David Clarke

Jeremy Fielding Collection

Chapters 6-10

Character list in a new window

Chapter Six

Okay,so far this story has largely been hijacked by other people in the Collection (not to mention Owen, who isn't even a member!). But now our titular hero is going to take centre stage, as Adolf finally pushes him a little bit too far…

Now that Jeremy actually had somewhere to go and at least the basis of a plan for getting there and obtaining food and water while he was hiding out, he should have been feeling a lot better. But in fact he was starting to have second thoughts: now that the plan was becoming concrete the idea of hiding out on his own for a long period was somehow starting to look much less attractive. Consequently he remained on his best behaviour into the next week.

He had another reason for wanting Adolf in a good mood, quite apart from not really wanting to find himself exiled in an abandoned garage: his twelfth birthday was approaching, and he was hoping his step-father would allow him to have a party for his friends. So, having kept his nose clean for the best part of a fortnight, he broached the subject with Mr Jordan on the Thursday evening.

"I was wondering…" he started. "It's my birthday on Sunday – would I be allowed to ask some friends round for a party?"

"Yes, I should think so," said Adolf, and Jeremy's hopes rose. "Provided you're not thinking of asking any coloureds, that is."

The hopes crashed to the ground and burst into flames.

"But… look, I know I'm not usually allowed to invite… boys who aren't white to come round," said Jeremy. "But this is a special occasion. Couldn't you make an exception?"

"No, I can't. It's making exceptions that got the country into the mess it's in now: we wouldn't normally allow foreigners in, but 'let's 'make an exception' for just a few to come and clean the streets or drive London buses' – at least, that's what the politicians promised us: it would only be 'an exception'. And now they're pouring in and nobody seems willing to stop it. No, Jeremy, no 'exceptions' – once I agreed to let one in, in no time at all I'd find the house crawling with them all the time."

The conversation went downhill from there. Thinking about it afterwards, Jeremy realised that he ought to have gone to speak to his mother and ask her to intercede on his behalf. But Jeremy rarely thought things through at the time, and instead he had entered into a shouting match that had only one possible outcome.

"I'm grounded right over the weekend," he told Tony and Bilal next morning at school. "I suppose I did go a bit mad, but I just can't see why he can't just go out for the afternoon and leave mum in charge. It's only once a year, after all."

"You mean, you're grounded on your birthday?" asked Bilal, looking at him in disbelief.

"That's right. Except I won't be, because I won't be there for my birthday. I've got my radio in my bag, Bilal, and a couple of books – can you hold on to them for me until Saturday? And I'm going to leave my bike at your house tonight, too – that way I won't have to borrow Tony's. I'll drop it off on the way home from school, because once I'm indoors I'm not going to be allowed out again until it's time for school on Monday morning."

"So you're definitely going to run, then?" asked Tony.

Jeremy nodded. "If I can't even invite my friends round for my birthday, it's not worth living in that house. You're all invited to a party at this garage, wherever it is, on Sunday afternoon, but you'll have to bring your own food… Bilal, can you call Sim for me this evening and warn him I'm coming? I don't suppose I'll be allowed to use the phone once I get home, and I don't want to risk being overheard, anyway."

"I don't think I've got the number. But I'll be seeing Uzzy at mosque tonight, and I'm sure he'll have it."

"Okay, thanks. And… I'm sorry to have to ask, but… if you're going to call the others about Sunday, can you ask if they can lend me a little money? I might not be able to get any of my own out, and I'll need to be able to buy food and stuff. I'll pay everyone back afterwards, as soon as I can get at my Post Office savings book…"

"I've got a bit I can give you, and I'll ask the others when I call them. If you're serious about having a party on Sunday we'll all see you then, anyway."

"I've got a bit put by indoors, too," added Tony. "I'll bring it on Sunday, or I can meet you at Bilal's before you go. When were you going to do it, anyway? Tonight?"

"No, I thought tomorrow would be better. I mean, maybe by tomorrow afternoon Adolf will have changed his mind, or Mum will have talked him round. It would be stupid to go to all this trouble if I don't have to. But if he hasn't changed his mind by Saturday lunchtime I'll be on the way as soon as I've eaten – if he lets me eat anything, that is. Look, Bilal, I don't want to get you into trouble… maybe you should just leave my bike and stuff in your garden shed and leave the shed unlocked, then I can come and get it when I want and you'll be able to say honestly that you haven't seen me."

"Sod that! I'm not going to say anything anyway – and in any case I can quite honestly tell them I don't know where you've gone, because I've no idea where this garage is. I want to be there to wish you luck."

"Me, too," said Tony. "If it's okay, Bilal, I'll come round to your place after lunch on Saturday, then we'll both be here to say goodbye."

"You can come for lunch if you want," said Bilal. "I'll check with my mum, but I'm sure she won't mind."

"Great! I like your mum's cooking!"

"That's settled, then," said Jeremy. "If Adolf does change his mind I'll phone you, or I'll come round anyway and we can go and play football. If not, I'll come and get my stuff as soon as I can sneak away."

When he got home after school Jeremy was allowed to stay in his room to do his homework, but as soon as they had eaten supper he was sent to the spare room.

"I've put a couple of blankets and a pillow in there for you, and you can wear your pyjamas if you like," his mother told him as he went to his room to get undressed. "And there's a bucket there as well, just in case… look, darling, why don't you go and apologise to Andrew? It's stupid, the way you keep irritating him."

"If I apologise, will he let me invite my friends round on Sunday?" asked Jeremy.

"No, I don't think so: you know how he feels about your coloured friends."

"Yes, but he doesn't have to stay and look at them, does he? I'm sure he could go out for the afternoon. I mean, it's my house too, isn't it?"

She sighed. "Well, I'll ask," she said. "But he's really angry about the way you shouted at him. If only you could keep your temper and try to be reasonable I'm sure you'd get along far better with each other."

"You want me to be reasonable? What about…" Jeremy stopped himself, knowing that this was going nowhere. Instead he went into his bedroom and changed into his pyjamas, even though it was only just after six o'clock. He tucked his penknife into the little pocket on his pyjama jacket, and then he placed his teddy bear next to the window as usual and made his way across the landing to the spare room. He hid the penknife under the mattress, went to the bathroom to clean his teeth and have a pee – no point in using the bucket if he didn't have to – and then went back to the spare room and lay down on the mattress. Adolf came by a couple of minutes later.

"Is there anything you'd like to say to me?" he asked.

There were several things Jeremy considered saying to him, starting with "Fuck off", but he thought that this would almost certainly result in him getting a beating as well as being locked in; so he simply said, "Not really, no."

"All right, if that's how you want it. I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight." And Adolf closed the door and locked him in.

It was a very long evening: Jeremy had absolutely nothing to do except to stare at the ceiling or look out into the empty garden. He wished he'd thought to hide a book under the floorboards, but it was too late now, so instead he lay on his back and dreamed up a hundred nasty ways for Adolf to die. Satisfying though this was, it only filled a short period of time, and eventually his mind wandered back to what he thought of as his other problem: the way he felt about Bilal.

His mind conjured up various fantasies, in most of which he ended up dying heroically in Bilal's arms. In a couple of them Bilal was so moved by Jeremy's stoic acceptance of fate that he actually kissed him farewell; and Jeremy found himself believing that he might really be able to contemplate dying if it meant receiving a kiss from Bilal first.

Then he thought how stupid it was to imagine stuff that would never happen: he was sure that Bilal would never kiss him, and he was equally convinced that if he tried kissing Bilal, his friend would either throw up in disgust or punch him in the face, or possibly both.

"Why is my life so fucking shit?" he asked himself, aloud, struggling to hold back tears. "Maybe I should just do everyone a favour and kill myself: at least then Bilal wouldn't have a pervert for a friend; and mum would be a lot happier if I wasn't around messing everything up for her…"

He got his penknife out from under the bed and opened the largest blade. He held it against his wrist, wondering what it would feel like if he were to cut himself open… but then he folded the blade away again and put the knife back under the mattress. He didn't think he could bring himself to use it, and he was sure that if he really wanted to kill himself there would be better ways of doing it.

He walked over to the window and looked out: it was a bright summer's evening, the weather perfect for playing outdoors. It was only a fortnight after the summer solstice, so it would be hours before the sun set, and yet here he was in his pyjamas, stuck indoors when every other boy in the universe was doubtless outdoors having fun. He couldn't stand looking at the beautiful evening any longer, so he angrily drew the curtains, went to the mattress, pulled a blanket round himself and curled up in a ball.

It took him a long time to get to sleep: too many angry and miserable thoughts were chasing round his head. But eventually he dropped off, though his situation felt no better to him when he woke up the following morning. Adolf brought him up a tray with a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice on, but didn't speak to him, and half an hour later he came back to collect the tray.

"Go and get washed, then put your pants on and leave your pyjamas in your bedroom." He paused. "Are you sure there's nothing you want to say to me?"

"No, thank you," said Jeremy, politely; so, fifteen minutes later he was back in the spare room, washed and wearing only his underpants.

The morning dragged on. He wondered if he was being stupid: all he had to do was apologise to Adolf, and things would be back to normal… but then, why should he apologise? All he had done was to ask if he could have his friends round for a birthday party, like every other kid in the country did.

He lay back and started to fantasise again. Maybe Bilal would run away with him? He imagined the two of them living together in the garage, sharing food, talking to each other… sleeping together… probably the mattress was quite small, so they would have to huddle up together if they were both going to sleep on it… of course, he wouldn't be taking any pyjamas with him, and probably Bilal wouldn't either; it was really quite warm at night at this time of year, so they would probably not need to wear anything more than underpants in bed – or maybe not even underpants…

The idea of cuddling up to Bilal with nothing on had the usual effect on him, so he slipped his pants down, pulled the blanket over himself in case Adolf should come in unexpectedly, and began to stroke his erection. His fantasy progressed: he would get hard as he and Bilal cuddled up, and then he would discover that Bilal was hard, too… they'd smile at each other, and Bilal would reach for him, so he would have to do the same thing… they'd stroke each other's erections, cuddling up as close to each other as they could get… and they'd kiss each other…

Jeremy gasped as he achieved orgasm, writhing about and squeezing himself, rubbing his chest with his free hand, still imagining that it was Bilal touching him. And then it was over, and he slowly relaxed. He didn't have to worry about making a mess on the blanket or mattress, because he still wasn't producing anything when he played with himself, though he knew from a conversation he'd had with Kam some time ago that this would probably change soon.

He hoped it would be soon, anyway, because he was worried about his body's apparent reluctance to enter into puberty: he was afraid that Bilal would start to think of him as an insignificant little boy if he didn't start to mature the way Bilal had said he himself was doing. And maybe even Adolf would treat him differently if he was a bit more grown up in appearance…

He pulled his pants back up and walked over to the window. It was another lovely day, with clear blue skies, certainly not a day for hanging around indoors. He was determined that if he didn't get a reprieve at lunchtime he was going to make his move: he couldn't face the idea of spending the whole weekend stuck in this room with nothing to do.

Lunch eventually arrived on a tray, which answered his question for him: obviously Adolf wasn't going to back down, either. So he waited until the tray had been collected and then moved the mattress, got the floorboard up using his penknife, and got dressed. He replaced the floorboard, put the mattress back in the usual place, and then looped the rope round the pipe that supplied the radiator under the window, dropping both ends down outside. Finally he climbed up onto the window-sill, took hold of the rope and carefully climbed down it. He had a nasty moment when he nearly put a foot through the window of the downstairs toilet, but fortunately the glass held and he reached the ground in one piece.

He tugged on one end of the rope, pulling it clear of the pipe and making it fall to the ground at his feet, then picked it up, coiled it and slipped down the path at the side of the house. He ran to Bilal's house and made his way down the side of it to the garden shed, where he found Bilal and Tony, ostensibly cleaning Bilal's bike.

"We weren't sure you'd be coming, or what time, so I persuaded Mum to give us an early lunch," Bilal told him. "So, you're definitely going, then?"

Jeremy nodded. "I can't put up with it any longer," he said, getting his bike out of the shed. "So… where am I going, exactly?"

"Go up to the main road, turn right and keep going for about five miles [8 km]," Bilal told him. "That'll take you into Shortham. Keep going through the village, and at the far side you'll see a pub called the Greyhound. By the time you get there you'll have someone waiting for you."

"Sim?" asked Jeremy.

"No, he can't get out today, it's the Jewish Sabbath and he'll be at home with his family. I spoke to Uzzy last night, and he's arranged for another one of his friends from school to meet you, a boy called Owen. You'll have no trouble recognising him: he wears a patch over one eye. He'll take you to the garage. Sim says he'll try to get to see you in the morning, and the rest of us will come tomorrow afternoon. I haven't been able to get hold of Miguel – I don't know his number, and he doesn't seem to be in the phone book – but I reckon if we wait at the car park he'll turn up."

"I've raided my piggy bank," said Tony, offering him a five pound note. "That ought to be enough to get some food. You can get Owen to go into the shop for you for today, and we'll try to bring some stuff for you tomorrow."

"Oh, come on, Tony, you can't afford a fiver! Take it back – I don't need much…"

"It's only sitting in my piggy bank doing nothing," said Tony. "You can pay me back later, but right now you need it."

"You'd better go," said Bilal. "It'd be better if my parents don't see you, just in case anyone asks questions later. All the stuff you gave me yesterday is in your saddle-bag, and I've filled both water-bottles. We'll see you tomorrow."

Jeremy couldn't resist the opportunity to express his thanks, so he leaned the bike against the shed and pulled Bilal into a hug, which Bilal didn't resist in the least. Jeremy held him for as long as he thought was safe, and then went and hugged Tony, too. Tony hugged him hard.

"Look after yourself," he said. "If you need anything urgently, phone me – there's probably a call box somewhere – and I'll come straight away, even if it's the middle of the night." He hugged him again, and then Jeremy stepped back, took his bike and headed off down the path.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" asked Tony as Jeremy disappeared.

"I should think so. The weather's pretty good, so he won't get cold or wet, and Sim and Uzzy seem pretty sure they can keep him supplied with food."

"I reckon he's going to get seriously bored after a bit, though," said Tony. "He won't have a lot to do – it'll be almost like being in his spare room, but without the cooked meals."

"Well, if it helps sort things out long term I suppose it'll be worth it," said Bilal. "And Jeremy obviously thinks it might."

"I hope he's right. What I've seen and heard about Adolf, though… I'm not so sure."

***

Jeremy rode out of town, heading west. It was a beautiful afternoon for a bike ride, and it would have been better yet if he'd had someone to share it with; but even on his own it felt good. The road from Poundford Spa to Shortham was almost completely flat, so he didn't have to struggle up any hills, and within fifteen minutes he was riding through the village. The pub appeared on his right where Bilal had told him it would, and sitting on a bench by the bus stop just past the pub was a boy of about his own age, wearing the distinctive eye-patch.

"Hello," he said, getting off his bike. "You must be Owen. I'm Jeremy."

"Hello. I suppose someone told you Sim couldn't come today?"

Jeremy nodded, wondering if that accent could really be genuine: it sounded like every Welsh imitator he'd ever heard, only more so.

"Good. Come on, then, and I'll show you where it is."

Owen checked for traffic, crossed the road and headed off back past the pub, so Jeremy caught up with him and walked with him to the crossroads and down the lane that led off to the right.

"So, you do you know Sim well?" he asked.

"Pretty well. There are six of us in my form, see, and we're all friends now. We had some trouble last term, see? Did he tell you about that?"

Jeremy shook his head.

"Oh, well, it doesn't matter now, really. But we all got bullied, and then someone helped us to stop it, and since then we've all pretty much stuck together. And I only live just up the road, so it was easy for me to get here. Sim says he'll come and see you tomorrow morning, so if there's anything you need, tell me now and he can bring it for you tomorrow."

There was nobody about, which suited Jeremy perfectly. They passed a couple of houses that lay back from the road, but these had high hedges and fences, so even if there had been anyone in the gardens they would not have been able to see the two boys walk past.

A bit further down the road was another house, though this one was boarded up and the garden was a jungle of flowers and shrubs run wild, waist-high grass, brambles and weeds. To one side was a driveway, which seemed as overgrown with thorns and brambles as the rest of the garden at first, but which had been substantially cleared a few yards in from the road. Jeremy had to carry his bike over the first bit, but was able to wheel it the rest of the way down to the garage, which lay a long way back from the road, almost against the garden's tall back hedge.

"This is it," said Owen, unnecessarily, as he opened the side door. "There aren't any other houses close enough to see this, and there's hardly ever any traffic, so you should be safe. We don't think anyone's lived here for ages, so you should be perfectly safe. Now, I came round last night and had a look at what you might need, and I've borrowed a cushion from home for you to use as a pillow – there used to be some here, but it looks as if the travellers took them with them when they left. And there were more chairs here, but they seem to have taken a couple of the better ones. And I've found you a torch, too, because the electric light doesn't work."

Jeremy went inside. There was an old mattress against one wall, not quite as narrow as he had expected – in fact, there would probably be room on it for two sharing if they were very good friends… maybe his fantasy could still come true. There was also a small table and a couple of chairs, as well as a slightly rusty milk churn and an upturned crate that had apparently also served as chairs at some point. Owen's cushion was at one end of the mattress, and the torch was on the table, and that was all there was.

"This looks good," said Jeremy. "I reckon I'll be okay in here… and I can probably go for a walk in the woods if I get bored, as long as I keep an eye open for adults. Probably I'd be best to do that out of school time, though… anyway, this is great, Owen, thanks!"

"Have you got a sleeping bag?" Owen asked him, and Jeremy's face fell.

"No," he said. "And I forgot to ask if I could borrow one… damn… I don't suppose..?"

"No, I'm sorry, I haven't got one. I can call Sim tonight and ask if he's got one, or I can get Uzzy to ask your other friends, but either way it won't get here until tomorrow. I can probably find a blanket for you, though."

