David Clarke

Jeremy Fielding Collection

Chapters 11-14

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Chapter Eleven

So Jeremy's back home once more, and in this chapter we'll see what sort of reception he gets from his mother and step-father. Later we'll have a chance to see how Kam's friendship with Neil is developing, and we'll get to hear what they each think about girls…

Jeremy walked up his front path, hesitated, and then took his key from his pocket and let himself into the house.

"Hello?" he said, nervously. "Is anyone at home?"

"Jeremy? JEREMY!" His mother came flying out of the kitchen and enveloped him in a massive hug, kissing him over and over again. Jeremy waited for the storm to subside, knowing that the difficult bit was sure to follow, and of course it did.

"Where have you been?" she demanded. "Have you had anything to eat? Are you sure you aren't ill – have you been sleeping in a ditch? And what on earth were you thinking of, running off like that in the first place?"

She gave Jeremy no chance to answer any of these questions before following up with the next one, and when he did finally draw breath she still didn't give him a chance to say anything.

"Get upstairs and get those dirty clothes off, and then have a bath – you must be filthy," she ordered.

In fact Jeremy had taken a shower in the Ivy House cricket pavilion on Monday evening, so he didn't feel particularly dirty; but the idea of a hot bath did have its attractions, so he headed for the stairs.

"Err, Mum," he said, pausing on the bottom step, "where's Ad… Andrew?"

"He's at work. He stayed off until this morning, but once the police were involved he thought they could do a far better job of looking for you than he could, so he went back to the office. But he's been really worried about you."

I bet he hasn't, thought Jeremy, but he kept his mouth shut.

"I'd better call and tell him you're home. And… do the police know you're back?"

"Don't think so."

"Then I'd better let them know, too. Now go and get in that bath!"

Jeremy went and took a leisurely bath. He could hear his mother speaking on the phone downstairs and guessed that it would only be a matter of time before Adolf came home and laid into him, but somehow it seemed to matter less now that he knew that Tony hadn't told anyone his secret. Even being grounded for weeks on end wouldn't be too bad as long as he could still see Bilal at school… though he knew that Tony was right, and that sooner or later he would have to tell Bilal how he felt about him. Still, that was a problem for another day.

He finished his bath, went through to his room and put some clean clothes on and then went back downstairs. His mother was in the kitchen cooking a meal for him, even though it wasn't yet eleven o'clock: she was apparently convinced that he hadn't eaten since Saturday lunchtime. Jeremy saw no reason to argue, because his mum's cooking had been one of the things he'd missed most while he was away.

"Andrew's on his way home," she told him, making his appetite subside briefly: he'd hoped to have the rest of the day to prepare himself for the thrashing he knew was coming. But then he thought he might just as well get it over with – at least then he might be able to sit down again by the time bedtime came around…

Adolf appeared shortly before he finished his meal. To Jeremy's surprise he didn't shout at him, just told him to come through to the front room as soon as he had finished eating. And now that the moment had arrived, Jeremy's appetite disappeared completely, and he was unable to clear his plate. He pushed it away and walked slowly to the front room, bracing himself as best he could.

"Shut the door and come and sit down," Adolf told him as he came in.

Obviously it was going to be the lecture first and the thrashing afterwards, thought Jeremy, closing the door and taking the armchair opposite his step-father.

"Are you okay?" asked Adolf.

Jeremy's jaw dropped – this was hardly the first question he'd expected. He bit back the answer 'What the hell do you care?" before it could escape and just nodded.

"Your mother was really worried about you."

That was low, thought Jeremy: trying to make me feel guilty like that isn't going to work… except it was working, because he knew it was true and it had been bothering him for the whole of the time he'd been away.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"So was I."

Pull the other one, thought Jeremy.

"I don't suppose you believe that, but it's true," Adolf continued. "I know you don't much like me, Jeremy, but that doesn't mean I don't care what happens to you."

"Oh, come on," burst out Jeremy, unable to keep quiet in the face of this blatant lie, "if I hadn't come back you'd have been dancing in the street."

"Is that what you think?"

"If you care about me that much, why am I never allowed to have my friends round, even on my birthday?"

"It's because I care about you that I won't let them in the house."

Jeremy gaped at him speechlessly, unable to believe he was actually uttering this load of old codswallop.

"Look, I was intending to talk to you about this next year," said Adolf. "I thought when you were thirteen you'd be able to understand. But you've shown us that you're not a child any longer, so maybe I should try to explain now.

"Jeremy, this country is in trouble. Do you remember a couple of years ago when we had no electricity for part of the time? I expect you thought it was fun, going to bed by candle-light, but really it was very serious: the coal-miners were refusing to work properly, so there wasn't enough coal for the power stations. We had two elections that year, but it didn't make any difference: it's still the Trade Unions who decide what happens to the rest of us.

"The other problem we've got is immigration. This is an island, Jeremy: nobody has invaded us successfully since… do you know?"

"1066," supplied Jeremy. "William the Conqueror."

"Right. Well done. Nobody's managed it since – not Napoleon, not even Hitler. For a thousand years we've survived and flourished, doing things for ourselves. And now our politicians want to throw it all away by bringing in people from outside. Oh, we've had immigrants here before, people running away from persecution in other countries, but they've always been white and they've always fitted in. Even the Jews were white, although they fitted in less than most of the others.

"But now we've got coloureds coming in, and the government isn't doing anything to stop them – in fact, it was the government that actively encouraged the first lot. What's the difference, you might ask – what does it matter what colour they are? Well, it matters because they're not like us: they don't think the way we do, and they don't act the way we do.

"Most of my colleagues in the NF are worried about the blacks. I agree that we're going to have a problem there, but I think it'll be easy to deal with, and it'll be a while in coming, too, because it isn't the first generation who are going to be a problem: they know their place, they're doing the basic jobs they were brought here to do, and to be fair to them they're doing them pretty well. It's the second generation who are going to cause problems, because they're going to see the things the white people have got and they're going to want the same things – but they'll be too lazy and too stupid to earn them by hard work, so they'll start stealing and robbing, and maybe they'll start selling drugs to bring in some money…

"You see, Jeremy, black people simply aren't as intelligent as white people, so although they'll commit crimes, they'll be easy to catch and deal with. That's why it's not really the blacks who worry me. No, the real problem is going to be the Asians, because they're not stupid, and they're nothing like us. At least the blacks speak English, and they're mostly Christian – well, except for those Jamaicans who wear their hair in ropes and think the Emperor of Ethiopia is a god, or something.

"No, it's the Asians who scare me: they're the ones we really have got to get rid of before it's too late."

"I don't understand. What's so wrong with them? I mean, Bilal's just a boy like me – he was born here, he speaks perfect English, he works hard at school – why shouldn't he be allowed to stay here?"

"Because he's not just a boy like you, Jeremy. Haven't you seen him when he's dressed to go to that shop they use as a mosque, wearing that knee-length shirt and the peculiar round hat? Haven't you seen the rest of them there, the men with big bushy beards and the women all covered up in veils and stuff? And try asking your friend what language he speaks at home: I'll bet it's some foreign gibberish."

"They've spoken English whenever I've been there," Jeremy pointed out, forgetting for a moment that he wasn't supposed to visit Bilal's house.

"Only because you've been there. Ask him what they speak when it's just them. And they all have big families, too, so as soon as they get settled here they send to Pakistan and invite granny and auntie and all the cousins to come and stay with them. And they work damned hard, too, running those shops of theirs all the hours under the sun and raking in plenty of money…"

Jeremy couldn't understand why the blacks were being condemned for laziness while the Asians were being lambasted for working hard, but he knew better than to point out such discrepancies in his step-father's argument.

"If we don't get rid of them, in twenty years' time this country will be unrecognisable," Adolf went on. "There'll be a mosque in every town, there'll be Pakis in Parliament making laws that affect the rest of us… there are already parts of some cities where there are more of them than there are of us… English will be a minority language, and, most important, all the decent jobs will go to them instead of to white people. So it's your future I'm talking about here, Jeremy: by the time you leave university this is already going to be starting, unless we put a stop to it now."

"But I still can't see what difference it makes if I'm friends with Bilal – we like the same things, we work together at school, and it isn't like he's some sort of hooligan or anything."

"No, but he doesn't think the same way that you do. For a start he follows a barbaric religion that chops peoples' hands off for stealing and stuff like that. And he'll get married to whoever his parents tell him to get married to, not to a girl he chooses for himself – and how can that work out? I can understand that he seems nice to you, and being born here means that he's got a veneer of civilisation about him – but deep down he's a primitive, Jeremy, just like all the rest of them. You only see the surface, and it's easy to be taken in, but the bottom line is that he thinks so differently from you that you'd be better off making friends with a chimpanzee."

Jeremy was silent. He was sure Adolf was wrong about Bilal, but that last bit had raised the odd nagging doubt in his mind: after all, even Tony had suggested that Bilal's thinking about sex might not be in line with his own.

"Look," Adolf went on, "I know you think I'm being unfair to you, but you'll thank me in the end, because there's absolutely no future in trying to be friends with one of them: if it comes to the crunch he'll only let you down, and if he was asked to choose between you and one of his own he'd pick the Paki every time. For your own good, stay away from him, and the rest of that lot, too."

The argument was getting through: every time Jeremy told himself that Bilal would never let him down, a nasty nagging voice in his head said something like, 'He'll drop you like a hot potato once he knows you're queer," and "It's bound to be against his religion – probably he'll want to chop your balls off once he knows…" But he managed to shut the voice up.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I think you're wrong about Bilal. He's my friend, and he's never let me down" ('yet' added the nasty internal voice, which Jeremy tried to ignore) "and I'm not going to stop seeing him. I won't ask him to come here, but I'll still talk to him at school and see him at the weekend."

Adolf sighed. "That's a pity," he said. "I'm sure you'll change your mind in the end, though. Now you'd better go and tell your mother you're sorry for worrying her like that. And for God's sake don't ever do anything as stupid as running off like that again, okay?"

Jeremy waited, but that seemed to be all his step-father was going to say.

"But… aren't you going to punish me?" he asked, finally.

"Why, do you want me to?"

"Well, no, but…"

"I should have thought that living rough and hungry for four days was punishment enough, myself – but if you ever did pull that stunt again, you would really be in trouble, understand?"

"Okay," said Jeremy, still unable to believe his luck. "I'll go and talk to Mum, then." He stood up, walked to the door, and hesitated. He couldn't believe he was actually going to say this, but he felt he had to.

"Thanks," he said. "For not punishing me, I mean."

"Just don't do it again," said Adolf, picking up the local paper and starting to read. So Jeremy went back to the kitchen and apologised to his mother, and then retired to his bedroom and sat on the bed. Strangely, not being punished somehow felt worse than a heavy thrashing and a four-week grounding would have done: it left him feeling that the way he had upset his mother had somehow not been paid for. He almost reached the point of going back downstairs and asking Adolf to beat him – almost, but not quite.

After school Tony came and called for him, and seemed quite surprised when Adolf simply called for Jeremy to come and talk to his friend and then went back into the house.

"So you're not grounded until your 21^st birthday, then?" asked Tony as they walked round the corner to where Bilal was waiting for them.

