The Bus Stop

by Rafael Henry

Chapter 12

The girls are always at the bus stop first. It's a chance for them to chatter mindlessly as far as I can tell. We never stand close to them and they take no notice of us as we wait in silence for our bus to appear and glide silently to a halt. Kerry is standing next to me shooting me the odd glance and half a smile. We have a plan. How to while away the twenty minutes journey to Cheriton, or a couple of minutes less for him. Since the discovery by mum of the tube of personal lubricant, she's making a habit now of checking on me and Kerry after we go up to bed. She makes sure that she doesn't impose on our bathroom necessities or while we might be undressed so as not to embarrass Kerry, or me come to that. I'm too big a boy these days for mummy to see me naked. There was a time, quite naturally when she did, right up to the age of ten, according to my sister Fiona, who also came in at the end of bath time to ask mum a question, or for some other spurious reason. I loved being towelled off, Sometimes by Fiona if mum wasn't around. It often resulted in an erection, it was simply that good being rubbed all over, including around that region. I think Fiona was just curious about boys, prior to her having any in depth relationship with one herself. Things like an erection, even a tiddly one that I could produce would have been the only way she would get a sight of such an interesting thing like that, something she would have known about but not necessarily seen apart from in a book or online somehow. It would be of interest to her for sure. Looking at it the other way around, I have no interest at all in looking at the outer workings, and even less so at the inner workings of the female genitalia. No thanks! Give me a nice sweet boy every time please. That's now, but what will I be thinking in ten years-time? Hmm.

Mum tends to leave it for twenty minutes or so before she appears in the bedroom, putting her head around the door. We're not allowed to shut it now. There's a lock for the door but no key. I've no idea if one still exists. The house was built in 1904. I know that because the date is in the white plaster plaque thing above the front door. Edwardian in other words, or to be precise, the reign of Edward VII, 1901 to 1910. Dad told me that the style of the house is Arts and Crafts, whatever that is. Anyway it has a really nice garden and five bedrooms so I'm lucky to be here I suppose.

Kerry wants his bottom seeing to after he's been to the loo. He much prefers me to do it which I like doing as much as he likes me doing it for him, but he does brush his own teeth you'll be relieved to hear. I do as much for him as I can because he's never had much done for him in his life up to now, poor boy. He puts his hands on his knees and sticks his bottom out for me so I can complete the task easily enough with a couple of fingers loaded with large blobs of the E45 moisturizer. I go as far as the little sensitive gland not that far in. The Book goes on about that at some length, interestingly, and exactly how to pleasure your partner that way. Another little project to get into at some stage. Kerry's been on at me to do it for him. I've tried myself but I didn't get very far. Nothing seemed to happen at all. Maybe mine won't respond that way. I reckon Kerry's will. He loves anything up there. I think he's one of those boys, and I'm assuming there are others like me, who will always want sex, and lots of it. I still don't have any hair down there not that I desire it. I don't. But there's one thing right now, as we both stand waiting together at the bus stop, and that's what Kerry has neatly stowed away in his knickers waiting for me.

The clunky automatic bus door folds back and as usual, the girls step up and in first. We mere boys follow. The driver looks down at us as we make our way up the steps.

'Morning boys.' He says to us with a smile. I've noticed that he doesn't say that to the girls. Good. 'Nice legs.' The mouthy Sarah chirps up as Kerry passes her in the very narrow space between the rows of seats. That's the thing about these tin pot prep schools, they keep their boys in short trousers winter and summer. I never heard an explanation as to why those boys are obliged to show their legs all year round, not that I have any objections. Kerry has lovely slim legs and I reckon enough room in the leg openings of shorts to slip a hand up on a touchy-feely nature hunt. That'll get him going nicely. Ooh, just the thought of that soft and silky cotton under my fingertips!

With our plan in mind and even before I reach the different seats we will be in this morning, I have the beginnings of a bone forming and I bet Kerry has too. His can come up in seconds that boy. A quick fiddle with his ovals does the job almost immediately. I suppose it's his age. I remember I did the same then, which sometimes caught me out. Mum or dad wouldn't say anything but my sister Fiona did a couple of times.

