perfect in their different ways. Did this make me promiscuous? A satyromaniac? A good time boy? A slut?

We slowly made our way towards the exit, having decided to wait until we got back to my place before having a drink. It was great to be able to walk through the streets, holding my boyfriend's hand without the fear of verbal abuse or being beaten up.

When we arrived home, I knew Simon was there although we did not see him. His keys were hanging on the hook. I took Carl into the kitchen and put the kettle on. We took our drinks into the living room and I put on some soft background music. The lights were low. We kissed. I was not used to dealing with a skirt, especially an ankle length one. I wondered how this seduction scene would continue and who would take the lead. I really had the hots for him. We sat there entwined, teasing one another with little kisses. I certainly wanted some tongue, but he refused me, either by withdrawing his or blocking mine. Getting to know him over a period time I learnt that he did this to cause frustration and by causing frustration he increased the desire and pleasure in finally satisfying it. However, this was our first night together. We had a lot to learn, I more than he, as I found out when I finally took him up to my room. He had one more surprise in store for me.

I pinned him against the wall. Two battles were going on, a duel of tongues, a grinding of crotches. I began to unbutton his blouse. "Let me take it off," he protested, "if that's what you want. It's all I've got to wear home tomorrow and I don't want it creased." I took my shirt off at the same time. His upper body was tight. I couldn't tell whether it was naturally so or whether he worked out. I ran my hands over his abs, lingering on his nipples. His skin was so tight that I couldn't even pinch them. I gave them a kiss and a lick and another kiss. My tongue felt the nub harden. My hands moved down his body and attempted to undo the waist of his skirt. This was completely new territory for me. I knew of schoolmates who boasted that they could undo a girl's bra with one hand. So what? Again Carl stopped me and came to my aid, and that's when my world stood still for a moment. I had never seen anything like it. As he stepped out of his long evening skirt, I beheld him dressed in a black lacework thong which left the pale cheeks of his butt bare, but also gave glimpses of the flesh of what it was supporting. Over the top was a wide suspender belt stretching from his belly button to just above where the base of his dick met his body, likewise made of lacework, and the suspenders which ran under his butt cheeks supported three-quarter length black stockings. I was gobsmacked. I had never seen anything so seductive, so sensual, so sexy. Not only did his undergarments not look feminine, even less effeminate, but they also emphasised everything masculine about him. He was stunning. I just wanted to ravage this male beauty. We kissed. A fight was going on within me. I wanted to give this Adonis sexual satisfaction immediately, yet I wanted to admire this epitome of maleness, giving him the aesthetic appreciation he deserved.

Carl took control of the situation. He made me sit down. He posed in front of me and espying my camera on my desk, he invited me to take photographs of him. Then in a seductive manner he slowly divested himself of his remaining clothing, sat stark bollock naked in the black leather executive swivel chair by my desk and announced that what happened next was rather up to me.

We'd already agreed that I should take him that night and that he would take me in the morning. I got rid of the rest of my clothes. When he saw the girth of my cock, he was taken aback, admitted some apprehension, but I assured him he wasn't the first and that Simon had trained me how to prepare my lovers and to make it as easy as possible. And it worked. I am sure my girth, for I could never boast any length of note, was the basic reason for not retaining a permanent boyfriend. One nice little touch that I appreciated happened when he was about to roll the black jonnie over my white tool. I was oozing precum as I always did when aroused, which meant most of the day – you could always find more dried precum than cum or piss on the inside of the pouch of my briefs or jock when they were about to be tossed into the laundry basket – and so he bent forward and removed it with the tip of his tongue. "Too valuable to waste," he commented, savouring it, and continued with the job in hand. He then docilely lay on his back with his legs over my shoulders and took all my cock in with scarcely a whimper.

I adore the missionary position: my prick (or his) hot inside, the ease of kissing, the heat of his cock (or mine) between our bodies, the eye contact, the possibility of a prostatic orgasm with the juices spraying hot between us and the ensuing stickiness, the feeling more in this position of two melding into one, our bodies locked together.

The act fulfilled to the satisfaction of both of us I removed the black condom, carefully knotted it and placed it on my bedside table. He used his tongue to clean my cock. Despite his attire I was obviously in bed with one of nature's gentlemen.

We slept through till dawn, got up to make ourselves comfortable, cleaned our teeth to rid ourselves of morning piss breath, returned to bed and repeated the previous evening's performance with a reversal of roles. After that we felt ready to face the world. Carl borrowed my dressing gown for breakfast. I had always been taught to be cautious in such matters when I knew that Simon had a guest. It would have caused too much of a stir if Carl had walked into the kitchen in full drag. If Simon had been alone it wouldn't have mattered. Walking in, we said good morning. Simon introduced Zac; I introduced Carl. While eating, we got on well together, mainly chatting about our night at the ballet, Simon and Zac not daring to talk about their Saturday evening. Carl was sensible enough not to ask any awkward questions, but then he would have known nothing of the secrets of the cellar.

Breakfast over, Zac took his leave. There was no settling of his accommodation bill. Simon always took cash in advance. Last night would have been a nice little earner, for Zac would have been on the top tariff if he'd stayed the night with Simon in the same bed and had breakfast. For some clients the evening dungeon session would have overtaxed their energies and they would sleep in the cellar guest room alone, which would have reduced the bill considerably. Simon did not encourage his clients to sleep with him. He just recognised that there was a need, a commercial opportunity, which he filled at a price. I did not know the full cost, just that dungeon services alone started at a hundred pounds.

After breakfast was over and Zac had left, Simon asked what Carl and I would be doing for the rest of the day. It was Carl that answered. We would be going into town for a snack, then going back to his place. I added that I would be home at about five, to which Simon said he would arrange Sunday dinner for six.

Carl announced that he would get dressed and tacitly made it clear that my presence was required while he did. Simon said that he would begin with tidying up after last night. I knew what he meant and it was imperative that Carl shouldn't.

We went upstairs and showered together. We did not know when we would see each other again. I didn't know whether. While we were standing under the warm water, soaping each other up, I didn't realise that Carl had one surprise left for me. He had clothes in his Miss Selfridge's bag. That I did not doubt. He waited while I got dressed in a pair of 501s, a light blue shirt and dark blue pullover. Then to my delight the anti-striptease began. He produced a white CK thong which he put on with much ado adjusting the back strap, then his goolies in the pouch. I was already beginning to chub up. I finally got the message. He was arranging himself as if he were wearing a danseur's belt, but what ensued was completely unexpected. He then took out a pair of M&S women's tights, white in thick material and with attention to detail proceed to put them on, making sure there were no wrinkles and that they emphasised his package and butt. All this took me back to the previous night's production. By now I was as hard as iron and my juices were soaking into my slip. I'd better offer these to Simon tonight for his pillow in the guest bedroom. Carl now took his white blouse and after buttoning it up, fetched out of the Miss Selfridge's bag a black miniskirt. After he had adjusted it, he looked stunning. I had to take him in a hug and kiss him. To finish he drew a pale red lipstick across his lips, backcombed his hair, mussed it up and sprayed it with hair lacquer. "Okay, ready to go," he said, checked that he had everything. He didn't. "Here's a souvenir of our first night together." I handed him, sealed in a transparent self-seal plastic bag, the black condom I had used complete with the gift of my semen. I was proud that I had managed to fill it with so much. One day there'll be nothing between us, I wished, and I'll be able to pump that much into his inner sanctum and deposit it there. Although somewhat taken aback, he entered into the spirit of the souvenir and accepted it gratefully. He continued

"Must just say goodbye to Simon and tell him they were best scrambled eggs I've had in ages."

We nonchalantly went downstairs. Simon was nowhere to be seen and then I remembered. He was clearing up after last night. "Stay there a minute. I'll go and fetch him." The cellar door was open. I went down and called through the 'Narnia' wardrobe "Simon, Carlie's off now. He just wants to say goodbye."

"Okay," Simon's voice came back. "I'll be straight up." Then the penny dropped. Clang! I'd called him Carlie and of course Simon hadn't seen him in drag and I hadn't been able to mention it in front of Zac.

While we were waiting, Carl asked "What's Simon doing down there?"

"Just tidying up," I replied. "We've got a guest room in the basement and Simon didn't want Zac staggering around upstairs with us there and so they slept in the basement and he's got the bed to change." Carl was quite satisfied with my answer and there was no need to say more. Simon came out of the door under the stairs and said

"So you're off, C…" He stopped mid-sentence. "Has Carl gone?"

"Simon, may I introduce Carlie?"

"Aah, I see. You could have warned me, Richard. That's given me quite a shock."

"I didn't know until last night and I couldn't say anything in front of Zac."

"You're not on the turn, are you, Richard?"

"Simon, I can assure you that under that miniskirt he is all hunky boy. I've run a test to make sure." While this was going on, Carl was sitting on a kitchen stool quietly giggling to himself.

"Hey, guys, I'm here." It was clearly Carl's voice.

After all was said and done, we left and as Carl stepped outside, he wrapped the shawl more warmly around himself for the wind was fresh. We walked along the street holding hands and as we did, we could see the curtains twitching in the neighbours' windows. "I do hope they don't get the wrong idea," I said facetiously.

Going to town was an entirely new experience. Not only did I have to make sure I was walking on the outside of the pavement, but I also had to remember to open doors for Carl, let him get onto the bus first and offer my hand as he alighted. Gosh, I thought, life's much simpler being gay. Then we had to go shopping. Carl reminded me that it was much easier to shop for girlie things when dressed as a girl than when he was in his normal boys' clothes. That was logical and evidently I had played my part well while displaying a look of utmost boredom on my face as normal boyfriends and husbands do.

We went into Burger Star for a light lunch. "OMG, no!" I exclaimed.

"What's up?"

"Don't look now, but in the corner there's a couple of kids from my year at school." Carl's head whipped round and started staring. I rolled my eyes. "They've spotted us." They waved. I waved back in an unconvincing manner. We placed our order and occupied the free table farthest from them. I sat with my back towards them. Carl gave me a running commentary on how they kept peering over in our direction. Finally, and luckily before our order was ready, because otherwise I wouldn't have enjoyed a single nibble, they finished and were about to leave when they decided to come across and say hello. I had to introduce Carlie which I did with no explanation whatsoever. They might know I had a sister and make their own wrong assumptions. Luckily they had their own plans and quickly left us.

"See you at school tomorrow," said Ian Cragg. That's more of a threat than a promise, I thought.

"Yeah, see ya, guys," and after making a point of saying goodbye to Carlie, they left. Our burgers arrived.

"You should have seen your face," said Carl with a giggle.

"Yes, it's all right for you. I hate to think of how I'm going to have the piss taken out of me at school tomorrow. Most people know I'm out. So what was I doing out with a bird?"

"Or they may have discovered that under this mini is a full-blooded, thrusting gayboy."

"Yees," I sighed. "I don't know which is worse."

"You know what they say. Attack is the best form of defence. If they take the piss, take them on. On the other hand they may say nothing."

I enjoyed my burger. It was satisfying to be out and about with one's boyfriend, though a note of caution sounded. This was the first time we'd been out on a date and it was probably premature to refer to Carl as my boyfriend. I didn't even know his thoughts on the matter. However, in my mind the bond had been forged that night on my eighteenth birthday, when Carl handed me the card with his telephone number pencilled on the back. When we'd finished, we caught the bus back to Carl's place.

He lived in bedsit land. His room was simple, packed with stuff, a bed in the corner, communal kitchen, communal bathroom and toilet. Not the best accommodation for a young man, but he said it was okay and handy for work. He could hoof it if he missed the last bus. While Carl was making a pot of tea, I sat there wondering whether, if things worked out between us, Simon might let him come and live with us. Would he want to? But anything we could offer had to be better than this.

After we had drunk our tea, Carl asked me what I wanted to do now. "Suck your cock," I answered automatically. Even I didn't know whether that was a serious or a funny reply.

"Fine," he said, "but before you do, let's try a little teaser. How about you try my girlie undies on?" Before I could protest, I heard Simon's voice resounding in my head. 'Richard, don't knock it until you've tried it.'

"Okay," I said. I was already chubbing up at the thought.

"Now you're already wearing a black thong, so try these." He took the black three-quarter length stockings and the suspender belt out of his Miss Selfridge's carrier. I slipped my Levi's off and lifted up my shirt. "Let's get these off," said Carl. "They're getting in the way," and he pulled off my pullover and shirt. "That's better," and he gently pinched my nipples. He helped me put the suspender belt on. I didn't have much idea. Then he left me to pull the stockings on. He attached them to the suspenders and opened his wardrobe. On the inside of the door was a full length mirror. I must confess I liked what I saw. My dick was pushing the bounds of my thong. Carl took his camera out of his desk drawer and took some snaps. I was about to take the stuff off when he said "Wait a minute." He took a rather nice dress off a hanger and slipped it over my head. It came down to just above my knees. He zipped it up. "There, perfect," he said. I looked at myself in the mirror again. It was odd. I didn't feel girlie at all. For some incomprehensible reason I felt more masculine, egged on by the added strain my cock was putting on my thong. I was really up to having my way with Carl.

"Let's pretend we're lesbians," I suggested "and get off together."

"All right by me," he replied, "but let's get the frock, skirt and blouse off first. I don't want them creased, even less have to send them to the dry cleaners to get the dried spunk off."

Carl took some more pictures first and then he carefully put his clothes away. We climbed onto Carl's bed and slowly and for an hour we had our wicked way with one another.

We were growing cold and so we decided to get dressed, Carl in normal boys' clothes. I looked at my watch. "I'd better be going soon," I said.

"Time for another cup of tea?" I nodded.

While we were drinking it, Carl said "What did you think about your first tranny experience?"

"Odd. I'm trying to say that I didn't enjoy it, but I did. I think it's forbidden fruit, but I didn't feel like a girl. If anything, it made me feel more male. The undies are just as much suitable for men as they are for women. It's different with the dress and the skirt."

"If you go out in them, you have to be careful how you act. Men and women behave in different ways and you can soon be rumbled if you do something wrong, like snapping your knees together if you drop something into your lap. The miniskirt is great if you're being groped and the tights slow him down. Then there's the option of not wearing anything underneath." Carl grinned. "Can be a bit unhygienic." I was just swallowing a sip of tea as he said that.

The bewitching hour arrived and I had to take my leave. When would we meet again? "I won't have a free weekend for another month," said Carl, "but I get rotating days off in the week."

"I've got half term coming up soon."

"We'll work something out." We kissed and Carl closed the front door behind me.

Sitting on the top deck of the bus, I felt a vibration in my groin. I fished my iPhone out of my jeans pocket. I had an e-mail. With attachments. They were the pictures Carl had taken in his bedsit. The bloke sitting next to me craned his neck trying to see the photos. I angled the phone away from him just to tease him. He looked away quickly. Finally, not taking pity, but carrying on with the tease, I let him see one of the photos.

"That's quite a neat chick," he said. "Is she your girlf…? OMG," he said as soon as he realised. "That's you, isn't it?" I nodded. "Holy cow! I was just about to start fancying her." He glanced out of the window and rang the bell. "This is my stop." It was, but I could tell he was relieved to get out of that situation.

In the centre of town I changed to the bus that would take me home. I realised how the nights were finally getting out. I went through the front door at just after five. "Hi," said Simon. "Have a good time?"

"Great," I said. "Then at times not so great. Tell you all about it over dinner. What have we got?"

"Roast pork with crackling."

"And apple sauce?"

"And apple sauce."

"I'm just going to have a shower and get changed. I feel all sticky."

"Uh uh. What have you been up to?"

"Tell you all about it over dinner."

"Okay," said Simon. "I've got something to talk to you about as well." Oh no, I thought. Have I been leaving my dirty games kit lying around on the scullery floor again? I'd better watch it or he'll be purloining my dirty jockstrap for a cheap thrill.

"What time?"

"Six o'clock. It hasn't altered." It can't be too bad if he's being sarky.

I showered, put on a tee shirt, a loose pullover and sweats with nothing underneath and nothing on my feet. I went down to the kitchen. "Anything I can do, Si?"

"You can lay the table in the dining room. We'll be a bit civilised since it's Sunday. There's a bottle of Asti chilling in the fridge. So put some wine glasses out as well."

Simon carved the joint of pork and we finally got down to enjoying out roast meal. "So how did your date with Carl go, Richard?"

"Very well." I told him all about the ballet performance and how I wished that I'd got into ballet at an earlier age.

"You'd have looked good in tights," said Simon lustfully.

"Still do." I paused to let him think about my reply, then continued. "But you don't want to hear about the ballet, do you? You want to know how we got on in bed and why he was dressed as a girl." My candour wrong-footed Simon and he couldn't deny his interest. I didn't spend too much time on our bedroom athletics. After all, I hadn't done anything with Carl that I hadn't already with Simon. "Seeing him dressed as a girl was unexpected and came as quite a shock. The saving grace was, to me at least, he could not disguise the fact that he was a boy and so his blouse and long skirt, while making him look very smart, didn't detract from his masculinity. Then when he got undressed the fancy underwear made him look very sexy indeed and he definitely couldn't be mistaken for a girl. Similarly this morning in that miniskirt. We did meet some schoolmates of mine in town and I'll probably have some explaining to do at school tomorrow. That'll be fun. Then when we got back to his place he got me to try some of his kit on and it made me feel so sexy, and not in the least bit girlish." I didn't mention the photographs.

"And that brings me on to something I want to talk to you about. His bedsit was such a hovel. He has to live and sleep in one room with shared facilities. He hasn't even got a television. So I was wondering whether he could come here to live and have one of the spare rooms." I looked pleadingly at Simon who said nothing. "I haven't said anything to him about it," I added hastily. "I only thought about it on the bus home."

Simon remained silent for half a minute. "Do you remember I said I needed to speak to you? Listen to me first before I respond. It might have some bearing on what you're asking."

We had finished the main course and were clearing it away to the kitchen, which was frustrating for me. For pudding Simon dished up apple crumble and custard. I refilled the glasses with more Asti Spumante. "I thought I'd use up all the apples," he explained. Settling down to eating again, Simon started to open up. "Last night I committed a cardinal sin. I did the worst thing a dom can do professionally." Caught by the mood I sat back looking shocked without the slightest idea what he was talking about. Simon took a sip of wine which just served to prolong my agony. Finally he deigned to speak. "I became emotionally involved with a client." He could see that to me he was not making the slightest bit of sense. He sought to explain further. "I fell in love with my sub."

"With Zac?" I asked wide eyed.

"Zac is his pseudonym, the name he uses for his BDSM scenes. His real name is Ryan and I adore him, and because I adore him, I can't hurt him. If I were employed as a dom, I'd get the sack immediately if that happened with a client."

"And does he know you feel this way about him?"

"After last night, yes."

"Does he feel the same way about you?"

"Yes. That's why he paid out so much of his money. To get close to me, to be humiliated by me. There was never any need."

"How did he get to know you?"

"Through my contacts at the gym. The same way I got to know about Carl and look what that led to."

"Where do you go with this now?" I asked.

"I gave him his money back for starters. I couldn't take money from him now and I'm not sure he can afford it. He's only just started out on his career. I'm sure there's more a young man needs to do with his money than pay out for BDSM sessions."

"Will you see him again?"

"Of course, but socially now. We have a date fixed for next weekend."

"Can you tell me what happened between you two last night or is that like the secrets of the confessional – the secrets of the dungeon?"

"I'll tell you. We're all family.

"I was sitting on the bed and looked at my watch. I was still early. I never start on time with clients. Policy. Soften them up by keeping them waiting. Ryan wasn't going anywhere anyway. I read though his notes. 'Nineteen.' Sounds promising. I usually get them twenty upwards, but as long as they are legal, I'll talk to them. 'Compliant. Nothing extreme, still a boy' then followed a list of 'don'ts'. They would never realise it, nor should they, but I look after my clients. I want them to come back again.

"It was time for me to get changed. I'd decided on black for the day. I hung my suit and shirt on a hanger and put everything else into the closet. I'd discarded the idea of the tights. Too restrictive for what I had in mind. I put on my black tanktop and jogpants – nothing underneath – black trainers. I walked back through to the dungeon. I was having difficulty with my gimp mask.

"Once it was in place I went through the wardrobe and over to the cage and there he was sitting isolated inside, dressed in light grey boxer briefs and a tight white singlet, with his hands handcuffed through the bars. I didn't say anything. I avoid conversation with clients, only speaking to give a command. Other doms might never stop talking, often a form of torture in its own right. We all have our own techniques which helps clients make an informed choice when thinking of their next session.

"I looked at Ryan. Straightaway I knew this was going to be a difficult assignment for me. I don't know why, but I sensed I was going to have a problem with rule number one. I unlocked the cage with my swipe card, took the handcuffs off one wrist and put them on mine. I led him from the cage and out into the main dungeon. It was kitted out with standard equipment, both fixed and moveable. It felt cold when we went in, but in fact the temperature I keep in the low twenties. A cold cell would be counterproductive.