"Nope. He didn't hit me, either. Of course, he thinks I've been living in a dustbin eating raw mice for the past four days, but it still feels really strange."

"Bet you're not complaining, though."

"Well… actually, Tony, I think I'd feel better if he had hit me. I do sort of deserve it for letting my mum get in a state about me… I'm starting to think it was pretty stupid, running off like that – and it hasn't changed the way Adolf thinks about Bilal, either. Now he's explained it to me I don't think anything will change his mind about it."

"Now he's explained what?" asked Bilal, having caught the end of this comment as they reached the corner where he was waiting.

"Oh, Adolf reckons you're basically nothing like me, and that you're really a chimpanzee pretending to be human."

"Ook, ook, ook!" replied Bilal, bending his knees and trying to scratch his armpits in a thoroughly simian manner. "Got any bananas?"

"Oh, my God, Adolf was right!" cried Jeremy, clutching his forehead. "My best friend's been a monkey all along! Why didn't I see it before?"

"Probably because a monkey would make you look really thick," suggested Tony. "Monkeys have probably all got higher IQs than you."

Jeremy laughed and hit him, and Tony hit him back, grinning, and an impromptu wrestling match started, which Bilal eventually broke up.

"Okay, children," he said. "So, does this mean everything's back to normal, then?"

"Pretty much. I'm not grounded, and you're still not allowed to visit, but there's nothing to stop us getting together at the weekend."

"Well, I suppose that's okay, then. It doesn't sound as if your disappearing act actually achieved anything, though."

"Oh, I don't know: I learned some stuff, and I found out I've got some really good friends, and I made a few new ones, too. I don't think it was a complete waste of time. Oh, and thanks for the presents, guys – I never even mentioned it on Tuesday, Tony, but it's a brilliant knife. And the Airfix kits saved me from dying of boredom, Bilal, so I guess you could say you saved my life."

"Well, it's an easier way to do it than dragging you from a raging sea, or fighting off a pack of hungry wolves," said Bilal. "When you come to save my life I'll try to make it more of a challenge."

"So, we're back to normal," Jeremy resumed. "Can you let me have Uzzy's phone number, Bilal? I'll ask him to bring the Airfix kits home with him later this week, and then I can pick them up after football on Sunday – assuming we're going to be playing again then, that is?"

"Why wouldn't we be?" asked Tony. "After all, there's plenty of the guys haven't had to streak yet, and that needs changing."

"Especially if it's you this week," said Jeremy.

"I'm too classy. It'll probably just have to be you again – after all, some of us have got it, and some of you haven't…"

***

Thursday and Friday rolled past: Jeremy was besieged with questions from the rest of his classmates on Thursday but managed to persuade them that his absence had just been due to a misunderstanding and that everything as now back to normal. His teachers gave him some extra work to help him catch up with the lessons he had missed, and that kept him busy for much of Saturday as well as the weekday evenings, but by Saturday evening he was up to date once more and looking forward to a nice, normal football session the following day – though he also intended trying to talk to Kam about his feelings for Bilal, if he could catch him on his own.

However, catching Kam on his own was likely to be difficult, because Neil had come round on the Saturday evening and stayed over, sleeping in a sleeping bag on the boys' bedroom floor. It had actually been very frustrating for both of them, because they hadn't dared do anything in case Awais woke up: they were pretty sure that if Awais woke up and caught them sharing Kam's bed it would be broadcast far and wide the next day, whatever they threatened him with.

"Next time we'll camp out in the garden, or something," muttered Neil, grumpily, once he was sure Awais had fallen asleep.

"We haven't got a tent."

"Then we'll sleep in the shed – anywhere we can get away from your brother's big flappy ears."

"He'd probably still find out," said Kam, gloomily. "It's really hard to keep anything a secret from him. It's a miracle he hasn't twigged about us already."

"Hey, what about if we went out to Jeremy's garage?" suggested Neil. "If we could get permission to camp out we could sleep there – even Awais's ears can't hear stuff happening five miles away…"

"Now that is a really good idea," said Kam, approvingly. "Maybe at the start of the holidays – I reckon I could get permission to camp out with you. What about your parents? Would they let you stay out overnight?"

"Yes, I should think so. I'll ask, anyway."

"Brilliant! We could take our bikes and do some exploring, and come back to the garage to sleep and stuff in the evening…"

"And stuff?" queried Neil.

"Oh, there would have to be stuff," said Kam, grinning. "That's the whole point of going, isn't it, to give us a chance to do things we can't do with Dumbo in the room."

By now they knew that Jeremy was back home, of course: Bilal had told Kam and Awais at mosque on the Friday. Uzzy already knew, because he'd brought the rest of Jeremy's things back on the bus with him on the Thursday evening. So the garage was vacant, and the idea of spending the night there with each other was extremely attractive.

Their relationship had continued to develop steadily: they had started by being physically attracted to each other, but had very quickly developed a close emotional bond, too, and while neither would have been prepared to entertain the word 'love' just yet, the roots were already growing. The problem was finding enough privacy for anything more than a fleeting hug, because any close friendship in an all-boys school is likely to be put under close scrutiny from their classmates, and even though they were extremely discreet at school there were already a few jibes flying about, mostly aimed at Neil.

After school hadn't been a lot better: Neil had been round to Kam's house a couple of times, but of course Awais got home from school before they did, and quite often his friend Robin was there, too (Robin's mother didn't get home until five o'clock, so there was a standing arrangement that he would come round to Awais's house straight after school and stay there until his mother came to collect him) and that made it impossible to do anything more than a very brief cuddle when they were sure that the younger boys were safely in the garden. They both found it very frustrating.

On the Sunday morning, though, they finally managed to break free: it was a fine sunny morning yet again (so far this summer was proving to be record-breakingly hot and sunny) so after breakfast they got on their bikes and rode down to the common and then took the lane that ran out towards High View. In due course this brought them out into Britannia Forest. They rode on for a bit and then found a path leading off into the trees, which they followed until the trees got too close together to allow them to cycle any further, at which point they got off and pushed their bikes away from the path.

The trees here were mostly evergreens, and several of the pines had branches that grew very close to the ground. They picked a suitable-looking one, made their way through the low branches to the trunk and found themselves in a nice space with a carpet of pine-needles underfoot and a canopy of branches above. They were also, as they found when one of them went outside to check, totally invisible to anyone on the ground who was more than ten feet away.

"Peace at last," said Kam, propping his bike against a branch and lying back on the pine needles. "No irritating little brother, no nosy classmates, just you and me… so what do you think we should do?"

"Go to sleep?" suggested Neil, coming and lying down next to him. "It's really peaceful here, and I reckon I could drop off really easily."

"We haven't got any pillows," Kam pointed out, "and I can't sleep without one. Of course, you could offer to let me use some of your clothes…"

"Then what am I going to use?"

"Some of mine?"

"Fair enough." Neil stood up and stripped naked, rolling his clothes up to make a pillow of sorts. Kam did likewise and they grinned at each other, but they found when they lay down once more that being naked on pine needles wasn't quite as nice as they had thought it would be. Kam got up and collected his bike cape from his saddlebag, but that wasn't ideal, either, as it was made of plastic that stuck to them uncomfortably.

"Sod this," said Kam. "We'll have to remember to bring a blanket next time. Now what?"

"Well, I reckon we can't be all that far from Shortham," Neil pointed out. "I'm pretty sure the road we were on goes to Brideford, so if we take a right turn off it we should end up in Shortham – and we know there's a place there where we'll be comfortable…"

So they got dressed again, pushed the bikes back to the road, carried on riding until they found a lane leading off to the right and then went that way. And they found they'd hit the jackpot: this turned out to be the lane the abandoned house was on. They'd actually ridden past it before Kam realised where they were and stopped his bike.

The garage was, as they had hoped and expected, deserted. They had a bonus because Sim had not yet collected his sleeping bag, so when they had undressed again they had something to cover themselves with. The cushion Jeremy had used as a pillow was still there, too, and Kam didn't mind rolling his clothes up once more to provide them with a second one.

They lay down next to each other and relaxed.

"This place will be perfect if we can talk our parents into letting us camp out," said Neil. "I reckon I could sleep really well like this."

"Of course, we might not want to go to sleep straight away," Kam pointed out.

"Really? What do you think we might want to do first, then?"

"I don't know… maybe something like this?"

Kam manoeuvred Neil onto his side facing away from him, cuddled up close against his back, reached round and took hold of his friend's penis, which quickly grew to full size. Kam caressed it for a bit and then began to rub it, but only very slowly.

"That feels really nice," said Neil. "Don't make it happen to me too quickly, though – we've got ages before we have to go back."

"Don't worry, this is just to get you in the mood," Kam promised.

By now Neil could feel Kam's own erection pressing against his bum. He knew what gay boys were supposed to do with each other and wondered what it would feel like if Kam did it to him – and he also wondered if he would dare to suggest it. For the time being he held his tongue and just enjoyed what was happening – as he had said, they had plenty of time yet.

After a while he rolled over to face Kam and said, "Your turn," and Kam obediently turned his back, reversing their previous position.

"No, hang on, we'll have to swap places," said Neil. "I don't think I can do it left-handed."

They rearranged themselves and Neil set to work, though making no more of an effort to bring things to a conclusion that Kam had done: it was more fun to just stroke slowly and gently, knowing that there was no reason to hurry.

"This is nice," commented Kam, dreamily. "I definitely like this place, Neil. I reckon a few days camping out here after the end of term would be really good."

"We'd have to be sure none of the others decided the same thing," Neil pointed out. "After all, they all know where it is. I wouldn't want us to get caught here like this if Sim and Uzzy, say, decided to come here to camp out overnight, or something."

"Actually, if any of the others were going to walk in on us I'd sooner it was those two than anyone else," said Kam. "They are the only ones I'd be pretty sure wouldn't laugh at us, because they sometimes strip together, too."

"Blimey! Do you mean they fancy each other?"

"No, it's only really a game for them, I think. I mean, they're only eleven – they're not old enough to know how it feels to be serious about someone."

"But we're thirteen, so we do?"

Kam nodded.

"And… is that what you think we're doing, then – getting serious?"

Kam rolled over to face him. "Perhaps," he said. "I don't know that 'love' is really the word I'd choose, but I really like you, Neil, and I love being undressed with you… it's… well, it's not just a game for me, okay?"

"Or for me. I feel the same way… except… "

"What?"

"Well… how do you feel about girls?"

"I'm not sure. I sort of like the idea, but… I don't know, sometimes they seem to be a completely different species. I haven't got a clue what to say to a girl, and even thinking about trying to hold a sensible conversation with one makes me feel uncomfortable. But I can lie here and talk to you without any problem… Maybe they get easier to talk to as you get older. I hope so."

"I'm not really interested in girls at all, to be honest. I suppose you're more mature than me, and maybe I'll change my mind when I… well, you know, when I get as much hair as you. But right now I'm not that bothered. In fact, I was wondering if…"

"If what?"

"Well, if… if I might be gay."

Kam shrugged. "Like you say, it's probably just because you're still growing. It's probably too soon for you to know for sure. But it won't bother me if you're gay, anyway. In fact, I'd be glad, in a selfish sort of way, 'cos it would mean I could go on doing stuff with you until I decide what to do about girls. If I decide I want to do anything, that is."