'Oh Arlo! For goodness sake. Do you have to? Not in here; please!' She said smiling. She's seen what I was fiddling with. After my bath. She had a good long look at it, sticking up and out just as it should be.

I'm sure she wasn't in any way offended, more amused than anything. My parents should have been pleased that it was all working properly. I'm sure most boys fiddle absentmindedly a lot of the time, until you get more conscious of what you're doing and try not to. But it's difficult when you're warm and comfortable in front of the telly in your pyjamas. I used to put a cushion over me so my hand wasn't actually visible and if matters looked like coming to a head, I'd say I'm tired and go up to my bedroom to finish off in peace. They must have known. It embarrasses me now just to think about it.

That bloody Sarah girl walks to the back of the bus. Luckily I saw her coming.

'Hello girls. You alright back here. Don't doing anything I wouldn't will you.'

And presses her tongue into her cheek, smiles, and then walks back. Kerry looked faintly alarmed.

'Don't take any notice of her Kerry. She's stupid.'

We've moved from one side of the bus to the other so now Kerry is next to the window that looks down and across onto the pavement and the buildings to our right if there are any. There are loads as we go through Sandgate and then more as we approach Cheriton but none as we motor past the golf course my father calls 'parky'. That means it's far too easy for the better golfers who want deep bunkers and more dense rough grass to negotiate on their way to their miles over par score. But the goings in the mornings is more fun than the coming backs in the afternoons. I'm left-handed so I would prefer Kerry to be on my right. He's never going to get much done with me so that suits us. With Sarah gone now we can get on with the matter in hand.

There's room in Kerry's trouser leg to get a hand in there, and all the way up. To feel that oh-so-creamy and ultra-smooth inner thigh is almost as good as anything he has to offer, and there's plenty of it. Well almost. So I dwell there for a few seconds to build up Kerry's anticipation of something better to come. Then I creep further up towards the parking space I have in mind. When I get there Kerry gives me an almost inaudible sigh of deep pleasure. The Book talks about the importance of foreplay before you attempt real sex, not that this doesn't feel like real sex. It does. Kerry parts his legs a little further and my access is now easier. I'm getting the whole package neatly wrapped up in his new Next knickers, as he likes to call them. I wear exactly the same ones and I love them. So sexy and boy bits enhancing. I often wear them in bed just to feel them on me before I climax into them. Mum has never said anything about it, anyway I don't care. She knows that I do it. All boys do by my age, and most have probably started a good deal younger than I did. The problem is that I've recently been producing more sperm so my pants are noticeably wet, even the next morning. Then finally mum said something……

'Darling, I've put a box of Kleenex up by your bed. Do use them rather than your pants.'

That told me! Now, or as and when, I drop the tissue into the loo first thing in the morning. No more soggy pants left in my unmade bed of a morning for her to find before she herself sets off for work. In some perverse way I just wanted to tell her that I am growing up fast, at least in a sexual way I am, if no other. All this was before Kerry arrived of course. Oddly I've had fewer climaxes since he's been here. Maybe I'm saving myself for the big one, when it comes. The Book says that young boys can come in their sleep, or usually just before they wake up properly, or at some point. With me they happened as I woke up or maybe that's why I woke up. On the rare occasions it did happen, they were unbelievably strong. I do know that much. I can remember two. That's all.

I love Kerry's little ovals, as I call them. I'm outside his pants but I can still tweak them this way and that being very careful not to do anything too hard and hurt him. But there are two other places to go. He tells me where my next port of call shall be by lifting up his bottom enough for me to feel underneath and gently press against the very centre of his bottom whilst moving my two fingers around. I get another of those lovely satisfied sighs as he closes his eyes, his head on his folded coat against the huge coach window. Then the third destination which by now has developed as far as it will go. I can reach, just the whole length which reaches up to the waistband. He's so predictable. How long did that take? Something of a record, and he's not the only one. I've had my mouth against Kerry's face all this time Then I get a major shock.

