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He was small. Too small, perhaps. Too small and too young to be left all alone, helpless-looking on the driveway of the school with his bags and a hundred other kids. Not younger than all of them, just smaller, physically and emotionally. He had a classic appearance of a rabbit caught in the headlights, and though I had been assigned other tasks I couldn't ignore his plight.

"Trefor Williams," he said in a tiny voice, when I asked his name. I scanned the list on my clipboard, while he waited expectantly with the expression of bewilderment which so often accompanies the lads dumped by uncaring parents, or worse, the family chauffeur. His high, lilting Welsh choirboy voice would have been a delight if it wasn't so strained by fear and confusion. I found his details.

"Right," I said. "Brenfield House for you then. Come on, let's get you over there."

I wasn't meant to take him myself. I was meant to wait for one of the older boys to come and take Trefor's bags and show him the way. But the headmaster would understand. He knew I had a soft spot for the lost ones, that I couldn't just stand by and watch.

Chaos reigned in Brenfield, with boys new and old squeezing past each other in the corridors, the latter invariably shouting or laughing. The older boys had been back for a week already, and were full of the boisterous, show-off spirit which comes with knowing more about a place than their counterparts. The new boys, mostly first years like Trefor but occasionally older boys too, were easy to spot, their shell-shocked expressions plain for all to see. Luggage, all one of three strictly prescribed hard-back canvas trunks from a sole supplier in London, was an added hazard - we had to limit the boys to one item each, specifically chosen to fit the space available in the rooms, or else some would turn up with the entire contents of their bedrooms, which was clearly untenable.

My own rooms were on the top floor, so I knew the building well, and Trefor was lucky enough to have scored a double room rather than getting stuck in one of the dorms. Perhaps when he'd been to the school on one of the selection days a note had been made about him. 'No dorm!' was the usual scribble on the interviewer's notes, and where possible they were followed. Boys like Trefor were spotted instantly; the normal practice was to only accept boys who were outgoing and capable of easily integrating into the Hillview way of life, but exceptions were made when an outstanding talent was discovered. I idly wondered as we made our way to E14 what Trefor's talent must be.

We battled our way up four flights of stairs to the room. Trefor's name was on the bed on a little gilt-edged card, a cheap trick but one which seemed to work, funnily enough. Perhaps the sense of occasion, or the idea that they weren't just another face in the crowd, that someone had thought of them. That was the hardest part, I think, making the boys feel as though there was someone looking out for them, that they weren't anonymous. For many this would turn out to be more attention than they would receive at home.

Trefor's room-mate would be a second year, a boy called Roger Hargreaves (not the Roger Hargreaves!), a fairly timid lad himself, who hadn't really thrived in Dorm 6 last year. It was nice to know he would be able to show Trefor the ropes, whilst perhaps also being a little more comfortable in himself. Roger, who'd like all the older boys had been back a week already, was missing from the room, though a quick scan through my memory reminded me that he was a keen runner, so was probably out with one of the sports masters and the other lads from the cross-country club, getting a few miles under their belts whilst the weather was still clement. His bed was neatly made - not actually a requirement unless the housemaster was that way inclined, but nice to see anyway - and his side of the room was quite tidy.

We deposited Trefor's bag in the place specifically designed to receive it, and I sat down on the edge of his bed, indicating that he should join me. He was so short that he was forced to jump a little to get up there. Once more my heart was torn in two for the boy.

"This is your room then, Trefor," I said, trying to keep my voice upbeat. "What do you think?"

"I... er..."

"It's ok, mate," I said, putting an arm around his shoulders. "It'll take a bit of getting used to, right?"

Trefor just nodded, looking down at the floor.

"Well," I continued, the forced brightness still in my voice, "you're meant to be at induction, so we'd better get you there, yeah?"

He nodded again, and followed me out of the room, a quiet, lost mouse.

---

A year passed. Boys were educated, friendships made and broken, sporting prowess discovered and honed. The business of Hillview went on unhindered, unchanged by personal stories, by triumphs and tragedies. I found myself standing on the lawn by the main drive, watching another year's intake being delivered to their fate in front of me. It was the ninth year I'd been here, doing this, and it never became easier to see the pained expressions on so many of the boys' faces.

There was a rather young looking one. Too young, perhaps. When had I thought that before? Every year, I realised, every year there was another boy who looked far from ready. I began to make my way towards him, when suddenly there appeared at his side a young boy, not much bigger than the newcomer, but with confidently thrown back shoulders and a manner which spoke volumes of his Hillview experience. With a start, I realised it was Trefor.