"In that case I hope it takes ages before you work that out, because I really like doing stuff with you." This seemed to be a good place to mention what he had been thinking about earlier, so he continued, "And I was wondering if maybe we could try doing some other stuff, too."

"Like what?"

"Well, gay boys are supposed to like… you know, fucking each other, and I was wondering if you'd like to do it to me."

"I would, actually – I've sort of imagined doing that with you sometimes. But I don't think I'm going to, because I think it would hurt you too much."

"I don't mind. If it really hurts we could always stop."

Kam thought about it. It was true that he'd fantasised about it once or twice, but he was reluctant to actually try it, and for the same reason that he had never accepted Sim's offer to do it to him: he was afraid he was too big and it would be too painful for his partner. Okay, Neil was taller and heavier than Sim, so maybe it wouldn't be as difficult for him to take it…

"Well… if you're sure…"

"I'm sure," said Neil, enthusiastically: he'd fantasised about this too, and wanted to know what it would feel like in reality. "Shall we do it now?"

"We can't," said Kam. "We'd need something to make it slippery, otherwise I'd never get it in. We'll have to wait until next time we're here. Oh, and there's a condition, too, and I won't do it to you unless you agree: if I'm going to do it to you, you have to do it to me, too."

"Really? I mean… well, I thought that because you're… you know, more grown up, it ought to be you doing it to me."

"You're not a girl, Neil. We're both boys, so if we're going to do this, we ought to do it equally. Unless you really don't want to, that is."

"No, I'd definitely like to try," said Neil, who had never fantasised about being on the active side of the process at all: it had never crossed his mind that Kam would want that. "But only if you don't mind."

"If I minded I wouldn't have suggested it, would I? Look, Neil, we're friends, we're the same age, we're both boys… we're equals in everything, all right? So I don't want to just do stuff to you: I want to do stuff with you, and I want us both to enjoy it. I don't know how it's going to feel from either position, but I want to find out. Okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Kam."

It was hard for Neil to feel equal in this partnership: Kam was so obviously more… well, masculine, with his substantial body hair and his broken voice and his hint of a moustache. Neil had no body hair apart from the sparse amount at the base of his penis, his voice hadn't started to change and he reckoned he wouldn't need to shave for another four or five years, so being treated as an equal was more than he had expected, and it just made his feelings for Kam even stronger.

"I suppose we ought to be heading back," said Kam. "But we can't waste this place just because we haven't got any Vaseline, so – do you want to rub mine first, or would you prefer to be rubbed first?"

"I don't mind."

"Then you can do it to me first," said Kam, and he settled onto his back and waited. Neil got the sleeping bag out of the way and started to rub Kam's penis steadily. It didn't take long: pretty soon there were splashes of white across Kam's chest and stomach.

"I can't believe how mature you are," said Neil. "That only took about half a minute."

"It takes longer if I do it myself. You make it feel amazing… have you got a handkerchief, or something? Because I haven't."

"Nor have I…" Neil looked around and spotted a tissue box on the shelf at the back of the garage. It had been there since the travellers had left, and fortunately there were still a few tissues in it, so he mopped up and dumped the used tissues in the Tesco bag in the corner. There was just about room: Jeremy's empty food packets were taking up most of the bag.

"Your turn," said Kam, so Neil took his place on the mattress and Kam worked away at him. Neil was very much aware that it was taking quite a bit longer to get him excited, but it felt so brilliant he didn't think he should let it bother him. Instead he looked at Kam's face, wondering what it would feel like when they were actually joined together, and whether it would feel best to be active or passive.

Finally he felt the moment approaching: his muscles tensed up and his breathing got shaky, and then he couldn't hold it back any longer…

"Not bad, Neil," said Kam, squeezing and then letting go. "There's definitely more than last time. I reckon you might catch up with me sooner than you think."

He mopped up with a tissue and dumped it in the bag, and then he looked down on Neil, who had closed his eyes and looked happy and relaxed.

"It doesn't feel weird any more, then?" he asked.

"No, not really. I think I'll need a pee in a minute, but that's about all. I suppose I've realised how lucky I am to have you – that's far more important than anything else."

He stood up and reached for his pants. "We ought to go," he said. "But as soon as the holidays start we're coming back, okay? I want to see how many times we can do that in one day…"

The summer holidays are not far away now, and most of the boys in the Collection have plans, which no doubt we'll get to follow as the summer rolls on. In the next chapter things are back to normal as far as the Sunday football sessions are concerned, though afterwards Jeremy will be asking Kam's advice on dealing with the Bilal problem. Oh, and Sim's got some more poetry to read…

Chapter Twelve

Things seem to be very much back how they were… but in this chapter Jeremy's going to taking what might well be the last step before finally talking to Bilal. Sim's going to see what he makes of 'The Hunting of the Snark', and Miguel will be trying to sort out his summer holidays…

Quite a lot had happened since the last meeting of the Collection in the car park at the back of the Hyde pub, but when they got together on this Sunday afternoon nobody was actually talking about it: all of them knew by now that Jeremy was back home and that his brief exile in Shortham didn't actually seem to have achieved very much, as least as far as changing Adolf's thinking was concerned. Only Miguel had not known about it before today, and as he had been one of the first to arrive Tony had been able to fill him in before Jeremy himself turned up.

Instead of discussing their leader's misfortunes they had simply got straight down to playing football. Today the entire Collection was present, including Neil, so they were able to play a proper game of four-a-side football with a referee ("But we still really need one more player," Tony pointed out. "Five-a-side is a proper game. Let's see if we can recruit someone by the end of term.")

They played happily for about forty-five minutes, and then suffered a misfortune: the ball ended up over the fence again. This of course was a fairly regular occurrence, and usually it was possible to retrieve it fairly quickly: there were loose planks in the fences around the pitch, and most of the surrounding gardens could be reached by climbing through the nearest fence. But there was one garden at the east end of the pitch that could not be reached through the fence: instead the only way to get the ball back was to go round to the house in question and knock at the door, and when they did that today they found nobody at home. And this was a terraced house, so there was no path down the side that they could use to let themselves into the garden.

"Well, I suppose that's it, then," said Kam, whose ball it was. "I'll have to call round for it this evening, I suppose. Has anyone else got a ball we can use?"

But the only person who owned one was Neil, and he lived too far away to make it worthwhile going to fetch it, and so, after a few minutes' standing around, they decided that they might as well pack up for the day. Of course, this gave Jeremy a chance to grab Kam and ask if he could speak to him on his own for a moment. Kam, who had been envisaging finding something to do with Neil to fill the rest of the afternoon, didn't look enthusiastic.

"It won't take long," Jeremy promised. "I just need some advice, that's all."

"What about?"

"Well… it's private," said Jeremy, conscious that several of his other friends were still within earshot.

"Okay, then. Neil, if you wait at my place I'll be back soon – and Awais, go and visit Robin or something for the next hour or so, okay?"

"Aren't we going to be testing Simmy on his reading?" asked Awais.

"Well, yes – but we were going back to my house to do it," Uzzy told him.

"Can I come? Please? I mean, you heard Kam – he wants me out of the way for a bit so he can talk to Neil and stuff… and I don't think Robin's at home this afternoon…"

Uzzy looked at Sim, who shrugged to indicate that he didn't mind.

"Okay, then, as long as your mum says it's okay," he replied.

"Brilliant! I'll run and ask her now," and Awais dashed away. Neil, Sim and Uzzy followed him more slowly.

"Okay, so what is it about?" asked Kam, now that they had the car park to themselves.

"Well… it's a bit… difficult…"

"Okay," said Kam, and he waited

"Look… you see… shit, Kam, this is hard…. Okay, it's about Bilal. Does he… I mean, do you think… has he got a girlfriend?"

"No, I don't think so. He's never said anything to me to suggest he's found one, anyway. Why?"

"Because…" Jeremy took a deep breath. "Because I fancy him, okay, and I need to know… well… what would he say if I told him?"

"Oh, shit," said Kam, subsiding onto the wall. "Bloody hell, Jeremy… I mean, as far as I know… well, Bilal likes girls."

"Are you sure?" asked Jeremy, feeling sick.

"Well, pretty much… I mean, we haven't really discussed it or anything, but he just says stuff from time to time that give me the impression he likes girls…"

"But you don't know for certain?"

"Well, no… but…"

"So he might not… but then again, he might…" Jeremy sat on the wall next to his friend. "Should I tell him, do you think?"

"I don't know."

"I mean, if I do, do you think he'll tell me to fuck off and never speak to him again, or smack me one, or something?"

"I don't think he'd do either of those things – you've been friends since… well, for yonks, anyway. But he might find it hard to handle… shit, Jeremy, why did you have to pick Bilal?"

"I didn't really pick him, it just happened… look, you're not going to tell me to fuck off now, are you?"

"God, no. Why would I do that?"

"Well… doesn't it bother you, me being a pervert, and that?"

"Nope – even if you were, and I'm not sure about that. After all, you haven't actually done anything with another boy yet – or have you?"

Jeremy shook his head.

"Thought not. And to judge from what I saw of you last week – which was pretty much everything, if you remember – you still haven't started puberty, so it's far too soon to start calling yourself a pervert – you might change your mind completely about boys and girls in a couple of years' time. Of course, if you're still having fun with boys when you get to my age, you can call yourself anything you like, but it still won't bother me."

"Really?"

"Really. Look, Jeremy, I expect I'll end up going out with girls eventually, but right now me and Neil… well, we have fun together. It's not like we're in love, or anything, and we don't kiss and stuff, but we really like each other and we do a bit of sex stuff sometimes. And neither of us thinks there's anything wrong with it. Of course, we wouldn't go around telling everyone about it – in fact, you're the first person I've told, and I'm pretty sure he hasn't told anyone – but I'm not going to beat myself up about it, and you shouldn't, either.

"I don't think Bilal will throw a wobbly if you tell him, but if he does I'll talk to him and try to straighten him out about it. And me and Neil will still be friends with you even if he does tell you to fuck off – which he won't, I'm sure…"

"Thanks, Kam – I mean, really. That makes me feel better… I think…"

Kam put an arm round his shoulders and hugged him.

"Whatever happens, you're not going to lose your real friends over this," he said. "Personally I couldn't care less who you fancy, and I reckon most of the others will feel the same way. The worst that could happen will be Bilal saying no – the rest of us will still be with you."

That was a 'worst' that Jeremy still didn't want to contemplate, but at least if Kam was right he wouldn't have to cope with the rejection on his own. And if Kam was prepared to… well, misbehave, with another boy, why shouldn't Bilal?

"Thanks, Kam," he said again, standing up. "Okay, I'll tell him… I'm not sure when, but… well, I'm sure I can find a good moment sometime between now and the start of the holidays."

"Good luck," said Kam, standing up himself. "Look, let me know what happens, okay? If it does all go wrong… well, I'll do what I can to help. Actually, I like the idea of you and Bilal going out together… maybe you could double-date with me and Neil!"

