The Bus Stop

by Rafael Henry

Chapter 20

The appointment with the solicitor, a Mr Simmons at Midgleys is at 10.30 this morning. I'm going as well as mum and obviously, the person in question, Kerry. He's been named in his granny's will so he's going to get something at the very least. Exactly what we won't know until sometime after 10.30. I can't help feeling excited, a mistake because it will no doubt turn out to be nothing exciting at all, like a bequest of five hundred pounds, but on the other hand, it might? Anything at all would be nice, and a boost for our dear Kerry, the sexiest little minx this side of Mars. We had a bit of a go last night, early to bed before the sea air got us after our day at Camber Sands over there across the border into enemy territory, Sussex. It was the usual thing, start with kissing and see how we go.

'You're leaking again Arlo.' Kerry says, touching me with a testing fingertip, something he always does when he thinks I'm getting excited.

'Oh, am I?'

'Umm. May I?'

'That would be nice, yes.'

If he can do that to me, I can do that to him; which is only fair. We have only tried a 69 once before with ludicrous results, but this time we had learnt from previous errors and got it almost right, apart from the timing. It was me over the line first which I didn't intend. I always aim for him to be first. I have to say that Kerry gets better by the week if not by the day and he was too good for me. I just couldn't stop it. He whipped his body around 180 degrees in a flash to face me. I knew what was coming. What I had given him seconds before, I was going to get back, plus his saliva, a flavour I know well, and a heady mixture as you might imagine. I didn't comment with something like 'Was that it then, little boy?' I wouldn't have been so rude. Then the sea air must have got us as we breathed into one another's faces.

But to get back to Midgley and Co's office……

'Ah, do come in. Sit-ee down won't you.' Says Mr Simmons. 'Sorry to drag you over here from sunny Hythe to Folkestone but as I mentioned in my letter, I have Kerry's grandmother's will before me now. Allow me to read the relevant paragraphs to you all.'

Dear me, just get on with it, please .

Earlier.

'School uniform today Kerry. Got to look a bit smarter for this one. I'll sort you out. Have you washed? Done everything? Ok, good. Sure you're clean? Great. Go and find some socks and pants, I'll get the rest. What are you doing Kerry? Come on, there isn't time now. Just hurry up. Mum wants us down in five minutes.' Says bossy me. He likes my bossiness as much as I enjoy being just a little masterful. Sexy, but then I find lots of things sexy. It's my age. Fourteen now and brimming with it, my hormones going completely nuts. At least that's my excuse.

It's often like that with K. He's never quick to do anything, apart from one thing. He can do that frankly, far too quickly. I had to wake him up this morning so no time for any morning niceties sadly, apart from that actual process of gently coaxing him out of a deep sleep which I do take my time over, a process well worth the time taken. Some nights Kerry wants to keep a pair of my larger pants on so they're suitably loose and accessible. Very sexy. Some nights he prefers to be nude and just be a sleeping beauty, but the mornings are really very beautiful as he rises gently to the surface of consciousness. I love to ease the duvet off him and just admire what I see before me, sleeping, and apply the very faintest of touches with fingertips to his flesh. I love all of it, always leaving his genitals until last, and if he's lying that way, sideways, very gently do a bit of exploring between the bottom cheeks, and finding the tiny and wonderfully resistant rosebud itself, by which time his unconscious sexual self has begun to waken, the penis filling with his life blood until it's firm and ready, twitching as it does, giving tiny little jumps like it does after one of his more protracted orgasms, the perineum rhythmically bulging as his prostate pumps nothing much out through the urethra. I'd quite like to analyse his nowhere near semen just to see if there's anything swimming in there; yet. I doubt it but nonetheless a couple of drops of the good stuff. By the time Kerry gets to the bathroom he has trouble peeing due to his persistent erection. I can never pee whilst 'up' but I know some boys can. Is this usual? I don't know how one researches that topic.

Henry called me about a half hour before we had to leave by taxi to the solicitor's office to see this Mr Simmons.

'Hi Arlo. How are things?'

'Ok thanks Henry. Just off to see this lawyer guy. Kerry's named in his granny's will so we have been summoned for a reading. Quite exciting actually. Kerry's in a state about it. He might get some cash out of it.'

'Sounds like he's going to get something at least. I was going to say, before you gave me that exciting news, that I've edited the video footage we worked on the other day. Quite nice. When can you come for a viewing?'