"Ryan smiled at me. I tried to ignore it. I did ignore it. I told him to put on the mittens. Submissively he did so. I tighten the straps round his wrists. They were bondage mittens, joined together, rather like the ones I used on you, but plastic and black. You see, Richard, how I looked after you? He was now semi-disabled. I could have put spreader bars on his ankles, but I remembered from his notes that he was unlikely to kick out. I hooked the mittens by the D-ring onto a rope which I pulled through the pulley so that his arms were raised above his head, not tight because I didn't want any strain on his shoulders, unless he did something silly and the mittens took his weight. Now that he was in position I stood back and looked at him. As you saw, he has short light brown hair, a narrow face with large spaniel puppy dog eyes that looked at me dolefully, following me in an attempt to anticipate my first move. I noticed that I was licking my lips. That meant one thing and it was not a good sign. As much as I adored his eyes, I could not go through the scene with them looking at me like that. I took a blindfold and covered them. He made a slight protest, but that was all. It meant that I could now take the gimp mask off. Before I did, I put a CD into the cell computer. It played sounds of distance floggings and screams.

"Mask removed, I went back to surveying Zac, or Ryan as I suppose we'll call him now, and mentally going over the notes I had read in his folder. No hurry. He was booked in for the whole night. His body was straight up and down, the front of his boxer briefs almost flat too. His balls showed through nicely, tucked in as they were; his limp dick pointed north east. I walked round him, inspecting his butt. Slightly pear shaped. I was still licking my lips. I couldn't help it. My own dick was beginning to feel heavy, taking in blood as it was, but was not becoming erect… yet. Ryan rattled and pulled at his shackled wrists. In vain. It was time to get started.

"I ran my hands over his body outside the singlet, pausing to give his nipples a good feel. They were flat. I looked at his boxer briefs. Flat. I was more aroused than he was. Without warning I threw a bucket of cold water over him. That gained his attention and made him shout. The water drained down the plughole in the shower. I pulled up Ryan's singlet which laid his chest and stomach bare. The warmth of the room soon dried him off, but the singlet remained damp. I felt his body again, hands on flesh this time, pinching his nipples. He gave a little gasp. There was not an ounce of fat on him, no sixpack either. He sported a beautiful innie. Still no movement in the boxer briefs. I felt his balls through the material. They jiggled nicely in my hand which I then ran over his cock. Still no movement from him, although I was quickly growing a boner in my sweats. I gave his balls a gentle squeeze that made him jump. That was the catalyst – pain – his cock started to expand.

"I felt, stroked and squeezed his bum. It was nice and firm. I turned off the background noise. It was time to get down to the real thing. I picked up the leather beater and with a crack I whacked his right butt cheek. The surprise made him jump and yell; the pain made his cock grow. At last I had aroused him. I massaged his butt cheek to get the blood circulating. I continued like that for another minute. Finally I became impatient. I pulled his boxer briefs down to his knees. What a surprise! Why hadn't I noticed it before? His cock was cut, something I don't get to see a lot of professionally, but not only that it was a clean, a rarely beautiful circumcision, no scars, absolutely smooth, not like some of the mutilations you see in American porno pics, and with the aid of a beating fully erect. But that is not all. I straightaway noticed his pubic hair. His dick and balls were completely smooth. His pubes had been style into the shape of an oblong, almost like a moustache, the hair little longer than designer stubble and to finish it off there was a distinct gap between the bottom side of the oblong and the base of his dick. The time had come for some action.

"Ryan's dick was beginning to droop. I beat his bare buttocks with the leather beater and massaged them again for the blood flow. His dick stiffened again. I crouched in front of him, gently taking his balls in my left hand and with the right directing his cock into my mouth. He squirmed as I forgot that cut boys can be a little more sensitive. I remembered from his notes that I should be beating him more, especially with the flail on his front. I am always reluctant to beat anywhere but on the buttocks, afraid of damaging internal organs. I sucked all the precum out, savouring it before swallowing. The crouching position became uncomfortable for me. I stood up and started to kiss Ryan. No resistance. In turn we sucked on each other's tongues. It was difficult for me to remember that I was there in a professional capacity. My lust was taking over. Suddenly I broke of the kiss. Ryan tried to reach out with his tongue and lips to resume kissing. He was left unfulfilled.

"I stood back and considered the options. Then I suddenly grew impatient with Ryan's underwear. I helped him step out of his boxer briefs, then took a large pair if scissors and with two quick snips cut the shoulder straps of his singlet and ran the scissors up one of the sides. It fell to the floor. Apart from the blindfold and the mittens Ryan was completely naked. I kissed him again and gave his shaft a couple of wanks. I can't get over how beautiful his genitals were in their own right.

"I beat his butt another couple of times to keep Ryan hard. It worked like clockwork. I then kneaded his butt cheeks, helping the circulation and eventually revealing his hole which I probed with my finger. His skin was absolutely smooth and unblemished, apart from a Playboy bunny tattooed to the right of his belly button. I was relieved to find it was a transfer. As you know, I don't like tattoos and clients with them I usually beat that much harder. We're all allowed our prejudices. It was now time to oil him up. I confined the lube to the front of his body. I enjoyed massaging him and from the little gasps he made he was obviously enjoying it too. His nipples at last became erect, but the prize I was after was between legs. After oiling the remains of his pubes I anointed his balls, not particularly large, but with a nice feel in my hands, and then I made sure his shaft was thoroughly oiled. He flinched whenever I touched his glans.

"I wanted to turn my attention to his butt. I washed the body oil off my hands. By now his prick has gone limp again. When I returned to Ryan I suddenly had to jump out of the way as the sound of running water made him let loose a full stream of piss. Do you remember, Richard? You did that to me too."

"Then you should have learnt your lesson," I retorted, grinning impudently.

"From the amount he must have been in great need and it would have impeded his sexual performance. Finally the stream stopped and he shook his body to rid the tip of his dick of the last few drops, much easier when you're cut. I took the beater and gave each butt cheek a whack, punishment for not warning me about the pee. His cock immediately rose again.

"Now we were working towards the end of his session. How I remained in control I do not know, but I did recognise that I had breached rule number one. I took two fingers' worth of gel and applied it to his crack. Ryan jumped as he felt the cold. I fingered the K-Y into his hole, wiped my hands, took off my sweatpants. Finally my cock was free and fully erect. With one hand I picked up a waiting condom, rolled it down my shaft and I was ready. Pulling Ryan's cheeks apart I probed his hole with my dick, pushed in till I met the sphincter, probed a little more and as I penetrated, Ryan shouted out, first in pain, straightaway followed by pleasure. Slowly at first, but gradually, I sped up until I found my own release deep inside his butt. I pulled out, pulled the rubber off my dick, knotted it and threw it onto the table.

"Now I was working towards the end. I poured some more body oil into my hands and massaged Ryan's groin, balls and cock which was as straight as a ramrod. I was still mesmerised by its innate beauty. I flicked the glans with my oily fingers. Ryan shouted out, the loudest I'd heard him so far. I did it again. I stood behind him and put my well lubed hand up between his legs and gave his balls a good feel, relubing his cock as well. Now the time had come to give him final satisfaction. I ran my hand up and down his shaft causing him to jump whenever I touched his glans. Within a few minutes his body shuddered and he shot his load. After the spasms had stopped I continued to massage his dick to squeeze every last drop out with him squirming because his acorn was so sensitive.

"I pulled my sweats back on, washed my hands and replaced my gimp mask, before removing Ryan's blindfold. When he could see again he gave me the sweetest of smiles. Making sure he was okay, I returned him to light, lowered his arms and took off the mittens. To my surprise, as soon as he was free, he kissed me sensuously on the lips. 'Alea iacta est', the die is cast, as the Romans would have said. There was no going back. I told Ryan to shower and dress. He had brought spare underwear with him. After that we spent what you might call a romantic night which brings you up to date, to the moment when you met 'Zac' over breakfast this morning."

I poured some custard over my second helping of apple crumble. Did I mention that Simon is a damn good cook? And that he's trying to teach me cooking as well as gay sex and bondage? "Well," said Simon, "that brings us to a crossroads in our lives." I didn't realise at the time how apt a metaphor that was. "Last night we both fell in love, you with Carl and me with Ryan. Carl lives in what you called a 'hovel'. I know nothing of Ryan's home, but what would you think if we were to open up the second floor and you moved up there and invited Carl to share with you…" I pricked up my ears and started to listen in earnest. "… and I took over the first floor entirely and invited Ryan to live here?" I was gobsmacked. It was beyond my wildest dreams.

"Would you really do that, Simon? I don't know what to say. We hardly know Carl and Ryan."

"But we do know that something has gelled between our new partners." I sniggered at the idea of gel between our new partners.

"All right, Richard. Mind out of gutter, please, and don't forget that this is a serious conversation. I spent most of the afternoon thinking this through. We would have to carry on with the 'firm' to pay for the alterations."

"What alterations?"

"A new bathroom and loo on the second floor, tailoring the rooms on the two floors to our needs."

"Si, you said 'we'?"

"I'd like to think that you, Carl and Ryan would contribute towards running the firm and I don't mean skivvying, clearing up the dungeon, say. I mean training you up as doms, giving you hands on experience." I sniggered again. Simon rolled his eyes and looked at the ceiling. I blushed, feeling so immature.

"Can I talk to Carl about this?"

"Of course. He might like his 'hovel'. Has he ever experienced bondage?"

"Don't think so. Transvestism is his speciality."

"He could combine the two. There's a market for it."

"Let's take one step at a time," I said, feeling I was regaining the initiative in the 'seriousness stakes'.

"He'd have to pay his way," said Simon, "but I wouldn't ask him for more than he's paying for the bedsit, not while he's working at the restaurant."

The end of our meal coincided with end of our conversation. I was not due to see Carl until Saturday morning. Then he had the following Monday off. Simon said it was best to wait until then to see whether the initial enthusiasm had worn off. The same for him and Ryan, but then I knew that half term was coming up soon, when Carl could sleep over here before going off to work for two o'clock. "We mustn't delay the decision too long because of getting on with the building works, Richard." We started to clear the table and stack the dishwasher. "By the way, one other thing before I forget. When you bring your filthy rugby kit home, could you put it into the washing machine, please, instead of leaving it lying around in the scullery? Oh, and if you do and can't find your dirty jockstrap, look under my pillow." I laughed.

Can Simon read minds, I wondered.

---

'Hmm,' I thought. 'I've got a problem now, if not two.' "Simon, I'm going upstairs to sort some pictures out that we took this afternoon."

"Can I see them?" asked Simon.

"Probably, but I haven't seen them yet myself. I shall probably have to photoshop them first."

"What? Turn your weenie into a respectably sized dick?"

"What? Like I have to do with the photos of you?"

"I didn't realise that you could reduce the size of things on photoshop as well as increase it."

"Oh, yes. I use it regularly on your head."

"Touché," said Simon. 'I wouldn't have got that banter out of him three months ago,' he thought. 'The damage some parents unwittingly do to their children, his mother by excluding him from her genteel make-believe world and his father by his bullying. I think he can be proud of the way he's developed. It'll be interesting to see his school report this term. See whether they've noticed anything.'

I downloaded the pics from Carl's e-mail and glanced through them. That was as far as I got. I was then lost in thought about the invitation for Carl to come and live with us. Yes, I think we were becoming boyfriends, but it was early days. We met but a week ago, been out on one date and spent one night together. I was scared that I was just viewing our relationship through the hole in my prick. Yet, if it didn't work out, he could still live here. Now, how do I tell him? Or more precisely, when? The only appropriate way was face to face, but he was working for seven days before he got a free day. When he was at home, I was at school or in bed; when I was at home, he was at work. I shall have to wait until Saturday morning. Unless… and it was a big 'unless', I can persuade him to spend the night here. That would be better than in the 'hovel' as it was now familiarly known and while we could talk on Saturday morning, it had the added advantage of some nookie, but I would have to persuade Simon to pick him up from the Royal Hotel and if he's 'working', no way will he be able to do that, especially as 'we', no longer 'he', we need the income. Or if push comes to shove, I pay his taxi fare.

I looked at my watch. Half past ten. That's too late to ring. Why am I being so stupid? I can still text him and if he reads it tonight, he can ring me. I kept it simple. I just told him to ring me when he could and he had ten minutes free to talk. Obviously it was too late. He didn't ring back until the following day. Let's face it. He didn't get much sleep last night. Oooh! Get me. There I go boasting again. I loved acting camp, but I needed a partner to do it with. Another demand to be placed on Carl. It was too late to deal with the photos tonight.

I went downstairs where Simon was watching television. "I'm off to bed now. The photos are downloaded, but I didn't get them sorted. I was thinking about this business of Carl moving in. He's working all this week and so I can't get to talk to him until Saturday morning. All right if he sleeps over on Friday night?"

"Okay with me."

"But he won't be leaving work until ten. Any chance you could give him a lift?"

"All right at the moment, but if I have a client we'll need a rethink. We now need all the money we can get. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"And what about tonight?"

"What about tonight?"

"Where are we sleeping?"

"What's the problem?"

"It's just that now we've got boyfriends, should we er… be sleeping together?"

"I don't see why not. It's not as if we're going to get pregnant. Well, I'm not. I don't know about you now you're into girlie clothes."

"It's just that if… er… if I have to sleep by myself until Friday, I'll be wanking myself silly till then and it might come off in my hand."

"Well, something might come off in your hand. Spunk most probably."

"My todger, I meant."

"Then you wouldn't be much use on Friday. So we'd better sleep in our usual room tonight. Top or bottom?"

"Top, I think."

"I'll get myself cleaned up then, if you put the cat out, lock up and switch off all the lights."

"But we haven't got a cat," I protested.

"Richard, why do you always have to make difficulties?"

Over breakfast the next morning my mobile vibrated. I kept it in my trouser pocket, but in school trousers it was not so close to my dick as in the pocket of my Levi's. Good job probably, considering how easy it was for me to pop a boner. I looked at the caller ID. Carl. «Hi, my gorgeous hunk, how are you doing? »

"Just about coping without you." Simon rolled his eyes.

«So what's so urgent?»

"We need to talk, but it needs to be face to face."

«You're not pregnant, are you?»

"You're the second person who's said that to me." Simon sniggered behind his newspaper. "I'll wait until a I miss a period before I worry about that."

«How does this sound?» suggested Carl. «What time is your morning break?»

"Eleven fifteen to eleven thirty."

«I'll be outside your school from ten past eleven. Main entrance. If you're not there by half past, I'll assume that you've been dragged into the bogs by some lusty Year 9 boy and he's having his wicked way with you and I'll see you same time tomorrow.»

"I can only manage Year 9s on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I'll see you there. Am I looking for a boy or a girl?" More sniggering from Simon.

«Boy, of course,» Carl replied indignantly. «It's a working day. I only dress in girls' clothes for fun on my days off.»

"See ya there. Luv ya," and I cut the call.

After a few disastrous weeks everything was going my way at last. Must look at the paper to see what my stars say. I got stuck into my lessons so that the time would pass quickly until break. The bell rang. I immediately crammed my books into my backpack and got a filthy look from my teacher who felt that it was his prerogative to say when the lesson ended, not the bell's. Approaching the main entrance, I saw Carl waiting for me. I ran the last few steps, went out of the gate onto the street and gave him a great big hug. I explained to him that I needed to talk to him and asked if he would like to come back to my place on Friday after work and sleep over.

"I'd love to," he replied without giving it a moment's thought, "but I've got a transport problem," he added. "There are no buses at that time of night."

"Don't worry about that. Simon said he would give you a lift and if he can't, call a cab and I'll pay the fare."

"You can't pay that."

"We'll argue about that if it happens. Simon is pretty certain he can fetch you."

"What's this all about anyway?" asked Carl.

"It's too complicated to explain now, but I'll give you a clue. Do you like living in your bedsit?"

"Not particularly, but it's all I can afford…"

Suddenly their conversation was interrupted by a roar of "Hey, you boy." I looked up to see Mr Casey, the deputy head, approaching at a rate of knots.

"Just what I needed," I said to Carl. "Me, sir?" I said to Mr Casey.

"Yes, you boy."

"My name is Richard Landport and you've known that since I was in Year 7… sir!"

"Don't you get impertinent with me, boy. Don't you know that the street is out of bounds during school hours?"

"Yes, sir, but I was just…"

"I think you had better come along to my office. Now." I turned and said

"See ya, Carl."

"It's a date then," he called back, "Friday at ten," as I was being hauled off to the deputy headmaster's office in front of a group of juniors.

In Mr Casey's office I stood there in front of his desk while he was raving at me. I protested saying that I was after all a member of the upper sixth and now that I was eighteen I had full legal power over myself. To no avail. It just made things worse and I still had to stand there, but as I did, images from Simon's DVD came into my mind, images of Todd naked, his malformed genitals centre picture, and of him being flogged. It brought an involuntary grin to my face. That was the last straw. When I returned to the real world, I was told that my act of impudence would be placed on my school record and that he expected a letter of apology from me to be on his desk by the end of afternoon school. I was dismissed. I said "Thank you, sir." I dearly wanted to say 'thank you, Todd.' I didn't mind compounding the impudence, but I could not in any way betray the confidence Simon had placed in me concerning what happened at home. I didn't even think I could trouble Simon with the affair later.

The period after break was a 'free' for me. Sitting in the library – I couldn't face the Sixth Form study area – I had time to consider what had happened. Normally such an occurrence would have put me in a sulk, but what saved me was this enduring image of Todd on the DVD. Because I wasn't in a mood, I could view the incident in a detached way and I felt that I had been treated unfairly and humiliated. I made the decision to see my tutor after lunch. Until I had heard his opinion I was not going to write a letter of apology. Apology for what? Grinning because the man in front of me was deformed in the trouser department and liked himself being humiliated in a master-slave situation and that gave him the right to humiliate others? That knowledge was like a nuclear bomb, the powerful, ultimate weapon, but one that could never be used.

Then something else occurred to me, something I could do absolutely nothing about. When he was placing my 'impudence' on my records, what if he should notice my address? He'll have a fit.

After lunch I went to my tutor's office under his 'my door is always open' policy. He listened attentively while making notes and then recapitulated what I had just said. "So 'impudence' is being placed on your record. No mention of your going outside the school gates. Now you're eighteen that's a difficult one for the school to enforce anyway. The 'impudence' was in trying to defend yourself and in grinning during a reprimand, which can be an involuntary nervous reaction, and you felt humiliated in front of junior pupils. Is that a fair account?" I said yes. "I shall have a word with Mr Casey. I haven't the slightest idea what the outcome will be. I shall say that I told you not to write a letter of apology until this business is sorted out and I hope to have it sorted out by tomorrow morning break."

I left my tutor's office feeling less aggrieved and hurried off to get changed for games. I had already wasted enough 'boywatching' time in the changing rooms. I always took my time changing which encouraged my classmates to look at me. Often it was quite involuntary. Admittedly I couldn't fathom out why they should want to stare at my balls. They had seen them enough times over the last few years. If they touched me up (I wish), that would be understandable, but I worked on the principle that if they were staring at my balls, they could not object in the slightest if I checked them out. Of course, these were all straight men and true to their heterosexuality – ha bloody ha.

I arrived home that afternoon in a mixed frame of mind. The first thing I did was to go into the scullery, put my dirty rugby kit into the washing machine, including my jock after sniffing it. Mind you, I'd much rather sniff someone else's. Then the idea came to me that perhaps I could get Carl to wear one of mine for a whole week, then let me have it back to keep under my pillow. I could understand why Simon did what he did with mine. After switching the machine on I went back into the main part of the house just as Simon was coming in. We hugged.

"Good day at school, Richard?"

"Hmmph!"

"I'll take that as a no."

"Curate's egg really. Good news or bad news first?"

"Let's start on a high. Good news first."

"Lessons were okay, I met Carl at break and we fixed for him to be picked up at work and sleep over on Friday night and talk on Saturday morning. Saturday night he's got a special do at work, a wedding, I think, which will go on after his normal shift time, but for which he earns double time and has a taxi paid for by the host to take him home. So I won't see him on Sunday morning as he'll need his sleep."

"Your reputation precedes you," interrupted Simon.

"So in a way that's good news and bad news," I continued undaunted. "I got touched up in showers after rugby by this luscious lower sixth former I've had my eye on. Must try and sit on his lunch table tomorrow. Also, he was the one to pop a boner, not me, and so he got all the piss-taking." I paused for breath. "Now for the bad news." I explained the Mr Casey incident.

"Well done, Richard, you did just the right thing. Wait and see what your tutor can do. I don't think I should interfere at this stage. I liked the bit about pretending to be watching the vid, but you must never divulge that. It could lead to all sorts of unseen trouble."

"How about you, Simon?"

"Work normal. I worked out in my lunch hour. My woodworker friend was there. He said he's finished the stocks and he's coming to fit them this evening. Said they haven't been tested and that he wants to be the first and his partner the second to use them to make sure they're okay. So that's Saturday morning booked and worth at least two hundred pounds in bartering the payment for them. He's asking for five hundred for his services. He's had one session already in advance which leaves another one, a double for him and his boyfriend, sorry, partner… husband… whatever, because they've tied the knot."

"I'll get on with the tea then," I said. "We'll have it early and you can get on and do whatever you have to do to get ready for the installation."

"Thanks, Rich, that'll be a big help."

"Beans on toast all right?"