He grinned at Jeremy and strode off, and Jeremy sat down again to get his thoughts in order. He felt that he could hardly have asked for a better reaction from Kam, and he was totally taken aback by the idea that he and Neil were… well, at it. Still, that pretty much guaranteed that they would be in his corner when it came to the crunch. And with Kam and Tony both promising support, Jeremy felt that he really had no excuse any longer for not opening up to Bilal. It would just be a question of trying to find the right moment…

***

By the time Kam got back to his front door, where Neil was waiting for him, his brother had already got permission to go to Uzzy's house for a bit, which pleased everyone: Kam and Neil were able to go up to the boys' bedroom and shut the door, confident that they wouldn't be interrupted (though they agreed to postpone their experiments with what Neil called 'proper' sex until their next visit to the garage, just in case), while Awais scampered up the path to join Sim and Uzzy, plonking himself on the carrier of Sim's bike and demanding a ride to Uzzy's house – "Unless you want to be spanked even harder than usual this week," he added.

Sim didn't mind, because it wasn't far to Uzzy's house and only a little bit of it was uphill, so he pedalled away while Awais delivered little slaps to his bum to keep him from slacking.

Uzzy took them up to his room and closed the door.

"You'll have to try not to yell too loud, Sim," he said, "or they'll hear us downstairs. If you think you're going to yell, bury your face in the pillow."

"I won't need to," said Sim, confidently. "I won't make any mi… mistaketh today."

"That's one already," Awais pointed out. "Can I do the pin, please, Uzzy? It's fun making him squeak!"

"Okay, but don't overdo it. He's still our friend, remember."

"Obviously," said Awais, in a tone of voice that suggested that Uzzy would have to be mental not to realise that he knew that. "I didn't do it too much last time, did I, Simmy?"

Sim shook his head.

"See?" said Awais, putting his tongue out at Uzzy, who managed not to react.

"So why aren't you getting undressed?" Awais added, glaring at Sim.

"Okay, I'm doing it," said Sim, pulling his shirt over his head.

Soon he was bare and lying on his tummy with the poetry book in front of him. By now Uzzy had decided to get straight into the longest poem in the book, referring to it somewhat pointedly as The Hunting of the Thnark.

"'Snark'," corrected Sim. "There'sss no sssuch thing ath… as a Thnark."

"There's no such thing as a Snark, either," said Uzzy. "Okay, read. Let's see… there are twenty-two verses in the First Fit, so I want to hear at least ten – and if you can manage eleven, so we're halfway through, that would be even better. Awais, jab him every time he messes up."

"Can we spank him if he makes five mistakes?" asked Awais, his eyes shining.

"I'm not sure," said Uzzy. "It might be a bit too noisy if we do. Let's hope we don't have to."

"Let's hope we do!" contradicted Awais, grinning hugely.

Sim took a look at the first verse, noting three s's in the first line alone. But he was more determined than ever to make a good job of this, just to show Uzzy – and Awais, for that matter – that they weren't wasting their time with him. So he took a deep breath and started to read, more carefully than ever before.

"'Jusst the pla…place for a Snark,' the Bellman cried, A… As he landed his crew with care, Supporting each man at the top of the tide By a finger entwined in hi… his hair."

"Wow! Well done, Sim," said Uzzy. "That's brilliant! Keep it up!"

Sim contemplated the second verse: now he had to try to eliminate the hesitations, too, if he possibly could…

"'J… Just the place for a Snark! I have ssaid it twithe…' oh, bugger!"

"That wasn't too hard, was it?" asked Awais, happily. Sim shook his head and continued, "'That alone should encourage the crew. Just the place for a Snark! I have said it thri… thrice, What I tell you three times isss true.'

The crew wasss complete: it included a Bootsss, A Maker of Bonnets and Hoods, A Barrith… Barrisster, brought to arrange their dithputes – ouch!"

"Close," said Awais, "but not close enough."

"And a Broker, to value their goods," continued Sim.

He got through the next two verses without error. In verse five he messed up the word 'sailors' and got jabbed, and in verse eight the word 'clothes' sabotaged him, but he entered verse ten with only four mistakes against him, and he really thought he was going to get there without the fifth slip-up…until he tripped on the word 'forcible,' to Awais's delight and his own absolute fury at himself. Just to prove the point he read verse eleven flawlessly, except for the final word, which he turned to Uzzy and deliberately read as "Thhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhnark."

"Hey, Sim that was brilliant," said Uzzy, throwing his arms round his friend as he sat up. "You've never done that well before – you got five wrong out of…. I don't know, seventy or eighty, I should think. I'm so proud of you…. I reckon by the end of the summer you won't be doing it at all." And he hugged Sim hard, and Sim hugged him back happily.

"He's still got to be spanked, though, hasn't he?" demanded Awais. "I mean, he did get five words wrong."

"Oh, come on, Awais," said Uzzy. "He was brilliant. Don't you think we should let him off?"

"No!" said Awais, firmly. "Simmy needs spanking, and I want to do it."

"He's right," said Sim. "I agreed to keep to the rulesss: I got five wrong, and that means I get punished. But it doeth… doesn't have to be a sspanking, not if you think it'll be heard downsstairss…"

"Then what do you think I… we should do to you?" asked Uzzy.

"Well… have you sstill got your feather?"

"Yes – but I thought you hated that?"

Sim shrugged. "It's meant to be a punishment," he said. "And I know you like doing it to me, and I think Awais will, too."

"Okay. You're right, I do enjoy it… stand up against the wardrobe, then."

So Sim stood against the wardrobe and Uzzy, who had kept the loops of string he had used before, quickly tied him into position with his hands above his head and his legs spread. Then he went to his bedside cabinet and retrieved two feathers.

"What do we do with these?" asked Awais.

"This," said Uzzy, pulling a chair close to the wardrobe and starting to tickle Sim's already very stiff penis with the tip of the feather. "It drives him mad. Grab the other feather and have a go."

"Okay," said Awais, shoving the other chair into position alongside Uzzy's. He touched the tip of the feather to Sim's balls, which promptly rose up a little. Awais laughed and did it again, with the same result.

"Hey, this is fun," he announced, doing it some more and watching Sim wriggling about and trying to get free. "Can I try doing it to his thingy?"

"Do it just under the tip – it's really sensitive there," advised Uzzy. "Oh, and round the little slit is good, too."

So Awais tried that, and found that the stiff penis twitched away whenever he hit the really sensitive areas.

"Doesn't it look funny?" he commented, giggling. "This is a really good game, Uzzy – how long can we do it for?"

"I think if we do it for too long he'll go mad," said Uzzy. "But I don't see any reason to stop too soon – do you?"

"Definitely not," declared Awais, touching the tip of the feather to Sim's little pee slit once more and being rewarded with a massive twitch from the organ in question and a please for mercy from its owner – which, needless to say, was completely ignored.

They tormented him for another ten minutes or so, tickling not just his genitals but his armpits, his nipples, his belly button and anywhere else they could think of, and by the time Uzzy finally called a halt Sim was writhing about like a mad thing, pleading and begging for them to stop. His penis was rock-solid and straining.

"Now maybe we should be nice to him for a bit before we let him get dressed," suggested Uzzy, untying Sim's wrists. "He usually likes it when we do this…"

He led Sim to the bed and got him to lie on his back, and then he sat down beside him and started to caress his penis. Awais had to be restrained from being a little rough at first, but soon he too was making Sim feel really nice…

They stroked his whole body but naturally directed most of their attention to his genitals, and Sim lay back revelling in it: this certainly made the feather torture worth putting up with.

"I like doing this," said Awais. "It feels really interesting. Does it feel nice to you, Simmy?"

"It's totally brilliant," said Sim, dreamily. "If I don't make any misstakesss necth… next time, can this be my reward?"

"What, we'll still be allowed to keep you bare and play with your thingy even if you don't make any mistakes?" said Awais. "Great!"

A couple more minutes went by, and then Sim sat up. "I'll have to go," he said, looking at his watch. "And I think I need a pee, too, so we'd better ssstop before I wee all over your bed."

"Okay," said Uzzy. "I mean, I like doing this, too, so we can carry on for a bit if you want."

"Better not," said Sim. "I really need to go."

"How are you going to point it into the loo?" asked Awais. "It's so hard you'll never be able to."

"I'll have to lie on the toilet on my tummy. I've done it before when it's been all hard."

He got up and threw on his pants and shorts, which bulged alarmingly, and then darted across the landing and into the bathroom, managing to shut and bolt the door just before Awais could follow him in. The younger boy retreated to Uzzy's room, disappointed.

Sim came back a couple of minutes later, the bulge in his shorts only slightly less obvious.

"I didn't need to go after all," he said. "I was sssure I needed to… oh, well," and he put the rest of his clothes on.

"Can we do this some more next week?" asked Awais.

"Okay," agreed Sim. "But I won't make any mi… mistakes at all next time."

"I don't know about none at all, but I'm really impressed about how quickly you're improving," said Uzzy, hugging him again. "I bet next term the boys at school don't tease you any more."

"Well, not about the lisssp, perhaps… but I imagine they'll go on laughing at my teeth and bad haircut even if I talk normally."

"You haven't got a bad haircut… well, okay, maybe you should try growing it a bit," said Uzzy. "But it isn't really any worse than anyone else's. And you know I won't laugh at you, anyway."

"I will," said Awais, irrepressibly. "Simmy's got tombstone teeth, Simmy's got tombstone teeth…"

"Shut up, Jumbo," said Sim, sticking his tongue out at him.

"Oh, I'm going to spank you so hard for that next time I get a chance," said Awais.

"Pity you won't get a chan… chance, then," said Sim, making faces at him over Uzzy's shoulder.

"You wait. You did so well today that I might decide to spank you if you only make three mistakes next time – and we'll do it somewhere where nobody will be able to hear you yell, too. You're definitely not getting away with it next time."

Sim just pulled another face at him, and then broke free of Uzzy's embrace and looked at his watch once more.

"I really ought to go," he said. "Do you want a lift home, then, Jumbo?"

"Yes, please," said Awais.

"Come on, then. See you tomorrow, U… Uzzy."

He led Awais downstairs, helped him onto the carrier and rode back to Awais's house, where Awais jumped off and hesitated.

"Hey, Simmy… are we still friends?" he asked.

"Of course we are! I mean, you didn't break the rules, or anything: when I get it wrong, you're allowed to do what you want to me."

"Great! I just can't believe you let us do all that bad stuff to you without getting mad at us, that's all."

Sim shrugged. "You're my friend, and I reckon you'll alwayth be my friend, whatever you do to me," he said. "I really like you, okay, ssso th… sstop worrying about it."

"Brilliant! Then I'm definitely going to spank you next week!" And Awais grinned at him and ran off down his front path.

***

Miguel got home to find that his father had some news for him. Every summer the family went back to stay in a small place about twenty miles [30 km] up the coast from Algeciras, where Miguel had been born, for three or four weeks, and his uncle and his family usually came and stayed with them. But this year apparently that wasn't going to happen.

"Your cousin Roberto has broken his leg," Miguel's father told him, "so they won't be able to come on holiday with us this time. It won't be as much fun for you without Roberto to play with, so we were wondering if you'd like to invite a friend to come with us. I know it's very short notice, and probably most of the boys you know have already got plans for the holidays, but if you can find one who's free you can ask if he'd like to come with us."