'Oh, later on today? We should be done at the solicitors by lunchtime at the latest. About two this afternoon?'

'Great. Come to the OLH as before. Leave Kerry at home so it will be just me and you; if that's ok? By the way, how did your birthday go? I was thinking of you the whole day, damn you.'

'Oh were you? No naughty thoughts I sincerely hope?'

'Not too many. I was thinking about what you were saying on Monday. You were musing on certain questions.'

'Oh? Remind me please.'

'What it might be like?'

'Oh tha t question. I guess I'll find out one day, if my luck's in, and the right boy turns up on the beach who lives nearby and his mummy and daddy are out for the afternoon.'

'It's a question I have the answer to; you know that don't you?'

'I guessed you might have a few answers for me.'

'Absolutely. So you can come then?'

'Yes; I could.'

'Ok. But will you?'

'At two this afternoon then.'

'Great. See you then.'

My tummy flipped a couple of times as I turned my phone back to messages. I've got to stop checking constantly. Nothing new. Kerry, are you ready yet? Mum will be waiting for the taxi by the front window. That is typical of my dear 'never late for anything' mummy.

Kerry is downstairs waiting with mum. He looks good enough to eat, standing in his natty school uniform, the shortened shorts a few inches above the knees; but not too short to become a subject for comment. No, that's fine. With his full-ish bottom, the shorts are filled to capacity, the seams of my selection of underwear showing through the thin cotton material perfectly, and even better with hands in pockets, something he doesn't often do. My instructions obeyed.

'Hands Kerry!'

'Oh, sorry Arlo. I forgot.'

'Well don't do it again.' I said, instantly regretting my rudeness.

That's better young man. I try not to be bossy with him but there are times when a little discipline is necessary, something he enjoys. He says he does. I'm wondering if his people were occasionally……….over zealous. Dear God I hope not.

Speaking of strict discipline, I once asked my father if he was ever beaten at school; that's the word used in those places, at his private boarding institution he went to in Shropshire for the last eight years of his secondary education.

'Oh yes, several times.'

'Did it hurt?'

'Yes it did. Most boys cried as they came out of the Housemaster's study, hands over their stinging backsides. It bloody well did hurt, depending on the grouping of the strokes of this cane thing, a length of bamboo basically, tapering towards one end. If the grouping was close, it hurt more. Usually the caning was for more than one boy, for offenses like persistent talking after lights out, so there might be several of us waiting the other side of the door to get our just deserts. We could hear the cane swishing through the air and then land on the boy's bare bottom with a resounding thwack . For that offense it would probably be four strokes. I never got the full six but others did. One day two boys were found in bed together by Matron during a games session when they should have been out in the wind and rain playing rugger. They didn't get any punishment at all. It was always a mystery as to what was done about them, and they never ever said any more about it. The canings left long dark red marks on both cheeks and lasted for ages, gradually going a sort of yellow colour. As far as I know no one ever told their parents. I certainly didn't. There was no record of it put on your reports or anything, so parents never knew unless the individual concerned told them. I never did tell my parents. I think every boy got caned at one time or another. That's how it was in those days. A couple of our boys didn't seem to mind it, coming back to the dorm laughing about it. You always had to show the rest the marks left from it. Red stripes about four inches long, in old money. That was mandatory, something you had to do; show off your badge of honour. That's all gone now.'

Has it all gone now?

I thought about it for quite a long time, what dad had said to me about the various punishments he underwent, up to the age of fourteen I think he said. Interesting that beatings stopped at that age. I asked him about that…..

'I couldn't really tell you the answer to that. Probably because boys go through a change around that age. By the way I ought to have a chat with you sometime.'

Does that mean a puberty chat? No thanks dad. I'd rather mum did that if it's all the same, but I suppose he thinks he should do it. Anyway school does it. They don't trust parents or carers to do it properly. Even they don't tell us what we really need to know, but certain books will.