I don't know her name. I think she's a year seven at the Girl's Grammar. She was just standing there watching me. With the rumbling of the coach wheels at the back where we are, you wouldn't hear anyone walking to the back of the coach. I looked at her in total amazement. I didn't even withdraw my hand from up Kerry's trouser leg. We just stared at each other, or rather she just stared at where my hand was. Then she turned and walked back to her seat which I had seen was a couple of rows back from the other two girls, and on her own. She's probably approaching twelve, roughly the same age as Kerry. I watched her go, and half way back to her seat she turned round to look back, probably to see if I was still looking. She stood still long enough for me to beckon her to come back. By this time there was no evidence that anything had been going on between me and Kerry. Kerry didn't even know she'd been there. He was somewhere else entirely.

She stood in her dark tartan skirt and dark blue blazer, little white ankle socks looking rather blank. Definitely time for me to say something.

I began with the obvious and banal question….. 'Hello. I don't know you name.' She replied with 'Lily.'

'Hi Lily.' And going on with the banality…….'Oh that's a pretty name. It suits you.'

So don't say I don't have any social skills. I'm good at all this stuff. So here comes another surprise from her……

'Can I sit back here with you tomorrow?'

Nonplussed, I agreed.

'Well; I suppose so. You can sit where you like, I think.'

'Can I sit next to you?'

'No! You can sit over there.' I said pointing at the equivalent seats the other side of the bus. 'By the window on the other side…..there.' I repeated, pointing.

'Why not?'

'Because I said you can't. That's why not.'

'But you said I could sit anywhere I wanted to?'

'Yes I did, but not here.'

'I want to.'

'But you can't.'

'I'm going to or………I'll tell the others what you were doing to that boy.' Lily says, pointing at Kerry who was still looking out of the bus window.

'That wouldn't be very nice.'

'I know but unless you let me, I'll tell. You can go on doing what you were doing now. Do it again tomorrow morning. I want to see you doing it.'

Things are getting more and more difficult, what with mum interfering, and now this person!

Things were going so well with Kerry, and I had felt something interesting on the front of his pants. There was a tiny wet patch right where the end of his penis was. The shape of things to come no doubt.

'You can go away now Lily, if you don't mind.' I suggest, with some menace in mind.

'Do you want to see mine?' She asks, mildly.

'Your…….what?'

'This.' She says, lifting up her tartan skirt. They look like our boys' pants. Then she turns away and walks back up the bus and sits down where she was. But what do I do with her tomorrow?

We're a couple of minutes away from Kerry's stop now, and he's getting his coat on, but not before I check on the nice little bump in his shorts. His coat will hide it.

Lily didn't bother us on the return journey that afternoon, in fact as we passed her sitting in her usual seat, she didn't even look at either of us. Kerry looks tired after his day at school. All he wanted to do was to lean into me, his right hand on my thigh, but no sex please; we're British. Not on the way home.

'Are you ok with the class tonight Kerry?' I ask the boy who has his eyes shut.

'Yeah.' Was all I got from Kerry. Then…...'That girl. Do you think she's pretty?'

'Yes, very, what with those long blond pigtails. Worth a good tug if she interferes again. Do you think she is?'

'Umm. What if she sits with us tomorrow?'

'I don't know. What do you know about girls Kerry?'

'I quite like them.'

'Oh do you? She's yours then. You're just about old enough now to learn a bit more about them and how they work. Lily sounds like she'd like to know how you work too. She can sit between us tomorrow if you want. Do you?'

'Umm, yes.' He says, in a way, too quickly.

I felt slightly miffed at his answer. Pissed off actually. That's gratitude for you.

We sat for the portrait people again, just like the last time, the only difference being that we got out of our school stuff and put on tee shirts and I put shorts on because it was boiling hot in there. Me in PE shorts because that's all I had. We'll change back again when our hour is up and we go on home. Best to turn up at home in our uniforms as expected. And then, lo and behold, we'll change again. It's hard cash folks. Bear that in mind, and sod the inconvenience. Kerry is just desperate to get a phone of his very own.