Miguel immediately drew up a list. It wasn't a very long list: he generally kept to himself and so didn't have a large number of friends, but he hoped one of the select number of names on his list would be able to come with him, and the following morning he started working his way through them.

"Sorry," said Andy, who was top of the list. "I'd really like to come with you, but we're already booked. It's a pity your stupid cousin didn't manage to break his leg a month or so ago… It'd be fun if we could go on holiday together: I'd bring my cards and we could see how many kids we could make undress… oh, well… perhaps we can try to go somewhere together next year?"

At break he tried his next choice, and at least this one didn't seem to have a family holiday already booked.

"So where are you going, exactly?" James asked him.

"It is on the south coast of Spain," Miguel told him. "It is really good there – we spend all day on the beach, and the sea is quite warm, and the sun is hot. I always come back with a good tan. It will be really…" Suddenly he remembered who he was talking to, and his voice tailed off.

"Of course, we do not have to go to the beach," he said, trying to recover. "I am sure there are other things we could do…"

"It's okay," said James, giving him a wan smile. "It was really kind of you to invite me, Miguel – but I wouldn't really enjoy a holiday somewhere hot and sunny, whatever we were doing. I'd have to keep covered up all the time, and I'd get hot and uncomfortable, and you'd get fed up with me because you'd want to go to the beach, and I'd get bad-tempered because I'd be too hot, and we'd end up fighting. And I'd hate that because I really like us being friends and I don't want anything to spoil it. Of course, if you decide to go somewhere nice and cool next year, like Greenland or Antarctica, I'd love to come with you… but southern Spain in August? Thanks, Miguel, but no."

Miguel felt disappointed, though he realised he should have known better than to suggest a holiday spent largely in swimming trunks to a boy who had to stay out of the sun. He thought he would really have liked spending three and a half weeks with James, though…

They got up from their usual place under the trees – Andy was with them once again – and started to walk back towards the school buildings. And just before they got there they met a trio of James's classmates.

"Oh, look, the leper's found himself some little friends," sneered the one in the middle. "Don't they look sweet? What a pity it'll be when they catch it and their ears fall off."

"That is a stupid thing to say," said Miguel, who was fed up with seeing James on the receiving end of nasty remarks all the time.

"Are you calling me stupid?" asked the boy, straightening up.

"If you really think James has got leprosy you must be stupid," replied Andy, who was starting to like James as well and thought he ought to stick up for him. "They'd never let him come to school here if he had a serious disease."

"What I think is my business, and I don't like lippy little sods like you sticking their oar in, okay?" said the boy, advancing. "You must really like getting beaten up, or something."

But at that point the bell for the resumption of lessons went.

"You're lucky this time," said the boy. "But you'd better not give me cheek again if you want to keep your teeth." And he turned and walked away with his two friends.

"Now that's a lot better," said a voice, and Miguel turned and saw Kenji leaning on a wall watching them. "Not only sticking up for your friend, but doing it in front of older boys even when it was likely to get you hurt… maybe you were telling me the truth before after all."

"If they had started to hit us, would you have helped?" asked Miguel.

"Probably not. It's not my business, is it? But then again, I might have, because I hate bullies. I'm glad to see you two might not be bullies after all, anyway." He gave them a smile and ran off.

"You shouldn't have said anything," said James. "They're my problem, and I don't want you getting hurt because of it."

"You are our friend," replied Miguel. "I will not let my friends be insulted without that I say something about it, okay? That would be cowardly."

"It would be sensible," argued James. "They're bigger than you. But thanks, anyway – that's the first time anyone has ever stuck up for me like that."

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. When he got home after school Miguel got his bike out and rode round to Tony's house: Tony was the only one of the Collection whose address Miguel knew. Tony was surprised to see him, because normally they only ever saw Miguel at the weekend football games, but he invited him in, and Miguel explained why he had come.

"And I do not know you all very well, but I still think you are my friends," he concluded. "So I wanted to ask if you can tell me where Jeremy lives, because I would like to invite him first: I am sure that he would be glad to go away from his step-father for three and a half weeks."

"I'm sure he would, and I reckon he'll be really pleased to be asked. But I'm pretty sure he's going to America to see his dad at the beginning of the holidays, and he'll be over there for four weeks, so he probably won't be able to come with you. You'd better check with him to be sure, though."

"Oh. Well… if he cannot come, would you want to come with me?"

"I would, actually: I'd enjoy it a lot, hanging about with you and lazing on beaches and stuff… but I can't, not this year. I'm going away with my family at the start of August. It's really kind of you to ask, though."

And when he got to Jeremy's house Miguel found that Tony was right: Jeremy was flying to California three days after the end of term and would not be back for a month.

"I'm really sorry," Jeremy said. "I wish I could come with you… look, Miguel, we don't really know you all that well, but I'd like a chance to get to know you better, because you've been a brilliant friend lately. So if you want to come round and play at the weekend sometimes, that would be good. I reckon if I tell Adolf your dad works at the Spanish embassy – so he knows you're not actually an immigrant – and that he used to work for General Franco – 'cos Adolf admired him – he'd probably let you come and visit. And if not we can always go and do stuff outdoors."

"That would be good," said Miguel. "I will ask if I can come to see you sometimes."

"Brilliant! Oh, and I've still got the money you lent me, because I wasn't gone long enough to spend it. Hang on a moment and I'll go and get it."

"That was not a loan," said Miguel. "That was a birthday present. If I had known I would have bought something good, but now you should buy something good for yourself with it. I do not want it back."

"Are you sure? I mean, it's quite a lot."

"I am sure."

"Well… thanks, then. I'll probably find something to buy with it while I'm in America. I'll tell you what when I get back."

Miguel cycled back home. He really didn't know where to look next for someone to come on holiday with him: the only members of the Collection he really knew were Tony, Kam and Awais, because they had been the ones to have actually welcomed him and introduced him to the others, and he didn't think he could ask either Kam or Awais on holiday when he couldn't invite the other brother, too. He really didn't know the rest of the Collection at all well, certainly not well enough to ask them on holiday.

But by the following morning he had pretty much reached the point of thinking that anyone would do, since the alternative might be to end up moping about on his own. Of course, the other boys he and Roberto sometimes played with during the summer might be there again this year, but they might not, and he really wanted to be sure there would be someone to play with. So when he got onto the bus he simply waved to James and went and sat next to Kenji instead.

"Are you serious?" asked the Japanese boy. "You want me to go on holiday with you? We don't know each other at all – in fact I don't even know your surname, and I bet you don't know mine, either."

"It's Àlvarez," Miguel told him. "And I know you are nice, because you don't like bullies, and I think we could be good friends…"

"You must be really desperate," said Kenji. "I mean, you might be right when you say we could be friends, but it's a bit early to be spending weeks on end with each other, don't you think? We might find out we really don't like each other at all. After all, I don't know what you like doing, and you don't know what I like doing – apart from martial arts, that is, and I know you don't do that…"

"If we were on holiday together we could find out."

"Yes, but if we found out we didn't like each other it would be a really bad holiday. Okay, I think maybe you're right and we would find that we could be friends, but it's a bit of a risk, all the same. When are you going, exactly?

"From the first Monday of the holidays, and we are coming back on the 20^th of August."

"Then I can't come anyway: I will be going away with my family for two weeks on August 2^nd. But maybe we can see each other after you come back, if you really want to find out if we've got things in common."

"That would be good," said Miguel, masking his disappointment as he crossed yet another name off his list (though deep down he thought maybe Kenji was right, and it would be better to get to know him a bit more before going away for a month with him). "Can you play football?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Because sometimes I play at the weekend with some friends, and maybe you could come with me some time."

"Maybe. But I think first we should just spend some time together, just you and me, so we can find out about each other. You're strange, Miguel: not too many people would ask total strangers to go on holiday with them… but I think it's a good sort of strange. Perhaps I can find out during the summer. Oh, and it's Nakamura, by the way."

"Huh?"

"My second name. So now you know."

Well, that was definitely progress of a sort, and maybe Kenji would prove to be an ideal addition to the Collection in the end, but it still left Miguel short of a holiday partner. So once he got to school he sat down with Andy and asked his advice as to who might be a good person to ask, and largely as a result of that advice he finally struck gold: at last he found someone who was not booked up elsewhere and who wanted to come with him.

Alex Hamilton had changed quite a bit since losing his first game of cards: not only had he stopped insulting Miguel in class, but he had actively tried to get the other class jokers to give it a rest, too. Of course, he could have been motivated by a fear that his small attributes might be made public if he didn't try to put an end to the Manuel jokes, but Miguel didn't think that was the whole reason.

Hamilton had badgered them into giving him a chance for revenge, and so the previous week they had taken him round to Andy's house after school and played cards again, with exactly the same result: Hamilton had ended up naked once more, and had been subjected to another bout of teasing and molestation, though he didn't seem to mind that half as much this time. He had taken it in good heart, not resisting or getting bad tempered about it, even though it was obvious that he really wanted to see Andy and Miguel without their clothes on. When he was finally allowed to get dressed once more he had simply warned them that next time he was going to win, and then they would really be for it.

"Are you sure? I mean, that'd be brilliant, Àlvarez… Miguel," said Hamilton. "We're not going away until right at the end of the holiday, and then we're only going to Pevensey or somewhere for a week. I'd love to go to Spain with you… how much would it cost, though?"

"You would only need spending money," Miguel told him. "My father said that he will pay for the ticket, and my mother will make all the food. But… have you got a passport?"

He was sure this was going to sabotage the whole thing, since there would almost certainly not be time to get a passport issued before they were due to leave, which was now less than two weeks away. But he was wrong.

"Yes, I got one when we went to Paris last year," Hamilton told him. "So as long as my parents say yes – and I'm sure they will – I can definitely come."

Miguel took his phone number to pass to his father so that the parents could talk to each other about it, but he felt optimistic that at least now he wouldn't be stuck on his own all the time. Okay, Hamilton wouldn't have been his first choice, and the old, pre-strip-poker Hamilton wouldn't have been on his list of possibles at all; but the new, friendly, improved Hamilton might not be too bad. Perhaps this wouldn't be a bad holiday after all…

So Miguel is looking forward to the holidays, and so are several of the others… but in the next chapter things are going to take a nasty downward turn, as we discover that Adolf isn't the only White Supremacist in town…

Chapter Thirteen

This is going to be mostly Miguel's chapter, as his two new friendships start to develop in interesting ways. But first, Neil is about to have an encounter he would much rather have done without: it is still a fine, hot and sunny summer, but there are some nasty dark clouds on the horizon…

With less than two weeks to go until the end of term everyone was starting to look forward to the holidays, and maybe it was this that had made Neil and Kam get a little careless. Neil didn't realise there was a problem until he walked round the corner at break on the Thursday and found three skinheads waiting for him. One was in his own class, but the other two were older: he wasn't sure if they were in the year above his, or the year above that, but it didn't make any difference, because either way they were bigger than he was.

"Why do you hang around with that Paki all the time?" asked the biggest one, not bothering to waste time with small talk.

"Yeah, why do you?" echoed the one from his own year, whose name was Edwards. "Do you fancy him or something?"

"N… no, of course not," stammered Neil, hoping he wasn't blushing, which he was sure would be a dead giveaway.

"Well, why, then?" asked the leader. "Aren't white kids good enough for you, or something?"