"Yes, please. I'll probably be okay for one night, but I'd like a sleeping bag if I'm going to be here for a while."

"Okay. Now, do you want me to go to the shop for you? Sim said you might need me to."

"Yes, please. Let's see… I suppose I'd better have sensible things, not try to live on chocolate… although… no, can you get me a loaf of sliced bread, some butter and some ham, or cheese, or something? And some crisps, and a bottle of lemonade, and… yes, I will have some chocolate – a nice big bar of Cadbury's, please. And anything else that looks like a good idea." Jeremy handed over the five pound note Tony had given him, and Owen went out and closed the door, leaving Jeremy to get used to his new home.

His initial reaction was that this was an improvement on the spare room: he could come and go as he pleased – well, maybe he couldn't go very far, but at least he could get outdoors – and he had a chair and table, and nobody was likely to burst in on him if he was doing… well, anything private. He thought it would be very cold in the winter, but in early July this would not be a problem.

He went outside to have a look round the garden, but most of it was so overgrown that he couldn't get into it without risking being scratched. Someone had cleared a passage along the side of the drive, though the clearing had stopped short of the road, and they had also cleared a small area around the garage's side door. The area in front of the main door was thoroughly overgrown, and Jeremy was sure he would not be able to open it; but then he could see no reason to, since the small side door was unobstructed.

He was able to fight his way along the path that led to the back door of the house, but that door was locked and all the downstairs windows had been boarded over, making it impossible for anyone to get in without a serious crowbar at the very least.

He guessed that the clearing of the passage along the edge of the drive had been done by the travellers who had used the garage as their base, and that they had left the bit by the road to prevent anyone noticing that someone had been there. He made his way back to the lane and looked, and unless you looked closely – something that he thought no passer-by would be likely to do – the whole place looked abandoned and unkempt.

He went back to the garage and got his radio out, finding that reception was reasonably good: he'd be able to listen to music, as long as he kept the volume fairly low. He found he could still pick up Capital, so he tuned in, turned the volume down and lay down on the mattress.

Owen returned half an hour or so later, carrying a couple of shopping bags. One of these held a blanket and the other an assortment of groceries.

"The blanket was easy – we don't use many at this time of year, so nobody will notice I've taken one from the cupboard," Owen told him. "And I've got all the things you told me to, and I bought a packet of cornflakes and a pint of milk as well, so you'll have something for breakfast. I don't know how long the milk will keep without a fridge, but it should be okay for tomorrow, anyway. Are you going to be okay now? Only my mum thinks I've gone to visit my friend Paul, and I don't want her trying to call me there before I get to his house."

"No, I'm fine. Thanks for getting my food and stuff… oh, before you go, is there any way to get into the wood from here? I think it would be safe to go for a walk there, even during school time, but I can't see a back gate."

"I don't think there is one. But you can get into the wood just up the lane – Danny showed me where they used to go when they were playing their hunting games. Come with me now and I'll show you."

So Jeremy turned his radio off and followed Owen a short distance up the lane to a place where the bank was easily climbable. Jeremy climbed up it and wandered off to explore, while Owen made his way as quickly as he could to Paul's house, which, like his own, was fairly close to the school.

Paul opened the door himself and greeted him with a big smile.

"Hello, Twiggy!" he said. "You're in luck: my brother went out five minutes ago, so we won't be interrupted. Come upstairs."

Oxen followed Paul up to his room, and Paul closed the door and jammed a door wedge underneath it – "Just in case," he said, grinning.

"Look, Paul," said Owen, a little nervously, "you're not really going to do any of that stuff Danny was talking about to me, are you? Because… I really don't want to play if you're going to do that. I'm not mad, like Alan: he seems to enjoy it, but I don't think I would."

"What wrapping brambles round your cock, or stuffing nettles up your bum? No, I don't think so – after all, there aren't any nettles in my bedroom. Maybe if we play outdoors, though… just kidding," he added, grinning. "I'm not really going to torture you, or anything. Though of course I'm allowed to if I want… no, really I just want you to suck my cock, 'cos that feels magic. If you don't do a good job I might spank you a bit, like you said Danny used to do to you, but that's about all. Of course, if you want to find out what it's like to be tortured, I don't mind helping you…"

"No, thanks, I'm happy not knowing. So… do you want me to do it now, then?"

"Of course I do, stupid! Why do you think I wedged the door? Get undressed, and stop wasting time."

Paul had gone back into 'master' mode, but Owen felt reassured by his statement that he wasn't intending to use torture. Of course, he had been fairly sure of this before, but it was nice to hear it clearly stated. So he got undressed, and his body instantly bore witness to his happier state of mind.

"Oh, dear, it looks as if you weren't listening to what Danny told us," said Paul. "Slaves aren't allowed to let it stick out without permission. Did I give you permission?"

"Well, no; but there's nothing I can do about it: it just happens."

"That's no excuse. I think I might have to punish you after all…depending on what sort of a job you do, of course. Now come here and help me undress."

Owen took each item of clothing as Paul took it off, throwing them onto the bed, but when he was down to his pants Paul made him take them all and fold them neatly on the chair in the corner of the room.

"You're a useless slave," he said, watching critically. "You should have known you have to handle my clothes properly and fold them up exactly right. After all, you should worship anything that's mine the same way you have to worship me. That's going to be another punishment, I think."

Owen said nothing, just aligning Paul's shoes carefully under the chair and tucking his socks into them. Finally Paul was satisfied with his work, so he removed his pants and handed them over, and Owen folded them carefully and put them on top of the jeans.

"This time I'm going to lie on the bed," said Paul. "I might as well be comfortable while you work."

Owen didn't mind that at all, because it meant he would be kneeling on soft bedding instead of a hard floor. Paul lay on the bed and put his hands behind his head, and Owen stood at the foot of the bed looking at him. This was the first time he'd seen Paul completely naked, and he thought his master looked really good: even at eleven Paul had the beginnings of some nice muscle definition; there was no trace of puppy fat, but he wasn't skinny, the way Owen was himself – instead Owen thought his master's body was perfect, with its small pink nipples, smooth stomach with a neat little belly-button, and nicely-muscled arms and legs… and a large, quivering erection, of course.

"What are you waiting for? Get on with it," demanded Paul.

"Sorry. I was just… I think you look brilliant naked, Paul."

"Thanks… maybe I'll let you off at least one of the punishments, then. But now you can stop worshipping me and get to work."

So Owen knelt down between Paul's legs and got to work. This time there was no need to rush: there wasn't going to be a bell summoning them back to class, so he took his time, stopping often and using his hands to stroke Paul's body and to play with his balls, the way Danny had taught him. Danny had been quite complimentary the last time he had done it for him, saying he was now 'almost as good as Tiny', and since Timmy had apparently had a lot of practice this was praise indeed. And Paul seemed to like it, too.

"Please, keep going," he begged, when Owen stopped for the third time to lick Paul's balls instead. "It feels so good…"

"Don't you want this to last?" asked Owen, caressing Paul's chest and tickling his nipples. "Danny used to want me to go on all night sometimes."

"Yes, it's brilliant – but I want to get to the amazing feeling it gave me last time."

"Well, you'll have to wait a bit longer, because Danny taught me to do it properly," replied Owen, and he slowly licked round Paul's circumcision scar, enjoying the feel of the skin under his tongue. Paul writhed and groaned, but a part of him was obviously happy for this to go on a bit longer, because he gave no orders to force his slave to speed up.

Owen went on dragging it out for several more minutes, but eventually Paul could take no more and ordered him to finish the job, so Owen settled into a steady rhythm, holding Paul's bum with one hand and his balls with the other, and Paul bucked and gasped – though still without swearing – pushing Owen's head down as he arched up off the mattress. And once again Owen was aware of an unusual taste in his mouth, though once again he thought nothing of it, just swallowing it down as if it was simply a mouthful of saliva.

Paul lay back, gasping, and Owen kept the still solid penis in his mouth until he was told he could take it out. Then he rolled away and sat on the edge of the bed while Paul stood up and reached for a small towel to dry himself off.

"Was that okay?" asked Owen, humbly.

"Not bad," said Paul, trying for an offhand tone but not really managing it. "Maybe I won't have to whip you with a bunch of thistles today."

"Oh, good. Can I get dressed now?"

"Certainly not. You can help me get dressed first, and then I'll think about it. Hand me my pants."

Owen obediently passed Paul his clothes one by one, kneeling to tie his shoelaces for him when ordered to do so, until Paul was once again fully dressed.

"Now can I?" asked Owen, who was starting to feel a little less relaxed: he wondered if Paul was going to beat him after all. His erection had subsided, and he was feeling very self-conscious about being naked.

"Not yet. It's nice having a slave here – there's loads of stuff you can do before you go. First, go and tidy my bookshelf. Take all the books out, dust it – I'll find you a duster in a minute – and then put everything back in the correct order."

Owen looked at him, but apparently he was serious. Owen didn't feel he could argue with a boy who was bigger and stronger than he was, and was fully dressed as well, so he did as he was told, and for the next half hour he tidied Paul's room, reorganising his wardrobe and chest of drawers, dusting the furniture and cleaning his school shoes. When Paul finally ran out of things that needed doing Owen was feeling really annoyed.

"You should see your face!" said Paul, grinning at him. "You look totally fed up. I bet this isn't what you expected when you agreed to become my slave."

"No, it isn't," agreed Owen.

"Well, tough." Paul grabbed him, threw him onto the bed and pinned him down, and then, once he'd grabbed both of Owen's skinny wrists in his left hand, he used his right to start squeezing Owen's limp little penis, which quickly responded.

"You belong to me completely, remember, so I can use you any way I choose. If my room needs tidying, you'll tidy it without arguing. And if you're good, maybe I won't beat you – maybe I'll do this instead."

And Paul went on playing with Owen's erection, which felt really nice, and so he stopped struggling and let Paul get on with what he was doing.

"Is that nice?" Paul asked him, and Owen nodded contentedly.

"See? If you're good, maybe I'll reward you like this. Or I could do other stuff – like this…"

He flipped Owen over and spanked him firmly, three blows on each buttock, and then flipped him over again and tickled him mercilessly. Owen writhed and wriggled, choking with laughter, until finally Paul let him go.

"Now, do you promise to be good in future, or would you prefer me to tickle you to death?" he asked.

"I'll be good," promised Owen hurriedly, clutching at his aching ribs.

"Then you can get dressed. You've got sixty seconds, starting… now."

Owen scrambled to get his clothes back on but missed the time limit comfortably, so Paul made him strip naked and try again. And again. And…

"I love watching you rushing to get dressed: you look so funny, the way your little willy wobbles about," said Paul. "One more try, and if you don't make it this time I'm going to have to spank you again."

Owen did his very best, but he was till doing up his laces when Paul told him that the time was up. By now he was getting tired of this game, and Paul obviously realised this, because he said, "It's okay, you don't have to strip again now. I'll save the spanking for next time. So – I bet you're pretty annoyed with me now, aren't you?"

Owen shrugged.

"I'm sorry," said Paul. "It's just – it's so much fun being able to make you do whatever I tell you. You've got no idea how good it makes me feel, watching you rushing about with no clothes on… Maybe if you could see what you look like, you'd understand. I've never felt like this before, but I really like playing this game. Maybe I won't be quite so unkind to you next time…"

He led Owen downstairs and showed him out, and Owen headed back towards the garage feeling thoroughly mixed up. It had been brilliant sucking on Paul's big thing and making him wriggle about and get all tense, but being used as a housemaid afterwards had been no fun at all. He'd liked it when Paul had played with his thingy, but all of that dressing and undressing had just been annoying. All in all, he wasn't sure if the game was going in the right direction or not.

He found Jeremy lying on the mattress reading a comic and listening to the radio.

"I've got to go home soon," said Owen. "Is there anything else you need?"

"No, I don't think so. Thanks, Owen… Look, it's my birthday tomorrow, and I hope some of my friends are going to be here. If you're not doing anything, you can come round in the afternoon, too."

"Thanks. I don't think we're going out, or anything. Okay, then… good luck, and I'll probably see you tomorrow." And Owen went out and left Jeremy on his own again.

Well, Jeremy's taken the plunge, though whether his vanishing act is going to have the desired effect on Adolf remains to be seen. And he's still got another little problem to sort out – what is he going to do about his feelings for Bilal? In the next chapter he starts looking for advice…

Chapter Seven

So Jeremy's taken the plunge and bolted. In this chapter we'll see how he's settling into his new home,and we'll be watching him celebrate his birthday in a less-than-orthodox manner…

Jeremy's Saturday evening hadn't been quite as boring as the previous night had been – now he was able to go out for a walk, and he had his radio to listen to and a book to read, and he could also eat when he felt like it, instead of having to hope that someone brought him something on a tray.

On the other hand, he did feel very isolated: it was extremely quiet in the garage, because there were no other houses close by, and the amount of traffic using the lane was minimal. He wasn't used to being completely on his own for more than a short period: even when locked in the spare room he could hear his mother and Adolf moving through the house, and he could see other people through the window and hear traffic going past the house. Consequently as soon as the light started to fade (and this was comparatively early, because the garage had small windows and was largely surrounded by trees and the tall hedge behind it) he turned off his radio and got ready for bed.

This didn't take long: he didn't have a toothbrush or toothpaste, and he didn't have any water to wash in, either, except for the small amount in his drinking water bottles. So he went out into the garden for a pee and then, after a last look round, returned to the garage to get ready for bed. He didn't have any pyjamas, of course, but it was quite warm, so he simply took everything off except his pants and folded his clothes up neatly on the table. After a moment he took his pants off as well, folding them up and adding them to the pile of clothing: he'd never slept completely naked and wanted to know what it would feel like – and, of course, it was in line with his fantasies of the previous day. And, wishing Bilal was really with him and sharing the bed, he wrapped the blanket round himself and went to sleep.

There was no reason for him to get up particularly early the following morning, so after he woke up he simply stayed in bed and dozed. He was actually asleep again when the door opened and Sim came in.

"Hello, Jeremy," said Sim, jerking Jeremy back out of his slumbers. "Did you thl… ssleep okay?"

"Yes, thanks," replied Jeremy, sleepily.

"Good. I've found a… sleeping bag for you," said Sim, pulling it from his bag. "It'th not very thick, but you probably don't need a thick one in July, do you? You can open it right out and uthe… use it for a blanket if you want. Get up and you can try it."

"Well… could you pass me my pants?" asked Jeremy, pointing at the table.

Sim looked at the pile of clothes and then at Jeremy. "What, you mean you haven't got anything on?" he asked.

Jeremy nodded.

"Oh. Then I wonder what would happen if I were to…"

Sim grabbed the blanket and pulled, but Jeremy had been half-expecting it and tried to hang on. They had a tug-of-war for a few seconds, but Sim was standing up and found it easier to apply pressure, and eventually he was able to pull the blanket out of Jeremy's hands. Jeremy squealed and curled into a ball, and Sim threw the blanket into a corner and grabbed Jeremy's arms, trying to pull him towards the door.

"It'th a really ni… nice day," he said, grinning. "Come and look!"

"No, thanks," said Jeremy, doing his best to stay where he was. "Come on, Sim, you're supposed to be helping me, not making me look stupid in front of everyone!"

"There's nobody out there to look," said Sim, though he stopped pulling. "And you don't look… ssstupid, either."

"I think I do," said Jeremy, retreating to the mattress and holding the cushion in front of his groin.

"You look fine to me. Anyway, get up and we'll try the bag."

Jeremy stood up, still using the cushion as a shield, and Sim unzipped the sleeping bag all round and placed it on the mattress, outside surface up.

"Try that," he said. "Even though it ithn't very thick, it might thtill… sstill be too warm if you do it up. I think it'll be okay like this, though."

Jeremy lay down and pulled the open sleeping bag over him, and then put the cushion behind his head and wriggled about a bit.

"I like it better than the blanket," he said. "I can move more easily with this. And it's big enough that someone could share it, if anyone can get permission to stay out overnight."

"I think that might be difficult – I mean, we can't tell Mum and Dad we want to ssstay out for the night with you, can we? Ssso they'd want to know where we were going to thl… sleep."

"I suppose so. Still, maybe someone can come up with a good excuse. Come and lie down beside me and we'll see if there's enough room for two on the mattress."

"There's only one pillow."

"Then take some of your clothes off and use them as a pillow."

"Okay."

Sim perched on one of the chairs and removed his shoes and socks, and then took off his shirt and jeans, rolling them up into a tube. He put this down next to Jeremy's cushion and lay down beside him, pulling the sleeping bag over himself.

"Well, there's just about enough room," said Jeremy. "Can we try it on our sides? We'll probably fit better like that."

They rolled over to face each other. There was a brief clash of knees, but soon they got comfortable.

"If we had another bag like thi… this one, we could zip them together and make a double," said Sim. "That might be better, 'coth I think if we turn over a couple of times one of uth will find himssself out in the cold."

"We'll have to ask the others if anyone else has got one like this, then." He paused. "Sim… I… no, nothing."

"What?"

"No, it's okay, really."

"Hey, we're thuppothed to be friendth… friends, I mean. Come on, tell me what you're thinking about – or don't you trutht me?"

"Yes, I trust you… shit, Sim, of course I trust you – you're helping me stay here, aren't you? It's just… I really need someone to talk to. If you had a problem, who would you talk to?"

"Well, probably my dad. If it wath… was something to do with school, perhapth I'd talk to U… Uzzy. Or maybe Colin – he'th clever and knows thtuff. But you can talk to me if you want – I'll help if I can."

Jeremy took a deep breath. "Look, I don't know how… I mean, it's really difficult, and if I tell you, you'll probably hate me – but I've really got to tell someone…"

"I won't hate you," said Sim. "You're my friend."

"Yes, but you probably won't be if I tell you. It's… there's something wrong with me, Sim."