I'd not had much contact with the boy since that first day. Not that I had shirked a responsibility to him - his pairing with Roger had been inspired, and had helped both boys to blossom. Between his room mate and his house master, I wasn't needed. I'd seen him around, of course, but not paid too much attention to his personal development.

Perhaps I should have, I realised as I approached the pair. I no longer felt guilt when appraising a boy physically. I'd accepted that I was attracted to them, and there was nothing I  could do to change that. Trefor, now nearly 12, wasn't going to change my mind any time soon. His sun-bleached light brown hair hung in a shaggy mop past his ears, and his elfin face poked out from it, thin, highly arched eyebrows framing hazel eyes which seemed lit from within. A pert nose and a tiny little bow of a mouth finished the masterpiece.

"Morning, Trefor. Are you taking charge, then?"

He grinned up at me, an expression filled with an underlying mischief which fascinated me.

"Yes, sir. This is James Hardy, sir."

I scanned my notes, smiling to myself at the coincidence.

"Brenfiled House, Trefor. Room E15, right next to yours. He's in with Adam Willard. Adam's in your year, isn't he?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ok, then, better get James up to house, then."

He gave me a flash of that grin again, then turned to his charge. As I walked away, I could hear his high-pitched lilt begin to wash over the newcomer, and smiled to myself at the hypnotising tone it carried.

I began to notice Trefor more and more as the year went on. His name seemed to appear all over the place - he was the best soprano in the boys' choir, and an unlikely pick at fly half for the under-12 rugby team, and his academic ability was, whilst not stellar, at least stand-out. And I noticed his smile; I was treated to it each time we passed in the corridors of Brenfield house, and anywhere else we met in the school. It wasn't unusual for boys to form friendly relationships with teachers, especially from their own house, but Trefor's smile was something else. It lit up my day.

And then his name was in the headlines for the wrong reasons. He'd beaten the hell out of an older boy, and was up against the disciplinary panel, a group of teachers who convened to determine punishment for serious infractions. More importantly, he had chosen me, of all the masters in his house, to be his advocate. The advocacy system was designed to offer moral support to the boy where normally his parents would be called in. A boy could choose any master from his own house, or in exceptional circumstances, any master not on the panel.

It was hard not to be amused by the story, even though the loser of the fight was pretty roughed up. Trefor was half the size of the other lad, who was a prop forward in the rugby team, and probably not used to being bested by a pint-sized warrior. As soon as I was told that Trefor wanted me as his advocate, I sought the boy out in his room.

He looked contrite, at least, but defiant, too, and merely shrugged when quizzed about his behaviour.

"You're not willing to tell me anything about why it happened, then?" I asked.

"No, sir."

"Did he provoke you? Did he say something? Come on, Trefor, help me out here. I might be able to help in the panel meeting."

"Just let me take the punishment, sir. Please. I deserve it."

"Sorry, Trefor, but I can't leave it there. I need to know why you did this."

He looked up at me for the first time since I'd entered the room. He seemed to be having an internal debate about whether or not he should confide in me.

"Sir," he said at last, "would it be ok if I told you after?"

I gave in and agreed. "Fine, as long as you will tell me."

He nodded glumly, resigned to his fate.

The meeting went roughly as I'd expected it might, having been on the panel myself. In light of his previous good behaviour, Trefor was let off with detention for two weeks and a letter home to his parents. He was even gracious enough to thank the board at the end of the meeting.

As we walked back towards Brenfield in the weak autumn sunlight it was easy to see that a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and I wondered if it was because he had made it through the meeting without being forced to explain to the panel exactly why he had started the fight in the first place. That reminded me of his promise to confide in me once his punishment had been decided, and I became determined to find out what had made such a mild-mannered boy so very angry.

I steered us toward The Dell, a thick grove of trees in the south east corner of the estate where a number of wooden benches were available. It wasn't unusual to see boys wandering around amongst the trees when they wanted somewhere quiet to go, and even as we passed into the cool shade of the interior we came across a couple of lads playing chess on a bench. If only all the boys were that civilised and well behaved...

"So," I started, as we sat on a lone bench far from eavesdropping ears, "what was it all about, Trefor?"

He stared at the ground for a moment, the toe of his shoe twisting a little twig this way and that in the dirt. When he spoke I could, for the first time, detect a hint of emotion in his voice.

"I won't get in any more trouble, will I sir?"

I shook my head. "No, Trefor. Nothing you say here will be repeated elsewhere. I'm concerned, that's all."

He sighed, and then spoke. "Right, ok. Do you remember the boy I was helping when you came over on Induction Day?"

I nodded. "James, wasn't it? James Hardy."