"Cheese on toast better. Welsh rarebit."

"Cheese on toast. You know I gave up my Welshness for Lent and never took it up again. Twll din bob Gymraeg, especially my father. "

"It's probably a good job that I don't know what that means," answered Simon. "Oh, by the way, Ryan and I are on a date Friday evening, but we'll be able fetch Carl okay. Just tell him not to panic if we're not there on the dot to pick him up."

The next day I was a little apprehensive on my way to school. If I hadn't done so already, I was probably about to add Mr Casey to my list of enemies. As I went through the school gates there was Mr Casey on my left, silently glowering at me, but all I could see there was a naked ogre with a deformed todger and excess foreskin, while on my right was that lush from the lower sixth who had goosed me in the showers yesterday, giving me a knowing grin. I crooked my index finger at him, then straightened it out. He burst out laughing, saying "See you at lunch time." I thought that I was the one who had made that decision.

At break I made my way to my tutor's office. "I'm sorry, Richard. I haven't made any progress. Mr Casey refused to discuss the matter with me and so it gave me no option other than to pass my notes to the Headmaster. I've got to go and see him about them later this morning. Perhaps you would come and see me after lunch." I left the office with the feeling that whatever the outcome, at least my complaint was being looked at.

For two reasons the next two periods dragged: the assignation with a tart at lunch and an assignation with my tutor afterwards.

I found the tart already seated at lunch at an empty table in a corner of the dining room. Carrying my tray of tasty and nutritious boiled beef and carrots I headed his way. He looked up and smiled. I sat down opposite. "I'm Christian," he said, introducing himself.

"So am I. Church of England," I replied facetiously.

"No, my name is Christian, Christian Aymes."

"I know who you are." He lowered his voice.

"I want to apologise for what I did yesterday in the showers."

"No need to," I said in an equally conspiratorial tone of voice. "I enjoyed it, especially when you boned up."

"I don't know what came over me."

"Me, nearly."

"There's a rumour in the school that you're gay and I…"

"It's not a rumour, Christian. It's fact. I am gay, and out, and proud." The poor boy didn't know what to say. He covered his embarrassment by eating some of his food. Finally he said

"I think I am too. No, I know I'm gay and I just wanted to meet someone else that was."

"And now you have." 'Why am I giving this kid a hard time? Surely it's not because I've had my eye on him since last term and now we've finally 'met' and I can't do a thing about it because I'm in a relationship?' "You know, if we'd met last term we could have been boyfriends, but now I have won another's heart. Faint heart ne'er won fair youth."

"You don't mind me talking to you about it, do you?" asked Christian.

"Not at all. Ask whatever you need to know. Just don't drag me off behind the bike sheds for a quick knee trembler. Although perhaps a quick feel in the showers might not go amiss, providing you do it to me when I'm not expecting it. My conscience could live with that." Christian gave me such a sweet smile and he touched the back of my hand.

"Look at those two poofters." I heard a voice from behind, but I didn't look round for I recognised it as belonging to Ianto Rhys-Jones, the school's head of homophobia, a Welshman from the Valleys and proud of it. My mother always considered the people from the Valleys 'common'. "They'll be off to the bogs together sucking cock," Rhys-Jones continued. I turned round and told him to piss off, took hold of Christian's hand and said to him in a Noël Coward type voice

"I'm sorry, Christian. I shall have to suck your cock some other time. I have to go and see my tutor now."

"Can I have lunch with you tomorrow, Richard?"

"Sure, whenever you want to." I was pleased that my attitude towards him had mollified. I know what people like him are going through, especially with the Rhys-Joneses of this world breathing down their necks, and he was rather a splendid piece of eye candy. After a pleasant lunch it was time to go off and get my just deserts.

I arrived outside my tutor's office, knocked on the open door and went in. "The Headmaster would like to see both of us." I followed him through the school corridors to the admin block. The Head was obviously expecting us. We walked in. My tutor sat down; I stood.

"Richard Landport, I have read though your tutor's notes and spoken to him and to Mr Casey. Have you anything to add?"

"Not really, sir, except to say that Mr Casey wouldn't listen to me."

"For reasons of professional etiquette I cannot go into details, but I have come to the following conclusions." Oh, yes, protect the guilty, I thought, but kept a straight face, always difficult for a gayboy. "The incident will not be placed on your school record," he continued, "and if it already has been, it will be expunged. Your school record is exemplary to date and I see no reason why it should not remain so for the remaining term and a half that you are with us. There is no longer any need for you to write a letter of apology." The Headmaster thanked my tutor for bringing the matter to his attention and the interview was over.

I said "Thank you, sir," and the two of us left. Walking through the corridors, my tutor asked whether I was satisfied with the disciplinary process. I said I was and commented that it works. I thanked him for his trouble and we parted. I went to get my books for afternoon school.

Back home I related all this in detail to Simon. "It's a pity you had to go through this. It was quite unnecessary. If you had said nothing to Mr Casey, he would have accused you of dumb insolence. You can't win with people like that. Come downstairs and look at these stocks."

I followed Simon down the stairs to the cellar, through the bedroom, through 'Narnia' and into the dungeon. The stocks were resplendent, made in reclaimed timber planed smooth to avoid any splinters. The irony immediately struck me. A slave could be flogged to within an inch of his life, have molten wax poured on his exposed skin, weights hung from his balls, clothes pegs attached to any loose skin such as his nipples or his scrotum, a pinwheel rolled over his sensitive parts, but he mustn't get a splinter from the stocks. They were bolted to the floor and so stout that they were impossible to move. The hinges were set into the wood. Incorporated into the design was a mechanism which allowed them to cater for a kneeling or standing position and it was in full view of anyone confined to the cage. The hinge with the arm and head holes could be locked, but that would hardly be necessary as the hasp was outside the prisoner's reach. "That completes equipping the dungeon with major apparatus. We can get small items as we need them or as stuff wears out. We just need to pay for maintenance, which means we can keep our clientele small and select while remaining financially sound."

"You keep saying 'we', Simon. Who are 'we'?"

"I think I told you that I hoped you might take an interest. Then if our relationships develop, there'll be Ryan and maybe even Carl."

We went back upstairs, I to do my homework, Simon to make the tea. In my excitement to tell Simon what had happened at school that day, I overlooked the fact that there was some mail for me. The first edition of my GY magazine subscription had arrived. Over tea I told him all about meeting Christian. "I hope you're not two-timing Carl, young man."

"Oh, no. It's just nice to have another gayboy in the school to talk to and who understands the stresses we can be under. If all goes well, I'll just pass on my knowledge and experience and hope that he has some experiences to pass on to me."

Tea over I disappeared back upstairs to get on with my homework, but first I had to sneak a quick look at my GY mag. I hadn't even known it existed. Oh, what a sheltered life I've led. The articles looked interesting, but the magazine naturally fell open at the centre fold and there was a double page colour photo of a naked Tom Daley with his body hair shaven off. 'Wow! I knew he was big, but I didn't realise that he was that big. I've got a rival. Trouble is my diving's not much good.' I must confess that I gave in to temptation and had an instant wank. Must be careful not to get anything on the mag. Otherwise the pages will stick together and tear the pic.

It's strange having a wank. I could have sworn that I had had a five minute quickie, but when I looked at the clock it had taken me thirty minutes to come off and that included being highly stimulated by Tom. That was quite a chunk of my homework time.

On Wednesday morning I went to school feeling happier. At lunchtime I found Christian already sitting down, eating his lunch at an empty table. I took my tray of food across and sat down beside him. We could talk more intimately that way and I could also sneak the odd glance at the arousal state of his trousers which, I was pleased to notice were a pretty tight fit even at the most unexciting of times. "Having a good day, Christian?"

"I am now," he replied. 'Hallo,' I thought, 'he's tarting.'

"Sorry I was a bit chippy yesterday. I got chewed up by Casey at break just because I went out into the street to talk to my boyfriend. He escalated the whole affair and I had to see the Head yesterday." 'Monolithic dual avicide,' I congratulated myself. 'I let him down gently on the boyfriend front and explained why I was not my usual gay abandoned self.' "Casey threatened to put my 'impudence' on my school record just because I stood up to him."

"So are you still in trouble?"

"No, the Head completely exonerated me. I walked away a free man." I went on to tell Christian about Carl. "I hope he's going to move in with me."

"What, you live alone?"

"No. I got pushed out of home when my parents divorced. Neither had any room for me, so they said, but neither would admit it was because I was gay, and so I was taken in by my guardian, Simon. I suppose now that I'm eighteen strictly speaking he's no longer my guardian, but I'll always think of him as that. He's taught me everything I know about being gay. Anyway, I'm waffling. His boyfriend's going to move in with him and I hope mine's going to move in with me. That's why I wanted to talk to him on Monday. He works awkward hours and I wanted to arrange a meet. So he's sleeping over on Friday night after work and at least we'll have Saturday morning together."

"What does he do?"

"He's a waiter at the Royal Hotel. At least until he goes to uni and then gets a real job."

"And what does your guardian do?"

"He's an accountant Monday to Friday and a therapist on Saturdays and Sundays."

"What sort of therapist?"

"A sex therapist specialising in the needs of gay men, but he's got no official qualifications in that and prefers to be thought of as an amateur therapist."

Christian and I finished our food. "See you for lunch tomorrow?" he asked.

|Sure," I replied, "but I hope to see you before then." Christian's face lit up. "In the showers after rugby. Remember I owe you a grope from Monday and I want to be able to see the real you."

"Richard!" he said in a mock shocked tone, "and you a married man."

"Not yet," I answered with a grin and getting up I slid my hand inside his blazer and gave his nipple a playful tweak before picking up my tray and going to put it onto the trolley.

Forty-eight hours can be a long time when you're waiting for something to happen. It was half past ten on Friday night before I heard a car draw up. The front door opened and in trooped Carl followed by Ryan and Simon. Whatever the last two had been doing, they were now in high spirits, but Carl I could see was tired after five days' work and with two to go until he got a rest day. I mustn't be selfish or too demanding over the next few hours and I need him wide enough awake to be able to talk to him sensibly. We hugged and all of us went into the kitchen. I whipped up a mug of Horlicks for each of us. After that we had a consensus about having an early night. Simon and Ryan disappeared down to the cellar guest room. "Don't wait breakfast for us tomorrow," said Simon.

"What have they gone down there for, Rich?"

"Privacy," I replied. "They don't want us to disturb them and they don't want to disturb us on the first floor and I know from experience they can be pretty noisy. You go on up to bed and I'll finish off down here. I won't be more than five minutes."

Carl went on up to my room, taking his backpack with him. I washed up the mugs and the saucepan, locked up, checked the lights and went up to my room. There was Carl naked in my bed fast asleep. I stripped off there and left him to it, going to sleep in the room Simon and I shared. When I finally went back into my room at nine the following day, the duvet was thrown onto the floor and Carl was lying there, still fast asleep and sporting some mouth watering morning wood. I covered him up and got showered and dressed. Little chance of any nookie today. He's got to have lunch and be gone by one and we've still got to have our talk. At ten o'clock I decided to wake him.

"What time is it?" said Carl with a yawn. I told him. "My god! Have I been asleep that long?"

"Yep, that long. Over eleven hours."

"No wonder I'm dying for a slash." He picked up his underpants, took them with him to the loo, did what he had to do and returned wearing them.

"Get yourself showered and dressed and I'll have breakfast ready when you get down to the kitchen. I think we'd better make it brunch."

"I need this," said Carl, tucking into his brunch. "I haven't had anything to eat since six last night." While I was eating mine, I was telling him what had happened after I'd met him outside the school gates, including meeting Christian, and when I judged that he was sufficiently wide awake to listen, I changed the topic of conversation.

"Carl, this is what I've been needing to talk to you about since last weekend. As you know Simon and I share this house, but things change." At this he pricked up his ears.

"He's not throwing you out too?"

"No, no, it's nothing like that. Quite the opposite. There are two things. He wants Ryan to move in with him and he wants to develop his hobby, his sideline."

"What sideline is that?"

"He's a therapist." Luckily and unlike Christian he didn't ask what kind of therapist. He just assumed that was his profession anyway.

"How does that affect me?"

"Well, he wants the first floor entirely for himself and Ryan and he's willing to open up the second floor for me and suggested you came and lived here as well."

"Ooh," said Carl, his eyes sparkling. "That's worth considering."

"Simon said he wouldn't charge you more than you pay for your bedsit and with four of us here the costs would be spread out more evenly. Mine are paid by my mother and father, plus I get an allowance. We need some alterations doing such as a new bathroom, but he has a builder, one of his clients, who's a bit short of work and can start whenever Simon gives the word. He's got all the estimates in."

Carl thought for a moment. "Just one thing. How long are you going to be here?"

"For the foreseeable," I replied. "If I get my grades, I'm going to the local university and so I shall be here, and if I don't get them, I'm here anyway. How about you?"

"I've already got my A levels and am going to the local uni in October anyway. That's why I took a job here and because I'm an orphan I don't have to go through the same student loans procedure as you."

"So what do you think?"

"I haven't got anything to lose and rather a lot to gain. Can we just go upstairs and have a look?" We went up to the first floor.

"You know what this is like? My room where you sleep, our room where Simon and I sleep, his room." We climbed the next flight of stairs. It was rather dark and dusty because no one ever came up here. I opened the largest bedroom. That'll be ours. It's got its own en suite bathroom. The communal bathroom is at the end of the landing, but needs renovating, and the other two rooms are 'his' and 'his', or 'his' and 'hers' if you're going to be Carlie for the day."

"Bitch," retorted Carl. I took that as a term of endearment, pushed him gently against the wall and kissed him, teasing his lips with my tongue and withdrawing as soon his tongue tried to meet mine. That was the first sexual contact we had had since Carl's arrival. The grandfather clock downstairs struck half past. I looked at my watch.

"Heavens, it's half past twelve already.

We went back down to the kitchen. Simon and Ryan had just surfaced. Ryan was sporting a love bite. 'Tut, Simon,' I thought, 'you ought to control yourself,' but said nothing. I could see that Carl noticed it too. "So have you two ladies had your little chat?" teased Simon.

"I'm the only lady here," protested Carl, joining in the fun. He pouted and flounced.

"Any decisions?"

"I'm interested," Carl said looking at me. "I'd like to think about it. I've got an idea. Monday is my rest day. Can I meet you from school, Richard? You come back to the 'hovel' with me. We'll talk about it again and I promise to give you a decision."

"That's okay," said Simon, "but Richard, can you either call or text me straightaway, because I can get on to Tarquin and he can start Tuesday morning."

"Who on earth is Tarquin?" I asked with a grin on my face.

"Tarquin the builder."

"Oooooh! Whoever heard of Tarquin the builder? Tarquin the hairdresser or Tarquin the window dresser, yes, but Tarquin the builder, I ask you."

"What's wrong with that? I have known Mr David Tarquin, the builder, for a very long time," and when everybody burst out laughing at my expense, I realised that Simon had allowed me to paint myself into a corner.

The grandfather clock struck one. It was time for Carl to leave. He quickly changed into his waiter's uniform, then clutching his backpack, said goodbye to Simon and Ryan. I walked him to the bus stop and forgetting where we were, gave him a peck on the cheek as he got onto the bus.

When I got back home, I said to Simon "If I'm going back to Carl's 'hovel' on Monday, do you mind if I stay the night there and go to school from there?"

"Not in the least. You're eighteen now. You're your own boss, but thanks for asking me and letting know your whereabouts."

"Thanks. That'll save me having to take my bike and cycle in the dark."

"Do you want to see the vid of me and Ryan this morning, Richard?"

"I'll think about it."

"It's well worth it," said Ryan "and I don't mind. Especially if you're going to learn the business."

"Who said I was going to learn the business?"

"Simon did."

"You will," said Simon. "You had it written all over your face when I was showing you around the dungeon."

"And I'm a witness to that," said Ryan.

After brunch Ryan helped Simon get the dungeon ready for later, then went home. Simon was expecting a cash paying client.

I spent the rest of the weekend getting as up to date as possible with my schoolwork for I knew I wouldn't get anything done Monday night. I did watch the vid of Simon with Ryan and realised what a beautiful and sexy young man Ryan was. I momentarily wondered if Simon might be into wife swapping. I sat throughout nursing a throbbing, moist, aching boner in my sweats which only served to remind me that I'd had Carl sleeping over and all I'd got in return was two chaste kisses. At the end of the vid I went upstairs to my room, got my copy of GY and opened it at the centrefold. To spare the magazine I slipped a jonnie over my cock before wanking off. When I came, I thought it would never stop. I counted twelve spasms and had never come so much in my life and I had my cum trapped in the condom as proof.

Monday was to prove another interesting day. I took two bags to school, one with a clean shirt, undies and toilet bag, the other with sports kit and schoolwork. As a matter of personal discipline I put all thoughts of Carl out of my head until four o'clock. Not that there weren't other distractions of a sexual nature, the first and third of which were Christian.

Christian and I met for lunch as usual and we were midway through eating the main course when a young lad, from Year 9 I guessed, asked if he could sit down by us. Despite my thoughts of two's company, three's a crowd, I looked around and saw for some particular reason that the young lad had little choice, the dining hall was so packed. I don't know why, but something made me like him. I'd seen him around the school and he always attracted my attention, made eye contact even. He was small for a Year 9 boy, yet walked tall and proud. He was an archetype adolescent in appearance, and yet he was always neatly dressed, even if he'd just come off the field after a break time game of football. He had well tended hair, straight and brunette, a tad too long for it made him look girlie and he had to shake his head every so often to keep it out of his eyes so that it looked as if he had a nervous tic. Obviously he went to a hairdresser rather than a barber. When he spoke it was a double pleasure, for not only did his voice have that rasping freshness of a newly broken voice, which could always bring tears of precum to my briefs, but it was complemented by a sweet smile. Tart or just his natural manner, I wondered.

He leant forward making eye contact with us alternately, but then focussing on me. "I'm glad I could sit with you today. Oh, my name is Magnus, by the way. I was nearby when I heard that Rhys-Jones kid talking to you and he called you gay."

"Nothing unusual there," said Christian. "He's so stupid. In fact he's so thick he's got skid marks on his jockstrap."

"But I couldn't help noticing that you didn't deny being gay."

"Well, we are," I countered "and proud of it." Then Magnus leaned in further towards us and said in a quiet voice, but with emphasis "So am I. My family knows, but I'm not out at school."

"You are now," said Christian. 'I bet people do know,' I thought. 'There are plenty of people with gaydar around here.' I kept the thought to myself.

"I don't care," said Magnus "because I've now found someone else that is and I don't feel so alone and I want a boyfriend."

"I'm spoken for," I said.

"I'm not," said Christian, "but you're too young."

"I didn't mean you. I just thought you might know someone my age, you know…"

"Love to help," said Christian, "but I don't know anybody. I'll ask my brother Tristan when I get home. He's in Year 9. He might know someone."

"I know him. He's in my tutor group," said Magnus. "I didn't know he was gay."

"He isn't," retorted Christian. We had to go and get changed.

"Can I sit here tomorrow?" Magnus smiled so sweetly and imploringly that we couldn't say no.

"Feel free," said Christian.

'Feel free' forms a perfect link to the third event, which also involved Christian. I was standing in the showers after rugby, back to the spray, displaying the crown jewels to whoever was interested, and as usual there were plenty who were, all dyed in the wool heterosexuals, or that was their story, when I felt a finger slide up my crack, pierce my rosebud and penetrate my hole. I maintained my sang froid , turned my eyes towards the left and saw, as I suspected, Christian standing behind me. The crowd, noise and bad light meant that no one else noticed. I bent my knees slightly to aid access and enjoyed.

"You're easy to get into," commented Christian.

"I should be. I do sphincter exercises and get plenty of practice."

"Lucky bugger."

"Good choice of words," I replied "and Christian, next time you decide to do that, cut your fingernails first." He pulled his finger out, as the saying goes, and noticed he'd drawn blood.

"And you, Richard Landport, can tell me if you're having your period." He washed the blood off his courting finger and we both guffawed at our tasteless comments. Looking back I think that his drawing blood stopped me popping a boner in front of everybody. It wouldn't have been the first time and with a term and a half to go it wouldn't be the last. I quite enjoyed my party piece, more correctly circus act, and after nearly seven years with my schoolmates, it no longer caused me any embarrassment whatsoever.

While we were getting dried and dressed, Christian said "That's not the first time you've had a finger up your arse, now is it?"

"What makes you say that?"

"You're dead easy to penetrate."

"As I told you, that's because I do exercises and practise a lot. Not just fingers, but butt plugs and of course, the real thing."

"Lucky you. I must meet some of your friends."

"Could be arranged, I don't doubt."