"I don't care what's wrong with you, I'm thtill your friend."

Jeremy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "See, what it is… I think… I think I'm queer, Sim."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm… I'm…" He swallowed. "I'm a homo, Sim. I'm a dirty pervert. I… I think I'm in love with another boy."

"Oh. Okay…" Sim paused. "And…?"

"Don't you understand? I'm in love with Bilal, Sim. I keep wanting to kiss him. And… I think about… you know, touching him, too."

"Oh, right. And what does Bilal think?"

"What do you mean? I haven't told him, obviously – he'd probably hit me."

"Do you really think ssso?"

"Of course I do. He's normal, Sim – he's not a disgusting poof like me."

Sim wriggled forward until their knees were touching again and put his arm round Jeremy's shoulders.

"I don't think you're at all di… di… oh, bugger it, disssgusssting," he said. "Sometimes me and U… Uzzy hug each other and… stuff. There's nothing wrong with it."

"Have you ever kissed each other?"

"Well, no; but I reckon we could if we wanted to."

"See? There's loads of difference between just giving someone a hug and wanting to kiss them. And what about me wanting to… you know, feel his balls, and stuff? That's far worse than hugging."

Sim was silent. What he and Uzzy did together was private, and although he felt it might help Jeremy to hear about it, he didn't feel able to talk about it unless Uzzy had agreed in advance. After all, feeling each other's balls was the least of it: Sim wondered what Jeremy would say if he knew that he sucked Uzzy's thingy two or three times a week, and that Uzzy had put it up his bum on a few occasions.

"See?" said Jeremy, misinterpreting the silence. "It's not the same at all."

Sim moved in closer and hugged him again. "SSSome of my friends hug each other, too," he said. "And probably some of them do other things when they're on their own. They're ssstill my friends, like you're still my friend." And he hugged him again, and this time Jeremy hugged him back.

"Thanks, Sim," he said, trying not to cry. "I thought everyone would hate me if I told them… you're a really good friend…"

And now he did start to cry, though more from relief than anything else: at least one of his friends still liked him. Sim held him and did his best to comfort him until he managed to get himself under control once more.

Jeremy rolled over onto his back. "Look… you won't tell anyone what I said, will you?" he said. "I mean, I expect I will tell some of them later, but… let me decide when, okay?"

"Obviously," said Sim, and he slid across to lie on top of Jeremy. Jeremy's arms came round him, and Sim put his cheek against Jeremy's. "I'd never tell anyone your private thtuff. Not even Uzzy, and I tell him everything."

"Thanks," said Jeremy, hugging him.

They lay like that for several minutes. Their genitals were only separated by the thin material of Sim's underpants, but neither went hard: Jeremy was still feeling relieved that Sim still liked him, but at the same time a little worried that someone else now knew his deepest secret; and Sim only wanted to comfort Jeremy and prove to him that he could count on his friends, whatever he might think.

Eventually Sim said, "Jeremy… if you want to… to practi… practise on me, I won't mind."

"Practise what?"

"You know, k… kissing, and thtuff."

Jeremy looked at him, taking in the overly-large front teeth, the nose with the bump on it, the rather too pointy chin and the distinctly basic haircut… to be fair, he didn't really think Sim was ugly, but all in all he could scarcely have been more different from Bilal…

"You could close your eyeth and pretend I'm Bilal," suggested Sim, accurately reading Jeremy's mind. "Hold on a moment…"

He rolled away and slipped his pants off, throwing them onto the nearest chair.

"Now we're equal," he said. "You can try anything you want."

"Sim… look, thanks, really… but… well, I don't really want to do this with anyone except Bilal. Kissing someone else… it seems sort of wrong, somehow."

"Okay. What do you want to do, then?"

"Can we just lie here for a bit? It's nice having someone with me, even if we aren't talking all the time… it's not really much fun being on your own all the time."

"Okay." Sim wriggled a bit closer and put his arm round Jeremy's chest, and Jeremy smiled, wriggled a bit closer himself and closed his eyes.

They lay like that in silence for about ten minutes, and then Jeremy sat up.

"I'm hungry," he said. "I'm going to have some breakfast. Do you want some?"

"No, thank you, I ate before I came here. You go ahead, though – I won't mind."

"Okay." Jeremy stood up, no longer bothering to cover his nakedness, and walked over to the far corner of the garage where he had left the milk overnight. He collected the bottle and returned to the table, and Sim got up as well, folding the sleeping bag up before going to look for his pants.

"Did it hurt?" Jeremy asked, looking at him.

"Did what hurt?"

"When they cut your skin off."

"Huh? Oh, that," said Sim, glancing down at his penis. "I don't know, I wath only a week old when they did it. Why?"

"I just wondered. I mean, Bilal had it done, too. Do you know how old Muslims are when they do it?"

"I've no idea."

"It looks nice, I think," said Jeremy. "I wish it had been done to me."

"Why? Yours lookth fine to me."

"Yes, but why do I need all this stupid spare skin?" asked Jeremy, pulling his foreskin down. "It just gets in the way."

"You jutht want to look like Bilal," said Sim, shrewdly. "I bet you never even thought about your thingy before."

"That's true," admitted Jeremy, pulling his foreskin back up and smiling. "Stupid, isn't it?"

"Very," said Sim, pulling his pants back on. "Do you really think Bilal won't like you if you've got th… skin on your thingy? Don't you think there are more important thingth about you than that?"

"Yes, but he won't like those, either: I'm short and ugly and stupid, and my thingy's too small, as well as having skin all over the end."

"Oh, shut up!" said Sim, coming and putting his arms round Jeremy again. "You're the same height as Bilal, you're not ugly – I am, but you aren't – and I don't think you're thtupid. And there's nothing wrong with your thingy, either."

"It's too small, and I haven't got any hair yet."

"Nor have I, and nor have motht boy… boys our age. Ssstop worrying, Jeremy – there's nothing wrong with you, okay?"

Jeremy didn't answer – he was convinced he was small, skinny and underdeveloped, whatever Sim might say. But it was nice being hugged, so he hugged Sim back and held him for a minute or so, and then broke free and pulled his pants on, followed by the rest of his clothes. Sim got dressed too, and then sat and watched Jeremy open the packet of cornflakes… and then stop, looking annoyed with himself.

"I didn't think to bring a bowl – or a spoon," he said. "How am I going to eat breakfast?"

"You can't think of everything," said Sim. "Wait there, I'll go home and borrow a bowl and a plate and thome cutlery. I won't be long."

Jeremy sat and looked at the cereal packet, feeling stupid again: he hadn't thought to pack anything he needed. How was he going to survive with no eating equipment, no washing kit – nothing, in fact, except a change of clothes? He decided to make a list of things he needed, only to discover that he didn't have a pen, either. He slammed his hand on the table in frustration, feeling more of a fool than ever.

When Sim came back half an hour later he brought a plate, a cereal bowl and a set of cutlery with him, and so at last Jeremy was able to eat his cornflakes. The milk had survived the night, though it wasn't as nice and cold as it usually was when Jeremy ate at home, and he didn't have any sugar, either.

"Have you got a pen?" he asked, when he had finished eating.

"I'm afraid not. Why?"

"Because I'm such a useless prat that I forgot to bring loads of stuff I need, and I was hoping you could call Bilal for me and ask if he and the others can find some of it for me before this afternoon."

"Oh. Well, tell me anyway, and I'll try to remember."

"Okay. Well, I need a toothbrush and some toothpaste, and some soap – though I don't know where I'm going to be able to wash – maybe someone can find a bowl for me to use – and a towel, and a pen and some paper, and some toilet paper. And I'm going to need quite a lot more water, too, and some bottles to keep it in… See, Sim, I'm hopeless: I didn't think of any of this stuff before."

"Nor would any of us have done. Anyway, I think I can remember all that. I'll call Bilal when I get home."

Sim stayed a little longer and then went home for lunch, calling Bilal before he sat down to eat and relaying Jeremy's message to him. Jeremy, meanwhile, had another cheese sandwich for lunch: already he was missing his mother's cooking.

Being of a pessimistic nature he was convinced nobody was going to come and visit him that afternoon, and when three o'clock came round with no sign of anyone he was feeling almost suicidal, certain that nobody really cared about him at all. But about ten minutes later the door opened and there was Tony, a bulging bag slung over his shoulders.

"Sorry we're a bit late," he said. "We couldn't set out until everyone was there."

"Who's come with you?" asked Jeremy.

"Everyone, of course. The others are putting their bikes away behind the house, so they can't be seen from the road. I just dumped mine in the bushes, so I could get here first and grab a decent chair. So – are you okay?"

"More or less," said Jeremy, as the rest of the Collection started to come into the garage. "But it's a bit lonely out here, so… well, I'm really happy to see you."

"That's okay. Now, we couldn't get everything you needed because the shops are shut today, but we've got some of it, and either Uzzy or Sim will drop the rest in tomorrow after school."

"And we've brought some food for today," added Bilal, who was carrying another bag. "We bought it yesterday, but I expect it won't be too stale."

It was the strangest birthday party Jeremy had ever had, but the best, too, even though there was no actual birthday cake and the surroundings were less than ideal: the garage was distinctly crowded with ten people in, and there weren't enough places to sit: six people had to squash up together on the mattress if they didn't want to sit on the floor. But Jeremy felt brilliant, surrounded by friends and with no Adolf looming over him, and even yesterday's doughnuts tasted like heaven in those circumstances.

They didn't have enough cups or glasses, either – that was something else Jeremy had forgotten to bring – but they passed the bottles around and drank straight from them, and nobody seemed to worry about hygienic considerations. They did things they would never have got away with had there been parents about, like holding belching contests fuelled by fizzy drinks, or seeing who could get a whole doughnut in his mouth in one go, and when they had finally polished off most of the food Owen (who had turned up as promised) led them up the lane and into the woods so that they could engage in war games for a bit. And then they found the field on the far side of the wood.

"Looks like we can play football this week after all," said Kam, who had his football in his bag. "And we've got enough for a proper five-a-side game this week."

The grass was a bit long, and the pitch had a decided slope, but that simply made the game more interesting. Owen wasn't all that good at football, but nobody seemed to mind too much. The usual arguments about whether or not the ball had gone between the posts (jackets or shirts) or over them broke out from time to time, but on the whole everything went well. And then, inevitably, someone suggested a game of headers and volleys.

"Who's going in goal?" asked Tony. "I think it should be the birthday boy!"

"I think the birthday boy should be allowed to choose who goes in goal," countered Jeremy. "What about it, Tony?"

"I went in goal last time."

"So what?"

"Okay, then – but I'll just show you all up again…"

Actually, keeping goal here was fun: because they were playing on grass it was possible to dive about all over the place, and Tony made the most of it, hurling himself about like a lunatic and blocking almost everything that came near him. Jeremy had claimed birthday privilege to select the attacking team, but even with Kam, Miguel and Neil trying to set him up he found it almost impossible to get past Tony. He was determined to win this game, though: he liked the idea of making Tony streak, especially since Tony had tried to put him in goal.

Neil and Miguel managed to score one goal each before Jeremy miss-hit a volley that looped gently up in the air. Tony caught it one handed, just to show off.

"Double or quits!" cried Jeremy, optimistically, and so he was surprised when Tony said, "Okay then – but there are conditions."

"Go on…"

"You have to score all five goals yourself. If you do, we'll let you off. If you don't, you're in trouble. Okay?"

Jeremy thought about it. "What about if Owen goes in goal?" he suggested.

"Er, no," replied Tony. "I'm staying in goal. Chicken?"

"Obviously not. But if I do score five, I get let off and you have to streak instead."

"Okay," agreed Tony. "There's no way you're going to score five."

He was right: Jeremy scored two, but then he hit a shot that Tony knocked up into the air, and he successfully caught the ball as it came down despite Jeremy's attempt to foul him as he went for it.

"As it's your birthday, I reckon we should let you off," said Bilal. "It'd be a bit rough to have to streak on your birthday."

"Sod that, he lost, he streaks," countered Tony. "He'd have made me do it quickly enough if he'd won."

"Too right, I would. But I lost, so I'm doing it. Where do I have to run to?"

"Down to the bottom of the slope and back should do it," said Tony.

That looked a lot further than their usual run in the car park, but at least here there seemed no chance of anyone else being able to see, so Jeremy threw his clothes off and set off across the field.

It was a nice warm day, and the grass was soft beneath his feet, and it felt quite nice running naked – though of course at this stage he was running away from his friends and so didn't have them all staring at him. He didn't really want Bilal to see how underdeveloped he was, but he'd agreed to the game and so now he would have to make the best of it. If he could get his pants back on quickly enough, maybe Bilal wouldn't notice.

He reached the fence at the bottom of the slope, turned and ran back up the hill to where his friends were waiting, and when he got there he found that his clothes were nowhere in sight and everyone was standing around trying to look innocent.

"Okay, Tony, where are they?" he asked, holding his hands in front of his groin.

"What are you talking about?"

"My clothes, moron."

"I haven't seen any clothes round here. Has anyone else?"

There was mass head-shaking.

"See? You must have come out like that," said Tony, grinning. "Anyway, you said 'double or quits', I think – and as it's your birthday I reckon it's time we gave you the bumps. Grab him!"

He didn't even get a chance to struggle as everyone came and grabbed an arm or a leg, and soon he was flat on his back on the ground. Then he was given the bumps, thirteen of them (including the traditional 'one for luck'), at the end of which he lay spread-eagled on the ground trying to get his breath back.

Now, of course, there was no point in trying to cover himself, because everyone had got a good look while he was being raised and dropped thirteen times. So now Bilal knew what he looked like, and so did everyone else. He was a little surprised that nobody had teased him about it yet, and would have been amazed to learn that nobody actually thought that he was anything other than average for his age. He did notice that some of his friends didn't seem able to stop looking at it, but nobody seemed to be laughing, which at least was something.

"Okay," he said, getting up. "What shall we do now?"

"Don't you want your clothes back?" asked Tony.

"It's a bit pointless now – you've all seen everything I've got. Not that there's much of that…"

"What do you mean?" said Miguel. "I think you look good naked… well…" He realised that this might make him seem a little strange and so decided to shut up, but even those few words had been enough to cheer Jeremy up a little.

"Don't you think it's too small?" he asked.

"No, it is good," replied Miguel, trying not to blush.

"What about the rest of you? Be honest – it's titchy, considering I'm meant to be twelve, isn't it?"

Tony opened his mouth to make a snide comment but then realised that this was a big deal to Jeremy and so managed to bite it back just in time.

"It looks about the same size as mine," commented Uzzy. "I don't think there's anything wrong with it."

"Me neither," said Bilal, and all of a sudden Jeremy felt ten times better.

"Really?" he said, looking into Bilal's eyes and trying to tell if he was being honest.

"Really," said Bilal. "There's nothing wrong with you, Jeremy."

"Apart from the ugly face," added Tony.

"Look who's talking, metal-mouth," responded Jeremy.

"Watch it."

"Or what?"

Tony grinned and grabbed him, throwing him to the ground and sitting on his chest.

"Apologise, or you won't get your clothes back," he threatened.

Jeremy made a rude noise at him.

"Or we might go back to the garage and confiscate all your clothes," said Tony, "even your spares. You'd be stuck here stark naked for as long as we decided to keep you here – unless you want to try cycling home in the nude, of course. And I'm sure Sim and Uzzy could bring all the boys in their class round to see you – and any girls they happen to meet, too…"

"They wouldn't do that. They're my friends."

"So am I, but I don't have to put up with cheek from you. So, are you going to apologise?"

Jeremy made another rude noise, so Tony started tickling him, and this quickly had an effect: Jeremy was gasping out an apology within thirty seconds.

"You're too ticklish," said Tony, getting up and helping Jeremy to his feet. "So, do you want to get dressed?"

Jeremy shrugged. "Maybe I could stay like this and get a nice all-over tan," he said. "But; on the other hand, maybe we should go and eat the rest of the cakes: all that exercise is making me hungry. So I suppose I'd better get dressed. Where are my clothes?"

"I can't remember," said Tony, grinning: he was really enjoying having a naked Jeremy in front of him and was reluctant to let him get dressed again. "You'd better come back to the garage like that. I'll give you a piggy-back through the woods so you don't step on any thorns."

"Stop being an arsehole, Tony," said Bilal. "Someone go and get his clothes."

Kam climbed over the fence into the wood and returned with Jeremy's clothes; which had simply been hidden behind the nearest bush. Jeremy got dressed and they went back to the garage to dispose of the food that had survived the first onslaught.

Eventually the rest of the Collection had to go home, but they promised they would get together the following weekend, if Jeremy was still here then. Bilal and Tony held back as the others left so that they could talk to Jeremy in private.

"Are you still going to be here next weekend?" asked Bilal. "I mean, how long are you going to stay gone for?"

"I haven't really thought about it. It's not as if I'm missing anything really important at school, though, is it? Now that the exams are over it's basically just filling in time, I'd have thought."

"We're still getting homework, though," said Tony, gloomily. "I can bring some for you, if you like."

"No, thanks."

"No, but seriously, you'll have to come home eventually, won't you?" persisted Bilal.

"Yes, but not yet. I bet Adolf hasn't even reported me missing yet, has he?"

"I don't know," said Bilal, "but nobody's been to talk to either of us yet, and if you were officially missing I reckon we'd be top of the list: everyone knows we're friends."

"Adolf's probably hoping you turn up today, so he won't have to explain why you did a bunk," said Tony.

"He's going to be unlucky, then. I reckon I'll stay for at least a week, maybe two."

"Okay. Then neither of us has any idea where you are, though we can probably give them a few ideas as to why you ran away," said Tony. "I reckon we can make Adolf look pretty bad if the police come round asking questions."

