Remembering Ryan
by Rafael Henry
Chapter 2
There's plenty in Ryan's bag judging by the weight of it. It's a bit of a climb up to the second floor of our building, thirty-two steps in all. When we finally reach my room; our room now, Ryan stands still, taking it all in. It's going to be home for him for the next four weeks and a bit.
'Sorry. It's not very big is it?'
'Which is yours?'
'This one.' I said, gesturing towards the bed nearest me. Ryan sits on the other one, a couple of bedside tables between the two.
'Do you have a bathroom?'
'Yes of course. Because you're here with your problem, we've been given the guest bathroom. We're all older boys on this floor. Probably not the best situation for you Ryan.'
'I'm a problem child then? I have one right now. I need a wee.'
'Ok. I'll show you where things are. You can take your shoes off if you want. Have you brought a wash kit with you?'
Leaning forwards, he undoes the buckles of his sandals, his shirt riding up his back revealing tanned skin where it meets the white. I move towards the door. He follows me out and the few yards down the corridor that smells of floor polish to another closed door. The guest bathroom. I open it. I'm not at all familiar with this room, obviously, as none of us ever use it.
'In here Ryan. Everything is pretty much as you see it. I'll leave you to it.'
'I can't. Not without you.'
My tummy turns over at these words. He stands over the lavatory bowl looking at me. With his arm in the sling he has no chance of extracting his willy to pee. I'm behind him now, my arms working at his front. He's pretty much as you would expect, and what David had heard was indeed true. I'm leaning over him, his head under my chin, and I'm doing what I have to do to release him. The zip fastener at the front of the boy's shorts slides down nicely.
'You have to pull down the front.' The boy announces, as if I couldn't work that out. So I do, pulling the waistband forwards and low enough to release everything. A small penis pops out. With his pants a little lower still, I can with the backs of my thumbs, ease out the two perfect forms, the thin skin stretched over them, perfect little ovals patterned by the tiny red veins.
'You ok with your other hand?'
'No. You have to do it.'
So I do. He feels soft and silky smooth between my fingers as we wait for the flow to begin. I'm moving the soft skin to and fro causing the boy's overhanging foreskin to start to retract a little. A tiny cloud of doubt and guilt appears in my mind as I continue the gentle movements. We wait as he pushes his hips forward in anticipation. We go on waiting. Finally the flow starts as I direct it into the bowl. As the flow continues, the little penis begins to swell slightly. When all is done, the head is just visible, and the whole thing at least twice the size it was having lengthened and thickened. I have done the precise same routine for my brother many times but not since he passed his fifth birthday. I gently work anything remaining in the boy's urethra through, and out, continuing the movement, the thin skin sliding over the firmer structure within. More guilt. I ought to stop this.
'Any more?'
'Maybe.'
I continue the movements, adding a third finger. You had better stop now Simon. That's enough . The transition was well under way. How quickly boys respond.
Tiny blue veins appear in the creamy skin as I neatly pack things away neatly and tidy him up. Job done. After washing my hands, I look back at Ryan standing there. He smiles, as do I. The first bridge has now been crossed as our relationship begins to form and my affection for Ryan builds.
He's come well prepared for a month with us, in terms of spare clothing and all the necessities for boarding life. I construct little piles of items in the identical tall fitted cupboards that are built into every room along our corridor. Ryan watches from his bedside as I fold this and that, adjusting my arrangement as the space fills.
'When's bedtime Simon?'
'About eight o'clock for you. Don't worry, I'll see to everything. You'll stay with me all the time until then. Are you hungry?'
'No. Just a bit nervous.'
'The kitchen will have kept something hot for us after Chapel. We can skip Prep. I'll show you where everything is then.'
The notes Tubby showed me stated that Ryan is not allowed to shower. There are no baths here anyway, apart from the one in the guest bathroom.
'Will you want a bath tonight Ryan? I know you can't shower.'
'I think so. You will help me won't you?'
'Of course!' I say quickly, being the chosen one.
A few faces stare at us as we enter Chapel. A few seconds later they look away. We get the occasional unknown face appearing, a boy who has to board temporarily. That kind of thing. The service is short; a hymn, some prayers and a few notices from Tubby, and then we all file out in silence. Being cynical, it's another way of getting us all in the same place to check that none of us have gone awol. One night, a few months ago, a boy did. He was caught stealing from hung up blazer pockets. He was found at the station very upset as well he might be. The next day his people arrived to collect him. There was no point in him staying. I thought him very beautiful. Very blond, tall, quiet and brooding. He had been recruited early on as a Communion server, the Chaplain's very own altar boy. And then he gets himself kicked out six months later? I fancied him something rotten having seen him come down for showers one morning, hang up his bathrobe on the hook, naked underneath, turn towards me and show me his excited body. What I saw hit the spot for me bigtime. A ramrod straight circumcised penis, and as hard as a boy's cock could be. A truly magnificent sight proffered by a boy entirely without any self-consciousness.
