The Apprentice
by and © N Fourbois
Chapter 11
Kieran was out of bed on the Friday morning in time to say goodbye to Eric before he went off to work. He shaved, showered and dressed, then made himself some breakfast. Since he couldn't do much until the shops opened at nine, he looked at a bit of schoolwork and finally made his way to the shops. The first stop was the hairdresser's. He decided on the unisex one at the end of the High Street for he required a little more attention than a short back and sides. Although the majority of hairdressers in the shop were women, two young men were employed and proved to be very attentive on the occasions he had gone there. He had that wiry, straight hair that responds well to a razor cut, and when a razor, as opposed to clippers, was used to cut around the edges the effect was well defined and very smart indeed. No effort was too much for the forthcoming weekend. He was fortunate enough to be groomed by one of those young male assistants and it was fortunate too that he was covered with a smock or his underlying emotions might have been more tangible, or at least visible.
Groomed to perfection, he proceeded to the sports shop. If a visit to the gym with his uncle was to become a regular feature, he needed to make himself more presentable. He wanted to buy some sweatpants, for casual wear as much as training. He longingly looked at a pair in translucent white which would show off his lower body at its most shapely, but was put off by visions of the garment being popular among the feral underclass that infested public spaces on a Friday and Saturday night. He found a black pair of tasteful cut and more substantial material, which he liked. He went to select some shorts in white, one a strong rugby short, the other a designer label pair intended for tennis, more John McEnroe than Pete Sampras, added to them contrasting black lycra shorts, and in the end compromised over the sweats by buying both pairs. These would tide him over until Eric could get him organised with his sports lycra one-piece.
After that he went back to his home rather than Eric's flat. His mother's cleaning lady was there. He made her and himself a cup of coffee and chatted to her while she got on with her work.
"I'm surprised to find you at home, Master Kieran. It's not school holidays again already, is it?"
"No, Mrs Crater. Study leave. We've got exams coming up. By the way, my Uncle Eric is coming to stay for the weekend."
"To make sure you don't get into trouble, I daresay."
"Something like that."
"Is he the one on your mum's side of the family, or your dad's?"
"He's Mum's baby brother. Anyway, Mum said he's to sleep in the blue room."
"I'll give it a dust and a clean through before I go."
Coffee over, he went to his room and tidied it in preparation for it to be cleaned. He thought the black bed linen looked really cool. Now there was little he could do before the cleaner was finished. Finally he sat down and read that copy of GY mag he'd bought. It was still sealed in its plastic wrapper. He took a pair of scissors from his desk drawer, carefully slit the plastic and pulled against the vacuum as he slipped the magazine out. It fell open at the centrefold and he immediately stared at it. Not a bad looking boy, he thought. He noticed that his dick was in full agreement with his brain and was about to re-arrange himself when Mrs Crater came in with her hoover. He hurriedly closed the journal and went off and sat down in the sitting room to read it. Again it opened naturally at the centrefold. The boy there looked too young, but Kieran assumed he must be legal. His hair was black, eyes blue, body smooth, pubic hair completely absent. Kieran turned the page to find the details, immediately amazed that the model in question was Russian - he didn't look Russian, but then Russia was the largest country in the world and spanned two continents, so how did one look Russian? His name was Aleksei, but he modelled under the name of Mike18 and was, unbelievably, twenty-three years old. He looked a slip of a lad, about his, Kieran's age. Thank goodness Mrs Crater was still in the house. Looking at Alex had roused him to such a state that he would have gone straight to his room to jerk himself off, but he really did want to save his strength and resources for Orlando, and so it was strictly hands off. As he flicked through the pages he noticed an article on the first date. Kieran was so absorbed reading it that he didn't hear Mrs Crater leave, despite the fact that she called out to him.
Kieran looked at his watch and was surprised to see that it had gone one. 'Mmm, just a few hours to go. I'd better get myself something to eat. Now, what can I do? Ah, beans on toast. No, not very wise for a first date. Avoid eggs for the same reason. He ended up making two rounds of ham sandwiches, followed by some fruit, and washed down with OJ. To fill in time he went back to reading GY, unable to concentrate sufficiently to tackle any schoolwork. He burst out giggling when he found the problem page and decided he was quite well off compared with some of the quite pathetic correspondents.
Finally it was time to shower and change. Kieran went to his bedroom and stripped off. He had decided what he was going to wear. He checked himself in the mirror and decided that the wisps of underarm hair were something or nothing and so without actually taking a decision he took the can of shaving gel and after wetting the pit area rubbed some in and ran the razor over the underarm area. He went into the cubicle and cleaned himself thoroughly, using not just shampoo, but conditioner on his hair. He climbed out. After drying himself off, he took the hairdryer and combed and brushed his hair to perfection. Looking in the mirror of the sliding doors on his integral wardrobe, he admired his reflection for a moment and jokingly thought he wished he could have a boyfriend like that. He'd decided on the thong for his first date. It would bunch and lift better than the slips and he carefully tucked his dick down to point south and so enhance the bulge. The backstrap felt a bit odd, but after he had done a 'knees bend' and 'crouch' he found it fitted comfortably in his crevice and he no longer noticed it. Socks next, no problem. Then he pulled on his oldest and most washed 501s, the ones with the softest and form hugging material. His mother would never have allowed him to wear ripped jeans and had he attempted to, they would soon have disappeared into the dustbin while he was at school. Now came the dilemma. Whether to wear a belt or not. He was wearing jeans with a thirty inch waist, admittedly shrunk from washing, on his twenty-eight inch waist. Without the belt the Levi's almost swivelled on his hips, giving his limbs a flowing marionette-like motion. With the belt the jeans were drawn in to emphasise the shape of his buns, butt cleavage and package. After trying both he went with wearing the belt, perhaps not so subtle, but certainly more head turning. He slapped on musk scented body lotion, jumped when it touched the freshly shaved area under his arms, then quickly pulled on a tight matching blue tanktop, before the body lotion dried completely. It was made of thick cotton and lycra and came down to an inch above his navel. Over that he put a loose white tee shirt with a graphic of a rainbow, which he could discard later when it became time to impress. He slipped some coloured bangles over his wrist in rainbow order. Now he was out he no longer cared what people thought. Proper shoes rather than trainers and now he was dressed to kill.
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