I packed all my manky kit in a stout plastic bag, not forgetting to sniff my jock first, and pushed it into my locker. I looked at my watch – just coming up to four – picked up my backpack with my overnight kit – whoops! Forgot to pack any pyjamas – and made my way towards the school gate. That foul creature, Ianto Rhys-Jones, was standing there, giving me the evil eye. I looked along the street. Shit! No sign of Carl. I was going to be denied the pleasure of giving him a kiss in front of Rhys-Jones and Mr Casey who was supervising an orderly exit from school. I looked again and – OMG – here was Carlie, bounding along the pavement as if it belonged to him, dressed today in the miniskirt, cobalt blue tights which matched his blouse which in turn was covered by a shiny red leather jacket which did not reach his midriff. Then, as he got closer, I could see that he was in full make up. I was no longer in control of the situation. On reaching me he took me into a hug, gave me a smacker on the lips with full tongue, convincing me at the same time that my presence had aroused him. Not only that, but I had a full view of Rhys-Jones's wide open mouth and eyes as he dropped the can of drink he was holding which then spilt into the gutter, and of the scowl on Mr Casey's face.

Carlie took my hand and swinging my arm took me off in the direction of the 'hovel', leaving the mob behind us. "So what's the answer?" I urgently wanted to know.

"Yes, I would love to come and live with you now that I've sorted one or two things." I kissed his cheek and fetched out my mobile. I dialled Simon's number. Voicemail. I left a message. Belt and braces. I sent him a text.

"Fixed," I said and gave him another peck. "And what's with the drag today?"

"I quite often wear it on my day off. I love miniskirts."

"You've certainly got the legs and bum for them."

We got back to the 'hovel'. "Darling," Carl started, "I owe you an apology. There was no excuse for my behaviour on Friday. Just two kisses the whole time I was with you and I intend to put things right, starting now. So if you'd like to take off your tie, blazer, shoes and socks, I think we can make up for lost time."

On Tuesday morning Carl, dressed as Carl, walk me to the corner of the street where my school was. We parted there, since he didn't want to cause another stir, with a promise of meeting Saturday morning to discuss details. I went into school and straight to my locker. Then it hit me. The stench of my festering rugby kit. I couldn't even bring myself to sniff my jock, it was so bad. The stink seemed to follow me around all day until I could get my kit home and dispatch it into the washing machine. Magnus joined us for lunch and Christian suggested a few names who his brother said were under suspicion of being the Year 9 gays.

Walking back home that Tuesday, I felt that familiar vibration in my pocket which not only set off a boner, but told me my iPhone was ringing. I'd got to the stage where I enjoyed sporting a stiffie and it was no longer an embarrassment. After all, most of the boys my age, and some of the younger ones too, had seen it, either as a bulge or the real thing. I know a lot of the girls were interested, but tough shit if their boys didn't come up to my standard. I didn't stare at their tits. They could leer at their boyfriends rather than at me. 'Mmm,' I thought, 'a bit early for Carl's break. He must be crazily in love,' I bullshitted myself. I hauled it out of my trouser pocket with difficulty. It must have looked to a passer by that I was having a severe bout of ball scratching or fiddling with myself. I looked at the screen. Text message. From Christian? What does he want? I clicked a button. « I <3 Magnus Help» I was rather nonplussed. I sent a message back to say I would ring him after tea. That would give me time to get my thoughts together… and to do some homework.

When I got home, I found that Tarquin the builder had already started.

Wednesday proved to be yet another interesting day. When I rang Christian on Tuesday evening, I said I needed time to think and I would talk to him the following day, but meanwhile he would find Madam Palm and her five sons a comfort.

Thursday lunchtime was our first opportunity to talk. Magnus was already eating and for the first time we joined him, not he us. As soon as we sat down, Christian went all goggly eyed. It was hard to get a sensible word out of him and so it was up to me to maintain a flow of normal conversation with Magnus. The younger boy hadn't the slightest idea that he had become the object of the lower sixth boy's affections. When Christian went to fill the water jug, Magnus asked me "What's wrong with him today?"

"He's in love," I replied in a matter of fact voice.

"Anyone I know?"

"Yes, but I'm not telling." Meanwhile Christian had returned with a full water jug and insisted on filling Magnus's tumbler before his own. Mine remained empty.

Fortunately Magnus had games and went off to change before we had finished our meal. "Now, Christian, what's this all about?"

"Can't you see it? He's absolutely adorable."

"I know, but I happen to be in love with a boy called Carl."

"Please, Richard, what do I do?"

"You know he's three years below you, don't you?"

"Yes, but I'm not seventeen until the end of August and he's fifteen in September. So there's only two years and a month between us. How old's Carl?" I told him. "You see. Eighteen months. That's not much different from two years."

Luckily I had had twelve hours to think about an answer. "I would do the following. It might not be right for you, but you obviously haven't got a better answer. First of all I would talk to him. Walk round the fields with him tomorrow morning break, ask him how he feels about himself since he came out to us, pay him some compliments – how nice his hair is, the colour of his eyes, how he'd be breaking boys', and girls', hearts later on. Accidently brush his hand or put your arm round his shoulder for a couple of seconds. His reactions will show you how he feels. He might even touch you. These are all good signs. If you get bad vibes – and you'll know – you've had a walk round the field, discussed his problems and that's the end of it. Don't press yourself on him, be a good loser."

"Won't he get bullied if he's seen alone with me?"

"Does he get bullied because he's seen having lunch with a couple of gayboys who are out in school?"

"Obviously not," answered Christian "or he'd have stopped sitting with us or told us. So if he comes on to me…"

"Don't expect a result like that. Look at his face. See if he smiles, whether he looks you in the eye, says something even."

"So if he does, what next?"

"Give it a couple of days, then, say Monday, take him off somewhere private, behind the CCF hut, and teach him to kiss. Don't ravish him. Prepare him. I find the question 'Have you ever kissed a boy?' sets the right tone. Then be gentle. Don't try and lick his tonsils the first time your lips meet. Tease him. You may even find he's more experienced than you, but once the tip of your tongue has run across his lips, nature will take over, the hormones will flow, and don't be afraid to talk about the experience making you both bone up. Then it's up to you whether you hang together at the weekend or go on a date. You've told us you're both out at home, especially if your brother's searching for possible boyfriends for him." The first bell for afternoon lessons rang.

The next few days flew past and I had to keep reminding myself that I had A-levels in less than three months' time. Simon involved Ryan and Carl in the project since they would have to live with the resulting reconstruction. I left the décor of the room I was to share with Carl entirely up to him. The top floor was little more than a store and a lot of what was there was dumped in a skip. The work was carried out systematically. Top floor cleared, en suite and communal bathrooms refurbished, decorators decorated, floors were carpeted, rooms furnished, I moved my kit to my new room, we moved Carl's kit in from the 'hovel'. Short breather, then the first floor rooms were redecorated and Ryan moved in. Mercifully half term and Carl's days off came at the right time. Simon decided to take a week's holiday then. "We can never get much done at the office because all the mothers book their holidays during school breaks to look after the children and if I get so much as one telephone call in a day from work, that counts as working from home and doesn't affect my holiday allowance."

He worked hard in the dungeon to help finance the renovations supported by his accountant's wizardry so that his 'income' became the business's income which then became 'capital investment'. He'd always said that he turned down more clients than he accepted and that basically was why he was keen to get the family actively involved. Our ménage à deux, became a ménage à trois for a few days before altering again into the final ménage à quatre . One or two little problems needed ironing out and Carl forced the issue on one. He was the only member of our newly reconstructed family who did not know about the dungeon. The other little problem just had to be caused by Mr Casey.

During the week before half term Christian's developing relationship with Magnus seemed to be working out. I hardly saw them for they would rush their lunch and leave me sitting there like Johnny Nomates in the dining room. However, I could get a full report from Christian in the showers on Mondays and Wednesdays and by phone on the remaining days. I missed my grope from Christian. He did not invade my arse again. I don't know whether it was because he never cut his nails or because he was shocked at drawing blood. I did make sure he didn't miss my grope, though. He had very loose balls which I liked to feel squidging through my fingers and a special challenge was to take him from behind.

My strategy appeared to have worked. On Monday morning Christian and Magnus went behind the CCF hut, but were dismayed to find the spot already claimed. To add insult to injury it was a heterosexual couple. They wandered down to the outdoor fives court which was never used for fives, but was good for tennis practice in the summer term and for any nefarious activity all the year round, though it was a tacit agreement that faggers had to smoke elsewhere. The boys kissed and grew into the art of kissing. Later in the week they acknowledged the hardness in their trousers and Christian was the first to unzip, Magnus's, not his own, and put his hand inside. Magnus did the same to Christian, but was a little shocked and withdrew his hand quickly. "What's the matter, Magnus?"

"It's all wet and hot and sticky in there. Have you wet yourself?"

"In a way, but not like you think. That's not piss, but what's called precum or love juice. It leaks out when you get aroused and helps to lubricate your cock. Some people produce a lot and some don't produce any. I produce a lot. If you smell your hand, you'll find it's not piss. When it dries it gives boys a nice sexy smell." Magnus smelt his hand. It wasn't pee; it smelt almost pleasant. "You can put it on the tip of your tongue and taste it. It won't hurt you," and Christian reached down inside his briefs, wiped his finger over his glans, showed Magnus it was wet and licked the precum off his courting finger.

They heard the first bell in the distance. Magnus quickly zipped up and the boys hurried towards the school building, only to be greeted with hoots of laughter from boys and girls alike who were pointing at them. A chant went up of 'We know what you've been doing.' Christian looked down and immediately went crimson. Not only had he forgotten to do his flies up, but his semi-hard prick was pushing his bulge through the gap and a large damp patch could clearly be seen. Christian zipped up straightaway and gave them the finger. On the edge of the crowd Ianto Rhys-Jones was standing there, smirking and about to say something when Mr Casey arrived on the scene with a foul tempered look on his face and started herding everyone into classes. By lunchtime Christian and Magnus were the talk of the school. Even I had heard about it before Christian told me.

Thursday evening he gave me a call, all excited. «It's going to happen,» he said.

"What's going to happen?"

«My brother, who's in Magnus's year, has invited him to a sleep over with us. Now we're going down to our country cottage Friday… oops! tomorrow night, back Tuesday, and so he's coming with us and we're planning to go to the cinema and my brother is going to pretend he's got a stomach ache and so Magnus and I will have to go without him. What do you think of that?"

"Lucky you, but I'm not having so bad a time 'cause Carl's coming to live in our house, and so's my guardian's boyfriend, and it's all happening over half term and they'll be four of us gayboys living under one roof." After that sentence I was nearly as excited as Christian. "You'll have to come and visit us the following weekend, and bring Magnus and you can borrow my bedroom if you want to be together. Simon never worries about what we get up to. He knows how difficult it can be to find somewhere where we won't be disturbed."

«Sounds cool. I'll see what Magnus has to say, but not until we come back from the country.»

"See ya at school tomorrow."

«Sure. Cheers.»

The first Sunday of half term Simon, Ryan and I were watching television. Carl had just rung to say he was leaving work and I told him we were sitting there waiting for him. We'd solved his transport problem with a cycle. I was always anxious about his riding home in the dark, but he was kitted out with the proper reflective clothing and he could use dedicated cycle paths for much of the way.

"When are we going to tell Carl about the dungeon?" I piped up during the commercial break. Ryan took this as a cue to make the Horlicks.

"The sooner the better," replied Simon. "Ideally I'd like to do it the same way as I did with you, but I don't feel so comfortable about it, probably because my relationship with him is different from ours. I don't know. You know him better. His fem side makes him softer in a way. What do you think?"

"Oh, he could take it. Underneath he's as hard as nails. He's had to be. His feminine side is just a little self-indulgence. He's nothing but butch in bed. I think we just casually introduce the cellar into the conversation when we've got half an hour to spare and give him a guided tour, but not so detailed as the one you gave me in case we frighten him off." At that moment we heard the kitchen door open as Carl came in from the garage.

He said 'hi', kissed me on the cheek and went upstairs to change into something more comfortable. He put his dirty waiter's kit into the washing machine before coming to join the three of us. While we were sipping our milky malted bedtime drink, Simon said "We haven't shown you the whole house yet, have we?"

"Oh?" Carl exclaimed.

"A job for tomorrow morning," said Simon enigmatically.

"Have you been busy," I asked.

"No. We never are on a Sunday. The management has to keep the restaurant open for the residents, but we only get a couple of non-residents or so."

"So you're not very tired tonight?" I said to him with a twinkle in my eye."

Carl and I snuggled down in bed together. We still enjoyed undressing one another even though we knew what we were going to find when we did, except tonight… "What are those marks on your back, Rich?"

"Oh, nothing. Simon and I were just trying something out."

"It looks like whiplash marks like you see on those Johnny Depp pirate films."

"You're not far wrong, Carl. Wait until morning and all will be revealed. At the moment I just want to feel your tongue in my mouth, your hand in my groin and your dick in my butt."

"Ooh, you know how to woo a girl."

"You're not a girl tonight, Carlie. You're one hundred percent boy and that's why I need you so badly.

We were down to breakfast by half past seven on the Monday morning. We knew there was a lot of work to be done even though all four of us were living here. We had to get the rest of Ryan's gear from his mother's house. "We'll do the guided tour first," announced Simon "while the rush hour traffic is on and sometime today we've got the Waitrose run, unless we want to starve or live off takeaways."

Ryan had taken a day off work to get settled in. "Are you ready for this, Carl?" Simon asked. Carl nodded without knowing what he was saying yes to. "Ryan, do you mind dealing with the breakfast things?"

"Not in the least," he replied, giving that smile that would always make my loins twitch, that always made Simon grateful that Ryan was his, and which, it immediately became apparent, didn't leave Carl untouched.

Simon had the key handy and he unlocked the door under the stairs. "Be careful. These steps are steep and I must get a handrail put in." Carl was surprised to see a bedroom at the bottom. I wondered what his reaction would be when we passed through 'Narnia'. He looked at the pictures on the wall and did not fail to notice the nude studies of me. "We're going to have to rethink those," said Simon "because of one particular client." Carl raised an eyebrow at the word 'client', but decided to leave that on his list of unanswered questions.

"I've got space on my walls," he volunteered.

"Oh, no, you don't," I protested. "You're not going to wank off at pictures of me when you have the real thing and we can do more exciting things together."

"It would fill in the empty hours when you're at school."

"Then I shall just have to sew up your trousers," I said.

"But you can't sew up a miniskirt."

"Lovers' tiff?" intervened Simon and we all burst out laughing. "Give me a moment, Carl, and Richard will bring you through." Carl looked at me askance and I just shrugged my shoulders. Simon slid one of the wardrobe doors open and stepped inside, closing it behind him.

I let a minute or so go by before saying "Let's go." To add to the mystery I closed one door behind me before opening another and I took Carl's hand, any excuse, before leading him into the red light of the remaining part of the cellar. He looked round. We could see very little, even as our eyes grew accustomed to the low light. As we stood there Simon manipulated the bank of switches which one after another brought up white spots which focussed on the various accoutrements of the room, starting, rather than leading to, the star of the show, the Chair, eventually followed by the couch which in themselves gave one an intentionally false impression. I tried to watch Carl's face, but the dim red light it was still bathed in made it nearly impossible. Carl remained silent, whether wishing not to display his ignorance or in awe, I do not know. The next object to become visible was the cage, but even that looked just a secure storage area ready to receive a pallet of gold bullion. The fourth object removed any ambivalence regarding what this place might be used for. Carl blurted it out. "Stocks! It's a torture chamber. How exquisite." Before I could say anything, Simon came in.

"We call it the 'Dungeon', but no way is a torture chamber. It is a place designed to produce the ultimate in erotic pleasure… Pain. It is a BDSM parlour, designed exclusively for male use, where that ultimate erotic pleasure can be meted out or withheld according to the merits and deserts of the slave in the eyes of his master." Simon's voice had taken on an enhancing tone of echoing mystery which added to the atmosphere of the place. In the sombre lighting I questingly laid my hand on Carl's groin. It was throbbing and hard. His lust had been captured by the ambience of the place. I knew that this was not to be his last visit to the dungeon.

By now the spots covering the two crosses were lit. Simon extinguished the red light, leaving visible only what he wanted visible. He gave it a minute or so for Carl to absorb the atmosphere, to examine the objects illuminated, to make his own assessment before the spots went out simultaneously and whole cellar was flooded in its workaday mixture of white and neon light.

Simon's voice returned to normal as he switched off a radio mike attached to his polo shirt. "I take it, Carl, that you know what BDSM is. We concentrate on bondage and domination with no emphasis on sadism and masochism. We don't like the term 'torture chamber' either. All our clients are free to come and go as they wish. Whatever they derive from the scenes we produce, it is for them a form of pleasure and the most painful part is the sum of money they have to part with. Our tariffs are high, not only to maintain a high standard of professionalism and the parlour itself, but also exclusivity. We expect payment to be cash in advance only and so there is no risk of debt and we can afford to lose clients who are unable to comply with that and it also helps our clients to maintain anonymity."

After the shock and awe of his entrance Carl's mind had returned to its usual level state. He started to ask questions. "Simon, when you say 'we', who do you mean?"

"The company and me. We are hoping to recruit in house, but they have to express their readiness."

"In house. Does that mean Richard, Ryan and me?"

"You're an astute young man, Carl. Ryan is a former client. That's how we met. Richard has been initiated and he can speak for himself and that leaves you to form an opinion."

"Richard, that accounts for those marks on your back?"

"I said you would discover the cause. Simon bought a new flail and we tried it out on each other, Simon to discover the intensity with which to use the instrument and me so that he knew what it felt like himself."

Meanwhile Carl had spotted the bathroom arrangements which hadn't been put under a spotlight. He nodded in acknowledgement of their presence and use. The guided tour continued in much the same vein as it had when I had mine. Simon looked at his watch. "The traffic must have died down by now. We'd better get working or the day will be gone. The plan is for Ryan and me to load the car at his mother's place and you two stay here to act as fetch-and-carry boys at this end, particularly if we have to go for a second load, but I'm hoping that won't be necessary."

"When can I experience the dungeon?" asked Carl.

"Not until you have a day off and we have spare capacity," answered Simon "and by the way what happens in the dungeon stays in the dungeon. We just don't talk about it. We don't need to market ourselves and we rely on the recommendation of satisfied clients."

Upstairs we said cheerio to Simon and Ryan and as they went, Simon warned "No hanky-panky while we're gone. You're working today and we don't want to catch you with your pants down when we come back and need you to do things."

"As if…," I said with a pout.

We went into the kitchen and Carl made us a cup of coffee and we sat there chatting. "Do you know something, Carl? I wouldn't mind jumping Ryan."

"I'm way ahead of you there," he replied. "How old do you think he is?"

"He's younger than Simon. About your age I would guess."

"Have you seen his dick?"

"Yeah, but only in pictures."

"Pictures?" repeated Carl.

"Yeah. Simon videos every scene and takes snaps. Ryan's dick is about normal size and do you know what? He's cut."

"I've never done a real cut boy before."

"Me neither and Ryan's balls are big and tight, well, medium if he's standing next to me. He's more of a show-er than a grower and he shaves his groin, but what he leaves is a rectangle of hair above his dick, rather like a long Hitler moustache. It really suits him too."

"He doesn't have an uncontrollable urge to keep raising his right arm, does he?" said Carl facetiously. "What about his body?

"His body? Mwah. Gorgeous. Hey, are you really up for this BD scene?"

"Yeah, why not? You felt that I was all horny all the time we were in the dungeon, but I want you to do it so that it's part of our love life."

"I want to do it as well, but Simon hasn't trained me properly yet. You've got to know all the apparatus, especially safety procedures, first aid, though that's not a problem because all my certificates from school are still in date, how far and how hard you can go, and it's different for each slave, how to use the instruments like the whips, the dildos, pinwheel, and what order you do things in, and the hardest part is to bring the sub to the edge of orgasm and keep him there until you're ready, which is usually at the end of the scene. There's a lot to learn and it's the same old vicious circle – you can't be a master because you haven't got enough experience and you can't get the experience because no one will let you be a master."

"Catch 22," said Carl.

"What?"

"Catch 22. It's a book and a film. It's another name for a vicious circle."

"Oh, can't remember seeing that one."

"What will you do, Richard?"

"You'll only find that out as it happens. Clients ask for specific things which Simon might or might not do. You have to show that the dom is in complete charge."

I started to wash the coffee cups up. "They'll be back any minute now," said Carl.

"Hey," I said.

"What?" asked Carl.

"I wonder how Christian's getting on."

"He's not back until tomorrow."

"I know. I'll text him." I finished off washing the mugs and took my phone out. Just as I finished the front door opened and in came Simon and Ryan. Carl and I couldn't keep our eyes off Ryan's neat package, the one that was bulging out of his loose jeans, not the one he was carrying.

"Okay, lads," called Simon. "Work to be done. Luckily we've only got this one journey to make. We take all the stuff from the car and put it on the landing outside Ryan's room. After that it's over to him and if he needs any help lifting, you two lads will be on hand." I sniggered. "Come along, Richard. Mind out of the gutter. I'll be getting lunch, a light lunch because we can't stock up until this afternoon. You're at work today, Carl, aren't you?"

"That's right. I'll leave just after one."

We three set to carrying boxes and computer equipment up to the first floor. Better than taking it to the second floor, I thought. We'd got everything up there when Ryan said "Hey, guys, can't you two stop staring at my crotch? If you're that interested, I'll take it out and you can feel it."

"Promise?" I said.

"And suck it?" added Carl trying his luck.