"No… I mean, yes… look, I only kick a ball about with him at break – and it's not just me, either. Quite a few of us do."

"Yes, but the others don't hang about with him out of school, do they?" said Edwards. "I saw you talking to him on Sunday afternoon. I thought you might just have met him by accident, but then last night you waited for him after school and went off together. So that's not just kicking a ball about at break, is it?"

"Well, no… but him and me and some others sometimes play football on Sundays, too. That's all we talk about…"

"Well, don't. There are plenty of white kids who can play football, Carter. Stick with them. After all, you wouldn't want us to start thinking you're a Paki-lover, would you? Nasty things can happen to those."

The leader pulled out a large flick-knife and started ostentatiously cleaning his nails with it.

"It would be a real pity if we got the wrong idea about you, now, wouldn't it?" he added, and then turned and sauntered away, followed by his two followers.

Neil thought that it would be a great deal worse if they got the right idea about him: after all, if it was unacceptable just to talk to a Pakistani boy, how would they react to a white boy that has sex with one? That knife had looked really scary…

He was sufficiently scared that he avoided Kam at lunchtime and didn't hang around after school, either. But when he got home he phoned Kam up and explained what had happened.

"Oh, shit," was Kam's reaction. "Well, look, Neil, I don't want you getting turned over by that lot, so if you don't want us to be friends any more I'll understand."

"Fuck that," said Neil, taking Kam aback: Neil hardly ever swore. "You're my friend – more than just a friend, even, and I'm not going to drop you just because a bunch of idiots with half a brain between them tell me to. I'd just like to keep it down a bit until the end of term, that's all. So I'd prefer not to walk home with you any more this term, okay?"

"That's all right. I mean, I'll miss you coming round in the evenings, but I suppose…"

"I'll still be coming round," interrupted Neil. "At least, if it's okay with you, that is. I'd just prefer us to go to your place separately, that's all. If they don't see me with you outside school, with any luck they'll have forgotten about it by the end of term."

"Okay. But look, Neil, if it's going to make things difficult for you I could put up with not seeing you so often…"

"What, do you want to get rid of me, or something?"

"Of course not, stupid. You're my best friend. I just don't want you getting beaten up because of me, that's all."

"I won't if we're careful. And even if I do, I reckon you're worth it. But I'd prefer to avoid it, so I'd like to keep my head down a bit until the end of next week. I just called because I don't want you to think I've changed my mind about you, or anything, because I haven't: you're still my friend and I want us to stay that way. Okay?"

"Okay. And… look, I'm really sorry I got you into this, Neil."

"You didn't get me into anything, I got myself into it. And we're not hurting anyone by being friends, and as far as I'm concerned it's nobody else's business. So there's nothing for you to be sorry about, Kam, okay? So I'm coming round on Saturday like we agreed. Oh, and I am going to be allowed to camp out with you during the holidays, too – I forgot to tell you earlier. So we can go and do stuff in the garage as much as we like, and I'm really looking forward to it, and no pea-brained moron is going to stop me. Right?"

"Right," agreed Kam. But after he had hung up he still found himself worrying that his friendship with Neil was likely to result in his friend being beaten up…

***

Until fairly recently Miguel had spent most of his Saturdays at home, but he had been to visit Andy a couple of weeks previously, and this Saturday he had been invited to visit James for the first time. Of course they had to stay in the house, because it was once again a bright, sunny day.

"I must be the only kid in our school who'd like it to rain sometimes," commented James, taking Miguel up to his bedroom. "I suppose that's pretty selfish, but it would mean I could go outside without having to wear long trousers and long-sleeved shirts all the time… Anyway, I don't suppose you want to listen to me moaning about the nice weather, so what would you like to do this afternoon?"

"I do not mind," said Miguel. "What do you like to do?"

"I read a lot, so if you like we could both sit quietly and read books… no, I thought not. I like listening to music, which I suppose would be okay… or" (and he closed the door at this point) "I could just get you back for all that tickling you and Andy did to me. After all, now he's not here to help you I shouldn't have any trouble getting you back, should I?"

"That is not fair," protested Miguel. "You are older and stronger than me."

"I know. Good, isn't it?" And James grabbed him, pushed him onto the bed and jumped on him, tickling away at his ribs. Miguel was only wearing a thin tee-shirt, which didn't protect him at all, and he was soon writhing frantically and begging for mercy.

"You are a bully," he said, when he finally got his breath back. "On Monday Andy and I will undress you and tickle you to pieces in front of the whole school."

"No, you won't," said James, confidently, sitting down beside him. "You might do that to me next time we go round to Andy's house, but you'd never do it in public. Friends don't do that to each other. Anyway, you don't have to wait until Monday, because I've got some cards here: if you beat me, you can tickle me. Is that fair?"

"Yes!" agreed Miguel, who was confident of his ability to beat James at poker even without having Andy there to collaborate with.

"Then let's play strip poker," said James. "Whoever is naked first gets tickled."

Miguel agreed straight away and grabbed the pack, shuffling it and starting to deal. But apparently James had been practising, because he played far better than he had at Andy's house and the game progressed very evenly, until they were both wearing nothing but their underpants.

"You cannot count your glasses," said Miguel, preparing to deal the next hand. "That would not be fair."

"Don't worry, I won't, because I'm almost blind without them. I certainly couldn't see the cards if I didn't have my specs on."

"Is that true? Then perhaps I should make you to take them off if you lose the next hand."

"That would give me an extra item… so okay, then."

James promptly lost the next hand and removed his glasses, holding them out to Miguel.

"Can you put them somewhere safe?" he asked. "On the bookcase should be okay."

"Why do not you do it?"

"Because now I can't even see the bookcase. Normally I only take them off when I'm already in bed and put them on the bedside table so that I can find them easily in the morning. So really you've already won this game, because if you lose I won't be able to see you properly… I suppose I should have thought of that before…"

Miguel put the specs on top of the bottom row of books in the bookcase and dealt another hand. James held his cards about half an inch from his eyes and squinted furiously, but then he shrugged.

"I can tell that one of them is a court card, and I can make out black from red, but that's about it," he said. "So I'll just change them at random and hope for the best."

Three changes later Miguel was looking at two pairs.

"What have I got?" asked James, putting his cards down.

"Nothing at all. You have a jack high."

"Okay," said James, standing up and removing his pants. "Of course, I could have four aces for all I know, but I trust you, Miguel… so, do you want to tie me to the bed, or are you just going to tickle me a bit?"

"If you do not struggle, I will not tie you to the bed."

So James got onto the bed and Miguel sat beside him and started to tickle his ribs. James put up with it for about fifteen seconds and then reacted by grabbing Miguel and counter-attacking, and the only way Miguel could think of to stop the counter-attack was to grab James's penis and twist sharply. James gave a gasp and froze, though part of him reacted by growing quite a bit harder.

"Now I will have to tie you up," said Miguel, twisting a bit more. "Put your hands above your head…. Do you have any string?"

"In the cupboard," said James. Obviously when Miguel went to get the string, and the scissors that James told him to find in one of his drawers, James could have escaped, but he made no attempt to do so, just allowing Miguel to tie his wrists and ankles to the bed.

"Please can I have my glasses?" he asked, once he was secured. "I'd like to see what's happening."

"No," said Miguel. "You do not deserve them. It will be a worse punishment if you cannot see… now, I think that you did not like it when we did this…"

He seized James's erection and gave it a Chinese burn, and very quickly he had James swearing that he'd never attack Miguel like that again, and that he'd do whatever he was told… Miguel simply tickled every inch of him for the next ten minutes, and then untied him and handed him his glasses.

"You shouldn't have let me have these back," said James, putting them on. "I'd have been helpless without them – I couldn't even have found my clothes to get dressed again…"

Miguel got the hidden message and snatched the glasses off again, returning them to the bookcase, but this time hiding them behind some books.

"This will teach you to attack younger boys," he said. "And if you try to do anything to me, I will hurt this," and he slapped James's erection, which quivered interestingly.

"Do you know why it sticks up like that?" James asked him. "Only I really don't know anything about sex at all, which is a bit embarrassing when you think that I'm nearly thirteen and a half."

"I do not know about it, either. But I thought senior boys have lessons about it…"

"Not at Inchley, they don't," said James, gloomily. "I suppose I'll have to hope they'll teach it at whatever school I go to next year. Okay, I could probably ask my dad, but I'd be far too embarrassed. I was hoping you might be able to help me find out…"

"I am sorry. And I think I am too young to ask my father: he would ask why I want to know so soon, I think. But you could ask Andy. Perhaps he knows."

"I'd be almost as embarrassed asking him – I mean, having to ask an eleven-year-old about sex? That would be really humiliating…"

"But you are asking me, and I am not yet eleven, not until next week."

"You're different, somehow. You're my friend and I trust you not to laugh at me… so it's your birthday next week, is it? When?"

"The nineteenth. But I am not having a party then. We have a family party when we are in Spain."

"But the nineteenth is Monday, and you're not going away until after the end of term… and, anyway, you said your cousin and his family won't be there, so you won't get a proper party this year… Did you find someone to go with you, by the way?"

"Yes, there is a boy in my form who will come. He is not a good friend as you are, but I think it will be okay."

"Okay, but it won't be the same… if you like we can go out after school on Monday and have a burger, or something. I'll pay for you."

"That would be nice. I will ask my parents when I go home."

"Good. You ought to do something on your birthday… besides being tickled, of course." James grabbed him and started to tickle him once more, though this time he managed to feel his way down to Miguel's waist and pull his pants down, too. Miguel tried to wriggle free, confident that if he once managed to get out of James's reach the older boy wouldn't be able to catch him, blind as he was, but James held on, dragging him onto the floor, where they wrestled for a bit until Miguel finally found himself pinned down.

James slid his hand down, took hold of Miguel's penis and squeezed, and soon it was as hard as his own.

"See, it happens to you, too," he pointed out, getting up and feeling his way back to the bed, where he lay on his back. Miguel came and lay next to him, making no attempt to put his pants back on, and took hold of James's erection once more, though this time he just held it gently and stroked it a little to see how hard it was.

"That feels nice," said James.

"Do it to me, then" suggested Miguel, guiding his friend's hand into the correct place. And he quickly decided that James was right: being stroked like this did feel really nice. So he did it some more to James, and James did it some more to him…

"Are you certain that your parents will not come in?" Miguel asked.

"Of course I am. You don't think I'd be doing this otherwise, do you? No, it's a rule in the house that we never go into each other's rooms – Mum and Dad treat me like an adult most of the time. Which is really useful at times like this… Have you ever done this before, Miguel?"

"Sometimes when I go to visit Andy we undress and wrestle. And sometimes we touch each other like this. It feels good."

"It does, doesn't it? I've never done this before, except for that time when you and Andy were trying to make it stick up, but I really like it. It feels sort of warm…"

"Sometimes Andy and I do this," said Miguel, rolling on top of his friend.

When he and Andy did this it was usually as part of a wrestling match, but instead James slipped his arms around Miguel and held him gently, and Miguel thought that felt nice, too. So he relaxed and nuzzled up against James's cheek, and James stroked his hair with one hand and his back with the other…

They lay like that for about five minutes, until James said, quietly, "You're getting a bit heavy, Miguel."