Henry made a fuss of Kerry again, and told him that he's joined the Friday life class now. I imagine he's drooling at the thought of seeing Kerry in his delightfully brief white knickers again. Now we're faced with the decision about the posing naked or not issue. Kerry is adamant that he wants too, but I'm not convinced. He looks like one of those kids on the beach who are still little boys but I'm not a little boy anymore and a bit self-conscious when it comes to stripping off for what are really complete strangers. But that's what artists' models do isn't it? You're just a body to be observed and drawn or painted. It has nothing to do with who you are is it? Applying that logic makes it sound fine. And it more cash in our metaphorical banks is it not? Fuck it, I'll do it. There's a tiny changing arrangement consisting of a folding screen. We get undressed behind that and then emerge into the public gaze looking like we are, two pretty cute young boys, one who looks more pre-pube than he actually is, and the other, me, looking like his hormones are rearing up alarmingly and all set to trot. Then there's the issue of how Phil wants to pose us. On all fours? Lying with our legs apart? Or worse, in some sort of double act, our bodies entwined as we enthusiastically French kiss? I might have a word with Phil about it before the class starts. I don't really mind if the world and his wife see my dickie as it normally is, but what if it does what it often does? Will they draw it down, or up? I suppose that's their problem. Just imagine being posed on my tummy, something I just know would result over time in my getting one, and then being moved to a different pose and having to show that girl my hot and throbbing hard-on? She'll only want my telephone number, and possibly that too. Anyway she's not having it. My close to six-inch one-eyed wonder is currently concentrating on Kerry's delicious rear end, a place I've got to know quite well recently, with the aid of a large dispenser of E45 and a couple of my fingers to apply it with. I can tell you that Kerry loves it judging by all those appreciative mewing sounds he conquers up, and never wants me to stop. If we ever did manage to combine our two vital attributes in one glorious tumultuous event, how on earth would I manage to last more than a few seconds? Maybe there's a way. The other inhibiting factor is mum's suspicions about the tube of personal lubricant. I thought my explanation was pretty convincing, but you don't know my dear mother. Her female intuition is a powerful tool to expose the evil thoughts and deeds of a recalcitrant thirteen-year-old son, or so she told me, and I believe her. I know that once Kerry and I get something good going, she's bound to pop her head around the door; with a smile.

'Everything alright boys.' She'll say in her sweet voice.

'Fine thanks mum.'

'Oh good. I'll pop back in a few minutes when you've finished what you're doing. Sleep well and God bless you boys.'

Well that's nice don't you think? God bless you boys. Let's hope so, because it's just a few days until Kerry gets his Kent Test result so we are both in a bit of a state. A week in fact. Next Thursday. I've put a lot of work into this project, just as Kerry has. He thought he'd done alright but that is not a reliable indication of how well he's actually done. God bless boys who suffer, and are suffering in some way, anywhere and everywhere. Our issues are but nothing in comparison. Oh dear, when I think about it. At least they're not bombing children in Gaza now. All that was truly horrific, making all of us ashamed to be part of the human race. Bastards. How would they like it?

Friday morning. 07.55.

The girls got on the bus first as per usual, which meant that Lily was in the box seat, which happens to be the back seat. When Kerry and I strolled down the central aisle towards the rear of the bus, I saw Lily sitting where we do, her legs apart and flashing a small triangular expanse of her white knickers under her very short tartan skirt. It's fashionable again, wearing their skirts as short as mummy will reluctantly allow, rolled up as soon as they leave their house trying to convince the horny boys that they are theirs for the asking. I'm sure that our new friend Lily has the hots for Kerry.

Kerry calmly slid his way past Lily and sat down next to the window leaving me to sit the other side of Lily, so no hand up a trouser leg this morning for an exciting rummage around Kerry's soft and hot nether regions. The bus sets off for Folkestone, and Lily has something to say to me. She looks like a determined cuss, this one, with her steely blue eyes. She doesn't mince her words…….