"Trouble is, though, you're going to have to live with him afterwards," Bilal pointed out, "so we'd better not overdo it – unless he gets put away for beating you up, of course…"

"He won't," said Jeremy. "I couldn't be that lucky. Besides, it's perfectly legal to hit disobedient kids, and it's not like he put me in hospital or anything, is it? I'm just hoping my mum leans on him a bit after this so he treats me a bit better in future, that's all."

"Well, we'll do our best," promised Tony. "Anyway… look after yourself, won't you? And, like I said, if you need anything urgently, call me – I can get here in about twenty minutes if I need to." And he put his arms round him and hugged him hard. "I reckon I'll be able to come and stay one night this week. I've laid the groundwork with my parents – they think it's someone else from school I want to stay with, and they probably won't bother to check with his parents because I've stayed with him overnight before. As long as you don't mind, that is."

"God, no!" responded Jeremy. "It'd be brilliant if you could stay here – I think it's going to get pretty lonely here on my own all the time otherwise."

"Good, then I'll see you after school on… Tuesday, probably. And if you think of anything else you need in the meantime, tell Sim or Uzzy and I'll bring it with me when I come."

"Okay. Oh – if you can find another sleeping bag like this one, we can zip them together. Sim reckons if two people try to sleep under this one it'll keep slipping off."

"Okay, I'll see what I can find."

"Me, too," agreed Bilal, and he gave Jeremy a quick hug, too. "And if anything happens at home we'll make sure we tell Uzzy, and he can tell you. Good luck."

Jeremy watched them carrying their bikes over the untrimmed part of the drive and then riding away, and then he went back into the garage, feeling a lot better than he had at the start of the afternoon.

Tony had left a bag behind, and this proved to hold some more food, a couple of water bottles like the ones on his bike, an unopened bar of soap, a towel – and, underneath the towel, an envelope and some packages done up in bright wrapping paper. The envelope held a card that everyone had signed and a short note from Tony, which said,

There's some prezzies here – we thought you might want to open one a day instead of doing them all at once, to cheer yourself up a bit if you get lonely.

Happy Birthday, mate!

"Oh, wow!" thought Jeremy, who hadn't been expecting any presents at all, at least not until he went back home. "But one a day? Forget that – it's my birthday today…"

There was one large oblong package that rattled when shaken, one smaller one that was sort of lumpy, one that looked hideously like a tube of toothpaste, but which he was sure would prove to be something quite different – at least, he hoped it would – one about the size of a box of Swan Vesta matches, and one appeared to be a second card. As this was the most boring-looking he opened it first, and it proved to be a record token big enough to buy an LP.

On the inside of the card it said,

Sorry this isn't very exciting, but we didn't know what to get you. Bilal says you like music, so here you are anyway.

Happy Birthday! Sim & Uzzy.

To prove that they'd both contributed they had each signed the card in different coloured ink.

Next he opened the matchbox-sized present, and found that it was… a matchbox. But inside it he found three pounds and a folded note that read,

I did not know it was your birthday so I did not buy a good present – but here is the money I brought to help buy food for you.

Have a good birthday – Miguel Àlvarez.

Considering that he hardly knew Miguel he thought this was a pretty amazing contribution, and he made a note to say thank you properly as soon as he could.

Next he opened the one that looked like a tube of toothpaste, wondering which of his friends might have thought it was funny to present him with something like that. And again, when the paper came off he found it was a toothpaste packet. But inside it was a new penknife, bigger than the one he already had and with lots of interesting blades. It was wrapped in a note that said,

I was going to get you the toothpaste but thought you'd like this more. Better not use it on Adolf, though.

Tony.

"Brilliant," he said, wishing Tony was there so that he could thank him properly – this was an excellent present.

The lumpy present turned out to be lumpy because Bilal had put a large packet of Jeremy's favourite fruit sweets in with his main offering, an Airfix kit of a Mosquito fighter-bomber. Jeremy really liked the plane, but he thought it was a pity he wouldn't be able to work on it here, unless he got Sim or someone to buy him some glue. But when he opened the larger present he discovered that his friends had thought of that: this one was a Lancaster bomber, and inside the box were a tube of glue, four or five small pots of paint and a couple of brushes. This one came with a note that said,

This is from me and Awais and Neil, but Bilal bought the paints and stuff so you could make it where you are now.

Happy birthday, Kam."

Jeremy sat staring at the presents, amazed at what his friends had managed to get for him: as far as he knew none of them was especially rich. And the only ones he knew well enough to swap presents with normally were Bilal and Tony, so getting stuff from the others was way beyond his expectations. Suddenly he felt deeply ashamed of the way he had doubted them earlier, when he had thought nobody was going to turn up. Having friends like that almost made up for being stuck with a step-father like Adolf…

Well, things could be worse for Jeremy: he's had a decent birthday, and he knows his friends are there for him. But he still hasn't resolved his feelings for Bilal, and the vanishing act has barely started, so he still has major problems to deal with… Anyway, in the next chapter we'll be seeing more of Sim and Uzzy, as well as catching up with Miguel's school life.

Chapter Eight

Well, Jeremy's safely settled in the garage, and in this chapter we'll see some of his friends trying to make him feel better about himself, though without a lot of success. We'll also see Sim and Uzzy up to their old tricks, and watch as Miguel and Andy try to get physical with entirely the wrong person…

The balloon went up on Monday morning: Tony and Bilal got to school at their usual time and saw a police car parked outside the headmaster's office. They looked at each other.

"Right, now neither of us knows where he is, but we've a good idea why he ran, okay?" said Tony.

"Okay. And we didn't even know he was missing until now, so we ought to act a bit surprised when they tell us," said Bilal. He paused. "Do you think we're going to get into trouble for this? I mean, if we tell lies to the police, and that?"

"Perhaps, but I don't care. We've got to try to help Jeremy out if we can, because I'm sure he'd do it for us if we were the ones with the problem."

"Yes, I know, which is why I'm going to do my best, too. Look… let's try to talk to them together if we can – that way they won't be able to catch us out if we aren't telling exactly the same story."

"Good idea – then we can back each other up."

So when their form teacher arrived for morning registration accompanied by a police officer they were ready, and when the policeman told them that Jeremy Fielding had gone missing, and that they would like to speak to anyone who knew Jeremy and might be able to help them find him, Tony and Bilal looked at each other and raised their hands. The policeman took them to an empty classroom next door and asked what they knew.

"Well…" began Bilal, "we know Jeremy isn't very happy at home – he doesn't get on with his step-father… see, Jeremy's my best friend, but his step-father's in the National Front, so I'm not allowed to visit, and nor are any of Jeremy's other… friends who aren't white. And it was Jeremy's birthday yesterday, and on Friday he told us that his step-father wouldn't let him invite us to his party. He was really upset about it…"

"His step-father hits him a lot," put in Tony. "We've all seen the bruises, and I bet the PE teachers have noticed, too. And sometimes he gets locked in their spare room."

"Quite a lot, actually," added Bilal. "Sometimes we play football at weekends, and when Jeremy doesn't turn up it's usually because he's locked in the spare room."

"I see," said the policeman. "Have you any idea where he might have gone?"

"Not really," said Tony. "I think he'd like to go to stay with his real dad, but he lives in America and I'm sure Jeremy hasn't got enough money for the fare."

"Has he got any other friends he might go to?"

"I don't think so. I mean, if he'd come to see one of us I'm sure our parents would have called Ado… Jeremy's step-father and told him where he was, even though they like Jeremy. They wouldn't just let him stay with us without telling anyone. And I bet any other parents would be the same."

"I expect you're right. Okay, thank you, boys – and if you hear anything, or if Jeremy contacts you, you will let us know, won't you?"

"Is he in trouble?" asked Bilal.

"Probably not, as long as he doesn't break the law while he's away – stealing food, trying to take a car, anything like that. We really just want to make sure he's safe, that's all."

"So, looks like he's in the clear at the moment," commented Tony as they walked to their first lesson. "All he has to do is to stay out of sight for a bit and let the cops give Adolf a hard time instead…"

***

That lunchtime Sim and Uzzy went to their private room at the top of the cricket pavilion, as they often did on a Monday. Today Uzzy was in one of his more dominant moods, and no sooner had he closed the door to their room and stuck the wedge underneath it – a recent innovation which was probably no bad idea, in view of what they sometimes got up to – than he was demanding to know why Sim still had his clothes on.

"S… Sorry, Sssir," replied Sim, throwing his blazer at the nearest peg and wrenching at his tie.

"You know you're not allowed clothes in this room," went on Uzzy, trying to look stern. "If you don't hurry up I'll have to strip you and spank you in the form room before the start of afternoon school."

Sim knew there was more chance of him becoming Pope than there was of Uzzy humiliating him in front of their entire form, but he tried to speed up his undressing all the same. The result was that he knotted a shoelace and had to waste a good minute trying to undo it.

"Maybe I'll do it out in the playground instead of our form room," commented Uzzy. "Then the whole school can come and laugh at you."

That was about as likely as Sim being elected President of the USA while he was still Pope, but he said nothing, teasing away at the recalcitrant shoelace until he was finally able to get his shoe off. Quickly he threw off the rest of his clothes and dropped to his knees in front of his master, his penis stiffening up as he did so.

"You're a disgrace!" shouted his master, happily. "Look at your clothes! Go and hang them up properly – only a really dirty boy would leave them strewn all over the floor. I bet your bedroom's a real mess – maybe I should come round and inspect it after school. If it's a bad as I think it is, you'll really have to be punished."

"Okay," said Sim, picking up his shorts and folding them up on the bench. "I think you should, becauthe my room isss a bit of a tip… I'd like my mother to meet you, anyway."

They'd been a bit nervous about this: Sim was afraid that his parents wouldn't approve of him having a Muslim as his best friend. Uzzy's parents didn't know Sim was Jewish, but, as Uzzy had pointed out, his own name was a clear indicator of his origins, so Sim's parents would know straight away where he came from. But Sim had decided that they ought to risk it, because it would make it much easier for them to see each other out of school if both houses were available for them instead of just Uzzy's.

"Right (are you sure it'll be okay, Sim? Yes? Brilliant!)… then if I find your room is a mess I'll have to beat you – and maybe I really will invite Awais to join in next time… Come on, haven't you finished yet? Get those socks turned the right way out…"

"Sssorry…" Sim scampered about hanging his clothes on the pegs or folding them neatly on the bench, and then he dropped to his knees again.

"Far too slow," said Uzzy. "I don't know why I bother keeping a useless slave like you. Maybe I should sell you – I'm sure someone out there would like a slave, even if he's hopeless. So, if you don't want to be sold to someone who will whip you every day, you'd better try showing me that you're worth keeping. Now, how could you do that? I know…"

He undid his shorts and pushed them and his pants down to his ankles, revealing an eager erection. Sim, who knew the drill by now, shuffled forwards on his knees and slipped it into his mouth, and for the next three or four minutes he sucked it, starting and stopping frequently to prevent Uzzy from getting too excited too quickly. Sim was quite prepared to keep doing this all through the lunch break, but Uzzy had other ideas.

"Oh, you're hopeless," said Uzzy, pushing him away. "I think you need a proper reminder of who's in charge here. Bend over the table."

Sim did that, spreading his legs without needing to be told, and Uzzy removed his clothes completely and pulled a small jar of Vaseline from his blazer pocket.

"It's ages since I last did this to you," he said, rubbing a little of it onto Sim's anus. "Obviously we should do this more often, so you don't keep forgetting your place."

He lined up and pushed, and Sim relaxed long enough to accommodate it and then squeezed, knowing that this made Uzzy feel good; and Uzzy rewarded him with a gasp. He reached around and took hold of Sim's very solid erection, squeezing it and twisting it a little, just enough to be uncomfortable without really hurting.

"Maybe I could sell you to Kam," he suggested, starting to rock slowly back and forwards. "His one would probably split you apart."

Some time previously Sim had told Kam he'd be prepared to let him try this, but so far Kam had declined, mainly because he really was quite big and he was afraid that it would hurt Sim badly if he tried fucking him. Sim wasn't really sorry, because he thought the same thing. Uzzy was quite a bit smaller than Kam, and when Uzzy did this to him it didn't hurt: in fact, it felt quite nice – and he knew how much Uzzy enjoyed doing this to him, too, and how good it made him feel, and that alone would have made Sim happy to do this, because making Uzzy happy was his favourite activity in the whole world.

Uzzy took his time, stopping whenever he thought he was getting too close, and it was only because time was getting short that he finally allowed himself to finish. Sim helped him over the edge by squeezing, and Uzzy climaxed with a gasp.

"Was that okay?" asked Sim, humbly.

"I suppose it'll do," said Uzzy, loftily. "Maybe I won't have to whip you today after all." He checked his watch. "Hey, we've got time," he said, reverting to his normal, 'non-master' voice. "I'm going to have a quick shower. Come with me and you can wash my back."

"Okay," agreed Sim, enthusiastically, and he followed his friend across the landing to the other small changing room, the one that had a shower in. They kept their heads out of the water – wet hair would have been hard to explain away – but washed the rest of their bodies. In fact, Sim did all the washing, soaping his friend's body thoroughly, and paying particular attention to that part of him that was most in need of cleaning, with the result that Uzzy was soon good and stiff once more.

"If we had time I think I'd have to make you suck it again as punishment for making it go hard," commented Uzzy. "And I really ought to punish you for letting yours stick up without permission, too. You're just lucky there isn't time. You just wait till next time we're here, though."

He stepped out of the shower and dried himself off using half of the towel he'd brought along specially, while Sim finished washing his bum and rinsing himself down. Then he took the towel and dried himself while Uzzy stood and watched him.

They walked back to their room, but before they got dressed they stood and looked at each other. Both had erections, although Sim's was a little larger and curved upwards, while Uzzy's was slightly smaller and stuck straight out.

"I can definitely th… see where your hair ith growing," said Sim. "I reckon you'll have proper one… ones soon. I still haven't got any, though."

"I think yours is getting even bigger," said Uzzy. "Perhaps I'll tie you up and hang a big weight off it for a couple of hours and see how far I can make it stretch."

Sim grinned at him, wondering what that might feel like and thinking it might actually be fun to find out.

"Come here," said Uzzy, opening his arms.

"But I'm not allowed to hug you when you're undressed."

"You are today. You've been really good – and, besides, I want to."

So Sim stepped into a hug, returning it enthusiastically.

"You're a brilliant friend," said Uzzy. "I bet nobody else in the world has got a friend who'd let them do the stuff I do to you. You give me the most amazing feelings… thanks, Sim."

"I love you doing that thtuff to me," Sim told him. "Like I s… said before, I don't know why – I reckon I'm strange. But I don't ever want you to thtop, U… Uzzy."

They held each other for a minute or so, then Uzzy looked at his watch and said that they ought to get dressed, so they put their uniforms back on and headed back to their form room.

At the end of school they walked round to the garage to see how Jeremy was doing, but before they got there Sim asked the question that had been on his mind since the previous morning.

"Jeremy told me he… he's worried," he said. "He thinks there's sssomething wrong with him, and I reckon it would help if we told him what we do – you know, like at lunchtime."

"Crumbs, Sim, I don't think so," said Uzzy, looking worried. "I mean, it was different with Kam, because I've known him for years. Neither of us really knows Jeremy at all. I don't think we ought to tell him something like that… why do you think it might help him?"

"Well, he told me he thinksss he might be queer, 'coth he really likes… another boy. And I thought that if we told him that we like to hug and thtuff he might not feel quite tho different…"

"Well, I don't mind him knowing how much I like you – I don't mind anyone knowing that. But I don't think we should tell him about… you know, the other stuff. That's supposed to be our secret."

"Okay. I think it'll help him if we hug in front of him, though – can we do that?"

"You just want an excuse for a hug!" accused Uzzy.

"True…"

"Well, I don't mind – in fact I think it's a good idea…"

They walked on to the garage and found Jeremy working on the Lancaster.

"Okay, Jeremy?" asked Sim.

"Well… I've been a bit bored, to be honest. I don't know how long I can just sit around reading and making my models. Still, I slept all right… is the village shop still open?"

Sim nodded: he knew the shop didn't close until five-thirty.

"Do they sell toothpaste – and toothbrushes? Only… I'm starting to feel a bit manky: I can't clean my teeth, and I haven't got enough water to wash in, and the water's cold, anyway… you won't want to come near me by the end of the week…"

"They've got a thort of chemi… chemist corner," said Sim. "I think they sssell all that type of thing."

"Hey, hang on," said Uzzy, a little light bulb metaphorically appearing over his head. "I've got an idea. Sim, take your clothes off."

"Huh? But I thought…"

"No, silly, I want you to swap clothes with Jeremy – you're nearer his size than I am. If we put him in our uniform we'll be able to walk back into the school grounds without anyone noticing him, and then I can get him into the pavilion. Once he knows where the key is, he can let himself in and have a wash, or even a shower, whenever he feels like it – well, out of school time, anyway."

"Brilliant!" agreed Sim. "I can go to the shop while you take him to the pavilion."

So Jeremy put on Sim's school uniform, which fitted him pretty well, and Uzzy led him back to the school. They passed a couple of older pupils on the way, neither of whom spared Jeremy a glance, and once they were inside the grounds Uzzy showed him where the key was hidden in the middle of one of the rhododendron bushes.

"How on earth did you get this?" asked Jeremy as Uzzy opened the pavilion door.

"Wood – he's a senior – got it cut last term. I don't know how he got hold of the original, though. Still, it's really useful. I'll show you where everything is."

He gave Jeremy the grand tour, concentrating on the little changing room with the shower on the top floor and the larger changing room with the wash basins on the first floor. He also showed him the kitchen, but advised him not to use it because the window looked out towards the main school buildings.

"Don't come here on Tuesdays or Saturdays," he advised, "because when the first eleven has a cricket match the caretaker's likely to be around. And don't put any lights on, either. But I think you'd be safe to use the upstairs shower or the basins, as long as you don't leave any traces. Do you want to have a wash now?"