Most of the punishments involved some degree of physical pain, apart from written 'lines'. I think my pain threshold is reasonably high. I've been wondering about having sex with Henry, to put it bluntly. How much would, or will, it hurt? Henry had made veiled, thinly veiled, offers to me on several occasions. I'm sure he has no interest in some long-term sexual relationship with me. I've mentioned to him my curiosity on the subject too, which obviously prompted his remarks so it's my fault really. Add to that his invitation for me to go to the OLH, the Old Lifeboat House, alone, this afternoon, ostensibly to have a gander at his editing skills. Shall I anoint my anus before I go? Should I go armed with painkillers, or one of those freezing sprays to put on injured rugby players legs? If dad could put up with a painful caning aged twelve, surely I can put up with anything Henry might be wielding? I'm inclined to give it a go, but not before I consult The Good Book, again. I'll see what it says on this delicate subject, first time anal intercourse. Kerry and I have done it three times now pretty successfully. Kerry is naturally expressive over lots of things so he does make a bit of a fuss when we get going, with loads of oohs and aahs but he says he does it because it feels so intense, he just has to express his feelings. The thought of doing it in complete silence appals me. The whole point of having any sort of fun with another boy means the sounds you would associate with pleasure have to be there for the well-being of both of you. I need to know that Kerry is enjoying what we are doing, so we talk during a 'session', as Henry calls it. We talk and make all kinds of noises. That's why we never do anything remotely complicated if there's anyone else in the house. Then we can relax and make as much noise as we like. I recorded a session a few weeks ago and then we played it back. Very nice! There are needless to say, lots of quiet things to do too, thank goodness.

Back in the solicitors office.

It's a large room dominated by Mr Simmons massive desk. He's dressed in a dark suit and all the rest of it, shiny lace up shoes and all. He's quite young; no more than forty at a guess and well-spoken as you would expect. I wonder if he got beaten at school? Probably. But for what? I'd love ask him but I can't. Kerry sat on one of the three mahogany padded chairs set out for us right in front of his desk, Kerry between myself and mum. It took him a good minute to arrange the papers before he decided to say anything, adjust his glasses two or three times. So we just sat there and waited.

I'm feeling incredibly nervous and I'm sure Kerry is too as he sits bolt upright in his chair, open mouthed and breathing faster than normal. Poor kid, he's genuinely scared of this whole scenario. But he does look beautiful. Serene, almost, but with a tumult going on inside. Come on Mr straight faced Simmons!

'With regard to this matter I will get straight to the point. Your grandmother's will is quite straightforward in most respects, just two codicils and some notes for the benefit of her executors, in this case in the singular, which as you already will be aware, is my firm. I am pleased to be the lead executor in this case which I am pleased to present to you this morning. Am I making myself clear to you all?'

We nodded, thinking that if this is getting to the point, the point might be hours away.

'Therefore we shall proceed to the matter of the beneficiaries named in the Will, which in this case there is just a sole beneficiary. You, Master Kerry, are that sole beneficiary.' He says, looking over his glasses straight at Kerry, who looks straight back at him, mouth open. How beautiful he looked at that moment.

Mr Simmons kept on looking directly at Kerry with just the hint of a smile, over the top of his spectacles. Silence ensues. I looked at Kerry again. He wants to say something.

'What does that mean Sir? What is a beneficiary?'

Oh no! Please don't ask questions Kerry. I'll never get to Henry's place this afternoon.

'A beneficiary is a person or entity who is designated to receive a benefit from someone else. Beneficiaries are often individual people, but they can also be entities such as educational institutions, religious institutions or charitable organizations. To explain further, a sole beneficiary is a single person or entity that's designated to receive assets . For example, say you're unmarried with no children, as you are, you want to leave all of your assets to your oldest sibling. You could write a will naming him, or her, as your sole beneficiary. In short, you are the only person named in your granny's will, therefore you are entitled to all her assets after any taxes or other expenses have been disbursed, that's to say, paid out to all her creditors, the people she either owes money to or any taxes she is liable for after her death, which has to be settled after probate and from the related estate, such as Inheritance Tax; for example.'

' Will there be any taxes to pay?' Kerry asks, quietly, returning Mr Simmons stare.

'Probably. That depends on the total value of her assets after death and whether that total exceeds the Inheritance Tax threshold, currently, in your case, five hundred thousand pounds sterling. An approximate value of her estate today is seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds. I understand that your life thus far has not been easy or straightforward in some aspects, so may I offer my sincere congratulations dear boy.'

Mr Simmons stands up, leans forward over the desk and offers his hand towards Kerry who takes it in his. There is a short shaking of hands before both Kerry and Mr Simmons sit down once more.

We are all, except Mr Simmons, in a state of shock. My mother looks at Kerry who feels the unseen glance, and turns his head to look back at her. It's a fantastic moment. I can see mum is close to tears. So am I.