"If you want. You won't be the first blokes, but I tell you, if you do, I'm jolly well going to do it back to you."

"Fair enough," said Carl. "We can take it."

"You're on," I added.

"And if you're good, you can have my arse as well," added Ryan.

"Okay," said Carl, "but one thing at a time. Great, it looks as if we're going to be all one great happy family."

"Mmm, incest, the game the whole family can play," I concluded.

"Oh, shut up, donkey donk," shouted Carl.

At that I had good vibrations in groin. I took my iPhone out and looked at it. "Text from Christian."

"What does it say?" asked Carl.

I read it out. "'Disastrous weekend. Tell you about it when I get back. Hugs C.' I wonder what can have gone wrong?"

"Parents caught them at it is my guess," said Carl.

"I'm going to text him back. We're not doing anything, are we?" Carl shook his head. I texted back 'Sorry to hear that. Come round to my place Wednesday, 9.30. Hugs R.' Within five minutes I had a reply. 'CU Wed 9.30. Send address. Hugs C'.

I now had some dead time after we returned from Waitrose with the week's groceries. I offered to cook dinner, but Simon only allowed me to help. Is this going to be my role in this household? Only being allowed to assist, but never taking on the full responsibility. I know I'm the youngest, but I'm not incapable. I know my father thinks I am, but he's history. I haven't even seen him this year. By the way, I must use that voucher for the country club. Thank goodness it doesn't start until the first date I use it. Carl and I could go there this half term. I could at last relax with my copy of GY mag, but again that was frustrating. So much stimulation in it, but it was hands off because I saving myself for Carl tonight. We had decided to call Ryan's bluff and accept his offer, but only together in order to maintain our solidarity. I don't know what Simon will have to say about it, but that's Ryan's problem, not ours, and a good lesson in engaging brain before opening mouth and squarely placing foot in it. After dinner I was reduced to watching TV. I fell asleep only to be woken by this vibration in my ball area. Carl. He was on his way home.

Simon and Ryan were upstairs putting the finishing touches to their accommodation. I called up to them that Carl was on his way and that I was starting to make the Horlicks.

I greeted Carl with a hug when he came in. The drinks were ready and we sat round the kitchen table sipping them. Carl informed us that he had had his bottom pinched by a middle aged customer and thought that he had received a generous tip because he hadn't made a fuss and had given the man pleasure.

We made our excuses and went up to bed. Carl's waiter's kit could wait until the morning for laundering. We went to bed wearing the 'Emperor's New Pyjamas' in the Hans Christian Andersen sense. "I've got to talk to you, Rich, about this bondage thing."

"Well, go ahead then."

"How can I when you stuff your tongue into my mouth every time I open it?"

"Sorry," I said, giving his balls a gentle squeeze. "I'll try to be serious. What do you want to know?"

"Well, what is this bondage business?'

"Do you mean business as in 'business' or what is bondage in general?"

"Both, really."

"The business. Simon has spent a couple of years and some not inconsiderable sums of money which he inherited from his parents on developing this house, both as a home and a concern offering certain services to gentlemen. He's making considerable sums of money, but only now, since the arrival on the scene first of me, then of Ryan and lastly of you. He thinks at last his investment is beginning to give him a return and in order to expand he needs some help and because of the nature of the business he wants to keep it in the 'family'. Bondage you probably know all about. If we were to do it…"

"When," Carl interrupted. "When, not if."

"When we do it, it will be about gaining sexual gratification through pain, humiliation, but also trust and love. Simon's clients lack the love, except when it came to Ryan and that bit all fell apart and now they live together."

"So when are we going to do it?" asked Carl.

"I'll talk to Simon tomorrow when you're at work, but don't expect it this week or even next." At that Carl fell into a deep sleep.

On Tuesday my impatience again came to the fore. I really wanted to know what had happened to make Christian's sleep over with Magnus such a disaster. Carl and I decided to have a lie in to make up for his unforgivable behaviour the previous night. When we did get up, Ryan had gone to work, Simon was around, but nowhere to be seen. Did he have a client? Unusual for a Tuesday morning. Carl and I rode our cycles off to the country club to kick off my associate membership and have a swim. After lunch Carl went off to work which left Simon and me alone in the house. Just the right time to talk.

"Si, Carl is really keen to try out this bondage stuff. Not only that, but he feels the odd man out in the household."

"Before we discuss that I must tell you something." 'Is this Simon trying to avoid the issues?' I thought. "Saturday morning I've got Todd booked in."

"Todd?" I said. "Oh, my friend Mr Casey?"

"That's right and he wants the Chair and he wants it rough."

"Give it to him," I replied with glee. "So you want me out of the way in case we meet?"

"No, quite the opposite," said Simon. "I've got a little proposition. If he wants me to be his dentist, I shall need a dental nurse. I've got a spare dentist's costume. Add a face mask and a cap, you'll be unrecognisable and you might like to see him suffering after the way he made you suffer."

"Mmm, I like it. I won't be able to speak or he might recognise my voice."

"He won't hear it. He'll have the phones on his head."

"And the blindfold."

"No not the blindfold. He can watch everything that's going to happen to him."

"You'll need to take down the pictures of me in the bedroom. Remember I'm a marked man now."

"Good point. I wanted to mention Todd before we talked about Carl. As I said, my worry is your lack of experience either as a sub or a dom and so the dental appointment will give you a little more experience. From what I've heard you saying to Carl, I know you won't be able to hurt him and that he's just going for the experience. Therefore I suggest you go ahead, but you have me there just in case. I promise I'll only interfere if I have to." I thought about it. "Unless you need the intimacy, in which case it's off."

I thought some more. Hobson's choice really. And it wasn't up to me. It was up to Carl. I agreed. "Simon, do you want a round of golf? I've activated my country club membership. We'll get nine holes in before it gets dark."

That night Carl got off work half an hour early as the last diners had gone. Before he left the restaurant he drank a double espresso as he didn't want a repeat of the night before. I had never known our love-making to last so long. I had never felt so tired in the morning after an early night.

At breakfast Simon said to me "You're up early."

"I know. My balls are aching and it was the only way of getting away from Carl. Besides I'm expecting a schoolmate round at half past nine. What are you doing?"

"I'm playing a round of golf with your father for as long as it takes. Then we're having lunch at the club. That's why I was keen to get out there yesterday afternoon. I might ache a bit today, but at least I'm back into it."

"Well, remember me to him. I can't think when I last saw him."

"I'll give him all of your love."

"Not all of it. That goes to Carl and if there's any left over it's reserved for you and Ryan. You're a darn site better family to me than he is." Simon put his stuff in the dishwasher, picked up his golf clubs from the hall and was off in the car. Five minutes later Carl appeared.

A couple of minutes past half past nine the bell rang and Christian was at the door, a bicycle in one hand, a cycle helmet in the other, but no cycling lycras unfortunately. "Hi, Christian. Put your bike in the garage. It'll be safe there." We came back via the kitchen where Carl was finishing his breakfast. The boys said 'hi' and I poured Christian a mug of coffee

After some small talk I said "Okay, Christian, tell us about this disastrous weekend."

"I'm off," said Carl tactfully.

"It's all right," said Christian. "There's nothing private about it."

"No, it's okay," protested Carl. "I've got to sew a new zip into that miniskirt I bought at the British Heart Foundation shop. I've got a couple of days off and I want to wear it." Christian could hardly believe what he was hearing. Carl went off upstairs. Christian and I moved across to the living room to make ourselves comfortable.

"I didn't know that Carl was a tranny," said Christian.

"Didn't I tell you? He turned up dressed in a miniskirt after school one day to meet me and gave me a great big kiss in front of that Rhys-Jones and Mr Casey. It thoroughly ruined my reputation."

"Don't you mind?"

"No. Why should I? It's still the same Carl underneath. It's still the same dick, balls and butt under the miniskirt and it makes it easier for us to be accepted in public when we're out on a date."

"Oh."

"Well then, are you going to tell me about this disastrous weekend?"

"Might do."

Christian kicked his trainers off and made himself comfortable. "So what went wrong?" I said.

"Well, you know what it's like when the family is dashing off on a Friday night from school for a long weekend?"

"Not really. My family was never that much together."

"Mum picked Tristan, Magnus and me up from school, dropped Magnus off while we went home to change. Dad had the big car packed and ready to go. When we were ready we got into his car and went to pick up Magnus and tootled off down the motorway with the rest of the rush hour and holiday traffic. It was quite late when we arrived at our cottage and so we just unloaded, had a quick snack and went to bed. Magnus grabbed his sleeping bag and ended up in Tristan's room. Okay, give and take, we could sort it in the morning. We went through the Saturday, doing whatever, until the evening when we'd planned to go to the cinema. You'll remember that we had this amazing wheeze where Tristan would fake a stomach ache so it would just be Magnus and me going to see the film. I kept looking at him over tea. Nothing. He was just eating a normal tea, not too much to make himself unwell, not too little as if he were already feeling ill. I kicked him under the table. Not a word and so tea over, the three of us piled into Dad's car to go into town. I should have realised something had changed when we took our seats and Tristan put himself between me and Magnus. I couldn't say anything to him all the time Magnus was there.

"Anyway, we got home. Late night again and so no one wanted re-arrange things. It was clear in our parents' minds that since Tristan had given Magnus the invitation, he was his guest and he had to look after him. I was hoist by my own petard. I couldn't say to them that Magnus was really staying with me. They know I'm gay and would have got suspicious. Everything depended on Tristan playing fair. So I spent the second night sleeping alone in my room with Magnus ostensibly in his sleeping bag in Tristan's room.

"Sunday morning. My parents like to go to the village church when they're there. They don't expect us to go except at Christmas and Easter, though we do go voluntarily sometimes. They have one or two cute boys in the choir. That's my reason. I don't what Tristan's is. By this time, as you can imagine, I was pretty pissed off. So knowing the parents would be away for at least and hour and a half, I thought I'd use this time to find out what was going on. I went into Tristan's room without knocking because I was pretty steamed up by now and what do I find? Them sitting there watching a gay porno on the internet. Not only that, but my straight little brother and Magnus have both got their sweats down and are wanking each other off. 'You want to watch this, bro,' Tristan said innocently. 'Yeah,' said Magnus even more innocently. 'Its about these two kids who meet, start kissing, get their kit off, suck cock and now the one with the bigger cock is fucking the other one.' All so matter of fact. I simply did not know what to do. I knew if I hurt my brother, or Magnus come to that, I'd be in big doo-doo. If I threw the computer out of the window, that would cost a few months' pocket money as well as having to share mine with Tristan. I stormed out of the room. 'What's got into him?' I heard Magnus say. 'No idea,' said Tristan. 'PMT,' and they laughed. 'That's ruined a damn good wank,' said Magnus. 'We'll have to rewind and start again.' No,' said my brother. 'Just let it run to the end and GayTube will give you a choice of another film. The plot will be the same, but you'll see different guys.' I went into my room after what I'd heard, slammed the door and lay on my bed, thumping the pillow with my fists and sobbing with temper."

"So that was your disastrous weekend?" I said.

"Oh, it got worse. I waited until I heard Magnus go to the loo and I went into Tristan's room. 'You devious little c**t,' I said. 'You didn't tell me you were gay.' He smiled sweetly and said 'I'm not out yet.' 'You are now.' Then I heard a voice calling up the stairs. 'Christian, can you come and have a word, please?' 'Oh, shit,' I said under my breath. I hadn't heard my parents return from church. I went down to see my father standing at the bottom of the stairs. My mother was diplomatically fetching something from the car. We went into the sitting room and he closed the door. 'I don't expect to hear language like that in this family, and what is worse, your mother heard it too.' 'Sorry, Dad.' I had suddenly calmed down. 'What was it all about?' 'I think you'd better ask Tristan.' Whatever happens between him and me, we have this strict code and don't sneak on one another. 'I shall eventually, but you'd better apologise to your mother first, then go to your room and ponder your actions till lunchtime.' And that's what happened, plus of course the repercussions. Tristan innocently thought it might have something to do with my mistaking that Magnus was my guest, not his, which opened the can of worms as to why I should want to invite a boy three years below me at school and 'because I'm gay' was not a felicitous answer, but one that led to more awkward questions and because Tristan was still officially straight, there was nothing suspicious about his inviting one of his form mates to stay for the weekend."

I commiserated with Christian as best I could, but it made me feel inadequate when the sitting room door burst open and in came Carl like a whirling dervish in his new miniskirt, and the rest. "Hey, guys, which do you think is better, the navy blue tights (which he was wearing) or the cobalt blue (which he held in his hand)?"

"Cobalt," I said.

"Navy," said Christian simultaneously.

"Cobalt it is," said Carl. "I must do the bidding of my beloved. I shall change and then I shall make us all a hot chocolate and today we have squirty cream and marshmallows."

"We have squirty cream everyday," I said with a grin.

"But today it's been produced by a cow," retorted Carl.

"You two are gross," said Christian.

"Pure teamwork," I replied.

"Hope I didn't interrupt anything," said Carl as he whirled out of the door.

After our three boys had consumed their hot chocolate, Christian made moves to go. "Have you been rehabilitated at home yet?" I asked him.

"Yes. In our family you start afresh at midnight, though I'm not sure I have forgiven my brother yet." We went through to the garage to get Christian's cycle and just as he was about to leave, Carl said

"Don't you kiss a girl goodbye when you leave?"

"A girl?" answered Christian. "Certainly not. Yeuk," and he made 'fingers down throat' motions, "but I'll make an exception for you," and as he did, his mind was flooded with reminders of all the advantages of being a homosexual.

The next couple of days whizzed past. They were Carl's rest days and it meant we could do things together on Thursday and Friday. Simon never did come back with a message from my father. I had little chance to prepare for Saturday morning. Carl went out on Saturday morning to do some shopping which consisted of a trawl of the charity shops and a visit to Ann Summers, something he did quite unabashed. Before we went to bed on Friday Simon said "Richard, you're on duty at a quarter past eight tomorrow morning. Todd is due at nine and I want to brief you."

Next morning I didn't need to wait for Carl's hand on my balls to wake me up. I was awake and out of bed before then, partly nervous, partly excited. At a quarter past eight I went down to the cellar bedroom with Simon. I noticed that the pictures of me had been replaced. "You can look at them later," he said. "There's your dentist's uniform with cap. I suggest you wear a jock underneath and a tight white tee shirt. Trainers will do on your feet. We're only pretending." I went up to our room just as Carl was coming out of the shower. His dick started to rise as he saw me.

"Sorry, Carl. Can't stop now. I'm U/T."

"U/T?"

"Under training. At work." I looked at the uniform. What at first just looked like ordinary cotton medical clothing, pale blue smock with short sleeves, and trousers both with navy blue piping, I soon found had been modified. The trousers had a slit down the front like pyjama bottoms and there was likewise one at the back. Obviously designed with quick action in mind. Carl stuck his finger up my crevice to make the point. "Ger off. I've got to go." When I got back down to the cellar, Simon was already changed. We went through 'Narnia' into the dungeon.

"Here's your mask. You don't need to put it on until Todd's getting changed. Okay, to begin with you are here to observe. I warn you that Todd likes pain and he'll get plenty of that. Ignore the screams. They're part of the scene. If it gets too much, let me know and you can disappear. Until I put the phones on him, speak as little as possible so that he can't recognise your voice. Don't remove your mask or cap because the scene is being videoed and he wants a copy. It's another forty pounds in the kitty."

"I thought they were thirty?"

"They are normally, but I struck a special deal with him. I might give you the chance to take part, depending on how things go. If I have the slightest suspicion he's recognised you, you won't be allowed to touch him. Attacking a teacher, even in these enlightened days, is still a serious offence, though under the circumstances I don't think he'd dare do anything about it. All right so far?"

"I think so."

"Now for the scene. He wants the Chair, he's paying for the Chair and so he gets the Chair. Unfortunately there is very little we can do for him in the Chair. I have no intention of pounding his arse and I'm certainly not asking you to do that. His problem is that he is impotent and the only way he can get an erection is through pain. So if he gets one, and he's quite aware that there is no guarantee – it's all in the small print – he will expect to be jerked or sucked off. And if he is blown, it will be with using a flavoured condom. Any questions?"

"Why with a flavoured condom?"

"Well, you saw his cock on the vid. Would you like that raw in your mouth. I'd willingly gobble you or Ryan raw. I haven't seen Carl yet…"

"Oh, I have no qualms about blowing him."

"But maybe I'll have the chance to make an assessment one day. Anything else?"

"I don't think so."

"Just remember. What happens in the dungeon remains in the dungeon. You can use it as pillow talk with Carl, as I probably will with Ryan, but no one else. Understood? Not even with the cat."

"But we haven't got a cat."

"Oh, Richard, perhaps you'll learn one day," Simon said as he went off, grinning and shaking his head, to wait for Todd.

I heard voices in the bedroom. A couple of minutes later Simon brought Todd through. My first reaction was surprise. He was naked, but unlike in the vid he was now completely devoid of body hair. He noticed me, leered and said "Good morning, nurse." Simon said

"Nurse, help me settle Todd in the Chair." I led him across to the Chair and as soon as he was settled Simon buckled the straps across his body and arms and I helped him put his feet in the stirrups. He was now powerless. I adjusted the radio headphones over his ears. No blindfold I remembered. "All he can hear is white noise, but it will disorientate him. Okay, a few aerobatics now." Simon stood at the controls of the Chair and put it through its paces which evoked a few grunts and shouts from Todd. Modified, its range of tilting was far greater than that of a regular dentist's chair. The demonstration over, Simon put it back into the default position, then raised the stirrups so that Todd's feet were above his body and his legs spread apart. "Nurse, will you insert this, please?" Making sure Todd could see it, he handed me a vicious looking butt plug, thick and stubby with a wide blunt head and exaggerated veins.

"Where's the K-Y?" Simon passed it to me. I was as gentle as I could be, but it was not easy to insert. Todd obviously enjoyed the immense discomfort. "Okay. Playtime over, we get down to the real thing."

He fitted a metal cock ring round his tackle, not an easy job, then clipped a couple of nipple clamps to his chest, which caused a cry. He took a box laid ready on the side and connected the black wire to the cock ring and the red to one of the nipple clamps. When he pushed the button, Todd's body shook and he shouted. A couple more shocks and then Simon rested the box on Todd's stomach and took a metal penis plug, wetted it and fed it into his urethra. He attached the red wire to the penis plug and pushed the button on the control box. Todd's body twitched more violently within the confines of the straps. He was given half a dozen of these shocks and he yelled each time. "Remind me, nurse, to put a metal butt plug on the shopping list. That should be fun. He's getting a bit noisy. Time for a gag. I've got a special one for him. Look at this." Simon showed me a gag which instead of a ball had a pink, very well defined chunky erect penis in floppy silicon. "He'll like sucking on that." I fixed it on him. All resistance ceased when I pinched his nose. "Time's getting on," said Simon "and time is money." He released the straps, but Todd was so disorientated that he didn't dare move out of the Chair. "Nurse, help me. Now, stocks or the cross? We'll put him on the saltire, I think, facing the wall."

We helped him out of the Chair and supported his walk across to saltire. Simon roughly and efficiently shackled his wrists to the top and his ankles to the bottom which left him facing the cross and his genitals clear of where the two arms crossed. He took a paddle, two flaps of stout leather attached to a handle, which made a slapping noise when the hinged one hit the fixed one. He started beating one buttock, then the other alternately. He was quite gentle to begin with, but he increased the force, occasionally stopping to knead the cheeks to get the blood circulating. "Nurse, would you like to carry on?" I grasped the paddle. My thoughts immediately flashed back to my time in Mr Casey's office when he threatened to put 'impudence' on my unblemished school record and he demanded a letter of apology. I landed a blow on each arse cheek with as much force as I could muster. After two Simon took the paddle from me. My blows had caused a muffled scream from Todd.

Simon pointed between Todd's legs. His malformed dick was beginning to stiffen and grow. The foreskin rolled back. Simon gave him a couple more blows with the paddle to help the process, took a flail and whipped his back. "Nurse, while I'm beating him, it's your job to deal with that erection. If you can jerk him off, we've accomplished our mission." I thought of Queen Victoria lying on her back and carrying out her duty while thinking of England, then just got on with it. I won't say it's because of my vast experience, but I eventually succeeded where others had failed. After he'd come, and it was grey watery spunk of little substance, I washed my hands. They felt like Lady Macbeth's.

"Thank you, nurse," said Simon. "I can manage from here." I went up to our room, changed and showered while he was letting Todd calm down, releasing him and supervising his showering and dressing to ensure there was no serious injury. Having seen Todd off the premises, he came upstairs and congratulated me on my performance. "I would make one comment. You must accept that you had Todd in front of you, not Mr Casey. That's called being professional. On the other hand it was your beating that made him harden up and made a success of the whole scene. Perhaps you'd like to make some coffee and when we've drunk that give me hand cleaning up. I've got another client this afternoon. Not an easy one. This one wants a male dressed as a dominatrix. We could do with Carl on board, but until then he'll have to make do with what we can offer." We went down to the kitchen. "By the way, Todd left this twenty pound note as tip for the nurse."