"I didn't bring the soap, or my towel. I'll come back later this evening."

"Okay." Uzzy led the way back downstairs, put the key back in the bush and headed back to the garage. Sim joined them ten minutes later, carrying a small bag containing toothpaste, a toothbrush and some shampoo.

"Thanks," said Jeremy, starting to remove the Ivy House uniform. "I was getting a bit worried: I was afraid that if I get too dirty and smelly… well, nobody would want to come and see me."

Sim knew who he was really talking about, of course, but he didn't say anything. Instead he put his own clothes on again, went and stood beside Uzzy and put his arm round his shoulders.

"What you told me yethterday…" he said, "well, me and U… Uzzy are really good friends, and I don't think there's anything wrong with hugging – do you, Uzzy?"

"No," said Uzzy, turning to face his friend and putting his arms round him. "We do it all the time. Not usually in public, of course, 'cos we don't want people calling us names…. But I don't think there's anything wrong with it."

"Okay – but do you ever kiss each other?"

"Huh? No, of course not… though…I suppose if we wanted to, we could. What do you think, Sim?"

Sim hesitated, and then carefully kissed Uzzy on the cheek. Uzzy froze for a moment, not sure what to think: he was pretty sure boys weren't supposed to kiss other boys. But then they weren't supposed to fuck each other, either, and he knew that was fun. So, just to see what it felt like, he kissed Sim on the cheek, too.

Physically it didn't do much at all, but psychologically he recognised that it was a special thing to do, something to indicate that you really, really liked someone… and he knew that he really liked Sim – so why did this still feel strange, and a bit… well, wrong?

"Because we're not supposed to," he muttered to himself.

"Huh?" said Sim.

"That's why it feels a bit strange, because everyone says you're not supposed to kiss boys. But I don't see why we shouldn't…"

"Me neither," said Sim, and he kissed him again.

"Thee?" he said, looking at Jeremy. "We're like you."

Jeremy felt… well, confused. In one way it was nice to find that at least two of his friends felt that there was nothing wrong with kissing, but at the same time he felt jealous that these two had each other, while he was certain that he would end up with nobody – because, despite his fantasies to the contrary, he was certain that Bilal would never want to kiss him, far less do other, more physical things with him.

"We ought to go," said Uzzy, looking at his watch. "Otherwise I won't have time to see your house before my next bus goes, Sim. Is there anything else you need, Jeremy? I can call Bilal tonight if there is."

"No, I don't think so, not now I've got my washing stuff. A fresh pint of milk would be handy, but I think that's all. Oh – if Tony's still intending to come and stay the night, you'd better remind him he'll need to bring a pillow."

"Okay. We'll probably drop in again tomorrow. Bye!"

They left him to his thoughts and made their way to Sim's house.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Uzzy, nervously. "We don't want your parents forbidding us to see each other."

"They won't, I'm sssure. And if they did I'd just ignore them. Come on."

Sim's mother was in the kitchen, so Sim towed Uzzy straight in there.

"Thi… this is my friend U… Uzzy," said Sim. "Hith family come… comes from Pakissstan , and he'th a Mo… Muslim. Isss that okay?"

Mrs Lewis looked at the small, neat, bespectacled boy in front of her: he was obviously as nervous about this as Sim was, because he looked as if he was about to go in front of a firing squad.

"He's been helping me with my lisp," said Sim, concentrating furiously. "It'th got a lot better lately, ha… hasn't it?"

"Yes, it has. Well, as long as your father doesn't mind – and I don't think he will – Uzzy can come round whenever you like."

"Thanks, mum!" Sim rushed to her and hugged her, and then turned and dragged Uzzy up to his bedroom.

"Now you can come round after school whenever you want!" he said, happily.

"You might not want me to," said Uzzy. "This room's a mess." He paused. "Will your mum come upstairs to see what you're doing?"

Sim shook his head.

"Then you'd better get stripped, because I'm going to have to spank you for having an untidy bedroom."

Grinning, Sim removed his school uniform, putting his blazer, tie and shorts away in the wardrobe and dumping his shirt in a basket by the door. Then he took off his socks and pants and bent down over the bed, and Uzzy came and spanked him, firmly enough to make him squeal but a lot less than at full strength.

"I'd better go," he said, delivering one final blow. "But I can probably arrange to catch an even later bus sometimes, so I'll be able to come round for half an hour or so next time. And this room had better be spotless next time I see it."

He gave Sim's erection a quick squeeze and headed for the door. Sim went to the window and watched him go, giving him a wave when Uzzy looked up at him, and then he put some clothes on and went downstairs for his tea, feeling that for once life was smiling at him…

***

For the past couple of weeks Miguel had been on the lookout for someone he could introduce to the Collection: Tony had said they could do with a couple more footballers, and Miguel thought it would be really good if he could make a positive contribution to their weekend meetings.

The problem was that he didn't know anyone who lived close enough. Andy would have been an excellent choice, but he lived too far away: Miguel was sure he wouldn't want to undertake such a long cycle trip, entirely on a busy main road and with at least one long steep hill, every weekend. And the bus service on a Sunday was really rather poor, even assuming Andy could afford the fares. The same was true of everyone he knew in his class, including Hamilton and the other two boys who had been similarly inveigled into games of strip poker since.

There were a few boys from his school who lived in Poundford Spa and who caught the same bus as he did, but he didn't know any of them, and in any case most of them seemed to be either older or younger than he was, which he thought made them unsuitable.

There was one who he thought would be absolutely perfect, because he was Japanese and so was guaranteed to annoy Jeremy's step-father. But although Miguel had tried to say hello a couple of times he had been met only with curt monosyllabic answers. He wondered if the boy could speak English, but supposed he must be able to if he went to an English school.

The boy was from the year above Miguel's, so he didn't see him at all during classes, but he'd spotted him in the school grounds from time to time, always on his own, and he wondered what would happen if he and Andy were to try jumping on him – after all, it didn't look as if the boy had a lot of friends who would jump in to help him. So he suggested to Andy that it might be fun to see what a Japanese boy looked like with no clothes on, and Andy agreed that it would be a good idea to find out, and so they followed the Japanese boy as he strolled across the grass that lunchtime and caught up with him by the trees at the edge of the grounds.

"Hello," Andy greeted him. "We're part of the official uniform checking squad, and we're here to check that your underwear meets school standards. So – grab him, Mig!"

Miguel stepped forward with a grin, and the next thing he knew he was flying through the air and landing flat on his back. He staggered to his feet and saw Andy pinned underneath the Japanese boy with his arm in a painful-looking lock.

"Stay where you are," the boy ordered him in near-perfect English, "or I'll break his arm. Now, what was it you wanted to do to me?"

"Nothing," gasped Andy, struggling vainly. "Honest, we weren't going to… aaagh!"

"Don't lie, or I'll break your wrist. The truth, please."

"We were… aaagh, okay, I'm telling you! We were going to pull your shorts and pants down."

"Why?"

"Well, just to see… you know, what you look like."

"Oh, so you think my bum might be a different colour from the rest of me? How strange. I wonder if you're like that? You," he snapped, looking at Miguel, "pull your trousers and pants down."

"No!" said Miguel, firmly.

"Do it, or I'll break his arm." He wrenched, and Andy gave a cry of pain.

Miguel hesitated, and then undid his belt. He glanced around nervously: he was in full view of the school here.

"Go beside that tree," said the Japanese boy. "But do it quickly, or your friend will end up in hospital."

Miguel moved so that the tree hid him from most of the grounds and lowered his shorts and pants, straightening up so that the Japanese boy could see. The boy grinned widely at him.

"How odd," he said, "you're the same colour all the way down. Okay, you can pull them up again. Now I'm going to get up – don't try anything or you'll really be in trouble."

He stood up, and Andy got up slowly, rubbing his wrist.

"Why did you do that?" the Japanese boy asked Miguel. "Why didn't you just run away?"

"He is my friend. I did not want you to hurt him."

"Loyalty is good," the boy said. "So if I had threatened to break your arm, would he have done the same for you?"

Miguel looked at Andy, who hesitated but then nodded slowly. "Probably," he said. "But I didn't think you would really have broken my arm."

"I wouldn't have, but I could have hurt you a lot without actually breaking it."

"How did you do that?" asked Miguel. "Throwing me away, I mean."

"Martial arts. I thought everyone knew we Japanese are good at those? Actually, not every Japanese person does study them, but I've been learning for ages. It's fun to get a chance to practise sometimes." And he grinned at them and turned to walk away.

"Wait… could you teach us to do that?" asked Andy.

"No, I don't think so. You have to practise for ages – and you'd probably use it to bully other boys, and I wouldn't want that to happen." And he smiled at them again and walked off.

"Well, that was a really bad idea," commented Andy. "I think we'd probably better stick to cards in future."

That evening Miguel approached the Japanese boy at the bus stop.

"I am sorry," he said. "We should not have tried to do that to you."

"Okay. I accept your apology. But if I ever see you bullying again I'll have to hurt you properly."

"We have never done that before," said Miguel. "And it was my idea, not Andy's. You should have hurt me."

"I will if you like," said the boy. "Which arm would you like me to break?"

"Neither," said Miguel, nervously.

"Okay. Anyway, I suppose you got your punishment as well when you had to pull your pants down. You looked funny like that… I should have made you take everything off and then run round the grounds."

"I'm glad you did not. Anyway, my name is Miguel. Can we be friends?"

"I'm Kenji, and no, not yet. I don't want friends who gang up on people or try to bully them. But I'll watch how you behave for a while and see if you're telling the truth when you say you haven't done that before… but in the meantime, leave me alone."

That wasn't very promising, but at least now they knew each other's names. Maybe if he could show Kenji that he was really a good person he'd change his mind.

The bus was late arriving, and by the time it turned up there were a very large number of boys trying to get on it. Miguel fought his way aboard, but the only seat left was next to a boy from the final year at their school. Miguel had noticed him because of his unusual appearance: he had pale skin, white hair and wore very thick glasses, and although everyone at Inchley had to wear shorts, this boy wore long trousers.

"Don't sit there, or you'll catch it," advised a boy a couple of seats away.

"Catch what?"

"Leprosy."

Miguel looked at the pale boy nervously. "You do not have… I mean, you are not really..?"

The boy shook his head. "No, I haven't got leprosy, and you won't catch anything if you sit there."

"Leper! Unclean, unclean!" said the boy who had spoken before, ringing an invisible hand-bell and getting a general laugh. The pale boy just looked out of the window and took no notice.

When Miguel stood up to get off the bus at his stop the boy who had made the accusation of leprosy loudly advised him to have a good bath when he got home if he didn't want his fingers to start falling off. "Look it up in the encyclopaedia – it's obvious he's got leprosy," he said as Miguel headed for the door.

Miguel did look up the symptoms of leprosy, and found that it certainly affected the skin and could affect the eyes, but he hadn't noticed any of the skin lesions that were supposed to be the main symptom. So next morning when his bus arrived he deliberately sat next to the pale boy.

"I do not believe that you have leprosy," he told him.

"I haven't. The other kids in my class only say I have to wind me up."

"Why do they do that?"

"Because I'm different. I'm an albino, so my skin is really sensitive to the sun and my eyes are pretty useless, but it isn't contagious or anything. I had the same problem at my last school… anyway, thanks for sitting next to me last night. Usually nobody will."

"I think they are stupid if they call you names. I am Spanish, and everyone says I must come from Barcelona and be really stupid, but it is not true… well, I do not come from Barcelona, anyway. But they do not call me names all the time."

"They do me," said the boy, gloomily. "Still, I just ignore them most of the time. Perhaps they'll get bored with it eventually."

"Can you play football?" Miguel asked him, wondering if this might be the recruit he wanted.

"No, I'm hopeless at sports. I can't see anything without my glasses, so it's hard to play most games, and I'm supposed to stay out of the sun most of the time, too, so running about an open sports field in shorts would be a bad idea. Why?"

"Oh, I was just wondering. My name is Miguel – what is yours?"

"James. Not that anyone at school ever calls me anything other than 'Unclean' or something… My surname's Linnell, so I'm 'Linnell the Leper' all the time…"

"I shall call you James," said Miguel, firmly.

"Thank you."

At break Miguel saw James walking across the grass with a book in his hand, so he followed him and found him sitting under the trees with his book open on his lap.

"Hello, James," he said.

"Hello, Miguel. What are you doing here?"

"I saw you and decided to come and say hello. Why are you here?"

"I like it here – it's out of the sun and it's far enough away from the school buildings that nobody usually comes and bothers me. It gives me a bit of peace and quiet."

"I am sorry," said Miguel, backing away. "I will not disturb you."

"I didn't mean you, silly. You can stay. I just meant it gets me away from all the idiots, that's all."

"Oh. Okay. If you are sure you do not mind…"

"I'm sure. Sit down." James put his book down and lay back, looking at the sky through the branches of the trees.

"It's really difficult, being different," he said. "I hardly ever get to talk to anyone here, except in lessons when I talk to the teachers. I suppose I should be used to it by now, but I'm not, not really. I'd just like to be the same as everyone else for once."

"Everyone is different," said Miguel. "I have a foreign name and a foreign accent. Some of the boys in my class have red hair, or wear glasses, and one of them has something wrong with his foot and walks badly. Some of the boys I play football with at the weekend are from Pakistan, and so they are a different colour. There is a Japanese boy in the school, too… you are not the only person who is different."

"I know. I just wish they'd stop going on about it all the time. I'd just like to have a friend I could talk to normally for once…"

"You can talk to me," said Miguel. "I know I am younger than you, but if you do not mind to speak to a stupid Spanish kid from two years below you, I am here."

"I don't mind at all – and you can't really be stupid or you wouldn't be in this school. Plus, you can speak two languages really well, which I bet none of the idiots in my year can do… It'd be nice if you could keep me company sometimes, even if I don't always have a lot to say."

"I would like that, too," said Miguel, who knew what it was like to be an outsider and wanted to help James if he could. So he sat next to him on the bank and watched the sky go by until the bell summoned them back to lessons.

Miguel seems to have made a new friend here – we'll have to wait to see how it develops. In the meantime Jeremy's still sitting in his garage wondering if he's done the right thing and trying to work out where to go from here…

Chapter Nine

In this chapter Jeremy gets some advice on personal relationships and then finally decides to unburden himself to someone he thinks is likely to be sympathetic. Unfortunately, however, there's something that Jeremy does not know about one of his closest friends…

Tuesday dragged by for Jeremy: he only allowed himself to work on his model for an hour or so at a time so that he wouldn't finish it too quickly and then have nothing to do. He'd already finished two books, and was more than half-way through the third and last one he had brought with him, and once that was finished he really would be at a loose end. He didn't dare go outside during school hours, just in case someone saw him, so he spent a lot of time lying on the mattress daydreaming.

As four o'clock approached he found himself looking forward to a visit from Sim and Uzzy, but in the event Sim appeared without Uzzy but accompanied by a delegation of boys Jeremy had never met before. Jeremy looked at him nervously.

"It's okay," Sim assured him, "the… these are our friends. You wanted thomeone to talk to – try thith lot. You can tr… trust them. That one's Colin (he indicated a very small boy with bright red hair and large glasses) – he'th in my form. The others are all ss… seniors. That's Timmy, and Stephen, and Graham."

Jeremy thought Timmy looked small for a senior: he was the same height as Sim, and had delicate features and floppy blond hair. Stephen was taller and muscular and looked more like a senior, and Graham's face bore faint signs of acne, suggesting that he was more mature than the others, even though he was the only one of the three older boys wearing short trousers.

"Hello," said Jeremy, uncertainly. "What's Sim been telling you about me, then?"

"Nothing much," said Colin. "He just said you had some sort of problem and needed someone to talk to about it, and as these three are older than me and Sim we thought they might be able to help. Sim's right, by the way – you can trust us. We've all got secrets of our own, and we know how to keep them."

He went and sat on the mattress, and Graham followed him over and sat next to him. Colin promptly leant against him and Graham put his arm round the smaller boy, and that suggested pretty strongly to Jeremy that they were aware of the nature of his problem and wanted to show solidarity with him.

Timmy and Stephen collared the two chairs, so Jeremy took the milk churn.

"I can't really hang around tonight," said Sim. "Ith there anything you need from the shop?"

"Probably not – if Tony comes round tonight like he said he would he can always go for me."

"Well, okay – but the shop won't be open after half patht five, remember."

"Well, I'm pretty sure Tony will be here before that. If he gets here too late it'll be too bad, but I've probably got enough to last me through tomorrow, anyway."

"Okay. I'll come back tomorrow evening." And Sim went out, leaving him with his uninvited guests.

"All right," said Jeremy, addressing himself to Colin. "As I'm pretty sure Sim's told you, I… well, I think… I think there's something wrong with me, okay?"

"Go on."

"Well… see, I…" Jeremy swallowed: he had never envisaged talking about this with total strangers. Obviously in one way it was better to unburden himself to boys he'd never have to speak to again, but broaching the subject still wasn't easy.

"I… I think I'm in love with another boy," he managed to say.

"Okay," said Colin. "And…?"

"And it's wrong," said Jeremy, looking at the floor. "It's disgusting."

"No, it isn't," said Timmy. "That's just what you've been told."

"How old are you?" Colin asked him.

"I was twelve on Sunday."

"Well, then, it's far too soon to know what you're really like. See, I spoke to my dad about it – he started wondering why I was spending so much time with Graham, and he told me it's quite normal for boys to like other boys, and even to explore… you know, sex and stuff, with them, before they reach puberty. It doesn't mean they're always going to only fancy boys. I'm only just starting puberty, so it's too early to know what's going to happen in a year or so. Actually, I find girls sort of interesting, but I really enjoy having sex with Graham, so maybe I'll end up liking boys and girls."

"I'm not sure about that," said Stephen. "I'm already interested in girls, but I haven't really started puberty yet. I mean, I've done a little bit with my friend Tom, but he's really more like a brother – we've just tried out a few things together. I think girls are more interesting, though."