"Yeah. Well, he was like I was when I first came to Hillview. You know, scared and everything. I kept thinking back to when I started and how all I wanted was a hug. A few weeks after he got here I could hear him crying in his room while I was doing my prep. I went in and asked him if he was ok."

"You know," I interrupted, "you could have told a master."

He shrugged. "I suppose so, but it just seemed nicer if I went and saw if he was ok. Anyway, he stopped crying because I turned up, and then said he wasn't a baby, and that he hadn't been crying or anything. I just thought he looked like he needed a hug, so I went over and gave him one. I would have wanted someone to hug me when I was sad about home."

"Did he mind?"

"No, he liked it. He smiled and said thanks."

"Right. So what does this have to do with beating up Graham?"

"Well, I left the door open, and Graham saw me hugging him. He didn't say anything for ages, but then he started teasing me about it after rugby. He kept calling me gay and things."

"Oh, I see. So you thought the best way to shut him up was to pummel his head in?"

Trefor managed a wry smile, though his eyes remained rooted to the ground. "It worked, didn't it, sir?"

I couldn't help myself, and laughed out loud. "Yes, it worked. But you can't beat someone up every time they say something you don't like, Trefor."

"I know, sir," he replied, serious again. "I wouldn't normally, but..."

"But what, Trefor?"

"But what he said... it's true..."

He shut his eyes and a single, fat tear rolled down hit cheek and fell to the ground beneath him, staining the soil. He needed a hug...

---

There was a soft knock on the door to my rooms. I clicked save on the memoirs I was working on and flipped shut the lid of the laptop, leaving it on the coffee table as I went to answer the summons. It was getting close to 9 o'clock, the magical time when masters were considered safe from disturbance, save for emergencies, and I hoped that whatever it was wouldn't disturb me for long.

The 'it' was Trefor, and by the look on his face this wasn't going to be a quick one.

"Do you want a Coke, Trefor?" I asked as he sat on the sofa, hands clasped together and shoved between his knees in a classic defensive position. I always offered the boys a soft drink when they came to see me, just as a way of letting them know it was ok. It didn't hurt to treat boys I liked, either. He nodded, and I headed off to my little kitchen to grab him a drink.

"So," I began as I sat down opposite him, "how can I help?"

"Um... well, it's about before. You know, in The Dell, when we were talking, sir. About what I said."

"Yes?"

"Um, you haven't told anyone what I said, have you, sir?"

"No, Trefor, of course not. Why?"

"I just don't want people to know, sir, that's all."

He had a point. As funny as it may seem with all the nocturnal activities which clearly went on, not that many boys were openly gay at Hillview, and actually it tended to lead to a bit of bullying. Boys were lonely, and they were horny, and quite often a bit of both when they came to Hillview, and that led to all sorts of goings on, but very few actually considered themselves to be gay. Trefor wouldn't have it easy if it got out, no matter how hard we worked to protect him.

"It's ok, Trefor. No-one will know unless you want them to."

He didn't respond, just sat there staring into space, obviously deep in thought. Eventually he stirred, seeming to realise that he was sitting there, and looked up at me with a slightly startled expression.

"Was there anything else?" I asked.

He smiled at me with genuine warmth. "No, sir. Thank you."

---

Each time I saw Trefor I found myself hunting for signs that he was OK, or otherwise. He would give me his kilowatt smile each time, and a chirpy "Hi, sir!", and there was no repeat of his evening visit, and no reports of further issues with anyone from the rugby team or elsewhere. Perhaps the beating he had so impressively doled out had sent a warning, or maybe the rumours hadn't spread very far. Either way, his situation seemed to be settling.

It was a surprise, therefore, to return to my rooms after a rather long day to find Trefor already standing in front of my door, waiting for me.

"Come in," I said as I turned the key and pushed open the door, trying to keep the sigh out of my voice. "Coke?"

He nodded enthusiastically, and didn't wait for me to direct him to the sofa, sitting down and making himself at home. He gave me a killer grin and a "Thanks, sir!" when I returned with the ice cold can, and slurped enthusiastically at the sugary concoction whilst I made myself comfortable on the sofa opposite.

"You seem to be in a good mood, Trefor," I said, delighted at the twinkle which had returned to his eye.

He nodded. "They made me head of my section in the choir, sir. Youngest ever!"

"That's great news, Trefor, well done."

"Thanks, sir. It's not why I came to see you, though."

I could have guessed that, but played dumb. "No?"

He shook his head. "No. It's about, you know, what we talked about before. With boys and stuff."

"Oh, right. I take it you have some questions, then."