"Thanks, Simon, but put it in the equipment fund and get that metal butt plug. I don't want to accept money from him, whether he's Todd or Casey."

When we'd finished, we went up to the ground floor. Carl wasn't back from his shopping trip. Ryan made us a cup of coffee and then got on with preparing lunch. When Carl did return he was carrying a number of bags. "Good shopping trip?" I asked. He nodded. "Did you buy anything?" I asked, knowing that the question was rather redundant, but I wanted to find out what was in those bags. "All in good time," he answered. "I want to surprise you," and that was the end of that conversation.

After lunch Carl went off to work. I still adored him in his waiter's uniform, particularly as that was what he was wearing when I first met him. Simon was busy with a client and so that left Ryan and me at a loose end. I was thinking of cycling across to see Christian. I didn't want to warn him and if he wasn't at home, at least the ride would have done me some good. Ryan said "You haven't seen my room since I finished it, have you, Rich? Come and have a look." I had the feeling that this wasn't a simple invitation to see his room. He knew I'd been spending most of the time since lunch checking him out and he was playing up to it, especially as I could see his nob dancing around in his soft, washed out, light blue jeans.

"Go on. Show us it," I said, deliberately being ambiguous. I followed him up to the first floor. It was my old room. It looked better for being decorated and he had a double bed in place of my old 'was it a big single or a small double' bed. He had a corner for his computer and a flat screen TV fixed to the wall.

"I paid for all this." He obviously wanted to get the message across that he hadn't been sponging off Simon or that Simon had been indulging him. "Now, let's show you what you really came up here to see." At that he deftly pulled his tanktop over his head, undid the top button on his jeans which fell to the floor and he stepped out of them. And there it was. He was wearing no underwear and here was his groin in all its glory. His neat balls clung to his body while his cut cock, semi-hard, and he afterwards assured me that was as soft as it ever got, sprang loose bouncing above his balls. Above it was the famous oblong of short pubic hair. It was beautiful. His balls were beautiful, his enticing dancing cock was beautiful, his pubes were beautiful, all of him was beautiful. "Don't be afraid. You can touch it. It's not a snake that bites."

There were a couple of circumcised boys at school. One came from a Jewish family, but I'd only seen them from a distance and thought how ugly, what a mess had been made of their pricks, but I'd never seen one so close to as Ryan's, let alone touched or sucked it. My mouth was open in awe, a tacit invitation to take it in, taste it, tease it, savour it, perhaps give him the best blow job he ever had in his life.

I still had time to cycle over to Christian's place. Mrs Aymes answered the door. I introduced myself and was invited in. I met Magnus in the hall while I was waiting for Christian to come down. He said hello and introduced Tristan. I had seen him around at school without realising who he was, but it was obvious for he was a smaller version of Christian. Christian arrived and said hi. He took me up to his room and closed the door. "I was wondering how you were getting on after last weekend," I said.

"Almost forgotten, or it was until Magnus turned up. I gather Tristan's going over to his house tomorrow."

"So how's the boyfriend front?"

"Bad. I shall just have to look around when we get back to school on Monday, but it's never helped before."

"I'll see what I can think of," I said reassuringly, but hardly re-assuring myself. After all I never had much success at school and it was only after finding someone outside that I finally got myself a boyfriend.

"Look, Richard," Christian said, "I haven't had any sex for ages. Jerking yourself off doesn't count. I haven't even done anything with Tristan since he met Magnus."

"I thought Tristan was supposed to be straight."

"So does everybody. What we did went under the heading of older brother teaching younger brother the tricks of the trade. We never thought of it as gay sex. It was just what older brothers do to help younger brothers out. I was wondering… you know… whether we could get something on together. My parents are just going to take Tristan and Magnus into town for the cinema and then they're popping in to see that Gran and Granddad are okay and so we'll have the house to ourselves for an hour." He looked at me so imploringly. My first inclination was to say no, but then I thought that within twenty-four hours I had jerked off one of the teachers from my school, given my guardian's boyfriend a BJ and now I had a friend in need in front of me, and that was without what Carl and me had been getting up to the previous night when we were supposed to be sleeping.

"I don't suppose you've got any lube or any jonnies, Christian?"

"Not here. I was all tooled up for last weekend and then left the stuff locked in my secret drawer at the cottage."

"I'll pop down and see what I've got in the first aid kit in my saddle bag."

"We're not going to go that far, are we?"

"It's up to you. I'm prepared for anything and everything and experience tells me that once your brain gets firmly lodged between your legs anything and everything can happen."

We waited for the great exodus and once the family had gone I retrieved my emergency kit from my cycle, took it upstairs and found what I wanted.

---

Meanwhile it had grown dark. I was woken up by the sound of tyres on gravel. I nudged Christian and grabbed the pile of my clothes on the floor. I don't think I had ever got dressed so quickly. Christian was only seconds behind me. Once dressed, he smoothed out the duvet on his bed, drew the curtains and put the rest of the lights on. "I think I'd better get going anyway." I shoved the emergency kit back into its Waitrose carrier bag and said to Christian "Don't forget to get rid of that jonnie properly before your parents or your brother find it."

"Good thinking. Thanks for coming over. It's always good to learn new tricks."

That evening I was home alone. Carl was at work, Simon and Ryan had gone to a gay club. After the excitements of the day it was rather an anticlimax. The television looked thoroughly boring. I read some books for school, then some of the articles in GY mag. I put the television on for the ITV news and dozed off only to be woken up with a kiss. Carl had arrived home from work. "Don't move," he said. "I'll make the Horlicks and then I want to push my dick up that cute little arse of yours as far as it will go. Afterwards you can tell me all about the day you've had." And that's what happened.

On Sunday morning Carl and I stayed in bed until eleven, and for those readers with salacious minds, not all of that time was spent in having sex. I told Carl about my adventures in the dungeon, and about my experiences with Ryan and Christian. He told me all about a new pageboy who had started work at the hotel and was being trained. The manager only engaged cute boys as pageboys. They were always small for their age, over sixteen, but looking fourteen, and usually gay. Their uniform of white shirt and red bow tie, beige flat fronted trousers and scarlet waistcoats which came no lower than their waists made them a delight to behold and they were unofficially encouraged to provide guests with a room service that did not appear in the hotel guide. Carl had always made it his job to look after the pageboys, particularly when they first joined the staff. Eventually, after a long shower together, Carl and I appeared in the kitchen and had brunch. Unfortunately he would miss out on a roast dinner, but the following week was his weekend off and so he could look forward not only to a roast dinner then, but his introduction to the dungeon.

With school the next day I just chilled out in the afternoon, went to lie on my bed for an hour and woke up two hours later.

The next morning Carl insisted on accompanying me to school. That was fine by me, but that was before I realised that he was insisting on wearing one, or some, of his recent purchases. My heart sank when I saw him, but against my better judgement I went with it. When he came down to breakfast, he was wearing a frock with a floral print which came down to just above the knee. He made sure we all knew what he had on underneath and our Ryan, so inexperienced in such matters, his eyes were out on stalks for Carl was wearing old fashioned three quarter length nylon stockings held up by suspenders and he was supported by a thong.

When we left for school, he put on a colourful patterned anorak. It was quite breezy out and Carl had some trouble keeping the skirt part from blowing up. The worst bit was when it happened passing a building site. Luckily it was the back that rode up in the gust and brought forth a barrage of wolf whistles and ribald remarks which we both took in good part, but imagine what it would have been like if the front had risen up. As we walked along the last quarter of a mile of our route leading to the school gates, I sensed that we had quite a following. Carl gave me a parting kiss before I went through the school gates under the disapproving gaze of Mr Casey. I smiled. He thought it was to appease him, but in reality because I had a flashback to Saturday morning. In the playground I met Christian with Tristan and Magnus talking to each other so animatedly that you would have thought they hadn't seen each other since before half term. As we were talking Rhys-Jones came past and laying on the Valleys accent he shouted "Hey, Landport, why does the biggest queer in the school keep on turning up with a bird? Trying to prove something, are you, or is it your sister?" I flipped him the finger.

"There's no point in even trying to talk to people like that," I said to Christian.

"What are you doing at break, Rich?"

"Not a lot. Why?"

"Just thought we could walk round the fields and you could point out the gayboys in the school. You seem to know about these things."

"We can if you want to, but my gaydar's not all that good. We need Carl for that. Gotta go or I'll be late for tutor group."

"See ya."

I was pleased that things had calmed down during this first week back at school after half term. Of course, in my mind, Mr Casey had been completely written off as a joke and nothing was to alter there between now and when I left school. Christian and I continued to eat our lunch together, but without Magnus who spent his lunchtime with Tristan. Tristan still hadn't had the courage of his convictions to come out, although his parents had their suspicions after observing Christian go through puberty and come out. Christian and I still met in the showers after games. It had become an institution and attracted an audience. That unfortunately turned us into a bit of a circus act which I didn't feel comfortable with, but it also meant that a lot of seniors crowded round the door so that if the supervising master had come by, he wouldn't have seen anything. Oddly enough Christian was always the instigator, probably because I was getting plenty at home, while Christian was to say the least a bit hard up, an infelicitous expression under the circumstances.

The week passed by quickly. Christian still hadn't found a boyfriend. On Friday Carl had been asked to go into work in the morning for staff training, which basically was an induction course for the new pageboy and a refresher for the more experienced ones. Why a waiter should be asked to supervise pageboys, Carl could not quite work out. It seemed obvious to me.

Friday morning maths lesson I felt that familiar vibration in my groin. I already had a hard on because the boy next to me had done very little that lesson other than rearrange his goolies and I couldn't work out whether he knew he was doing it or whether he was doing it on purpose to tease me. While the maths master was writing a formula on the board I fished my phone out of my pocket and saw that I had a text. "Put that phone away, Landport," I heard him bark out without even turning round from the whiteboard. I didn't think anyone else could hear it. However, I'd had sufficient time to see it was Carl and that he would be calling me at morning break and to make sure Christian was there with me.

I had another lesson to go before break during which I couldn't concentrate on either. I got out of that and went to our usual boywatching spot on the edge of the fields. Christian was already there. I'd hardly finished telling him what had happened when my mobile vibrated. It was Carl. «Hi, loverboy. Is Christian there?»

"Sure. Do you want to speak to him?"

«In a minute, but I want to tell you first. I've been in the induction class with this new pageboy and he is hot. Eighteen, so he's entirely legal and he's looking for a boyfriend and this is where Christian comes in.»

"Did you catch all that, Christian?" He nodded. "He said yes, Carl."

«Would he like to go on a blind date?»

Christian said "Tell me more." Carl went on to explain that on Sunday Keith, the pageboy, finished his shift at two and was free to come round to our place for the afternoon and that if Christian happened to be free, they could meet at our place and 'use our facilities'. Christian was already on his phone to his mother to see if he was doing anything in the afternoon. He was supposed to be visiting the grandparents, but if he went round to see them in the morning he needn't go with the family in the afternoon. "I'm free," he said.

"He's free," I said to Carl.

«Okay, we're on,» said Carl. «Keith will be round at our place at about half past two. Must go and tell him it's on.»

After a thirteen hour day Carl was knackered, but he had earned overtime and a day added to his holiday allowance. What a way to begin his free weekend. No sex on Friday evening, but an excuse to stay in bed till late on Saturday. When we were not actually servicing or eating one another, Carl told me a few things about the in-service training morning and Keith, with ten facts about the Royal Hotel I didn't know before. While it enjoyed its role as the premier hotel in town, it also encouraged a quiet and discreet sub-culture, and had done so, at least since the present manager had taken over. It did it by advertising for staff in the popular pink press. It advertised for guests in the glossier pink magazines. "Yes, I remember seeing an ad for it in GY mag."

"And if you'd looked a little more closely, you'd have seen a promotional code offering a reduction on your booking. When you give the promotional code," said Carl "yes, you get your reduction, but it also gives away the source of learning about the hotel and that means that there's a ninety-nine percent chance that you are gay. When you turn up at reception, unless you have asked for something different, you will be given a room on the first floor. Also the duty pageboy knows the significance of that and will make sure in a subtle manner that the guest, if he likes him, knows of his availability and services.

When we did finally get up, Carl wanted to go shopping alone. It meant I could do some background reading for school and think through my programme for Sunday morning. Again he wouldn't tell me what he had in the carriers he brought in with him, but he had also bought two tickets for the theatre that evening, an am-dram production of The Boyfriend . I was to discover Carl's love of musicals and of course tonight was an excuse for him to wear the new long dress he had bought from the YMCA charity shop where a very cute young man helped him choose and found it difficult to stay out of the changing room while Carl was trying it on. In fact, both of them were trying it on.

I thoroughly enjoyed the production of The Boyfriend , mainly because of the enthusiasm with which it was performed and in the chorus there were a number of attractive boys. Carl's wearing a long dress forced me into wearing a suit and tie, which I did willingly for him. He got away with cross-dressing because his hair was such that it looked acceptably short on a girl, but on the longer side for a boy. Also his facial hair had never really developed. He only needed to shave for an evening such as this. I loved him for the boy I was privy to underneath whatever he was wearing. We could hold hands going to, sitting through and returning from the musical without the fear of comment or abuse. "What will you do when your beard develops?"

"Use foundation make up, I suppose," answered Carl.

I have to confess that I was not looking forward to Sunday morning. I'd had a sleepless night worrying about what was going to happen. What I was to do to Carl I would cheerfully have had inflicted on myself by him. I would have also cheerfully have inflicted it on Todd, and more, not so cheerfully, but more easily on Simon, and done it professionally on Ryan because I understood his need.

I was up and had had breakfast by eight and Simon ordered me into the cellar to get ready. He would bring Carl down to the bedroom for nine, disappear while I prepared him and return once he had the blindfold and phones on. He went through to the dungeon and switched the lights to green to give it an eerie atmosphere. Something I discovered, you could also do that to the bedroom and that is the first thing Carl noticed when I led him down the narrow stone steps down to the cellar. With great difficulty I had chosen my dress. With a bare top I was wearing black crotchless tights with a black thong outside to keep my bits and pieces in place, but also so that I could immediately be ready for action when the time came. To that I added an eye mask and black wristbands. In a normal scene it was important not only to make an impression on the sub, but in many cases to maintain anonymity. In this case that was irrelevant. Also once the blindfold was on, what the master wore was irrelevant to the slave, but in the more vigorous scenes it was probably a good idea not to blindfold the sub as that increased the apprehension and fear. In the end I had decided to a large extent to go with the scene that Simon had devised for me. Looking back it had turned out to be an enjoyable experience, but I was not to know that at the time.

I ordered Carl to strip to his undies which turned out to be an old baggy pair of white turned grey boxers. Had someone hinted at what might happen? I put him through the routine: first thumbless mittens, the black ones, although colour was meaningless in the green light which neutralised him, and ankle cuffs. I helped him negotiate the path through 'Narnia', which in itself was sufficient to amaze him and therefore unbalance him mentally. Arriving in the dungeon he took a sharp intake of breath, for by this time his eyes had accustomed themselves to the dim light and he was just able to identify the cage, the stocks and, of course, the Chair. He started to ask questions, but I commanded silence and pulled him into the centre of the room. "X marks the spot," I barked. "Stand on it," and while he was manœuvring his feet, I clipped the small spacer bar onto his mittens, quickly screwed on a karabiner already attached to a chain round the bar and hoisted his arms. Ninety percent disabled. I connected a chain rather than a spacer bar to the ankle cuffs to make it easier for him to keep his balance. Now the blindfold. The initial preparation was almost complete. As if on cue, Simon slipped silently into the dungeon and took a seat in the corner. I adjusted the headphones over Carl's ears and made sure the white noise was switched on. We left Carl to his own devices for a few minutes. I relaxed and looked admiringly at his body, which turned out to be an oxymoron, for my dick certainly wasn't relaxing. It was pushing impatiently against my black thong, but it wasn't time to slip it off yet. I did take off my Batman and Robin eye mask.

Simon changed the lights from green to bright yellow light. My adrenalin was running, but I had to control my impetuosity. There is something about stretching the body which makes it that much sexier; the waist narrows, the ribcage protrudes. I walked across to Carl, put my hand through the piss slit of his boxers and pulled out his cock and balls. His cock immediately stiffened and I started to play with it. Then I recalled Simon's admonition that this was to be a tease and that the sub's orgasm was to be the last action in the scene. I wiped off the accumulated precum with my courting finger and savoured it on the tip of my tongue, then squeezed his balls, enough to cause him slight discomfort and remind him what bondage was about. The tease continued as I kissed him on the lips and played my tongue along his lips, withdrawing it whenever he tried to respond with his. Time for the bit, I thought, if he wants to play that game. I inserted it without any resistance and our tongues met. At the same time I played with his dick and balls, confident that I could stop before pushing over the edge. So far it had worked.

It was time to get serious. I ran my hands over Carl's body, tweaking his hard nipples. I needed some lube. I started anointing the top half of his body with baby oil, but found his boxers getting in the way. A couple of deft snips with the large scissors soon got rid of them and I could oil the important parts, his loins and his butt. Lubing his tackle again nearly brought him to orgasm, but I managed to disappoint him. I took care oiling his crevice and hole and completed the move by pushing in a butt plug. It slid in like a dream. My cock must be doing a good job on him, I thought.

I was getting pretty near the edge myself and wondered how long I could still keep control. I still had some tasks to perform. Time was getting on and half an hour was the longest recommended length of a scene under Simon's rules. I took the flail and tried to beat Carl, but my love for him weakened my arm and the token strokes, whether on his back or his butt, tickled and irritated more than hurt. I was working up to the finale. I removed the bit from his mouth and replaced it with a gag with the penis shaped insert. He wasn't being noisy. It was just that I thought he should have the experience of a proper gag. After the dry mouth from the bit, the penis gag made him dribble inordinately. I lowered the hoist holding his arms aloft, took off the spacer bar from his wrists and guided him across to the stocks. It was here that Simon stepped in for the arm of the stocks was heavy and it was difficult to control it and a sub at the same time. Once he was secured it was off with the thong, my released cock reached its full length and breadth. I removed the butt plug and, with a quick smear of K-Y, quickly replaced it with my own equipment.

My orgasm was quick, too quick. My spunk dribbled onto the floor. Carl and I had given up condoms in our love-making. The stocks do not make a very good instrument for sharing a cream pie. I put some oil on my hand, reached up between Carl's legs and massaged his balls and cock. I did not have to wait long until he shot his load onto the floor and the scene was over.

I stood back, looking at my partner, full of love and admiration for him and thinking what a marvellous slave he had been. I knew what my shortcomings as a master were, and no doubt Simon would pick them up in the debrief, but I simply could not hurt or harm my beloved. If I am to be judged as a master, then let it be with someone I don't know.

I washed my hands and put my thong and eye mask back on. Simon gave me a hug and said "Well done. I realise that can't have been easy for you." We tidied up before Simon switched the lights to red and disappeared. I took the phones, blindfold and gag off Carl and released him from the stocks. I took him in a long and emotional hug. It didn't matter that his body was oozing with oil, providing he didn't squidge out of my arms like a bar of soap in the showers. I turned up the white light and he looked around. He found it hard to take everything in. Eventually I told him to get himself showered and changed and I'd see him in the kitchen for a cup of tea when he was ready. I also told him not to touch anything because we would have to come down and clean up before lunch and he could have a guided tour then.

Ryan was duty chef that day, which allowed Simon to spend time with us. We both watched the video and Simon pointed certain things out. It had been a learning curve for me. I still had to prove myself, but it wouldn't be on Carl ever again.

Over a cup tea we explained to Simon and Ryan that we had Christian and Keith coming round after lunch. They said they would be out as there was a charity art exhibition that Ryan particularly wanted to see. So we'd have the house to ourselves, not that it would have made any difference.

Once the cleaning up in the dungeon had been done, Carl and I could grab half an hour together. He knew that I hadn't given him the full works; he knew that I couldn't give him the full works. However, this weakness had strengthened out relationship. Carl had undergone some form of rite, a rite of passage, which put him on an equal footing with the rest of the family. He would never need to do it again; or it could have sown a seed from which might grow an interest in bondage. My attitude was still ambivalent. Bondage had awoken in me an intellectual curiosity which could only be satisfied by physical participation. Soon it would be decision time, but one thing I was already certain of. I would never involve Carl again. If he decided to progress in the art, he was on his own as far as I was concerned.

"So your general impressions were?" I asked Carl.

"I liked the way you cut me off from the external world – the green lighting, Narnia, the deprivation of the senses – sight, hearing, taste too – it enhanced the sense of feeling and made my brain work overtime trying to make sense of what was going on. I'd rather you made love to me than be raped while held in the stocks. The need to come off and not being allowed to was gentle torture, worse than the whipping."

"That was no whipping," I countered. "You saw the weals on my back the other night and that was nowhere near a professional flogging, either. Are you mad at me, Carl?"

"Mad at you? Why should I be?"

"Well, it was neither one thing nor another. It wasn't tough enough for a real session. I feel I've let you down."

"Come here, Rich. Put your arms around me, let's forget all about the session and just think of this." At that he sank his tongue in my mouth and it was just beginning to get interesting when Ryan called up the stairs that lunch was being served and would be ready in five minutes.