'I want this one.' She says in a very definite way, pointing at Kerry. She wants him and she's letting me know I'm not in her particular picture, at all. 'I don't want you , I want him .' Time to get lost? I think so. Kerry can report back later.

I stood up and looked back. Lily is leaning into Kerry who is looking out at the passing buildings, apparently disinterested. I took the seat directly in front of them so I could monitor any tell-tale sound coming from them. In the next ten minutes I heard nothing above the noise of the bus. Time to have a quick look. If Lily is up to no good with Kerry, they won't notice my head poking around the corner.

Oh how sweet. Kerry still has his face against the window and I suspect enjoying the attentions of Lily who has her hand on my best friend's thigh. The front of his shorts is thankfully closed for business. Perhaps she's never seen those alluring attributes boys keep in their pants before? Quite possibly. Anyway she's now no better informed. Kerry's compact and bijou sexy bits are temporarily safe.

I looked in on the couple two minutes later to see what had developed. Well that is a surprise. Kerry is leaning towards Lily and they are engaged in a lengthy embrace. That's nice for them. For his part Kerry has his hand under her short tartan skirt and it's moving, the girl's legs necessarily wide apart to give our boy easy access. She likes it, that's very obvious as she wriggles about, her face buried in Kerry's. I watch on. I'm not sure I'm liking the fact that Kerry appears to be so involved with this mini trollop, but at the same time I'm mildly amused. Maybe I'll record this and embarrass Kerry with it later?

Lily just glanced at me as she passed by heading for her usual seat about six rows back from the other two girls who would not have noticed her ten- minute relocation. It was only a fleeting look but I caught her eye for a second. There was nothing in her expression. After school today we are modelling, potentially nude. Should Kerry go through with his threat of going at it nude? I just hope he can get through it without his usual problem surfacing. What would Henry, open mouthed, make of that I wonder, trying so hard so control his own body whilst being faced just a couple of metres away with the naked Kerry, looking right back at him? Then Kerry imagines what he might persuade Henry to give him, in exchange for a smart phone. Once he got used to it, the initial discomfort, he would rather like it, maybe. These thoughts, as he looks back at Henry, although initially quite disturbing for him, become a real possibility, or is this dealing the boy a serious slur? Just think of it, a brand-new smart phone, and what he could do with that? The possibilities for Kerry would be endless. Those thoughts, and the effect the young and ridiculously handsome Henry, were beginning to have the desired effect on Kerry, and Henry too.

Well, all that's my naughty speculation. The big question is whether or not Kerry will take his pants off in front of a group of would-be artists he doesn't know from Adam? I reckon he will not when it comes to the crunch, but I won't know, neither will Henry, if he will actually do it.

We got to Phil's studio at the usual time of five past four. Kerry hadn't said much on the bus back. I imagine he was still turning over the coming event in his mind, and with his big decision to make. I had an arm around him most of the way wondering if I myself am prepared to go that far for Phil? I've decided that if Kerry is prepared to, then I will too.

The room was particularly warm what with two portable electric fires going as well as the background warmth from the wall heaters. The usual dais affair constructed from four square wooden platform things put together was in the middle of the room on top of which was a thin mattress object with a plain white sheet over it with the far ends curving down unsupported. I wondered what Phil had in mind for us on that thing? The poses we did last week were both standing ones. If we are to be lying down, exactly how would he have us, and doing what?

The class was bigger today, I counted seven people, three men including Henry, two older boys who were dressed in what looked like white school shirts but no ties or blazers, and two girls, one more than last time, neither of whom were school age. Looking towards the corner, expecting to see the screen for changing behind…….

'Where's that screen gone Phil?'

'Oh you don't need that Arlo, surely? I've put two chairs out for you boys. Just put all your clothes on them please. We're all ready for you so if it's ok with you, I think we need to get on now. Come on then!'

I looked at him somewhat blankly. Alright then.