No one felt like any lunch. I left mum with Kerry who, frankly didn't know what to think about or do with himself. It had all been a bit much for him so mum said she'd keep him with her for the afternoon so they could talk about what all this meant for Kerry, or might mean. He would need to set up a bank account for a start. His granny's house could be let to provide an income, or sold and the proceeds invested. There was enough cash in a current account and a Building Society account, according to Mr Simmons calculations explained in another half hour in his office this morning, to cover all the likely taxes and expenses. The funeral alone was over three thousand pounds. The invested cash was not tied up in inaccessible accounts; all in what Mr Simmons described as 'easy access', which was self-explanatory, even to me. If the house was to be let, then that would involve quite a lot of work to get it rentable. The easy option was to sell it just as she left it, cleared out of course, another problem. We'll see. Anyway, this bombshell has opened up entirely new horizons for Kerry. As far as I see it, no major decisions concerning Kerry should be even contemplated for at least a year. His life should go on just as it is now, perfectly stable in a loving environment. Mum and dad will get all the financial stuff organized and he doesn't really need to think about any of that. In a few months he'll be with me at the Grammar in Cheriton, despite the school bearing the name of Folkestone . And we have a summer holiday to enjoy before that. What's not to like? As for me, I told them I wanted to take myself off for a few hours. The one thing we must not do, as Mr Simmons sensibly suggested, is to broadcast Kerry's good fortune 'abroad' as the solicitor put it. 'Abroad?' Asks Kerry. 'Ah, yes, what I mean is dear boy, not to go around telling all and sundry about this.' 'All and sundry?' Mr Simmons laughs, looking down. 'Just don't go around the place telling people that you've, or will shortly be, inheriting a large amount of money dear boy.' Kerry just stared back at him, still trying to take in what's happened to him.

Mum is sitting with Kerry on the sofa in the drawing room. She has her arm around him as he sits sideways leaning into her. It gives me a huge glowing feeling that he is so much a part of our family. The glue is there, attaching him to us, and me in particular. Bonded by love.

I went up to our bathroom, separate from mum and dad's which is ensuite to their bedroom, and shared with my sister Fiona. I'm trying for a BM, just in case. The Good Book talks about not only being clean in that part, but also making sure that a BM is not an issue later, before or even during sex. In the book there's an illustration of a douche, a sort of water cleaning process for way up into your bottom. I like the idea of that. I'm going to ask Henry about it. I already have a tube of the necessary stuff to make it easy, or in Henry's case, and I'm speculating here, tolerable. I'm beyond excited about all this. Kerry has never wanted to do it for me and that's fine. He's never done anything he wasn't comfortable doing. Not ever. I just wish he did, that's all. I'd love to feel his willy inside me. I think Henry wants to do it with me, in fact I'm sure he will if I ask him. But Henry is a very different prospect to Kerry's charming little winkle, as lovely and perfect as it is. I've not seen Henry erect as yet, but I strongly suspect it's what you would call full-sized. He says that any bottom will stretch to allow an erect penis into it, provided the whole process is taken with due care and attention, liberally lubricated, and above all at a pace that is right for the guy underneath, or on top, astride, or whatever position you think might suit you best.

Success! I've done another one, and got a hard-on when I cleaned up afterwards, just anticipating something else in there, rather than two of my fingers getting those nerve endings going nicely. I'm feeling good!

Explicit descriptions using words interest me, especially if I'm attempting to describe the various bits and pieces Kerry and I get up to, and other events and conversations too. Some words can't ever do justice to the sensations one receives or gives for that matter during intimacy with another being, Kerry being just one example that I have experience of. I've no idea how many boys, or men Henry has known, some no doubt in the biblical sense. Adam knew Eve, and Cain was the result of Eve's pregnancy. At least Henry won't get me pregnant when he can't stop himself from ejaculating deep into my bowel, any more than I could stop him releasing an unknown quantity of his slippery stuff into me. I'd like to know that little detail, how much a virile grown-up boy like him gets? The Book told us it was up to a desert spoonful which is vastly more than I can get, thus far, and Kerry isn't even on that map yet. But we live in hope for him. Another thing mentioned in the Book was leakage. If there's a lot of it, much of it will escape in due course. My dad has a book by Stephen Fry. 'The Liar', or maybe it was that other one written much earlier. In it he describes having sex with an older boy at his boarding school and a while later feeling some cold wetness working its way through the back and down his Y Fronts on one side of his upper thigh. Thinking purely in practicalities, the further up the boy ejaculates, the longer it will take to finally leak out the other end. I'm trying to imagine the image of that curiosity, thick milky white stuff oozing out of one's anus. I'm not sure if I like that image, or not? Very perversely, I think I do. Oh dear, there can be no hope for me.