I must say that Ryan roasted the beef beautifully, nice and pink in the middle. It was his first masterpiece since moving in. We all praised him and got up from the table to give him a hug. My hug just raised another problem and I don't mean my dick, although that did happen. Here I was, living in a house with three other gay men, and to a greater or lesser extent and in different ways I was in love with them all. Carl was my partner, perhaps eventually my life partner or husband – or wife all according to the way he was dressed, I smiled to myself – and then there was Simon. I could understand my love for him. It was more like that of a father for in a few weeks he had proved himself a far better father towards me than my own ever had. Now the situation had become even more complicated with the arrival of Ryan. He'd been living with us for ten days and I had already given him one blowjob and I don't think it will be the last time. I adored all three of my boys and I think at least two of them adored me. They were giving me something my parents failed to give. Why?

I had no doubt that they were my parents. I'd inherited a large mole on my left hip, exactly where Dad had one. I'd asked if I'd been an accident, which they both denied, perhaps too vehemently for me to believe them. "A penny for your thoughts," said Simon loudly and at the same time Carl gave me a sharp dig in the ribs.

"Uh! What?"

"You tell us," said Ryan. "You've been away with the fairies."

"I've been away with the fairies since before Christmas," I joked, trying to cover my embarrassment.

"You haven't spoken a word for the last five minutes," said Carl.

"Or eaten anything, which is more to the point," added Simon. I realised that I had been daydreaming. Yet it hadn't been a dream. Some very pertinent thoughts had been running though my mind, I thought, as it came to me just what I had been thinking.

"I'll tell you later, Carl."

"They must have been important thoughts," remarked Simon "if they have to be kept for pillow talk."

"They were," I assured him and no one was prepared to argue.

"Pudding anyone?" enquired Ryan.

The clock on the kitchen wall advanced relentlessly. Carl and I had to prepare for two guests. Simon and Ryan had to get off to their art exhibition. It was easy enough to stack the dishwasher and leave it to get on with the job.

I went up to our room with Carl. "How are we going to organise this?" I asked.

"Good question," he replied. "It's hard to answer because we're not sure what we're going to achieve. Let's try and be logical about this. I have a new colleague that I want to introduce to my family and friends. I also want to give him the lowdown after the official induction day. I'm worried because I won't always be able to keep an eye on Keith because he works early or late shifts. My time is fixed. Also our rest days don't match."

"I want to introduce him to Christian because he is desperate to find a boyfriend. Also he is even more desperate to have some sex."

"Okay," said Carl. "So we've got to give them that opportunity."

"What does Keith want from this meeting?"

"He wants to know how to do his job properly. I think he too is after some fun time," said Carl.

"Let's do this," I said. "Christian should turn up about quarter past two. I'll answer the door and take my time talking to him while we put his bike in the garage. I'll tell him that Keith's gay, hot and randy as hell and he's up for it. If they want to use our room, they can, and we'd better leave out some supplies. Christian's not too well organised in that department. We can go and make some tea, but I'll tell him the kettle takes a long time to boil and then we'll call them after about an hour. Now what time will Keith arrive?"

"Hard to tell. Sunday at the hotel is busy during the day, but largely with non-residents. I think he will arrive after Christian, but I'll do the same for him. I'll meet and greet, tell him that Christian is as gay as they come and really likes his sex, but hasn't got a boyfriend and he wants one. I'll tell him when we go off to make the tea, they can use our room and we won't disturb them for an hour or more. Don't put the lavender oil out, Rich. It's too damn expensive. They can have a choice of K-Y or vaseline and like it. It doesn't matter about them using our condoms. We don't use them these days."

"Yeah, but I wouldn't use vaseline. It stops your skin from breathing and makes your foreskin itch. Otherwise that's okay, and as far as the Durex are concerned, don't forget that this wife-swapping party might still be on with Simon and Ryan."

"We'll worry about that if and when," replied Carl. "Simon's good, you reckon?"

"He taught me everything I knew before I met you, and Ryan's no slouch, either… or at least that's what I've heard. You haven't seen him in his birthday suit yet?"

"Am I likely to?"

"Oh, yeah. The first time was when I watched the DVD of his first scene in the dungeon before Simon fell in love with him and he wanders around the house starkers, looking like a lost Dalek. He just needs to repeat 'Inseminate, inseminate!' in an electronic voice and he'd be perfect."

There was a ring at the doorbell. I looked out of the window. It was Christian. "Now, there's a bonus, Carl. He's in his proper cycling gear."

"Did he ride his bike over?" asked Carl with a grin.

Keith must have turned up while I was briefing Christian in the garage for he was already talking to Carl in the sitting room. I was taken aback when I saw him. The same age as me, he was easily the shortest of the four of us. He was still in his page's uniform and because it was chilly out he was wearing the tunic which reached all the way down to belly button level and because the traditional trousers had a front flap which buttoned at the sides of the waist instead of zip fly there was no doubt that he was all boy, or more precisely all man.

Carl introduced us. Keith gave me the queers' handshake and I returned it as we hugged, and made sure our groins rubbed. That was an outstanding experience. I introduced Christian whose eyes were out on stalks. I don't think Keith was far behind him as he stared at Christian's cycling shorts. We chatted for a few more minutes until I said "Why don't you come and see our new rooms on the second floor?" Neither of our visitors had seen my old ones on the first floor to compare, but they were happy to come upstairs with us. They were impressed that while we each had our own rooms, the largest bedroom was fitted out as a bedsit for us to share. I put on the wireless for some background music, classical easy listening, just in case there were any awkward silences.

"Make yourselves at home and make use of the facilities," said Carl.

"The bathroom is through that door there," I added. "We've put towels out in case you feel like a shower."

"We're just off down to the kitchen to make some tea," said Carl. After their briefings, I don't think we could have been more explicit if we'd said 'Get your kit off and start shagging. We won't be disturbing you.'

Carl and I went down to the sitting room. I looked at my watch. "Hmm, four o'clock's time enough to put the kettle on."

"So what are we going to do?"

"I've got an idea for a new game," I said.

"Go on."

"We make out on the sofa and the first one who touches his own or the other one's dick or balls loses. Also if you come off in your pants, you lose and the loser has to be the bottom tonight."

"That's a pleasure, not a loser's forfeit," protested Carl. "I've got a better idea."

"What's that?"

"Despite being off work for two days I didn't mentioned that I managed to get from work a waitress's uniform, you know, black dress, white apron and white cap. They throw them out after so long and give the waitresses new ones. There's nothing wrong with the kit. It seems such a waste. So I suggest that the loser wears it for the rest of the day, starting with serving tea to our guests."

"Does touching mean just with our hands or frottage as well?"

"We'll leave frottage in because the first one to use it will probably come off worse."

"Ho, ho, ho," I exaggerated while rubbing my belly. "So basically the idea of the game is to make the other one come off first without hands in the groin area."

That's right and disqualification has the same penalty as losing."

"You're on." We were about to shake hands on it when Carl said no and we sealed it with a kiss. That was the off.

First of all the game was not as simple as it sounded. We were by now well used to snogging with each other, but doing it without rubbing crotches or feeling each other up, now that was something else, quite a challenge. The next thing was that you had to concentrate. Normally we let ourselves go. Then the more you stimulated your other half, the more you became stimulated yourself. Finally after much osculatory jousting, I was declared the loser for coming in my pants, but that also freed me from the rules of engagement and I soon had Carl's groin as wet and sticky as mine was.

I accepted my penalty. We went up and showered on the first floor so as not to disturb the goings in our room. Then into Carl's bedroom, first to view the waitress's uniform and then with Carl's help to put it on. I thought I was simply going to slip it on, but oh, no. Carl was a perfectionist. First I had to fetch my black thong from my room and put it on. After that he produced a suspender belt which he fitted round me. I already had a horn again, despite having shot my load some twenty minutes earlier. Thank goodness my dick was trapped in my thong for it grew harder as I admired myself in the full length mirror. I needed some help with the three-quarter length black stockings. Carl took photographs with his phone and sent them to his and my computers. He lent me a white blouse and helped me on with the skirt. It was a perfect fit. "If it fits me, it'll fit you," he said. After that the apron and the starched cap. "Go and put on your black slippers." More snaps. "Now lift your skirt at the back and look at yourself in the mirror." My semi-soft dick hardened up again. I looked extremely sexy with the suspenders framing my lilywhite butt cheeks. "Whaw!" said Carl. "I could take you just like that."

"Behave yourself. It's time we made some tea."

We went down to the kitchen and I put the kettle on. We put everything on a large tray and I carried it up to our room. Carl knocked on the door and called out "Room service." Someone said 'come in'. I don't know who was most surprised, Christian and Keith when they saw me dressed as a waitress, or Carl and me when we saw Christian completely naked and Keith in his aussiebum briefs, which are designed to make the package protrude rather than flatten it. Now I knew the secret of his page's uniform trousers. It was not just the flap front.

Christian put on his cycling shorts and Keith put his page's uniform back on while Carl cleared a space for me to put the tray down. "You didn't have to dress just to serve us tea," said Christian.

"Do we have to give you a tip?" asked Keith.

"The only tips we're interested in," I retorted, "are the tips of your dicks and where you point them."

"That can be arranged," boasted Christian. As Carl cleared some space on the desk, I noticed him sweep a Durex foil in to the wastepaper basket, but saw no trace of the contents. Must look under the bed, I thought. We don't want Mrs Potter to find it when she comes in to 'do' tomorrow, do we?

After we'd drunk our tea, Christian finished dressing and both boys took their leave. Carl and I sat in the kitchen and had another cup of tea. "So what do you think?" said Carl.

"About what?"

"Everything."

"Well," I said, "I'll find out something from Christian tomorrow."

"And I'll go into work a bit earlier. Then I can catch Keith when he ends his shift."

"The only thing that pissed me off was that I missed Keith in the buff."

"You should have said. He'd have dropped them for you just like that. Mind you, you would have had to have done the same for him, but somehow I don't think that would have fazes you."

"Not a prob. I adore checking out boys and sometimes you simply have to pay for your pleasure."

"You'd have liked what you saw, as well. Keith's got one of those sausage type dicks, and I mean sausage, more bratwurst than chipolata, that on the rare occasions he's not hard or semi-hard, hangs dead vertical and swings along with his balls as he walks. Have you managed to check out Tristan and Magnus?"

"Nah, it's very difficult when you're three years apart. You get two chances a year, sports day and swimming gala. I should think Tristan's a clone of Christian, but Magnus… now you have got me interested. I'll work on that for tomorrow."

We heard the front door open and in came Simon and Ryan. "Hey, I didn't realise it was fancy dress tonight," said Simon.

"Okay, so I lost a competition and this is the booby prize," I said.

"Give us a twirl," said Ryan. So I did and his eyes were out on stalks when he saw my bare butt which the lingerie had no hope of covering. Something told me he'd want some pay back after the blowjob I gave him the other day.

"It's odd," said Simon. "We've just been talking with old Mrs Haskins from next door and she said 'It's nice to see your brother walking out with such a pretty young lady.'" We all howled with mirth.

"So how long are you going round like that, Richard?" asked Ryan.

"Till he goes to bed," answered Carl with a malicious giggle.

"Which will be about seven o'clock, the way things are panning out," I added.

So Monday morning came around and a new week began. Carl walked me to school, but dressed in tee shirt, hoodie and Levi's. We said goodbye on the corner at the end of the road so as not to cause too much confusion among the school community. Unfortunately we were not early or late enough to avoid Ianto Rhys-Jones. "There's lovely, Landport," he shouted out for all to hear. "I see you're back with that faggot boyfriend of yours. What's up with your girlfriend? Is she not getting enough because you can't get it hard for a girl, bach?" We did our best to ignore him. It would have been too easy to thump him, but that's exactly what he wanted and Todd could easily have turned up just at the wrong moment. He already owed me one bout of nastiness, two if he only but knew it. I said goodbye to Carl, walked the hundred yards to school gate where Mr Casey was indeed watching the safe arrival of his flock and hoping to find at least one misbehaving so that he could start the week the way he intended it to continue by inflicting misery on the unsuspecting pupil, girls included for he didn't see why he should ration his malevolence to just half of the school population.

Lessons started to build up pressure for the run up to A-levels. I wondered how many of my classmates had sex on tap at home and plenty of it? Most of them had to rely on a hand job morning and night and a quick fumble with their girlfriends at weekends. Frustration was one thing I did not suffer from. Except… I had two things on my mind. Morning break, while we were walking round the fields, I would get the lowdown from Christian about him and Keith and lunch break I had a little task to perform if I wanted to satisfy my curiosity, and Carl's it seemed.

'Well, Christian, how did you get on with Keith yesterday?"

"Mmm, okay."

"Just okay?"

"Weell… more than okay."

"If you left a used jonnie under the bed, it must have been more than okay." Christian blushed.

"We wondered where it had gone. We meant to tidy up after ourselves."

"For goodness' sake, Christian, have I got to send it for a DNA test to find out who did what with what and to whom?"

"Oh," said Christian. "You want to know what we did." I sighed with exasperation.

"Not just that. Let's start at the beginning. Are you going to see each other again?"

"Oh, yes."

"Good. On a date?"

"Yes, on Friday, we're going ten pin bowling."

"Is that it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you can't strip off in the middle of a lane and shag. Those balls come down at quite a rate and can cause a nasty injury."

"Oh, I see. No, I'm going back to his place for a sleep over. His parents don't mind him having boyfriends at home. He's got Saturday off and starts late shifts on Sunday."

"Okay, so you're almost boyfriends."

"I'll tell you next Monday."

"You'll tell me Saturday morning. I'm always at the end of a mobile. I know he's good looking because I saw him in his aussiebums. So what did you do?"

"We snogged a bit, got our kit off, he got me to lie on my back with my legs in the air and he did the dirty deed."

"Was he good?"

"Very good. You could tell it wasn't the first time he's done that." Having reached the farthest point away from the school buildings they heard the bell ring for the end of break. They had to hurry back so as not to be late for lessons.

Two more frustrating lessons, then lunch. We sat as a foursome. Any animosity between Christian and Tristan over stealing Magnus for his boyfriend seemed to have been forgotten. Tristan was still being ambivalent over whether he'd come out or not. Without engaging gaydar it was obvious to us, and with his best friend Magnus being openly gay to boot, but still Tristan had not actually said the words 'I am gay', and while Christian knew all about his younger brother, Tristan had not yet plucked up the courage to tell their parents, even though his brother had acted as the pathfinder for him.

The boys had finished their lunch and were content to remain sitting there to chat. Eventually Magnus piled up his tray and stacked it on the trolley. "I must go and have a slash before lessons start," he announced.

"Me too," I said, seizing the opportunity. "See you in the changing room, Christian."

Magnus and I left the dining room, went through the doors and as Magnus was about to turn right, my guiding hand led him gently by the shoulder to the left. "I thought you were going…"

"I am, but I always use the one in the east wing by the girls' main toilet."

"I didn't know there was one there," said Magnus.

"You learn something new every day."

"You can't learn something old," he said cheekily.

"You can, but they call it history."

We passed the girls' loos and a couple of girls coming out checked us out. 'Bloody cheek,' I whispered. 'We don't go round looking at their tits.'

"Not bad," I heard one say when she had gone past us. "Is she talking about you or me, Magnus?"

"Me, of course." The spring closed the door of the boys' toilet behind us. It consisted of one cubicle, a wash basin with a Dyson hand dryer and a stainless steel knee high trough with barely standing room for two grown boys. This was why I liked it. It was intimate and you could be naughty without interference from a third person. (Is interference the right word in this context?) We stood there and unzipped. "Are you checking me out?" said Magnus.

"Of course. You don't think I'd walk all the way from the west wing just to have a pee, do you? Especially when I've got to go back again to get to the changing rooms?" Magnus shook off when he'd finished.

"In that case…" and he undid his belt and the clasp at the top of the fly and let his trousers fall to his knees.

The whole cluster was so aesthetically as well as sexually attractive. 'I bet he's a grower,' I said to myself. I hauled out my iPhone and took some photos. "You can touch it if you want. You won't be the first," Magnus said. I took hold of his prick and gave it a couple of wanks. A frisson went through his body. He was beginning to chub up. "Now let me see yours." I did the same and my trousers fell to my knees. I let Magnus handle the goods. He had a very gentle and reverent touch. I was beginning to chub up too. "Hey, Richard, you've got no hair."

"I know. I shave it."

"Why's that?"

"It's cleaner, it shows off the crown jewels better and my boyfriend doesn't get his teeth flossed every time he sucks me."

"You're gross."

"I know, but you love it. You can stroke the smooth skin, if you want." After we'd felt each other up, I notice by my watch that time was going on and I had to go and get changed for games. It was house rugby matches. We pulled up our trousers without getting a result and washed our hands.

We left and as we did, who should be coming in as we were going out, but Ianto Rhys-Jones. "Perverting the flower of England's youth again, Landport?" I had just about had enough. I looked around. No one else about.

"Keep watch, Magnus," I said as I followed Rhys-Jones back into the bog. The adrenalin must have taken over for I felt a sudden surge of strength in my body. I grabbed Rhys-Jones's arm in a lock and bent him forward.

"You'll have to take my trousers down if you're going to bum me, but I expect you've got the one-handed technique down to a tee."

"That's an art and much too good for the likes of you. That filthy mind of yours needs cleansing," and at that I forced him into the cubicle, bent him double until his head was in the pan and then I pushed the flush. After the cistern had emptied, I released him and walked out. Even a Dyson hand dryer cannot do much about drying hair, the face and the shoulders of a school blazer. "I don't think we'll have much trouble from him now," I told Magnus. "It won't do his image much good, if people are told about the impromptu hairwash."

As we walked along the corridor, Magnus asked me what I was going to do with the photos I'd taken. "I'm going to sext them to you and my computer and then I'm going to photoshop the best one onto my teddy bear."

"You really are a sicko, Rich, but I like you."

"You mean you've never had sex with your teddy?"

"A sock, yes, two pillows, yes, even a vacuum cleaner, but that hurt and put me out of action for a few days, but never with a teddy, and I've got three."

"I know how to be kind to my teddy bear. I've had more shags with him than I have with Carl," I said, "though we are trying to do something about that."

Magnus and I parted, me towards the changing rooms. "Sorry, I'm late, Christian."

"You could have used the bogs in the changing room here, Richard."

"Not for the business I've just done."

"Eh? You haven't done the dirty business on Magnus, have you? You baby snatcher!"

"No, something far more significant than that. Tell you in the shower after the match."

We returned to the changing room after winning the match. House matches were always played in a bad spirit. They became grudge matches. Rhys-Jones wasn't in the house we'd been playing against. That pleasure was to come in a future round. I played out of position in house matches, ostensibly to beef up the pack, but I had an ulterior motive. I was in the second row which gave me a good excuse if I happened to grope my prop, not that he objected. Indeed, I would swap over with my other lock from time to time so that the tight head got his fair share when we scrummed down. He wasn't wearing anything under his shorts – stupid bugger. Rugby was one game where you didn't let anything hang loose because it could so easily get grabbed, even by accident, and your team members and the opposition never discriminated. Out of thirty players twenty-seven were statistically straight, but there was never any discrimination for or against sexuality in a rugby match, particularly a house rugby match. Much more personal and important things were at stake.

So Christian and I were on a high as we let the hot water rinse away the mud and soothe the bruising and aches and pains. "So what was this 'significant' something that you did to Magnus?"

"I didn't say I did anything to him. Even saying I did something with him gives the wrong impression. That oaf from the Valleys came into the toilets just as we were leaving."

"You mean your friend and compatriot Ianto Rhys-Jones?"

"Friend certainly not, and you know I officially rejected my Welshness on my eighteenth birthday after my Welsh family rejected me. Anyway, back to Rhys-Jones. He started shouting his mouth off about me despoiling a youth when I just had enough. Usually he makes sure he's got an audience, but he hadn't this time. So I took him in a wrist lock, marched him into the loo, then bent his arm and shoved him into the cubicle, forced his head down the lavatory pan and flushed it."

"Ooh, I bet that was a sight," said Christian. "Of course, that explains it now. Some kids were getting on at him, saying it was usual to shower after the match, not before, and he couldn't tell anybody why he was in the state he was in because he'd lose face."

"Still, that's our secret," I replied. "And Magnus's and he'll tell Tristan…"

"Who will tell me…" added Christian.

"And anyone else we choose to tell. And not so much of the baby snatcher, either," I said.

I carried on washing my hair. "Which reminds me. I almost forgot why I went there with Magnus in the first place. I wanted to check him out."

"Obviously, and did you?"

"Yes, but it cost me."

"So you did do something with him. So what was the cost?"

"He wanted to check me out."

"Did you let him?"

"How could I refuse a request like that? Naturally, and he wanted to feel me up. I can tell you that hand was no stranger to other boys' balls, but the great thing was that he let me take pics."

"Can you send me them, please?"

"They're already on your computer and in case you can't wait until you get home, this is what he's like. He's got very short pubic hair, natural, not trimmed. His balls are average size…"

"Average for a Year 9 boy?"