Miguel rolled off to the side and they looked at each other. Both were aware that something had changed, that they had moved on from wrestling and teasing each other to… well, somewhere else, though neither knew how to express what he was feeling. Miguel got up and retrieved James's glasses and passed them to him, and then slowly got dressed, and James put his glasses on and then got back into his own clothes. Neither spoke while they were dressing, but then once they were fully clothed once more they both started to speak at once.

"Look, Miguel, I…"

"James, I think…"

They looked at each other and laughed.

"You go first," said James.

"Well… I do not know how… why… I mean… you should go first, I think."

"I don't think I really know what I want to say, either, except… I've never felt quite like that before. Holding you like that… it felt amazing, but sort of scary, too… it was sort of like I'd suddenly got a brother, one I really cared about – except it wasn't really like a brother, exactly…I had to ask you to get off in the end because I felt as if I was about to start crying, which is really stupid and I can't understand why, and now I sort of feel the same way again…I'm sorry…"

And James sat on the bed and hid his face in his hands, and Miguel, who felt very strange himself and thought that James's description fitted him pretty well, too, sat down next to him and put his arm round him. And at that James, pausing only long enough to remove his glasses and drop them onto the bedside table, threw his arms round him and hugged him, and Miguel hugged him back and then started to cry himself, though he couldn't begin to understand why, because what he was feeling was a strange sort of happiness…

Eventually James stood up and wiped his face, groping for his glasses. Miguel found them and gave them to him, and James put them on.

"God, Miguel, what's happening to me? I feel…I don't know how I feel. Look, we'd better go downstairs and watch telly for a bit, because I sort of need to calm myself down before my head explodes, or something…"

"Okay. But I think that you should wash your face first, because there are a lot of tear marks."

"You, too," said James, standing up. "Come on, I'll show you where the bathroom is."

So they washed their faces and went downstairs to watch the sport on the television, even though what was on offer (horse-racing, mostly) didn't really interest either of them very much. But after a bit the wrestling came on, as it did every week, and they enjoyed that a lot more. They ate tea while watching, and by the time the wrestling had ended and they had finished eating their emotions had completely returned to normal.

Before Miguel went home they returned to James's room and closed the door once more.

"Miguel," said James, hesitantly, "we are still friends, aren't we?"

"Of course we are still friends. More than we were, I think."

"Yes, that's how I feel too… Look, I'd really like us to do that cuddling thing again next time you come, if you don't mind too much, because it felt really special, somehow."

"I would like to do it again as well. It gave me a strange feeling, but it was good…"

Great!" said James, smiling at him. "I'm really glad you feel the same way as I do…I was scared in case you decided there was something wrong with me and didn't want to come round here again."

"There is nothing wrong with you, and I would like to come again – perhaps next Saturday?"

"Brilliant!"

James walked downstairs with Miguel and waited while he said goodbye and thank you to James's parents, then walked to the end of his path with him and watched him cycle away. He wasn't sure what exactly had made him feel the way he did, but, whatever it was, he was really glad it had happened…

***

On Sunday morning something happened that hadn't taken place for quite a while: a rogue weather front rolled in from somewhere and it started to rain. It was still raining at lunchtime, putting paid to any idea of playing football and leaving most of the Collection at a loose end. Most of them decided to stay in and watch television, but Miguel couldn't face that, so he phoned James up to find out if he could go round again – maybe, he thought they could have another try at lying on the bed together and see what happened. But when James came to the phone he said that he was really sorry, but his uncle and aunt were visiting, which meant that he couldn't have anyone round and he couldn't leave the house himself, either.

Miguel thought about going to visit Andy, but the bus service on a Sunday was really useless, and he didn't fancy a long bike ride in the rain. So instead he got the phone book out and, as he had hoped and expected, discovered that there was only one Nakamura in it.

"No, I'm not doing anything," Kenji told him. "I don't usually do much on a Sunday… so do you want to come round? We can start trying to find out if we like the same things if you do."

Miguel got directions, realised that Kenji only lived about half a mile [800 m] away, and said he'd be there in ten minutes or so. But by now it was raining quite hard, so even though this was only a journey of less than five minutes on the bike, Miguel still reached Kenji's doorstep looking like a drowned rat.

"I am sorry," he said. "A car drove through a puddle and splashed me."

"You'd better take your bike round the back," said Kenji. "I'll go and find a towel and a dry shirt for you, and I'll meet you at the back door. You'll have to leave your wet clothes in the kitchen, though: my mother will be very unhappy if you drip all through the house."

So Miguel pushed his bike down the path that led to the back of the house and propped it against the wall, and a minute or so later the kitchen door opened and Kenji stood there holding a large, fluffy towel. His mother stood behind him.

"Get your wet stuff off and we'll put it by the radiator," he said. "Then dry yourself off and put this shirt on – I've probably got some shorts upstairs that will fit you, too."

So Miguel stripped down to his underpants and towelled himself off with the towel while Kenji and his mother arrayed his clothes on a drying rack in front of the kitchen radiator. Then he pulled the tee shirt over his head – it was a couple of sizes too big for him and came down far enough to hide his briefs completely – and followed Kenji through the house and up the stairs to his bedroom.

"You don't really need any shorts, do you?" Kenji asked, parking himself on the bed. "That shirt covers you quite well. And, besides, I've already seen what you've got underneath it, remember, so I know you're the same colour all the way down. Though I suppose you might not be when we get back to school in September, not after you've been lying on a Spanish beach in your swimming trunks for a month."

"I do not always wear trunks," Miguel told him, sitting on the chair beside the bed. "There is a beach where we go at which you do not have to wear anything."

"Really? A real nudist beach? I've heard of them, but I've never been to one. Now I'm starting to wish I was coming with you."

"It is not really a nudist beach, because you do not have to be nude. But you can be if you want."

"I bet that feels really interesting, swimming naked," said Kenji. "I think I'd like to try that one day…. Anyway, what are we going to do today? Shall we find out if we both like the same things? Let's start with sport – which football club do you support?"

"Real Zaragoza."

"Who on earth are they?"

"It is a Spanish team. My father is from Zaragoza, and so I support them. There is a team from Algeciras, where I was born, but they are only in the Third Division, so I support the team from my father's town."

"Well, I support Crystal Palace, and they're only in the Third Division too, but I still support them. What other games can you play?"

"Well… I am not much good at cricket… I can play tennis a bit."

"So can I, but I'm not much good, either. Perhaps we could play each other some time, then. What about indoors? I don't suppose you can play Go, can you?"

"What is Go?"

"Pity. It's a Japanese game – okay, some people say it came from China first, but we usually think of it as Japanese. People say it's like Japanese – or Chinese – chess, but really Go is much more difficult than chess."

"I can play chess."

"So can I, a bit, but I prefer Go. Maybe I can teach you."

"And I can play cards, though mostly Spanish games. But I can play poker."

"I'm not really all that interested in card games."

"That is a pity. Perhaps you can teach me some martial arts, now that you know I will not use it to be a bully."

"Yes, okay. But it would take you years to become really good at it."

"Could you show me how you beat us when Andy and I attacked you?"

"Well, I could try. Stand up and help me get the bed out of the way."

They pushed the bed against the wall, leaving a large space in the middle of the room, and for the next few minutes Kenji explained how to use an opponent's weight and speed against him by turning one's back into the onrushing attacker…

"And then you do this," he said, grabbing Miguel's wrist and using it to pull him across his back and dump him on the floor. "And if you keep hold of the wrist you can put on the lock I used on your friend – like this, see?"

"Ouch!" cried Miguel, his arm feeling as if it was about to break.

"Sorry. That was a bit too hard. Okay, now you try."

They worked on it for a while, with mixed success: sometimes Miguel was actually able to put Kenji on the floor, but just as many times he failed.

"It takes a lot of practice," Kenji told him, pulling the bed back into its usual place (his parents had just called up the stairs for them to stop banging on the ceiling). "You could try practicing with your friend – the one in your year, I mean. Better not try it on… what's his name? James? Or you'll probably break his glasses, and I bet specs that thick cost piles of money."

"Now what shall we do?" asked Miguel.

"Well, I know I said I don't usually like card games, but I suppose we could play strip poker," said Kenji, grinning.

"No, thank you," said Miguel, who was only too aware that he was only wearing a tee shirt and a pair of briefs. "Can you show me how to play your Japanese game?"

So Kenji got his Go set out and tried to explain how to play. "The rules are actually quite easy, but it takes a very long time to learn to play well. If you really want to learn how to play I'll ask my father if he can find a small board: it's easier for beginners to get used to it using a nine by nine board. This one is full size… still, we can play a quick game if you like, just to give you the general idea."

The 'quick' game still lasted more than half an hour, at the end of which Miguel could understand the concept of the game, but Kenji had no difficulty in beating him comfortably.

"This is an interesting game," said Miguel at the end of it. "I will try to learn it, if you will help me."

"Okay. It'd be nice to have someone else to play against apart from my family. So… what would you like to do next?"

"Well… I wondered… do you know about sex?"

"Obviously. Don't you?"

"No. So… could you teach me?"

"Why do you want to know?" asked Kenji, looking amused.

"I just want to know why… well, why it gets hard sometimes."

"Well, when was the last time it went hard?"

"I think when I woke up this morning."

"Yes, that often happens to me, too. Okay, show me – take your clothes off."

Miguel hesitated for a moment but then pulled the tee shirt off. Kenji watched with interest as the briefs came off, too, revealing something small and soft.

"Come here," he said, and Miguel advanced and stood in front of him, just as he had done the first time with Andy. Kenji reached out and took hold of it.

"Look, Miguel, you're far too trusting for your own good," he said. "I could hurt you really easily if I wanted to now, and you couldn't do anything about it. And you hardly know me – so how can you trust me enough to strip off in front of me and let me touch you like this?"

"I do not think you will hurt me. And we know that you can fight and I cannot – if you had wanted to you could have taken my clothes from me before now. And I think that I can trust you."

"Why? Until this afternoon we'd only spoken a couple of times. For all you know I could be a sex maniac, or something."

"I do not think so. To me you seem nice."

"Yes, but you don't know… Look, Miguel, you were the same with James – I watched the way you made friends with him really quickly. I think James is okay, but I don't know for sure… one day you're going to trust the wrong person, and then you'll get badly hurt."

By now he had let go of Miguel's penis and was looking at him seriously.

"But you are not a wrong person," said Miguel, confidently. "So you are not going to hurt me."

"That's true, but… well, just be careful, okay? There are some bad people about. Anyway, let's see what we can do with this…"

He took hold of Miguel's penis once more and manipulated it until it was good and stiff.

"So you really don't know why it gets like this?" he asked.

Miguel shook his head.

"Well, do you know about where babies come from?"

"Not really."

"Okay, lie on the bed – you might as well get comfortable, because this might take a few minutes."

So Miguel relaxed on the bed and Kenji sat beside him, still idly caressing his erection, and explained the mechanics of sex, and the nine month gestation period, and so on.