"I've got a boyfriend," said Timmy. "I'm nowhere near puberty yet, so maybe I'll change my mind later, but I don't think so. I want me and Christy… sorry, Stephen, I mean Christy and I – to stay together for ever."

Jeremy looked at them. "Does everyone in your class know how you feel?" he asked Timmy.

"Good heavens, no – we'd get teased to death. Probably Graham and I are the only two in our form who like boys…"

"I don't know," interrupted Stephen. "What about Rodgers and Thompson?"

"Well, we don't actually know they fancy each other," Timmy pointed out. "They might just be good friends… anyway, we don't talk about it in class, only when we're with people we know we can trust."

"I know people wonder about me and Graham," said Colin, "because we're together so much, but we're careful not to get too close in public. It's only when we're on our own, or with our real friends, that we can relax a bit. But I certainly wouldn't tell the rest of the class about what we do in private – they'd give us a really difficult time."

"Anyway, what we're saying is that there's nothing wrong with liking another boy, but that you should be careful who you tell," said Timmy.

"But Stephen knows about you, and he's normal," Jeremy pointed out. "Didn't you think he'd tell everyone?"

"I'd never do that," Stephen replied. "These are my friends. Besides, there are things about me I wouldn't want the rest of the class finding out."

"Well, okay – but that isn't the real problem," said Jeremy. "Even if I accept that it's okay for me to like another boy, the question is, should I tell him?"

The older boys looked at each other.

"I'd say yes," said Graham. "If I'd been honest with Colin from the start it would have avoided a whole heap of nasty stuff."

"Yes, but if you'd just come up to me last October and told me that you fancied me, I'd have told you to get lost," Colin pointed out. "We're only together now because of all the nasty stuff that happened first."

"I suppose that's true," admitted Graham.

"I'd say yes," said Timmy. "But it would depend on how well you know him."

"I'd say no, unless you're pretty certain he won't react badly," said Stephen. "I mean, it's a pretty serious thing to tell someone – and Colin's already said how he would have reacted if Graham had told him the way he felt."

"I'd have been wrong, though," said Colin, "because now I know what it's like having a boy as a girlfriend, and I'm really glad I got a chance to find out."

"True, but you'd still have turned him down if he'd asked to go out with you back in October, wouldn't you?" insisted Stephen. "That's why Timmy's right – you'd have to know him pretty well and have a good idea that he wouldn't throw a wobbly if you told him you fancied him."

"I don't suppose that helps much, does it?" said Colin.

"Not really, no. But I suppose it's good to know that not everyone thinks I'm a disgusting pervert for wanting to do things with another boy."

"What sort of things are you talking about?" asked Colin. "I mean, do you want to kiss and cuddle with him, or have sex?"

"Well… both, I suppose."

"But which is more important? If you had to choose, would you want him to enjoy kissing and cuddling with you, or would you prefer sex but without any kissing and stuff?"

"Kissing, I think," said Jeremy. "I mean, sex would be brilliant, but I'd sooner be able to hold him and kiss him and… and have him kiss me…"

"Ah, you're in love. Well, maybe that's easier, because if he likes girls but is still your friend he might be okay about hugging you sometimes. But if he likes girls he probably wouldn't want to have sex with you. Although I reckon I might still want to have sex with Graham even once I've started going out with girls… anyway, I reckon you've got more chance of a hug than you have of doing sex stuff with him."

"You could be lucky," said Timmy. "Maybe if he really likes you he might be prepared to try doing… you know, other things, with you just to see what it's like. And if you're really lucky he might enjoy it and want to keep doing it."

"And you could be unlucky," said Stephen, who seemed to have taken the position of Mr Pessimist, "in which case he'll tell you to sod off."

"Still not much help, are we?" commented Colin. "How long have you been friends with this boy?"

"Years. We're really good friends."

"Then he's less likely to tell you to sod off, I think. Still, it's not an easy thing to hear if you're not interested in boys, that your friend wants sex with you… if you're friends already, maybe you should be prepared to settle for that… Look, Jeremy, it's really hard to advise you properly without knowing the other boy, and I wouldn't want to give you bad advice that ends up hurting you… maybe you'd be better not telling him. What do the rest of you think?"

"Tell him," said Timmy.

"I don't think you should," said Stephen.

"Tell him," advised Graham. "Otherwise you'll look back and think about what you might have missed. I was lucky to get a second chance with Colin. You might not."

"So there you are," summed up Colin. "Two of us think you should tell him, and two of us don't. So I suppose what we're saying is that we don't know and you'll have to decide for yourself. I suppose you think it's been a complete waste of time talking to us, don't you?"

"No," said Jeremy. "I'm glad you came – it's given me some stuff to think about. And at least I know there are other people out there like me – at least if I tell him and he says he never wants to talk to me again I'll have someone to talk to about it before I kill myself…"

"Don't do that," said Graham. "Sometimes a second chance does come along, remember?"

"I ought to go," said Stephen. "My mum will be wondering where I am."

"Okay. Thanks for coming, anyway," said Jeremy.

"Any time. And good luck if you decide to tell him." And Stephen got up and left.

"Just out of interest," said Colin, "what sort of stuff would you want to do with your friend if he said he was willing to try stuff with you?"

"I don't know," said Jeremy. "I mean, I've sort of imagined… you know, touching each other, and maybe even… well, rubbing it for each other – but I'm not sure I'd really want him to touch me – well, I would, but I'd be ashamed… See, I'm… I'm not very big, and I think if he saw how small I am when it sticks out – he already knows it's pretty small soft – he'd just laugh at me and walk away."

"No, he wouldn't," said Timmy, firmly. "Christy's still my boyfriend, even though mine's really small. He says it doesn't matter."

"Bet it's not as small as mine," said Jeremy, morosely.

Timmy stood up, removed his blazer, undid his belt, pushed his trousers and pants down to his ankles and lifted his shirt out of the way.

"This is what 'small' looks like," he said. "And I'm thirteen, remember."

Jeremy stared: Timmy seemed to have no balls and only a tiny bump of pink flesh where his penis should have been.

"Okay, it gets a bit bigger when we… you know, do stuff, but not much," said Timmy, lowering his shirt. "So unless yours is smaller than mine, you've got nothing to worry about. Is it?"

Jeremy shook his head slowly. "Gosh, Timmy," he said, "that's got to be the smallest one I've ever seen… I mean… how can you let us all see it? Doesn't it make you feel… well, bad?"

"Not really. Colin and Graham have seen me undressed before, and I thought it might help you to know that you don't have to have a huge one to enjoy… well, you know…" He got dressed again and sat back down.

"Yes, but… I mean, what sort of thing can you actually do with your boyfriend? I mean, I'm not trying to be rude, or anything, but… well, you know."

"Oh, we manage to have fun," said Timmy, grinning at him. "It does get a bit bigger when I need it to, but Christy makes me feel good even when he doesn't touch it."

"That's true," agreed Graham. "Colin can make me get the good feeling without ever touching my cock. Of course, I like it when he does touch me…"

"How? I mean… how can you get to feel nice if you don't actually touch each other?"

"Oh, now he wants sex education classes," said Graham. "I think we might have to charge extra for those…"

"Don't worry about that for now," said Colin. "It'd be great if you needed to find out other ways to have fun together, but I think you'd do better to see whether or not you're actually going to be able to do anything together first. One thing at a time… Anyway, we'd better go. Come on, Graham, you can carry me over the brambly bit again."

"Hey, I'm wearing shorts, too," the older boy pointed out.

"Tough," said Colin. "You're bigger than me, so you do the carrying. Bye, Jeremy – and if you need to talk to anyone again, just tell Sim. Even if our advice is rubbish, we'll still at least listen to you. Good luck!"

He slung his school bag over his shoulders and followed Graham out of the door.

"Do those two really… you know, do stuff together?" asked Jeremy, once they had gone.

"Yes – at least, Graham says they do, and I've no reason to disbelieve him, especially since it's pretty clear from what he says that it's Colin who decides what they're going to do. And it's obvious that Graham would do absolutely anything for Colin, so whatever Colin says goes. And they both seem pretty happy with things that way."

"Yes, but what do they do, exactly?"

"Well, it's up to them to tell you that, if they want to. I don't know for sure, anyway – I only know what Graham's told me. If you ask them next time you see them they might tell you, but it's their business, not mine."

Timmy put his blazer back on, picked up his bag and headed for the door.

"Good luck, anyway," he said. "I hope it works out for you. If it doesn't and you need someone to talk to, tell Sim and I'll come round – I don't have to rush off to catch a bus because my mum never gets home till about seven, so I can come any evening."

"Thanks," said Jeremy. He watched Timmy heading up the drive and then went back into the garage and sat down to think. He speculated on the relationship between Colin and Graham, wondering how it was that the younger boy, who was also almost a foot [30 cm] shorter, was in charge of their relationship, and it what it actually was that they did together: how on earth could Graham get the sex feeling without his thingy being touched? And then he put that to one side and returned to his main problem, which was what to do about his feelings for Bilal. At least now he didn't feel quite so isolated: it helped to know that other boys felt the same way that he did. But their conflicting advice left him no closer to deciding what he ought to do about it.

He'd been expecting Tony to appear long before this – it only took about twenty minutes to cycle here from Poundford Spa – and he was starting to wonder if something had happened to prevent him from coming. But eventually, at around quarter past five, the door opened again and Tony walked in. He was carrying a large pack on his back and had a small plastic bag in his hand, and when Jeremy saw what was in the bag he immediately forgave Tony for keeping him waiting.

"I stopped at the chippy in Fraycastle on the way," Tony told him. "That's why I'm a bit late – it doesn't open until five o'clock."

"Tony, you're a genius," replied Jeremy, grabbing one of the packets and opening it on the table to reveal a large piece of cod and a massive pile of chips.

"I thought you might be hungry, so I got extra chips," said Tony, opening the second packet and parking himself on the milk churn. "And I've got some Coke in my bag, too – hang on a moment…"

He delved into his pack and retrieved two cans of Coke, one of which he passed to Jeremy, who already had a mouth stuffed with chips.

Neither spoke for the next ten minutes or so – Jeremy was so happy to have a hot meal that he just wanted to enjoy it before it went cold, and Tony was quite happy to nibble his own chips and watch Jeremy stuffing his face.

Eventually Jeremy finished eating and sat back, looking thoroughly contented.

"Best meal I've had in ages," he said. "I'll have to ask Sim if he can get to the chippy for me sometime later in the week… so, what's happening at home?"

"Well, they're now looking for you properly," Tony told him. "We've already had the police round to the school, and your mum came round to talk to mine yesterday evening. I've even seen Adolf wandering about looking for you."

"He probably just wants to give me a really good thrashing," said Jeremy. He was feeling a little guilty about worrying his mum, though, and wondered if he ought to phone home and let her know that he was okay.

"Maybe. Anyway, what have you been doing?"

"Not very much. I'm about half-way through building my Lancaster, I've read two and a half of my books, and I'm fed up with looking at the ceiling."

"Then let's go out for a bit. There's bound to be some trees we can climb in the wood…"

So they walked up the lane to the wood and went exploring, finding several climbable trees and then stalking and hunting each other through the undergrowth for a couple of hours. Then they went back to the garage and Tony pulled a pack of cards from his bag.

"Want to get me back for tickling you on Sunday?" he asked.

"You bet."

"Okay – let's play strip poker. If I lose you can tickle me as much as you like."

"What if I lose?"

"Then it'll probably be you that gets tickled instead. Cut for deal."

They started playing. It was a fairly even game, with neither player getting more than one item ahead.

"Tell you what," said Tony, when they were both down to their trousers and pants, "let's make it interesting: whoever loses has to stay naked all night."

Jeremy hesitated. He'd have accepted like a shot if it had been Bilal making the suggestion, because he knew Bilal wouldn't tease him about his size, but Tony was quite capable of making snide remarks all night long if given the chance. Of course, if Tony lost he'd be on the receiving end of the snide remarks…

"You're on," he said, gathering the cards ready for the next deal.

"Brilliant! Prepare to suffer…"

Tony lost the next hand, but Jeremy lost the next two after that. Sighing, he put the cards down, stood up and removed his underpants.

"Tickling time!" cried Tony, grabbing him and pushing him onto the mattress.

Jeremy wriggled and struggled but still ended up pinned under Tony's body, and once he was immobilised Tony started to tickle him. Jeremy writhed and gasped and begged, but it didn't do any good, and when Tony stopped after three or four minutes he was red in the face and out of breath.

"You wait," he promised. "Next time I'll win, and then I'll tickle you till you piss your pants."

"Now there's an idea," said Tony. "Except… you're not wearing any, and I've got to sleep on this mattress. Perhaps I'll do that to you in the morning, before I go to school… depends how you behave tonight. If you snore and keep me awake I'll definitely do it."

He let go of Jeremy and wriggled up to lie beside him. Jeremy sat up for a moment to check that his ribs were still all intact and looked at Tony, who was lying hunched up beside him.

"Straighten your legs, or there won't be room on the mattress for me," he said.

"Tough," replied Tony.

"No, seriously, Tony, I want to lie down, and there isn't enough room."

Tony tried to wriggle to one side without straightening his legs, but in the process Jeremy saw why he was reluctant to move.

"You've gone stiff!" he accused.

"So what?" retorted Tony, straightening his legs now that the secret was out and adjusting his underwear. As he was only wearing a small pair of pale blue briefs his erection was now obvious.

"Why?"

"I don't know, it just happened. It happens a lot, in fact. Don't tell me it never happens to you, 'cos I won't believe you."

"Well, yes, it does – but usually only when I'm thinking about… well, you know."

"Well, mine does it whatever I'm thinking about," said Tony, though he was unable to look Jeremy in the eye as he said it.

"Let's see, then," said Jeremy.

"No! I won the game!"

"Yes, and I've already agreed to stay like this all night. I just want a quick look at yours, just to see if…"

"If what?"

"Well… if you're bigger than me."

"I am, and that's all you need to know."

"Prove it, then. Come on, Tony – don't be chicken…"

Tony sighed. "Okay, then, but you'll only be jealous," he said, and he raised his bum and slipped his pants off, tossing them over his head onto the table.

Jeremy looked at him: being freed from the confines of the clothing seemed to have made it get harder, because it was rigid and twitching. It certainly did look a little larger than Jeremy's own, and Tony's balls looked larger, too. But it wasn't abnormally huge, and at first glance there didn't seem to be any hair, either, and that made Jeremy feel a little better.

"It's not that big," he said. "Remember that you've never seen mine hard."

"Go on, then, show me."

"Get lost!"

"Just because you know you're smaller…"

"Well, you are older than me."

"Only by six months."

"You're still older, so you should be bigger."

"OK, let's not argue about it. Fancy another game? We don't have to play strip this time – well, you can't, anyway, because you haven't got any clothes left. Let's just play for fun for a bit."

Tony stood up, and now Jeremy could see his genitals more clearly, because they were now level with his head and only about a foot away from where he was sitting on the mattress. Tony's balls hung down quite low, and now that he could see it close up Jeremy noticed that there was the finest hint of down at the base of the penis – certainly nothing that could be called 'hair' yet, but a sign that some was on the way. He felt small and inferior again.

Tony helped him to his feet, and they sat down at the table once more, Tony not bothering to put his clothes back on, and they played knockout whist and cribbage until it got too dark to see the cards properly.

"I'm going out for a pee," said Tony, standing up and putting the cards away. "Is there anywhere in particular you go? I don't want to pee on the garage in case it makes the place smell…"

"I'll show you," said Jeremy, leading him out into the darkening garden and a short distance along the path that led to the back of the house. There was a wider bit about half way along, and he pointed to the left.

"I've been watering that bush," he said. "Give me a call when you're finished, 'cos I need to go, too."

He retreated as far as the garage and waited, and when Tony came back he took his place at his impromptu urinal and watered the plants some more.

Back in the garage Tony had pulled a sleeping bag from his pack and was holding it against the one Sim had lent Jeremy.

"Same type," he said. "Shall we zip them together? Sim said something about the cover slipping off if we only use one."

"Okay," said Jeremy. "But if you snore you can take yours out in the garden."

"Like to see you make me," said Tony, zipping the bags together. He had also brought a small pillow, which he placed on the mattress next to Jeremy's cushion.

"Aren't you going to put your pants back on?" asked Jeremy, wriggling into the sleeping bag."

"Do you want me to?"

"I don't mind. I suppose it would be nicer if we're both the same, but it's up to you."

"Then I'll stay as I am, so you have to keep seeing how much bigger I am than you all night."

In fact Tony's erection had completely subsided, and now his penis didn't look all that much bigger than Jeremy's, though his balls were still appreciably larger.

"We're going to be in a sleeping bag, dumbo," said Jeremy. "I can't see through material."

"Watch it, or I'll stuff your head down inside the sleeping bag, and then you'll be able to see perfectly."

"No, the smell would kill me first."

Tony grabbed him and started to tickle him, and Jeremy retaliated in the same way. It wasn't easy wrestling inside the sleeping bag, but they did their best, jabbing each other in the ribs and trying to make each other submit. But after a bit Tony stopped fighting, and Jeremy relaxed and rolled on his back, putting his hands behind his head. Tony propped himself up on one elbow and looked at him.

"How long are you going to stay here?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"I don't know."

"Only, I've been thinking about what's going to happen when you get back," Tony went on. "Do you really think things will be better, or will Adolf just be even madder at you for running off like this and getting the police involved?"

"I don't know," said Jeremy again. "But I had to do something."

"I know. It's just… well, I'm scared things won't work out for you. I wish…"

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Go on, what do you wish?"

"Well… I wish you could live with me instead. It'd be brilliant if we were like brothers – you could share my room, and we could do whatever we want…I've always wanted a brother…"

"You wouldn't want me. Who'd want a scrawny, ugly weed for a brother?"