"No, average, period, and stop interrupting when I'm drooling over a boy. They protrude which makes his cock jut forward. His cock is stubby with the foreskin just reaching over the rim of his acorn, leaving three-quarters of it exposed to the air."

"So he's cut?"

"Don't know. Hard to tell. You can study the pics when you get home or ask Tristan and don't forget to let me know."

"You sod, you've given me a stiffie now."

"Hadn't you noticed? I've had a raging boner for the last five minutes. We'd better do something about it while there's still some hot water left and there are enough people in here to hide us from the doorway."

"Hey, lads," shouted Christian. "We're going to have a wank, if you want to watch." The crowd gathered and the rhythmic clapping began.

I was on a real high that evening when I got home. "You look in a good mood," said Ryan. Simon hadn't arrived home yet and so Ryan was starting to get the tea ready.

"And so I should be," I replied. "Great day. I got the lowdown on Christian and Keith. They're on for a date. We won our rugby match, I've had more sex today than in any other single day at school and I've sorted out our community homophobe. Once and for all I hope. Oh, I almost forgot. We also had some lessons which helped our preparation for A-levels."

"Don't forget to put your dirty rugger stuff into the washing machine before it stinks the place out."

"OMG! What is wrong with this family? I forgot to put my kit into the machine once, ONCE, and I get grief every time I've had a game."

"Calm down, Richard. I'm only taking the piss."

"And it does not stink. It smells," at which I unzipped my sports bag, undid the plastic bag, hauled out my shorts, which did admittedly exude an aroma of sweaty arse, extricated my jockstrap which was still screwed up inside them, put it to my nose and took a deep breath. "Aaah!" I exhaled. "Try it, Ryan," and he did.

"I've got a bloody boner now, thanks to you," exclaimed Ryan.

"So I noticed," I said, giving his crotch a feel, " and you're wearing underwear today."

"I usually do when I have to go to work and remember you owe me a blowjob."

"You'll have to wait. It's only an hour since I had a wank."

"You could still blow me. We need some cream for the scones."

"Thank you, Ryan. I shall look forward to eating them now. Does that cancel out the debt?"

"No way. It doubles it."

"Oh, all right. Your place or mine?"

"Yours. In case Simon comes home early."

"You're on, but let me get this kit into the machine first or I'll never hear the last of it."

"The loan of your jock could cancel out the debt."

"Certainly not, but you can borrow it anyway."

"Can I spunk up in it?"

"With pleasure, but be sure to tell me if you do and don't you dare wash it. I'll need it for school on Wednesday." I sighed. "And to think I was the one who was called gross and a sicko earlier on."

I put my kit minus jock into the machine, then went up to the second floor with Ryan. When we'd finished, I said "I'd like to grow my pubes like yours. Is it difficult?"

"You have to start from nothing, then shave every three days or so and it will take about a month for a reasonable result. It gets easier after that."

"Will you shave mine for me, Ryan?"

"A pleasure, dear boy. We'll start after tea."

We got dressed. Ryan just stuffed his undies into his jeans pocket. We went back down to the kitchen and washed our hands. Ryan put the scones into the oven which had been heating up while we were upstairs. I took my rugby kit out of the machine and hung it up in the scullery to dry. When I got back to the kitchen, Simon was home.

It was one of those evenings. Tea was late because Simon had arrived home late. After tea Ryan went to work on my pubes. That was another half an hour even with no hanky panky. Then Christian rang up. Tristan was in a paddy because he hadn't been sent the photos of Magnus. He was supposed to be his boyfriend, after all. "But you're not out, Tris." Christian rectified that by sending the pics to his computer. However, his appeasement did work and Tristan called Magnus who promised to deliver a dissertation on his dick at the lunch table the next day, but then he was in a mood because pictures of his dick and balls were being sent here, there and everywhere, which was a slight exaggeration. [Example of using a hyperbolic word such as exaggeration in litotes.] So it was nine o'clock before I could even open my schoolbag and begin my homework. Carl came in at a quarter past ten. This was followed by communal Horlicks in the kitchen where the four of us chatted about how our day had gone. After that we said good night and I could tell Carl the important things, including about Ryan. Early on we had decided on an open relationship, providing we were both actually open and honest, to such a time when we committed to a civil partnership or became engaged to be married. Keith had fallen head over heels in love with Christian, but had neglected to tell him. He now had a problem with his 'extra duties', but until he had declared his amour to his amour , the problem would remain.

Exhausted, they finished their conversation with Richard's description of St George's slaying of the Welsh dragon, not forgetting that the historical St George was not English, either. "Carl, I want you to do me a favour, two in fact."

"I take it this is not a sexual favour," he replied.

"Not really. I want you to walk me to school tomorrow, right up to the school gates, and if Rhys-Jones has the guts to be there, kiss me goodbye. Then on Wednesday, I'd like Carlie to do the same."

"A pleasure. It would be good to show a sign of solidarity."

"Then we'll see if he really has learnt his lesson."

"We'd better get some sleep," said Carl. "It'll be an early morning start for me and so no nookie."

"Now I wouldn't say that," I said before settling down for a good night kiss."

Carl was as good as his word the next morning. We walked all the way hand in hand and timed our journey so as to arrive when Rhys-Jones would most likely be there. He was not, but Mr Casey was. Carl gave me the pre-arranged peck on the cheek. "You boy, come here," Mr Casey bawled from ten yards away. Carl looked at me and said he was staying as a witness. Meanwhile Christian had joined us. He could see I was in trouble. Carl held him back from going through the school gate and they stood as close to the boundary fence as possible.

I had not been prepared for this, but yesterday's confrontation had not only shown that bullies can be defeated, but that I can deal with the situation in a cool and rational manner, despite the adrenalin rush. I marched up to Mr Casey and said "My name is Richard Landport, not 'You, boy', as you well know… sir!"

"I want none of your insolence." I felt so cool headed that I didn't even have to think back to Todd with the freak penis in the dungeon. "That kiss with that boy was not only a show of defiance, but a disgusting act in itself."

"We are both over eighteen, sir. There was nothing illegal about it and would you show me where a ban on a kiss between family members appears in the school rules? Also you will have noticed that Carl kissed me. I did not kiss him… sir!"

"I have had this kind of insolence from you before, boy. You will see me in my office at morning break. Now get to your tutor group."

"Yes… sir!"

I waved at Carl who called out 'good luck' and Christian quickly caught me up. The gaggle of spectators dispersed. "This could really mean trouble," said Christian.

"I think not. It will go to the Headmaster and last time the Headmaster was fair. Look, I've got things to do. Be a good buddy and keep your phone switched on for a text. Ring tone off."

I found a quiet corner of the playground and pressed speed dial for Simon. He answered straightaway. «I gather you're in trouble with Mr Casey again. Carl just called me. Do you want me to come into school?»

"Not at the moment. That really would put the cat among the pigeons if Casey saw you, but that's the ultimate."

«You know that on a serious disciplinary matter that you're entitled to have a 'friend' accompanying you?»

"I didn't. I'll ask Carl to come in."

«I wouldn't. He's your chief witness. Is there anybody else?»

"Christian?"

«He'll do. His role is chiefly as a witness, but also to advise, and if necessary, speak for you, but I think you are quite capable of doing that yourself.»

"I think I know how I want to handle it in the first instance and I think that will squash the matter once and for all, but I need your permission."

«All right. Tell me about it.»

I told Simon what I was planning to do, emphasising it was ninety-nine percent certain that it would not jeopardise our extra-curricular activities, though it might mean losing a client. «We have a waiting list,» answered Simon. «You go ahead. I'll get my PA to keep me free after the beginning of your break time and ring any time you have to. You know the mobile bypasses reception and my PA. Good luck.»

I cut the call and walked into school, straight into my tutor. "We missed you at registration, Richard."

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm in trouble with Mr Casey again and I was just getting advice from home."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"There probably will be, but can I tell you after break, if he doesn't exclude me."

"Richard, only the Headmaster has the authority to exclude."

"Thank you, sir. I'll speak to you, whatever happens."

"Good luck." Why is everybody wishing me good luck?

I arrived at my first class late, which meant a whole lot more explaining. Second period was free for me. I needed to plan. Bang went the time I was going to use to catch up on last night's homework. 'Tell them the cat peed on it,' Simon would have said. 'But I've told you a million times before, Simon, we haven't got a cat.' At least I was maintaining my sense of humour. I texted Christian to meet me between periods two and three. He texted back and we met, which made me late for period three. He had a study period. I couldn't concentrate on the teacher because I was rehearsing my little party piece in my mind and trying to anticipate any snags. Finally the bell rang. I dashed out to have a pee before meeting Christian outside the Deputy Head's office.

"You okay?" I asked Christian.

"Yes. Are you okay?"

"As okay as I'll ever be. Let's go." I knocked and on the command 'come' we walked in.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"What are you doing here, Aymes?"

"I am entitled to have a friend with me on a serious disciplinary matter… sir!" I said.

"I'm not having any of this industrial H R nonsense in the this school. You can go, Aymes." Christian looked at me and I looked at him and I nodded towards the door. He left, but not without making a show of writing notes on his pad about what was happening.

"I'll wait outside, Rich."

"Landport, you were involved with a kiss from a boy in full view of the school this morning, which you then compounded with insolence. I spoke to you earlier this term about a case of impudence that I judged serious enough to be placed on your school record and which our Headmaster subsequently judged should be erased. I intend to enter this insolence on your file in Indian ink now and write to your parents. Since the Headmaster is at a conference today, the letter will be safely delivered by our Royal Mail to your parents before the Headmaster can possibly get to hear about it."

I was standing in front of Mr Casey's desk, breathing slowly, experiencing some adrenalin, but scarcely a rush, as I was waiting to deliver the coup de grâce .

"Have you anything to say for yourself, Landport?"

"Nothing further to what I said in the playground this morning… sir!"

"You had better wipe that smirk off your face, boy." Undaunted I continued.

"Except that my parents are divorced and that I have not been living with either of them for months. I have been living with a man who was my guardian until I was eighteen and who is now the head of my new family. To save my parents the inconvenience of forwarding the letter, perhaps you would like to check whether the school has my present address."

"Is this some stratagem of yours to protect you from the wrath of your parents?"

"I can assure you that it is not… sir. My parents are no longer interested in me."

Mr Casey picked up the pink folder in front of him and read the flysheet. As he focused on the first line of the address, his eyes opened wide and glazed over. "I don't believe it," he muttered under his breath. He was almost inaudible. His face had turned white with a green tinge. He clasped his chest and slumped forward onto his desk.

I rushed to the door, tore it open and saw Christian loyally waiting for me. "Get some help. Todd's collapsed. I'll call an ambulance." 'OMG, did I say Todd?" I thought. I went back in and dialled 999 from the phone on Mr Casey's desk. "Ambulance. Suspected heart attack," I said. I gave the precise location even down to the school's postcode. The operator was about to give me instructions on patient care when a member of staff rushed in and said

"I'll take over. Stay around, though." The school nurse followed and she took over from the member of staff. I could already hear the sirens of an ambulance and within minutes the paramedics rushed in. I squeezed Christian's hand and whispered 'thank you' in his ear.

"It didn't quite work out the way I planned somehow."

"Carl's on his way. I called him."

"I'd better call Simon." They both arrived together.

With the Headmaster absent and the Deputy out of action the school was momentarily leaderless. My tutor eventually found me and after ascertaining that I was all right, he asked me if I wanted to go home. I said that there was no one there and I'd feel much better being with my schoolmates, though I might not be too attentive in class. Simon offered to take me home. Again I refused.

My tutor explained that reports would have to be made out. The police had just arrived. Simon said that as my guardian he would like to be present during that. I said "Can I just go and get some fresh air, and Carl, can you come with me to make sure I'm all right?" I was told I could. I gave my tutor my mobile number. I hugged Christian and said "Thanks. I'll see you at lunch."

I didn't attend any more lessons that morning. I was too busy writing and giving reports under Simon's supervision. I was allowed to eat lunch with my friends under the strict condition that neither I nor Christian talked about what had happened that day. We were obviously considered trustworthy. It was great to be back among human beings at lunch. Simon was entertained in the staff dining room. "So, Magnus, spill the beans," said Christian.

"I'm not eating beans. I've got peas."

"Duh! You know perfectly well what we mean. Tell us about your cock."

"Apart from lugging it out here in the middle of the dining hall, what do you want to know? Length soft, girth soft, length hard, girth hard?"

"No, we know that already," grinned Tristan.

"Are you or are you not circumcised?" I intervened.

"Yes," confirmed Magnus, "but not fully."

"So you're sort of half cut," said Tristan. "Stop drinking the whisky." We all glared at him.

"So how do you explain that?" asked Christian.

"Just before I came to this school I had a phimosis."

"What's that?" interrupted Tristan.

"Don't interrupt the lad," his brother said impatiently. "He's just about to explain."

"It's when your foreskin is long and so tight that you can't pull it back and you can't pee properly, you can't wash under it and so you get a whole lot of smegma there."

"What's smegma?" piped up Tristan and of course it would be just at that coincidental moment when the general hubble-bubble of conversation goes quiet and everyone turned round and stared at him. "What?"

Magnus waited until the noise level built up again. "It's a sebaceous secretion that forms in the folds of the foreskin."

"Oooooh!" went the company assembled.

"Get him," added Tristan.

"It's that smelly yellow oily stuff you get under your foreskin and Mum gets me to ask you whether you've washed it away properly in the shower."

"Hey, bro, that's family secrets."

"It's also a family secret that you can be a right dickhead at times, but it seems to be one you're content for everybody to know."

"Anyway," continued Magnus, "it also means that you can't masturbate, shag or have a blowjob, but they don't tell you that bit when you're aged ten. So in my last year at primary school I had to have this operation, circumcision, but instead of cutting all my foreskin off as they do with babies, the surgeon only took off what was necessary to get my dick into efficient working order and that's the way you've seen it ever since Year 7."

The three of us gave Magnus a spontaneous round of applause. Everybody looked round and stared. The duty master came across and asked us to keep the noise down.

After lunch Christian and I went back into isolation until we'd completed the formalities and then I had the choice of lessons or going home. I wanted to stay at school. Simon went back to the office. "Good job this didn't happen tomorrow," I said to Christian. "Our house XV would have been short of its two best players."

"I like the modesty," answered Christian, "but I agree."

"And it's against the house that Rhys-Jones is in."

When I got home, Simon was already there. "I wanted to be here for you, Richard. I didn't want you to come home to an empty house. It was all I could do to stop Carl from taking the day off work. He wanted to be here so badly, especially as he sparked all this off."

"He didn't, Simon. It was all my idea and it wasn't aimed at Mr Casey. It was to test whether I had sorted Rhys-Jones properly."

"Don't feel bad about it. Casey's downfall was caused by his own weaknesses."

"I don't feel bad about it. He didn't have to bollock me for the kiss. He didn't have to summon me to his office. He didn't have to impose a severe punishment. He didn't have to send a letter home. It was not justice. It was personal revenge, like the grudges in house rugby. Every step he took led him closer to that heart attack and he was not forced to take any one of them. I don't hate him. I don't hate Rhys-Jones. They were just challenges to my well-being."

"Come here, Richard. Come and sit by me on the sofa." Simon put his arm round me and kissed me lightly on the cheek. "You've got an amazingly old head on those young shoulders, but then you've been through the mill yourself over the last few months."

"I don't really view it that way. There were all the good things going on at the same time: you, Egypt, Connor, Otto, moving in here, Carl, Ryan, Christian, Magnus, Tristan." Simon pulled me in and kissed my lips, but it was me who turned a chaste kiss into an extremely unchaste one.

"It's a long time since we did this," said Simon.

"I know." Simon kissed me again, even more passionately.

"Do you want to go upstairs?" I nodded. We climbed the stairs to the second floor and I locked the door of my room behind us.

On Wednesday Carlie and I still carried out our plan. He was dressed in a gymslip. After all, we were, as said previously, testing Rhys-Jones. "You'll have to learn how to carry a handbag properly, Carlie. You keep bashing me with it." We arrived at the school gates, hand in hand. Two prefects had replaced Mr Casey on duty. Rhys-Jones was there. He said nothing. He was confused, but then he wasn't in on our secret. He just glowered. Christian caught up with me.

"You know what they're calling you in the school, don't you?" he said. "The Grim Reaper."

"OMG, he's not dead, is he?"

"I haven't heard that," said Christian.

We split to go to our tutor rooms. When I went in, there was the usual chatter. The school had obviously succeeded in confining details about the incident. General knowledge was that Mr Casey was on sick leave. As everyone left, my tutor came up to me and said the Head wanted to see me. He accompanied me to the archmagisterial study. Assembly had been postponed until before lunch and the lesson timings brought forward.

My tutor knocked on the open door and we walked in. The Head invited me to sit down and my tutor unobtrusively stood behind me in the corner. "Richard, first of all I want to congratulate you on your prompt action yesterday. You probably saved Mr Casey's life. I join the Governors in thanking you for what you did, both at the time and with the police statement and other reports afterwards. I want to stress that what happened no way reflects badly on you. Quite the opposite. You are a credit to yourself, your family and the school. You have no reason to feel any guilt about what happened. You will know why you were in Mr Casey's office and I do not intend to pursue that."

"Thank you, sir. How is Mr Casey?"

"The report from the hospital this morning is that he is still in the ICU, but the prognosis is positive. Before this he was quite a fit man. The Governors have granted him indefinite sick leave, but whatever happens he will not return to school until September at the earliest." I breathed a sigh of relief, more from the fact I shall never have to face the man again than for the prognosis. "Richard, we, that is the staff and your family, are surprised at how resilient you have been over the last twenty-four hours. In two or three days shock might come out. It might never come out, but the school is here to give you whatever support you might need. You have only to mention it to your tutor and we'll take it from there. I assume you will have no objection if your name is mentioned at my special assembly." I agreed and with that. The interview was over.

Finally it was time for the Headmaster's special assembly. He first explained what had happened the previous day during his absence. "Mr Casey, the Deputy Headmaster, collapsed in his office from what was later diagnosed as a heart attack. He is still in intensive care and is expected to make a full, if slow recovery. I want to make it clear that Mr Casey is alive today because of the prompt action of one boy in summoning help…" A cry of 'shame' went up from an obscure corner of the assembly hall where senior pupils were standing. The Headmaster chose to ignore the remark. "… and another in alerting those who could bring assistance. Therefore on behalf of and in front of the school community I should like to thank Richard Landport and Christian Aymes for their vital acts of initiative."

"Faggots!" A cry went up from another part of the hall from among seated senior pupils. This time the voice had been recognised and three members of staff passed notes to the Headmaster, who paused, then said quietly

"I will not tolerate such behaviour in this school." He then continued as if nothing had happened. "In appreciation I therefore ask you to give Richard and Christian a hearty round of applause."

The applause was loud and genuine, although there might have been two pairs of hands that didn't join in. Tristan felt very proud and told all those round him "That's my big brother," even though everybody knew that already.

As the cheers and applause died down, the Headmaster continued. "Now for some administrative notices. Mr Casey's administrative role and duties will be taken over for the time being by Mr Blandford." A cheer went up. He will be assisted by Mrs Purlieu." Another cheer. The School was obviously in high spirits. "Adjustments will be made to classes for the rest of the week and I ask you to be tolerant and understanding, particularly those in the examination classes. We hope to engage temporary staff from Monday. One final admin notice. Rhys-Jones is to report to my study immediately on being dismissed from this assembly." The School rose and the Headmaster led his staff out.

Richard and Christian looked at one another. "If we weren't out before, we are now," said Richard.

"You don't hear many Welsh accents in an English school, do you?" responded Christian. "Let's get some lunch."

"Then it's house matches," said Richard.

The mood at lunch was light. One or two seniors even came up to congratulate the heroes. Richard and Christian went to the changing rooms. Richard unzipped his sports bag and took out his pristine rugby kit. He put his hand into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a soiled, starched jockstrap. 'Good old Ryan,' he thought as he pressed it to his nose. "Don't knock it until you've tried it," Christian said to those around them that were screwing up their faces.

They ran out onto the field. Imagine their disappointment when they noticed that Rhys-Jones was not among the opposing team.

Richard and Christian's team won with little difficulty. No shenanigans in the showers that afternoon. Dressed they made their way past the school's main notice board. There was quite a crowd round it. Our boys waited their turn. Then they read the main item of interest. 'From the Headmaster: I Rhys-Jones has been suspended from school until next Monday for unbecoming and unacceptable conduct. (signed) A M Kemp, Headmaster.'

Richard and Christian made their separate ways home. It had been an exciting week so far, but with two days to go they were looking forward to the weekend and spending some time with their boyfriends. Richard had two nights to catch up with lost work and get ahead, even though he knew he would only have the two mornings with Carl. Perhaps life would be a little quieter now.

The End, or is it?

---

1 This event is part of my general thesis that even the straightest of male teenagers has a latent interest in gay sex.

2 Swiss electrical engineer George de Mestral in 1948, patented 1955.

3 The following description has been taken verbatim from Jack Rowan's The Story of Tim . I have tried to contact him to ask permission to use the quotation without success. I thought it more honest to state the fact than to paraphrase the passage. My apologies for any offence and I shall withdraw the quotation, if asked to. NF

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