"Do you mind, sir? Only, I don't know who else to ask, and I thought you might know, because..."

He tailed off, suddenly blushing furiously. I could fill in the end of the sentence myself - clearly my reputation amongst the boys had spread a little wider than I thought. It was indiscreet of him to say something, but I sensed that he, at least, would send the rumours no further. There was no need to deny anything around Trefor - with what I knew he was in the palm of my hand.

"Because I'm gay too, right?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light.

He nodded. "Um... someone said you were, sir." He looked up, hope in his eyes. "Um, sir, is it true?"

"That's a very personal question, Trefor. It's ok, though," I added, responding to the sudden look of panic on his face, "I don't mind you asking. And the answer is, yes, I am. I'd appreciate you not telling anyone, mind, just like you would prefer other people to not know about you. I won't ask who told you, as I'm sure you were told in confidence."

"Thanks, sir."

"So, what did you want to know, then?"

"Um, well... er, how do you know, sir, if someone likes you?"

"Well, it's not easy. You can't just ask them, right?"

He giggled and shook his head.

"So you've got to find out in other ways," I continued. "For a start, you've got to work out if there's a chance they might like you. They'd pretty much have to like boys to feel that way about you. Even if they do like boys, they won't necessarily want to be your boyfriend or anything."

"How do you know, though, sir?"

"You can tell, sometimes. Someone will look at you in a certain way, and you'll just know. More often it just happens. You don't actually know they like you until something happens, then you both realise you like each other."

"So I just wait, and if he likes me I'll find out?" he asked, looking none too convinced.

I shrugged. "You can't really do much else, can you? Is there someone?"

He looked pretty uncomfortable, but answered the question anyway. "Yeah, there is. But I don't think he likes me like that."

He paused, then seemed unwilling to continue.

"So is that it, then?" I asked. "Is that all you wanted to know?"

Now he looked thoroughly uncomfortable, and I could see his cheeks flushing red. There was something, there must have been, but instead he shook his head as if answering an internal question, not the one I'd asked him. Moments later he was gone, and I was left wondering.

---

He was back in my rooms a week or so later, all smiles still, but visibly nervous. I got the feeling I'd become his gay mentor, someone he would turn to for all matters homosexual. Fair enough, I thought, I don't mind that.

"What is it today, Trefor?" I asked as he gulped at his Coke, then belched noisily, apologising through his giggles.

Suddenly he was all business, deadly serious. "Um, it's a bit strange, sir."

"Go on, don't worry about what it is."

"Are you sure, sir? It really is weird."

"Trefor, you can ask me anything, ok?"

"Right... well... um, you know we have sex education classes, sir?"

I nodded.

"Well, they talk about men and women having sex, but they don't talk about men and men. I mean, I don't know what to do..."

"Um, Trefor, is this actually an issue? I mean, do you have a boyfriend?"

He hung his head. "No, not exactly. But it would be good to know for when I do."

I couldn't quite fathom what he was getting at here. He must have been embarrassed almost out of his skin, but for some reason felt that he was able to talk to me, one of the teachers at his school. Perhaps there was a sense of comradeship, a feeling that I was a partner in the wide world of homosexuals.

"Look, Trefor, maybe it's a bit early to be thinking about this stuff, yeah? You're twelve years old, you're only just working things out. Don't be too keen to do everything too soon."

"But I want to, sir. I want to know what it all feels like. Jack said you might want to, you know, show me..."

As soon as he said it, his hands flew to his mouth, his eyes wide and beginning to fill with tears. So, Jack had told him about me, had he? Jack was a year older than Trefor, and also in the rugby team, and I happened to know he was one of the only other boys in the school to have admitted to anyone that he was gay. Oh no, Jack and I hadn't done anything - I wasn't his type - but we'd had an interesting conversation when he'd caught me staring at him and twigged what I was thinking. I'd tried it on with the kid, but he was getting his kicks elsewhere, and felt no need to fool around with a guy he didn't fancy just for the sake of a few cheap thrills.

"Don't worry," I told Trefor, "I won't tell him you told me. But you might want to tell him to stop spreading rumours about me before he finds himself in trouble."

"So, does that mean it's not true, sir? Does it mean you won't show me?"

Oh, God, now there's a question. He wanted me to make a pass at him, didn't he? Frankly I was more than willing to do so, no matter how twisted his motives for coming to me might be. But it didn't feel right somehow. It was all too easy, all too prepared and handed to me on a plate, and for some reason I felt uneasy about it.

"It means I'm not here just to service horny little boys, Trefor. If you want to get off with someone, I'm sure Jack would be more than willing to oblige. I reckon you're about his type."