"Don't talk about yourself like that," said Tony, seriously. "You know I don't think you're like that, Jeremy. You're my best friend, and I… it'd be brilliant if you were my brother…"

"You'd pretty soon get fed up with me, though."

"No, I wouldn't! Why do you say shit like that?"

"Because… I'd get fed up with me if I was stuck with me as a brother. Christ, Tony, it's not just that I look like an ugly eight-year-old – I've got a rotten temper, too. We'd fight all the time, and you'd end up hating me."

"I would never hate you, no matter what happened! And the only reason you keep losing your temper is because you have to live with that arsehole Adolf: anyone would lose their temper with him."

Jeremy shrugged. "Well, it's not going to happen, is it, so we don't have to worry about it."

"Yes, but… what I was going to suggest was, if things get too bad at your house you could always come and stay with me for a bit. I know my parents wouldn't mind…"

"Thanks, Tony… that'd be great… but probably I'll have to try to sort things out with Adolf – if I can, of course – and then stay at my house. Still, if things get really bad maybe I'd do that."

"I'd really like that," said Tony. He lay down on his back beside his friend, and for a few minutes neither of them spoke.

"Thanks for coming," said Jeremy, quietly. "I don't know how long I could keep this up if I was on my own all the time. I'd end up going mad and talking to myself."

"What do you mean, 'end up going mad'? You've been mad for years."

Jeremy jabbed him in the ribs, and Tony retaliated, and they had a brief wrestle, and when they stopped fighting Tony kept his arm round Jeremy's shoulders.

"Seriously," Jeremy resumed, "I sometimes think my whole life is a pile of shit. When I was stuck in the spare room last week I even thought about killing myself…"

"Don't you dare talk like that!" cried Tony, shaking him. "For God's sake, Jeremy, there's more to life than bloody Adolf! You've got loads of other stuff going for you – you're brainy, and… and good-looking – and you've got friends who really… I mean, who… well, who care about you…"

"That's crap – I'm not brainy, and I'm ugly and… well, okay, I do seem to have a couple of friends, but still…"

"You wouldn't be at The Grove if you didn't have a brain, you'd be at Mitchells or somewhere like that. You passed the eleven plus, didn't you?"

"Just about. Chandlers wouldn't take me, though."

"Who wants to go to Chandlers? They've got a stupid uniform and they have to hike miles to get to their playing fields – and, besides, if you went to Chandlers I'd never have met you…"

"Well, okay, maybe the Grove isn't that bad. But I'm still ugly."

"How are you ugly? Have you got sticking-out ears, or a squint, or massive front teeth, or a stupid birthmark on your face? Do you have to wear a bloody brace on your teeth? There's nothing wrong with you, Jeremy – I think you look really good…"

Jeremy bit back a defence of Bilal's birthmark, realising that it would make his feelings too obvious. Instead he said, "Do you really mean that, or are you just trying to cheer me up?"

"Of course I mean it, stupid. You're really good-looking, and it annoys me when you keep slagging yourself off all the time."

"Then I'll try not to do it any more, at least not while you're here. Thanks, Tony."

Jeremy rolled onto his side and settled down to sleep. Tony would have liked to keep the conversation going – it felt good sharing a sleeping bag like this and he would have liked to prolong the experience. But he realised the Jeremy was tired and so respected his decision to settle down. He put his arm back round his friend's shoulders and went to sleep himself.

Jeremy woke up first the following morning and found Tony cuddled up close beside him, still asleep. He looked into his friend's face, which was partially obscured by his long hair, and decided that there was nobody who would be able to give him better advice than Tony, who had known both him and Bilal for ages and who, Jeremy was now sure, would be sympathetic: the way Tony had supported him since this episode had begun, and had even managed to find a way to come to keep him company overnight, suggested that this was a friend he could really count on.

"Morning," said Tony, sleepily, opening his eyes and seeing Jeremy's face a foot away from his own. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yes, thanks. You?"

"Not bad. You don't seem to snore, anyway."

"I never thought I did. Look, Tony… I need some advice."

"Well, okay, if I can. I'm really not sure how long you should stay here, though, if that's what it's about."

"It isn't. This is something else. See, what it is… I think…

This wasn't getting any easier, Jeremy realised: even going into this speech for the third time still felt like trying to find the courage to jump from the highest diving board at the swimming pool, something he had never yet dared to do.

"What?" said Tony, encouragingly.

"Well, I think… I think I might be queer, Tony. I'm starting to fancy other boys."

"Okay," said Tony. "Well, that isn't so bad…"

"Do you really think so? Thanks, Tony – I thought you'd probably hate me if I told you…"

"Of course I don't hate you, stupid: you're my friend, you know that," said Tony, moving a little closer and putting his arm round Jeremy's shoulders. "So, who are these boys you've started fancying?"

"Well, it's not 'boys', really, just one particular boy, only I've been trying to decide whether or not to tell him, and wondering what he might say if I did – and it's made me so scared…"

"You don't have to be scared," said Tony, softly. "Just say it."

"Do you really think I should?"

"Of course I do, you pillock. Don't you think he might feel the same way about you? Just say it."

"Okay, I will," said Jeremy, making up his mind in the face of this support. "I'll tell him the next time I see him. You're right, Tony, we've been friends for absolutely ages, and I have to tell him how I feel. Except… you don't suppose there might be a problem with his religion, do you?"

"Huh?"

"Well, he's a Muslim. What if it's forbidden by his religion?"

"What??"

"Bilal – he's a Muslim, isn't he?"

"Bilal," said Tony, in a flat voice.

"Yes, Bilal – who did you think I was talking about?"

"You mean, you fancy Bilal – our Bilal, the one with the birthmark," said Tony, his voice even deader.

"Yes, of course, our Bilal. How many other Bilals do we know?"

"And you fancy him."

"Yes! Isn't that what I've been telling you?"

"I've got to get to school," said Tony, climbing out of the sleeping bag and starting to get dressed.

"But… don't you want any breakfast?"

"No, thanks," said Tony, shortly, dressing as quickly as he could.

"Oh, okay. But you think I should tell Bilal how I feel?"

"Do whatever you want. It makes no difference to me."

Tony grabbed his bag and ran out of the garage, his shirt unbuttoned, his tie stuffed in his pocket and his shoelaces untied, and slammed the door behind him. And Jeremy stared at the door feeling as if his world had suddenly collapsed around him.

Oh,dear, now the excrement has really hit the fan… poor Jeremy, for not being able to see what's right under his nose, and poor Tony, for not seeing the wrong punchline coming at the end of the story. It looks as if this is going to result in people getting badly hurt, but we'll have to wait for the next chapter to find out exactly what happens next.

Chapter Ten

The last chapter ended with Jeremy's revelation getting a totally unexpected reaction from Tony. Can the situation be rescued, or has their friendship been damaged beyond repair? Cue plenty of strong emotion… and to balance it, we'll be popping back to Miguel's school to see how he's getting on with his new friend James…

Tony stumbled away from the garage, grabbed his bike and used it to batter his way through the overgrown part of the drive to the lane. Only when he was out of sight of the garage did he stop and finish getting dressed, though he could barely see what he was doing through his tears.

Bilal! Who could ever have guessed that Jeremy would have fallen for someone with a disfiguring splotch on his face? What did Bilal, of all people, have to offer that he didn't? Five minutes earlier he had been convinced that his dream was going to come true, and that Jeremy had finally found the courage to admit that his feelings went beyond mere friendship. He'd been ready to admit that he had felt the same way for absolutely ages, but had never dared say anything in case his feelings were not reciprocated…

He uttered a harsh snort of disgust. Jeremy felt the same way, all right, just not about him. How could he have been so stupid as to let himself believe this was going to work out for him?

He got onto his bike and wobbled away up the lane, blinking several times in an attempt to clear his vision. He was absolutely furious with himself for letting himself believe in a happy ending, but he was also livid with Jeremy for letting him think, no matter how fleetingly, that they had a future together. Okay, maybe it wasn't Jeremy's fault that he was too thick to see what was right under his nose, but that didn't make Tony feel any better.

And what about Bilal? He couldn't believe that Bilal had ever given Jeremy the remotest hint that he was interested in a physical relationship, so probably Bilal was in no way to blame for all this… but he was there, wasn't he? Maybe if Jeremy had never met Bilal he might have fallen for Tony instead. For a fleeting, horrible moment Tony found himself thinking like Adolf and dreaming of Bilal being put on a cargo ship and forcibly repatriated to Pakistan, but he caught himself with the thought and was disgusted with himself for entertaining it, even for an instant. After all, Bilal was his friend, too, and (he repeated to himself) not remotely to blame for Jeremy's infatuation with him.

For ten minutes he rode on, riding like a lunatic with his thoughts in a whirl, before he started to calm down a little. He was already more than halfway to school, even though it was ridiculously early, so he rode on more carefully and sensibly until he reached Poundford Spa common, and there he pulled over, walked his bike to one of the benches overlooking the town centre and sat down to think.

Now he had cooled down a little he was beginning to feel less angry with Jeremy, and in fact he was starting to think that he'd acted like a complete bastard instead of like a friend: Jeremy had confided his darkest secret to him, something that must have taken immense reserves of courage, and how had he reacted? By storming out and slamming the door. What must Jeremy be thinking now? That one of his oldest friends hated him and was disgusted with him? That it would be all round the school by lunchtime? That Bilal would hear about it and be similarly revolted by the notion of Jeremy wanting to go to bed with him?

And now Tony really did feel appalled at his own behaviour. You're supposed to love him, he told himself: is this how you show it? If you really loved him you'd want him to be happy, even with Bilal, not angry and jealous that he'd chosen someone else… You've left him feeling like total shit – and you even gave him a bloody great knife for his birthday, for God's sake: how are you going to feel if he uses it on himself?

Obviously even at his angriest he had never intended telling anyone at school about this, least of all Bilal, but now he was starting to be afraid that even without doing anything else, what he'd already done might lead to Jeremy doing something drastic. I'm going to have to go back, and quickly, he decided, and he grabbed his bike and swung it round – and dropped the back wheel straight onto a broken beer bottle that was lying beside the bench. A jagged shard went straight into the tyre.

He swore violently: he didn't have a puncture kit, or a spare tube, and that meant his bike was useless. He briefly contemplated running all the way, or hiking into the town centre to look for a bus going that way, but either would take too long. He would have to get hold of someone else, but the only person he knew that lived close enough was Sim, and he didn't have Sim's number. Bilal might have it – in fact, he was pretty sure he did, and he might have Owen's number as well, which would give him a second option. So he chained his bike to the bench and ran off towards the Regency pub, where he was pretty sure there was a phone box.

He got there, out of breath, and then found he didn't have any change. He swore again and then called the operator and asked her to call Bilal's number for him and ask if they would accept a reverse charge call. And at that point his luck changed, because Bilal answered the phone himself and accepted the charges without bothering to consult his parents.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"I need Sim's number, or Owen's," said Tony. "Now, Bilal, it's urgent."

"I haven't got Owen's, but Sim's is here somewhere… hang on…"

Tony tried to control his runaway imagination, having horrible visions of Jeremy lying on the mattress with his knife protruding from his chest. He thought he'd never be able to live with himself if he was responsible for Jeremy hurting himself – or worse… He'd probably have to try to get hold of the knife and use it on himself…

"It's 96 43758," said Bilal's voice in his ear. "Look, what's happening, Tony? Is Jeremy okay?"

"I don't know. I'll tell you about it later… oh, shit, I still haven't got any money, and I bet Sim's parents wouldn't accept a reverse charge from someone they've never met… you'll have to call him, Bilal. Get him to go round to the garage and make sure Jeremy's okay – now, before school. Tell him it's really important, okay? He's to tell Jeremy that I'm really, really sorry and that I haven't said anything to anyone, okay?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Just do it, Bilal, now. I'll speak to you at school." And Tony hung up, hoping that he'd impressed on Bilal how vital this was.

***

"I've no idea, Sim," Bilal said. "Tony just rang me up and said someone has to go round to the garage and tell Jeremy everything's okay and that Tony's really sorry. I don't know what it's about. Can you get round there before school?"

"I don't think tho – I'm thu… suppothed to be at school in twenty minutes. Maybe I can get Timmy to go round after a… assembly: the older boys have a bit of free time now their ecthams are all done."

"Tony said it was really important," insisted Bilal. "See what you can do, Sim, okay?"

"Okay. If Timmy or Graham can't go I'll thneak off mythelf and do it – we've only got PE after ath… assembly, and I hate that."

"Okay, thanks, Sim." Bilal put the phone down, wondering what had happened and why it was such a big emergency all of a sudden. Probably it was just Tony over-reacting again, he told himself.

***

Sim did his best, but his mother wouldn't let him out of the house until she was satisfied that he'd packed all the books he was supposed to have, and by the time he got away there was simply not enough time to get to the garage. So as soon as he got to school he went to the senior classroom and told Timmy what Bilal had asked him to do.

"Well, I'm supposed to have maths after assembly," said Timmy, "but we're really just playing mathematical games now, so I can probably disappear without anyone taking too much notice. Did Bilal tell you what it's all about?"

"He didn't really tell me anything, only that he wanted one of usss to go and check up on Jeremy," Sim told him.

"Okay, I'll go and make sure he's okay. I don't suppose it's serious, though."

***

In fact, Tony's imagined version of Jeremy's reaction was fairly accurate: once the garage door had slammed shut Jeremy collapsed back onto the mattress and pulled the sleeping bag round him. He felt sick: his worst fears had been fulfilled. He realised he shouldn't have allowed himself to be influenced by Timmy and his friends – after all, what did it matter what they said or thought? They knew they weren't likely to see him again. It was his real friends whose opinion mattered, and now he knew what that opinion was: Tony couldn't even stand to be in the same room as him. And no doubt Bilal would be exactly the same as soon as he heard about it, which was likely to be the moment Tony got to school.

For a long time he couldn't raise the energy to do anything: instead he just lay in the sleeping bag feeling numb. But eventually he started thinking what he should do next – not that it mattered, really, because any choice now would be equally meaningless. First he considered just getting on his bike and riding, in any direction except towards home – but then he decided that this would be pointless, because no matter how far he rode he would be unable to escape from himself, and it was his own personality that was the problem here.

Next he considered simply going home, taking whatever punishment Adolf had to offer and trying to get on with his life – but that was no good, either: how could he go back to a school where everyone knew what a pervert he was? And how could he live so close to Bilal without ever being able to speak to him again? The idea of seeing the disgust written on the faces of boys who had been his friends was too much to contemplate.

So what did that leave? He couldn't run away and he couldn't go back, and there was no point in staying where he was, because he couldn't expect Tony to keep his whereabouts a secret any longer: sooner or later he could expect the police to turn up to take him home. Which meant that the only remaining option was to put himself where he wouldn't be an embarrassment to his friends or family any longer, and where he would finally not have to worry about what anyone thought of him.

He thought briefly about using the knife, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to bring himself to actually do it – and it would leave a dreadful mess for someone to find, too. No, he thought, there's a better way, one which would be much less messy and much easier to carry out.

The south coast was probably too far for him to cycle, but he knew that there were a couple of buses that ran from Poundford Spa to towns on the coast. The bus fare would be no problem, because he still had plenty of money left over from the collection his friends had made for him, so all he had to do was to ride back into Poundford Spa, catch a bus to the coast and then walk up to Beachy Head, where plenty of other unhappy people before him had taken the long plunge from the top of the cliff into oblivion.

He thought about it for a while longer, but there really didn't seem to be any other option: he'd sooner be dead than to have to live knowing that everyone – and especially the boy he loved – despised him. So eventually he got out of the sleeping bag, wiped the tears from his face and got dressed. He wasn't remotely hungry, but he drank what was left of the milk and then tidied the place up a little: probably Sim or one of the others would be sent round to put the place in order, and he thought it would make it easier for them if everything was tidily packed away before he left.

He put the not-quite-finished model of the Lancaster onto the shelf at the back of the garage – probably they'd smash it up when they found it, but he didn't see any reason to deny them that pleasure – packed everything else away in his bag, separated the sleeping bags and folded them up ready to be reclaimed by their owners, slung his bag on his back, wheeled his bike through the door – and ran into Timmy, who was halfway down the drive. His heart sank – he'd hoped to be able to slip away unnoticed.

"Hello," said Timmy. "Where are you going?"

"Well, I… I thought I'd head back to Poundford Spa."

"Oh. Okay… Are you all right? You look pretty awful."

"No, I'm fine."

"No, you're not. What's wrong?"

"Nothing! Look, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in school?"

"Sim got a phone call from Bilal, apparently. He said he was worried about you, or something, and wanted one of us to check up on you, to make sure you're okay."

"Well, I am! Now leave me alone!" shouted Jeremy, who simply couldn't face this: the idea that Bilal should have been worried about him today of all days, when he was just about to find out how disgusting Jeremy really was, was too much to cope with. But Timmy could see that something was seriously wrong here and he wasn't going to let Jeremy go without finding out what it was.

"Jeremy, please let me talk to you," said Timmy.

"I don't want to talk to anyone."

"Okay, then let me just stay with you for a bit."

"Why? You hardly know me – what's it got to do with you?"

"Because… because your friends are worried about you, and they asked me to make sure you're all right. And because I'm worried about you, too. People care about you, you know."

"They won't for much longer. I bet if you could call Bilal now he'd tell you to shove me under a bus instead."

"I don't think he would. Look, let's get inside, and then you can tell me the whole story."

Jeremy just wanted to go, but the concept of one more chance to talk to someone who didn't immediately despise him did have its attractions, so he allowed himself to be shepherded back into the garage. After all, what difference would it make if he waited another few minutes before leaving? Beachy Head would still be there when he needed it, which he was certain he would: nothing Timmy could say was going to make him feel any differently about himself…

***

Once he'd left the phone box by the Regency Tony walked back to the common to collect his bike and started pushing it to school. He still wanted to get back to Jeremy, but he didn't have the money for the bus fare and he couldn't go home to try to find some without his mother asking him endless questions. He couldn't go home to repair his puncture for the same reason. So school seemed the only place he could go to find help.