I turned to Kerry who was looking around the room apprehensively.

'We better get started Kerry. Just think about the money. This should be twelve quid each remember?'

Kerry looks back at me, and nods. We're going for it. I'll go first.

Looking back, it wasn't anything like as awkward and embarrassing as I thought it would be. Needless to say, the last bit was the worst; the final removal of our pants. I caught the eyes of those two boys who appeared to be spellbound at the sight of me revealing my boy bits and pieces. I was careful not to smile at them. Phil had told us that any kind of communication between the model and the students, even wordless, was strictly forbidden. We are just two bodies to be observed. Nonetheless, there is a form of communication between us. In a sense we are performers for them, actors in front of an audience.

Phil 'posed' us, lying on the sheet draped over the mattress, not quite on our backs, slightly sideways, one leg out straight, the other bent, one arm outstretched, our right hands resting on our tummies with the fingertips resting in the groin area and just short of touching you know what. We lay opposite ways around, top to tail if you like, so wherever you were in the room you'd get an interesting angle. I tried to imagine what I looked like from the two boys' foreshortened perspective looking up between my partially open legs; and then stopped thinking about it before I got interested in the idea of me presenting them with a view into my back bottom. I could see both of the girls in front of me, sitting with their legs either side of their 'donkeys' working away with studied concentration, and watching where their eyes went. I wondered if they had ever seen a naked boy of my age before, or an even younger one in the shape of my best friend.

We had a break after twenty-five minutes. Kerry went over to Henry to see what sort of a job he was making of us. Henry smiles in that cute way of his. I think Kerry quite likes him. I think he's a bit creepy. He's a bit too good looking. He must have been a very pretty little boy with that longish blond hair and all, but I can see why Kerry likes him. If he got into bed with me, I wouldn't kick him out. No, definitely not.

Phil brought us both mugs of tea at half time, half full, and a plain round biscuit. It was very odd walking around a room stark naked when everyone else has clothes on. But as I said, in a few minutes it seems like nothing. I'm going over to the two schoolboys, sixth formers surely, sent by their schools to learn something.

Meanwhile Kerry is listening to Henry who appears to be explaining in some detail concerning his charcoal sketch of us two boys together. Us two boys together. That sounds nice. I guess that's what we are, hopefully.

For the second half Phil changed the pose. We are to lie on our sides, more or less back-to-back, and the same way around. We were opposites in the last one.

'Just move yourselves back a little Arlo please, so you and Kerry are just touching. Yes, just like that, perfect. Get comfy now. Yes, perfect. Well done boys. Class, you have just twenty-five minutes for this one.'

This was a good pose as I lay there with my eyes shut. Money for old rope!

As we were dressing Clive must have slipped in quietly. I know he's taking over from us as the model for the second hour. I watched him get his kit off in the corner. He's obviously more experienced at this lark than we are and was totally unphased as everything came off leaving him delightfully nude. Nice body too, including the other thing dangling there as he carefully places his pants over the other clothes on the back of the chair. But why has he no pubic hair? He must shave it off. And what's Henry saying to Kerry, now? That's odd.

Twelve pounds sterling each! Not bad. Not bad at all.

'Are you up for going on with the modelling Kerry?' I ask my friend as we make our way homewards. He nods. 'Good. What was Henry saying to you?'

'Nothing.'

Which means…… something .

'So you're not going to tell me then?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'Because…….I can't.'

Saturday morning. 06.35.

Kerry is not in his bed. I got up and went to the bathroom. He's not there. So I go downstairs and look around. Not here either. Shit! Where is he?

There's no point in going outside is there? I look out of the kitchen window into the garden. It's misty and drizzly. There's no way he's gone down to the beach for a walk. Not in this vile late October weather surely?

I'm by my bedroom window that looks out over our small front garden and onto our cul de sac road, Napier Gardens. Kerry's just about to open the front gate and come in, at last. Where has he been for goodness sake? I'm pretty sure I know where he's been.

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The Bus Stop

by Rafael Henry

Chapter 12