All he had to do was to tell someone what had made him unhappy; me preferably, whatever it was. He stole from his peers because he was upset. He didn't need any money here. He should have told me, or anyone. I would have done something about it. Poor boy. It should never have happened; whatever it was. We had exchanged glances from time to time, and I was of the opinion that we could have developed an interesting friendship had he stayed with us. What a waste of a very superior talent. Maybe it was all about something else, his difficulty. The fact is that we'll never know. How annoying is that?
I got used to dealing with the contents of my brother Tommy's nappies. I know that sounds gross but one does. He's done with them by the age of three. Mum was never in a hurry to move him on to those tiny pants they wear. That wasn't the end of the matter, literally, as he shouted from the bathroom for me to do the necessary for him. How useful for mum that he has an elder sibling to do all these things for him and not mind. But things move on. Now there are endless questions about growing up, and what will be with his developing body and mind. What a bonus for Tommy having a brother eight years older than him.
As I remove each article from Ryan, I fold it. The navy jumper, a duck egg blue stripe around the V, followed by a shirt that left his chest bare. He's nicely formed, un-muscled but firm, his ribs covered but clearly visible when he stretches. He's looking at me, unblinking, mouth slightly open, lips shining. I know exactly what he's thinking. The next bit. The top of his short trousers are already undone. Two metal clips hold them together. I'm sitting on the edge of my bed as Ryan stands before me. Just slide the zip fastener down Simon, then they will just drop. Go on. If you wait it will make Ryan think you're nervous about all this. Just do it. Undone and open, they do drop with a little downwards tug. A lovely sight greets me. His mum has good taste. The standard brevity for our times…….not tight fitting, and enough to look great on him.
Everything is folded beside me on the bed. He's lovely standing here in front of me. As he looks down, I have a few seconds to study him. There's nothing unusual on view, nothing other than the usual delight. He looks up at me again. I smile, and he smiles back.
I woke Ryan at six thirty. Before I did I knelt beside his bed and looked at him. The butter coloured hair looking almost stuck to his head. His face looked pink and warm. He went to bed in just a tee. I can't resist a peek. He has his 'wrong' hand in the 'right' place. Typical boy. There are various names written on his cast the covers the forearm and the elbow, thus restricting movement dramatically. I don't recognize any of the names scrawled onto the now not so pristine white plaster surface. Nice eyelashes too, and the top lip so generous, the tiny hairs golden in the half light. His tee has ridden half way up his chest. I look down again as he stirs and turns onto his back, the hand still there. The head turns away from me and the hand moves. A big yawn and the head turns towards me once more. He's waking. The eyelids flutter briefly. I run my fingers into his hair. It feels warm and moist.
'Hello.' I say quietly.
The blinking eyes open as Ryan remembers where he is. There's always that moment when sleep flees away and reality hits. Two wide eyes stare back into mine.
'It's ok Ryan. Do you remember where you are?'
He nods and smiles. Good.
I ran the bath while Ryan sat on the loo. It's chance for him to see what older boys look like with no clothes on. With the light on, the extractor fan whirrs away. He knows that we are going to do all this together. He turns with his good hand on the loo seat, the other held up by the sling. I have a look. Not bad. I do the job, discard the baby wipe, and then the noisy cascade of water.
'A bit fiery…….is it?'
'A bit.'
I scoup out a good-sized blob of the stiff white cream onto the tip of my middle finger. It's the bathroom essential in the little grey tub designed to alleviate sore bottoms. How many times have I done this for Tommy. Now Ryan. He knows the drill, feet wide apart to facilitate matters. With one cheek moved sideways, there he is. There's no beating about the bush with this little operation; no hesitation. All or nothing.
One decent sized blob is plenty. Just smooth around the margin for a few seconds, and then a little rotational pressure centrally. There's a natural resistance there but the small ring of muscle would soon ease. David would be begging me at this stage, but Ryan isn't David.
'You ok there Ryan?'
'Yeah.'
'Enough now?'
'No.'
Behold I stand at the door and knock.
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