He was still quite a long way from the school and pushing his bike slowed him down, too, and so he only got into their form room five seconds ahead of their teacher. He slid into the space next to Bilal.

"Did you manage to call someone?" he asked in a low voice as the teacher started calling the register.

"Yes, I talked to Sim. He's going to go and make sure everything's okay. Look, what's going on, Tony?"

"I need to borrow your bike. Mine's got a puncture."

"Why?"

"Because I've got to get back to Shortham. Look, I messed up, Bilal, okay? Jeremy told me something and I… well, I reacted badly. I need to go back and patch things up."

"It can't be that urgent, surely? Can't you wait until after school?"

"It is that urgent, and after school might be too late."

"Why, what did he tell you?"

"That doesn't matter at the moment. Getting there to make sure he's okay is what's important. Please, Bilal, lend me your bike."

"Okay. Here's the key – but I want to hear all about it this evening, all right?"

He passed Tony the key to his bike lock, and Tony exchanged it for his own, asking Bilal to wheel his bike home for him if he hadn't made it back to school by the end of the day. And as soon as registration was over Tony made a bolt for the bike sheds, collected Bilal's bike and, making sure there were no members of staff about to ask him awkward questions, pushed it out of the gate, got aboard and headed for Shortham as fast as he could pedal.

Somehow he got there without having an accident. He carried Bilal's bike past the overgrown part of the driveway, dumped it behind the nearest bush and charged into the garage, where he found Jeremy slumped at the table with his head in his hands and a pretty young boy with blond hair, whom Tony had never seen before, sitting beside him. Jeremy jumped to his feet when Tony came in and backed away, apparently expecting to be attacked, and Tony's heart lurched… but at least he was still alive.

"Thanks," he said to the blond kid. "I can take it from here."

"Are you sure? I mean, is that okay with you, Jeremy?"

Jeremy looked at Tony and realised from the expression on his face that his first reaction had been unnecessary.

"Yes, I think so," he said. "Thanks, Timmy."

"Okay… if you're sure…" Timmy slowly walked to the door, looking at Tony distrustfully, which made Tony wonder exactly what Jeremy had said to him; but when nobody called him back he went out and left them to it.

"Oh, shit, Jeremy… I'm really, really sorry," said Tony. "I was such a bastard to leave you like that… please can you forgive me?"

"Well… why did you run off like that, Tony? One moment I thought it was okay, and then suddenly you changed. I thought you must have been so disgusted with me that you just had to get away… but that can't be right, or you wouldn't have come back…"

"I was never disgusted with you. It was just… well, when you said you fancied Bilal, it just seemed so… well, weird, that's all. I mean, we've known him for years, and now suddenly you want to go to bed with him?"

"I don't want to go to bed with him…. Well, okay, maybe I would like to – but that's not really what I meant… Have you told him, Tony? Does he know what I said?"

"No, of course not…"

And at that Jeremy almost collapsed with relief, and Tony caught him and held him, and Jeremy hugged him back…

"I was terrified you'd go and tell him and that he'd react the same way," Jeremy said, struggling to keep his voice under control. "I thought neither of you would ever want to talk to me again…"

"He doesn't know anything," Tony reassured him. "I mean, he knows I was worried about you, but he doesn't know why. And as far as I'm concerned you're still my best friend, and you always will be, okay? Even if you do want to have it off with Bilal…"

"I don't! Well… no, all I really want is to be allowed to love him without it freaking him out."

"As far as I'm concerned you can love him as much as you like, but he's the only one who can tell you whether it freaks him out or not. If you decide to tell him, that is. If you don't, he'll never hear about it from me."

"Do you think I should tell him?"

"I don't know – I mean, that's really up to you, isn't it? I think you might have to in the end, though, or it'll just nag away at you and mess you up inside – but maybe you should tell Kam first and ask what he thinks. I mean, I don't want to sound like Adolf here, but they might not think quite the same way about it as you do – like you said, there's the religious bit to think about. I reckon Kam would be the best person to ask, or maybe Uzzy… but Kam's older… try him first, and if he reckons it'd be safe, then you should talk to Bilal."

"You don't think Kam might tell Bilal about it if I admit it to him?"

"No. I mean, I didn't, and I've known Bilal since forever. I reckon Kam's sound."

"Okay, maybe I'll try that… look, Tony, I think I'm going to go home today: I don't reckon I'm going to achieve anything by staying away any longer. Either Adolf's got the message by now or he never will. And it's not fair on my mum to keep her not knowing where I am. And I don't want to be on my own any more, either…"

"You'll never have to be on your own. I'll always be around if you need me."

"I know. Thanks, Tony." Jeremy hugged him, and Tony, who had been biting his tongue like mad to stop himself blurting out his own feelings – which he didn't think would help right now – simply hugged him back and resisted the urge to kiss him.

Tony packed his sleeping bag and pillow away into his bag, glad that he had not decided to leave it at school with Bilal, and had a quick look round to make sure that he had not forgotten anything.

"What are you going to do about that?" he asked, pointing at the Lancaster on the shelf.

"I'll have to come back on the bus to pick it up later. It'll get broken if I try taking it on my bike. Or maybe Uzzy can bring it back for me – he catches the bus every day, after all."

They closed the garage and rode up the lane and back towards Poundford Spa.

"Do you want me to come in with you?" offered Tony as they reached the end of Jeremy's road.

"No. If you did they'd probably blame you for talking me into running, or something."

"I don't mind – in fact, if it means Adolf will hit you less I think it's a really good idea."

"No, it isn't. A, he probably won't hit me any less, and B, they might forbid me from ever seeing you again, and I couldn't stand that."

"Do you mean that, even after… you know?" mumbled Tony, trying to fight a sudden blurriness to his vision.

"Of course I do, stupid. You're my friend. Now you'd better get back to school before you get into serious trouble for bunking off. Come round after school if you like, and if I'm in the spare room you can come round the back and I'll tell you how it went."

"Okay," said Tony, wondering how much of the sign language he could remember. "I'll bring Bilal, too, 'cos I know he's really worried about you after my performance this morning."

"Thanks. I'll see you later, then."

"Right. Good luck." And Tony turned and cycled on towards school, while Jeremy squared his shoulders and rode the last fifty yards or so to his front gate.

***

Most of the Collection, of course, were blissfully unaware of what had been happening to Jeremy since the weekend and so were just carrying on with their normal activities. Miguel, for example, was just getting on with his life as before, though he had made one change to his daily routine: now he made a point of sitting next to James whenever they were on the same bus, and he had also taken to spending a lot of his breaks sitting under the trees with him and keeping him company, for which James, who was unused to having anyone to talk to, was almost pathetically grateful.

They were in the usual place under the trees on Wednesday lunchtime when Andy came looking for Miguel.

"Oh, there you are," he said. "I think I've got Davenport lined up for a game of cards… Can you come round to my house after school tomorrow?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Good. I'm looking forward to finding out if his mouth is the biggest thing about him… who's this?" Andy had just realised that the boy next to Miguel was sitting up and taking an interest in the conversation.

"This is James," said Miguel. "He is my friend. We catch the bus together."

"Okay. He's the one the other kids all call…" Andy realised that it might not be polite to finish the sentence, but James finished it for him.

"The leper," he supplied. "But I'm not, you know."

"Well, obviously not," said Andy, sitting down next to him, on the opposite side to Miguel. "They wouldn't let you in the school if you had something like that, would they? So what is wrong with you?"

"There is nothing wrong with him," answered Miguel, before James could reply. "He is like us."

"Well, thanks, but that's not quite true," said James. "I'm an albino, so I have sensitive skin, that's all."

"What, you mean it starts bleeding whenever you touch it, or something?" asked Andy.

"No, nothing like that. It's only really the sun that I have to be careful of, because there's something missing in my skin and it burns really easily. Otherwise it's just normal skin."

Andy looked at him. He'd seen James around the school – he was hard to miss, after all – and it was obvious that he didn't have any friends, except, apparently, for Miguel. And maybe that gave rise to certain possibilities…

"Really?" he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I really think we ought to check that. I mean, maybe it's not just the sun – maybe it's really sensitive in other ways and you just don't want us to know about it. Like, maybe you're really ticklish… I think we should find out. Come on, Mig, tickle test needed…"

He dropped down onto James's left arm, pinning it beneath his body, and began to drill his fingers into the older boy's ribs. Miguel hesitated just long enough to be sure that James didn't mind and then immobilised the other arm in the same way and started tickling the opposite flank. James wriggled and squealed and writhed about, but with both his arms trapped he couldn't do very much about it.

"It is sensitive, isn't it?" commented Andy, grinning. "I bet it's even worse without the shirt getting in the way."

He untucked James's shirt and burrowed his hand up underneath it so that his fingers were in direct contact with the older boy's ribs and then really got to work, making James gasp and beg for mercy and wriggle about like crazy. Miguel did the same thing on the other side, and only stopped when James started getting red in the face: he didn't want his friend to be actually tickled to death. Andy stopped, too, and they let their victim get his breath back for a few seconds.

"You wait," gasped James. "I bet you two are ticklish, too: next time I'll get you back."

"You can try," said Andy. "But me and Mig are a good team: nobody beats us. Well, unless they know martial arts, that is. You don't, do you?"

James shook his head.

"Then you'd do better not to try, or next time we'll tickle you till you pee your pants."

"I like to see you smile and laugh," said Miguel, looking at James. "You look good like that. You should do it more often."

"I'll just look at your friend's face, then," said James. "That would crack anyone up."

Andy promptly tickled him some more until James apologised. Then he looked at Miguel and raised his eyebrows. Miguel didn't get it straight away, but he did as soon as Andy said, "So, James – can you play cards?"

"Well, a bit. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. I just thought it's about the only way you'll ever be able to get us back for tickling you, because we'll always be too strong for you otherwise."

"What, so if I beat you at cards you'll let me tickle you?"

"That's right – in fact, we'll let you tie us up and tickle us, just to make sure we don't try to gang up on you again."

"And what if I lose?"

"Then we'll get to find out how ticklish you really are. What do you think?"

"Okay. Get your cards out, then."

"We haven't got time now, but if you can come back to my house after school we'll do it then."

"Where do you live?"

"It's only just up the road. We can walk it in about five minutes."

"Okay, then, I agree."

"Great! Mig, can you manage to come round two nights running? If not I'll put Davenport off till next week."

"No, I think that I can come both times."

"Good. Boy, is your big friend going to suffer tonight…"

"I'm not sure about this," said Miguel, once he and Andy were on their own. "He is really nice. I do not think that we should be too nasty to him."

"Oh, we won't be nasty – we'll just tickle him till he squeaks. And obviously we'll have to strip him off, too – I mean, how many times are we going to get a chance to make a senior undress?"

"Okay, but if he really does not want it, we must stop," insisted Miguel.

"Okay," agreed Andy, though he had his fingers crossed behind his back as he said it.

So after school they met James outside their classroom and led him back to Andy's house. They sat down around the table in Andy's bedroom and he explained the rules, which were a little different today, though Miguel didn't comment on the fact.

"We play until one of us has lost ten hands," said Andy. "Whoever loses has to strip to his pants and be tied to the bed, and then the other two can tickle him. If one of us two loses and you're not sure you can trust us you can tie the other one up to make sure he doesn't interfere. Fair?"

"Yes, I should think so. What game are we playing?"

"Can you play poker?"

"Yes, but I'm not very good."

"Nor are we," lied Andy, shuffling the cards and starting to deal.

The game followed the usual well-worn path, with Andy and Miguel signalling each other and making sure that neither lost too many hands too quickly, but in fact they needn't have bothered, because James really wasn't any good at the game – in fact Miguel thought he might have agreed just for the fun of being able to play cards with some friends for once in his life.

Instead of losing clothes he simply ended up with a mark against his name on Andy's score sheet each time he lost, but of course the end result was the same: he lost ten hands before either of the other two had lost five.

"Okay, then," he said as he lost for the tenth time. "But remember I'm going to be lying on your bed, so if you overdo it and really make me pee my pants it'll be you who has to sleep in the puddle."

Without any argument he took off all his clothes except for his pants and positioned himself on his back with his hands above his head. Andy tied his wrists to the headboard and his ankles to the legs at the foot of the bed and then he and Miguel sat down on either side of their helpless prisoner and started to tickle him.

They tickled his ribs and his stomach and his armpits, and then they tickled the soles of his feet (which seemed particularly effective) and behind his knees.

"Which do you think works best?" asked Andy, idly running a finger round the older boy's left nipple. "I reckon it's probably the ribs." And he started digging his fingers into the ribcage once more.

"I think the feet are good," said Miguel, proving it.

"Hmm. Of course, there's one place we haven't tried yet," Andy pointed out.

"Really? Where is that?" asked Miguel.

"Here," said Andy, moving a finger to James's underpants and running it over the bulge that concealed his testicles.

"Do you think that we should?" asked Miguel, watching James's face out of the corner of his eye.

"I don't see why not. I mean, if we're trying to find out where he's most ticklish, we should try everywhere, don't you think?"

"Perhaps that is true," agreed Miguel; still James had raised no objection. But when Andy took hold of the elastic of his pants he became a bit more vocal.

"No, come on, Andy, that's not fair!" he protested, tugging at the cords round his wrists in a half-hearted way. "You can't do that!"

"What, this?" said Andy, pulling the underpants down as far as the base of the penis and then working the back down over James's buttocks. The older boy still wasn't doing too much to try to prevent this from happening.

"Now let's see how sensitive your sensitive places are," said Andy, hesitating briefly in case there was a serious objection. But James simply made form noises like 'aaahh!' and 'that's not fair!' and 'nooooo!", so Andy wrenched the garment down, revealing everything that James had.

This turned out to be quite a lot: James had large, floppy balls and quite a big, equally floppy, uncut penis, though there was absolutely no trace of hair. James was two years older than they were, and it was the first time either of them had seen a thirteen-year-old boy uncovered.

"It's quite big, isn't it?" commented Andy. "Let's see if it's ticklish."

James made more form noises, though he was trying to suppress a smile at the same time, so Miguel had no hesitation in starting to stroke the big soft balls while Andy caressed the penis, and of course very quickly this attention had the inevitable result.

"Bloody hell, that really is big," said Andy, once it reached full throbbing size. "Get the ruler, Mig."

Miguel got the ruler and checked their prisoner out.

"It is five inches [12.5 cm], Andy," he reported.

"Wow! Are all thirteen-year-olds as big as that, James?"

"I don't know. I don't do games, so I've never seen the rest of my year getting changed – but none of the doctors who have seen me have ever suggested there was anything wrong with it."

"Gosh, Mig, me and you will look like that in a couple of years… bet mine stays bigger than yours, though."

"I bet it does not."

"Let me see, and I'll judge," suggested James.

Andy looked at Miguel. "Shall we?" he asked.

"Okay." This was different to stripping the boys in their own year: that was intended only to be a one-way exercise, the aim of which was to embarrass the boys who had called Miguel 'Manuel'. But James was in a different year, and had never insulted Miguel, either.

The two younger boys grinned at each other and stripped off as far as their pants.

"Untie me, then," said James.

"Not yet," said Andy, doing a mock striptease in front of the older boy, lowering his waistband not quite far enough for his important parts to be visible. Miguel got the idea and joined in the teasing, and James wriggled and complained while his own erection twitched and throbbed.

Finally they took pity on him, removed their pants completely and stood side by side so that he could compare them.

"I think you both look nice," said James. "Andy looks a little bigger, though."

"That is just because his balls are big," Miguel pointed out.

"Perhaps. If you untie me I can see which one feels harder."

"Okay," said Andy, confident he would win that contest. He untied James's wrists while Miguel untied his ankles, and then James stood up, kicked his underpants right off and took hold of them, one in each hand.

"They're both good and hard," he said. "I don't know which is harder, though."

"That'd be mine, unless you want me to crush this," said Andy, seizing James's erection and squeezing.

"I think it must be mine, else these balls will be pulled off," argued Miguel, grabbing them and tugging. James retaliated by twisting what was in his hands, and the younger boys fought back, and soon they were rolling round the floor in a three-way wrestling match. Of course, eventually they just ganged up on him, pinned him down and twisted his erection until he submitted.

"Okay, you are both equally hard," he declared, in an attempt to get them to stop giving him Chinese burns on his penis.

"I think I can accept that," said Andy.

"I, too," said Miguel, standing up. "Look, it is late, Andy, and I must go, else I cannot stay again tomorrow."

He dressed quickly, and James got up and pulled his own clothes on.

"I'd better go, too," he said. "But next time, Andy, it'll be you that gets it twisted half off."

"You wish." Andy got dressed more slowly, and was still doing his trousers up when the other two said goodbye and left. They walked back towards the bus stop.

"James…" said Miguel, tentatively, "you are not angry that we see… saw you undressed?"

"No, it was fun. I was a bit nervous at first – I thought you might laugh at me. But when you didn't it got really good fun. I'd like to do that again sometime."

"Really? Even after we hurt your thing?"

"Really. I've never done anything like that before, but it felt nice. Strange, but definitely nice. So if you would like to do it again, so would I."

"Great!" said Miguel, his face lighting up. He definitely wanted to do it again – and, of course, James lived not far from where he did, so maybe they could get together out of school as well… and the following evening they'd get to strip and tease another of the boys who had made fun of his accent, too. Surely things couldn't get better than this?

Lucky Miguel – life's treating him pretty well at the moment. This is not the case with Jeremy, and in the next chapter we'll find out what sort of a reception he gets from Adolf and discover where he goes next as he attempts to work out what to do about his feelings for Bilal.

NEXT PART