All this is very odd. I'm hoping that the very handsome Henry might provide me, and himself, with deep pleasure this afternoon, and tomorrow Mum is taking me and Kerry to Rochester. She wants to go a shop there that sells antique chandeliers, and then to Evensong at the Big Church. She's interested in church music. I looked up the Cathedral's Music List. It said the service was being sung by the Cathedral Choir. That's boys isn't it? Good, we're going! So it will be rampant sex swiftly followed by religion. Is there some irony there? Don't choir masters have sex with all the boy choristers; or just some of them? Or maybe just that pretty innocent one whom he knows won't ever tell a soul about what he did to him? The established churches have had some explaining to do in recent years, including Rochester. Choir scandals seem to be fashionable these days, which is not what choristers wanted, or their parents or all the other clergy associated with those places. But it has happened, sadly.

The Good Book never mentions any situation other than those with adults. The word grooming is never mentioned. The Book isn't about that. Never. Did I groom Kerry? No I certainly didn't. Has Henry groomed me? No he hasn't. I'm attracted to him and I pretty sure I am attractive to him too, so that could be a convenient arrangement.

I want and need a lesson in how to make love to someone older than Kerry. It's not that I'm bored with him. I never will be. I love him for far better reasons than all that, however all that pleasurable, sexual stuff. But Henry might offer that tuition I think I want right now, and lots of good sense about sex. And there's the dangers too. I can do without a STD thank you very much.

I'm going in a pair of loose white running shorts with a pair of brief not too tight pants underneath. Room to breathe and whatever. Above, a pale blue sleeveless singlet, white ankle socks and a pair of standard white trainers. It's forecast to be around 75 degrees on the fahrenheit scale so no other clothing needed. Perfect. This just fourteen-year-old is ready to go!

The door of the OLH was unlocked. Lunch below in the café on the ground floor is still buzzing with people and children working on their fish and chip lunches, with the attendant smells wafting all over the place, but hopefully not upstairs in Henry apartment, essentially one huge room with the massive window that overlooks the pebbly beach, variations on a sort of tan colour mixed with grey, black and white, with a relatively calm sea beyond, with a few small waves breaking which mum calls sea horses scattered about, caused by the light to moderate breeze.

Henry was by the front window gazing out.

'Oh hi Arlo! Great to see you. How did it go this morning?'

'Fine thanks. Kerry's granny has left him something in her will.'

'So is he a rich little boy now.'

'It's all relative Henry, and no he isn't, relatively speaking,'

'Relative to what, or whom?'

'Elon Musk. Relative to him he's still as poor as a church mouse.'

'Right, ok. You're looking good Arlo. Nice view out there today.'

An invitation if ever I heard one, so I respond by walking over to him and standing close, but not touching. I can hear him breathing. He's in those pale yellow shorts and nothing up top, and bare feet. I suspect he's not wearing anything underneath. The thing is poking forwards.

He saw me looking.

'What are you looking at Arlo?'

'I can see it.'

'Oh, sorry. I don't bother with underpants when I'm working at home. No point really. Should I go and put some on?'

'No. Should I take mine off so we are equal?' Say I, half laughing.

'Up to you. Or maybe your shorts? I know you enjoy showing the world your nifty knickers.'

'Do I?'

'I think you do, and I like that. You wear them very nicely. Very sexy, just like Kerry.'

'These are Kerry's. Mum got them for him ages ago. They were a bit big for him. A bit babyish he thought, like kids' pants with little abstract motifs on them.'

'He is a bit babyish, isn't he?'

'Sometimes, when he needs to be.'

'Like when he's with you?'

'Umm. He knows I like to mother him.'

'I bet you do that rather well?'

'He thinks so, so that's the main thing.'

'So how do you mother him, exactly?'

'Get him undressed, sometimes, and dressed. Get him clean where he can't get to. Stuff like that.'

'Are you clean; now?'

'Do I need to be?'

'You do really, if you're serious?'

'I am serious. At least see how we start even if we don't finish……that way.'

'Good. Maybe we might check one or two things?'

'Where?'

'Over there? Is that ok with you?'

Is this it? Do I have some rapid growing up to do? Come on Arlo, do you really want to do this?

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The Bus Stop

by Rafael Henry

Chapter 20