The look on his face was priceless, an expression filled with shock that his teacher would say such a thing. It was true, though. Jack would have jumped him in an instant. He'd probably already tried to do so.

Trefor left with a troubled look on his face, probably still trying to digest my comments. He wasn't satisfied, either intellectually or sexually, and I knew he would be back.

---

Three days passed, and there he was again at my door, waiting patiently but nervously for my return. I smiled as his little red lips caressed the drops from the top of the can, from that little channel which runs around the top. It was unconsciously erotic in the extreme. When he spoke, it was to ensnare me, to bend me to his will.

"I found out some stuff, sir, about putting it in your mouth and your bum. I asked Jack."

God, I thought, what an education he must have received.

"He said he wouldn't stuff with me, though. He said you would, though."

"Did he now? And what do you think."

Trefor shrugged his shoulders, the surging wave of self-confidence he had surfed in upon crashing against the shores of uncertainty.

"Oh, fuck," I said quietly, but not quietly enough to keep the shock from his face. "No bum stuff, though, right? You can find that out later."

He nodded, and there was that grin again.

---

He lay back against the cushion of the sofa, hands palm down in supplication on either side of his thighs. He watched, face expressionless, as I reached forward an pushed the hem of his shirt up, revealing the first few inches of his soft, smooth tummy, and more importantly the fly of his jeans. I reached up and twisted the button until it popped free, then gently eased the two halves of the fly apart so that the zip slid down. He was wearing light blue jockeys, the soft cotton material slightly worn. He didn't lift his hips to help me pull them down, but he was so small and light that it wasn't necessary. I took his pants, too, watching the material bunch up, the crotch trapped around his rounded little scrotum until with a jerk it sprang free.

He was devoid of all but the finest hair, beautifully smooth with a pale little dick, its foreskin bunched over the head and tinged pink at its very tip. He was soft, too; somehow I'd expected he would have an erection before we started, but perhaps nerves had got the better of him. I sat on my heels and watched it for a moment, smiling up at him but receiving nothing in return. He just watched me.

I reached for his little morsel, delighting in its incredible softness. His legs fell apart slightly, granting me all the access I needed, and with gentle fingers I rolled his little boyhood around until it suddenly hardened. God it was a delight, the flared head outlined beneath practically translucent foreskin, which still covered it by some way. He wasn't overly well endowed for his age, but he certainly wouldn't have been the smallest boy in his year, not by a long way. It was no longer than my middle finger, and about as thick as my thumb.

I'd promised to show him what boys could do to each other, and was determined to fulfil that promise. I gently tugged downwards at the skin on his shaft and watched with delight as his little purple head emerged, the skin thankfully unhindered in its movement. I wanked him for a few moments, watching with delight as his stomach muscles tensed, his first reaction since we'd begun. But boys know how to wank, and I wouldn't be doing my job of teaching him something knew just by getting him off that way.

I pushed myself up on my knees, and leant forward over his crotch, retracting the foreskin to leave the most sensitive part of him exposed. My lips touched him first, making him gasp and writhe beneath me. I gloried in the feel of the smooth skin of his helmet, stretched tight by his erection. But I also desperately wanted more, and so I turned on the suction.

He made the cutest little mewling noises in the back of his throat as I sucked him, his lips clamped shut, apparently in case he made too much noise. His hands lifted to my head, grabbing tufts of hair, holding me down in case for any reason I would abandon my task. No chance of that, though - I was there to get him to orgasm, and I wasn't about to shirk that responsibility. With a thumb and forefinger holding his foreskin out of the way, I began to rapidly bob my head.

As his excitement grew, so did the noises he made, the soft little sounds morphing into something more animalistic, more needful, more desperate. He wanted so badly to feel the tingling sensation as he came. His hips began to move of their own accord, thrusting upwards to meet my face, mashing my nose with his taut lower belly, its muscles straining with the effort of forcing himself into my mouth.

With a long drawn out moan he came, eyes clamped shut and his head trying to bury itself backwards in the back of the sofa. His legs, ankles encased in jeans and pants, shot straight out, narrowly avoiding causing me an injury. His little tummy was, for a moment at least, afforded a little definition as his stomach muscles contracted as hard as they could, his dick trying to pump out a load which wasn't there, twitching furiously in the heat of my mouth.

He recovered slowly, as if coming out of a dream. At least there was a smile for me when he was a bit more aware of himself, but quickly the reality overtook him and, blushing, he pulled his pants and jeans back up and made himself decent. I tried to get him to stay, but could sense he wanted out of there, and with a whispered "Thanks, sir!" and a self-conscious smile he fled.