"Of course," he finished, "you and I are too young to father children yet because our balls aren't mature yet… well, actually I think I'm getting there… but our cocks can still stick up, which they have to in order to get into the girl. And sometimes they do it for no obvious reason – like when we were practising throwing each other earlier on it happened to me. That's because of close contact; or your body rubbing against it as I threw you, but now and again it happens without any contact, even when you're not thinking about sex. Yours is hard now because I'm touching it and making it feel nice, and mine is hard because I'm touching yours, I think."

"Can I see it?"

"No. I'm older than you, so you have to show me respect, and looking at me bare might not be respectful… though maybe when we know each other a bit better… But you can see the bulge in my shorts, can't you?"

Kenji leant back and Miguel could indeed see the bulge in his shorts.

"Is it bigger than mine?" he asked.

"Yes, but then I am a year older than you, so it's likely to be bigger. And no, you still can't look."

"And… why do people have sex? I mean, I know that if they want a baby they have to do it, but people seem to talk about it a lot, even when they do not want a baby."

"Well, I could explain, but you'd understand better if I did this." And Kenji took hold of Miguel's erection and started to rub it slowly up and down. Miguel very quickly decided that he liked it: it felt warm and… well, interesting.

"That is nice," he said.

"It'll get nicer. Now I want you to trust me; Miguel: soon you'll start to feel a bit strange, like you need to go to the toilet, or a bit like that. Just do your best to hold it back for as long as you can, and then maybe you'll understand why sex is so good."

Miguel would never forget his first orgasm, which was as near perfect as Kenji could make it for him. He gasped and bucked and writhed about and clenched all his muscles, and Kenji went just slowly enough for him to be able to hold it in for quite a long time before it finally burst through. And afterwards he lay back on the bed, looking at his still erect penis and wondering how such a small part of him could make his whole body feel so amazing.

"So?" asked Kenji, letting go.

"That was… it is hard to explain. But it was… extraordinary."

That's a good way of describing it. But did you like it?"

"Of course, yes. It was amazing."

"Good. Now you might feel a bit strange afterwards, so I'll go and see if your clothes are ready and then you can get dressed."

"Wait," said Miguel, as Kenji started to stand up. "We are friends now, aren't we?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Then… I should do that for you. You have made me to have an incredible feeling; I should do it for you."

"You just want to see what I look like, don't you?"

"No! Well… yes, but that is not why. I want to make you feel good like as I did."

"We need to work on your English grammar a little…"

"Do not change the subject. I want to do it for you, Kenji. Please let me."

"Well… okay, then. But you can get dressed first, if you like."

Miguel shook his head. "Andy likes to see me bare," he said. "And I think you do as well, so I shall stay like this. We can dress after."

Kenji made up his mind, nodded, removed his clothes and took Miguel's place on the bed. He was already stiff, his penis more than an inch longer than Miguel's and proportionately thicker, and his balls were twice as big, though as yet there was no sign of hair.

"Yours is nice," Miguel told him. "It is big, and it looks hard… yes, it is," he added, taking hold of it. It wasn't as big as James's, of course: probably James's was almost an inch longer. But it felt really hot and hard. He started to rub it, trying to do it the same way as when Kenji had done it to him.

"Grip a little tighter and slow down a bit… don't go down quite so far, the tip is really sensitive when the skin comes down… yes, that's better… that's brilliant… great, keep doing it like that…"

He kept doing it like that, and soon Kenji was starting to wriggle about the way he had done himself. Having been on the receiving end first, Miguel found it easier to judge how Kenji was feeling and how close he was getting to the moment when his body had felt as if it was exploding in slow motion, so when the moment came he was ready for it and kept hold, squeezing a little more tightly. What he wasn't ready for was the way the tip suddenly became slick with a small amount of colourless liquid, though he managed to hold on so as not to spoil the moment for his friend.

"That was really good, Miguel… thanks."

"Is that the stuff you told me about before?" asked Miguel, indicating the wet tip of Kenji's now wilting penis.

"Yes, though it isn't really proper sperm. That's thick and white: it'll be a while yet before I can make that. But it shows that my balls are starting to work…and it really did feel great, too. Is that the first time you've ever done that?"

Miguel nodded.

"Then you learn really quickly, because it was brilliant. Look, put your pants on and I'll get dressed and go and get the rest of your clothes, okay?"

Five minutes later they were both fully dressed. Miguel's clothes had dried out nicely, though as it was still raining he expected them to get thoroughly soaked again before he got home.

"Can we… I mean, would you like that we should do that again?" asked Miguel.

"Well… I'm not sure. Last time I started doing that with someone it went badly wrong, and I don't want it to happen again."

"What happened?"

"He… no, I don't want to talk about it. But I got hurt, and I really don't want it happening again."

"I am your friend," said Miguel. "I will never hurt you."

"Yes, that's pretty much what he said, too. But… I think you're different, Miguel. Like I said before, you're strange, but it's a really nice strange, and I don't think I'm wrong about you."

"You are not wrong about me. I will not let you down. And… is this why you said before that I should not trust people so much, because someone hurt you like that?"

Kenji nodded. "I don't want anyone else to have to go through what I did. And I don't want to talk about it any more… but, okay, I think I trust you, and… have you got any brothers or sisters?"

Miguel shook his head. "There is just me," he said.

"Then I think I will trust you. So, yes, I'd like to do that again, if you would."

"I would. Many times."

Kenji grinned at him. "I don't know if we can do it too many times – after all, you're going on holiday next weekend, aren't you? But perhaps you can come round again before you leave. I'd like that."

"So would I. Thank you, Kenji."

In the event Miguel didn't get wet on his way home because Mr Nakamura gave him a lift back in his car, saying that Miguel could come and collect his bike after school next day. So instead he was able to ride home in comfort, trying to remember exactly how he had felt at the moment when he had lost control of his body, and wondering when he would get a chance to show Andy and James what he had learned today…

Well, Miguel's horizons are expanding all over the place: he's developing a special friendship with James, and now he's starting to find out what sex is all about. And Kenji clearly has a history – it might be interesting to find out about that sometime…

Chapter Fourteen

Finally, at the end of this chapter, Jeremy plucks up the courage to tell Bilal the way he feels. But I'd hate you to feel you have to scroll straight down to find out what happens, so before we get to Jeremy we'll see Paul getting Owen ready for the next stage of their relationship, and we'll also get to watch Miguel as Kenji take his sex education a stage further…

The summer holiday was now less than a week away, and most of the boys were looking forward to getting away from school for a nice long time. One of them, however, was wondering whether he might actually be safer at school, where time outside the classroom was limited and there were generally plenty of people about, than he would be out in the woods somewhere, just him and one other person…

Although Paul still hadn't even spanked Owen (except a couple of swipes in fun), far less done any of the horrible things Danny seemed to have done to Alan, he had threatened to do so on more than one occasion; and while Owen was almost sure he was just teasing, he did find himself wondering sometimes. He hadn't been back to Paul's house in the past week and a half, but Paul was very keen to sort out some time together during the summer, and Owen was still not quite sure whether he wanted to carry on with this or not.

On the whole he thought he did want to carry on, because most of the time he enjoyed it: it was just the non-sexual stuff that he didn't like. He certainly didn't want to spend part of his summer holidays polishing Paul's shoes and cleaning his windows.

On the Wednesday morning of the last week of term Paul grabbed him at the start of the lunch break and took him to the pavilion. They went up to one of the small changing rooms at the top of the building and Owen started to get undressed without needing to be told.

"Good, you're learning," said Paul, sitting on the table and swinging his legs happily. "So – when are you going away during the holidays?"

"We aren't going away this year," Owen told him, removing his pants and putting them on top of his other clothes. "Just a day trip now and then, that's all."

"Brilliant – we'll be able to spend plenty of time together, then, because we're not going away until right at the end of the holidays. So what would you like to do?"

"Well… it's not really up to me, is it?" asked Owen, kneeling down and putting his hands on his head in the approved position.

"No, but… we don't have to play this game all the time, do we? I wouldn't mind doing other stuff with you sometimes… Maybe we could go to the cinema, or go swimming, or something like that? Most of my other friends seem to be going away at the beginning of the holidays, and it's not as good going to the cinema on your own, is it?"

"I wouldn't mind that at all," said Owen.

"Of course, Danny would tell me off, because he says you're not supposed to be nice to your slaves unless they really, really deserve it, and you should never treat them like equals, or they're likely to get stroppy. But I reckon you've been pretty obedient so far, and I don't think going to the cinema with me would make you get all rebellious, would it?"

Owen shook his head rapidly.

"Good. We can work out actual dates and stuff once the holiday starts. Of course, most of the time you'll still be my slave, so you'll have to be really obedient if you don't want to get whipped. I'd like to camp out with you if we can get permission – that could be good fun. And maybe we could go to visit Danny again, so he can show me exactly how I should be treating you…"

"No, I don't think you need to do that," said Owen quickly. "You're treating me perfectly."

"Ah, but if you think that, then perhaps I am being too gentle with you… anyway, there's one thing Danny said I really ought to do with you, just to make it absolutely clear who's in charge here: he said I ought to fuck you at least once a week. So I think I should, don't you?"

Owen stared at him. A tiny part of him wondered what it would feel like, but most of him thought it already knew: it would hurt. He'd watched Colin fucking Graham back when Graham was still being punished for bullying them all, and it was obvious that Graham had hated every second of it, uttering cries of pain and sobbing like a baby after it was over. And, of course, that was just the physical side of it: there was also the psychological position to consider.

Colin had told them that being fucked changes things: once you've been fucked, you have to let the boy who did it to you do it again whenever he wants. And according to Colin, a boy who has had it done to him isn't really a proper boy ever again afterwards. Owen didn't like the idea of that at all.

"I really don't want you to do that," he said. "It'll really, really hurt. And I really don't want to stop being a proper boy."

"What are you talking about?"

So Owen told him what Colin had said, and Paul simply laughed.

"That's rubbish,' he said. "Nothing can stop you being a boy, unless you actually get your bits chopped off, or something. I reckon Carlington was only winding you up when he said that. It wouldn't change you at all. And as for it hurting… well, yes it would if I did it the way Danny said, which is just to bend you down and ram it in really hard. And maybe that's what Alan deserved, but I don't think you deserve that at all.

"Look, Owen, I really want to try it, because Danny says it feels loads better than being sucked. I don't see how anything could feel better than that because you do it brilliantly and it feels amazing, but if there is anything better I want to find out about it. But not if it really hurts you, because I'm not like Danny and you're not like Alan: you don't deserve that. So I've worked out a way to get you ready for it that shouldn't hurt at all – and I promise that when we do actually do it I'll stop if it hurts you, okay? I mean, obviously I don't have to make promises to a slave, so you can see I'm serious about this. So… get down on your hands and knees and spread your legs."

Slightly apprehensively Owen did as he was told. Paul knelt down beside him, pulled a small bottle of shampoo from his blazer pocket and poured a small amount into the cleft between Owen's buttocks. He then used his finger to rub it gently around and then into his anus, slipping his forefinger inside and twisting it back and forth a bit.

"Does that hurt?" he asked.

"No. It feels a bit funny, but it doesn't really hurt."

"Good. Then let's try this."

'This' turned out to be an old cartridge pen, which Paul lubricated carefully with the shampoo and then inserted into Owen's orifice. He only pushed it part-way in, so there was less than three inches [7 cm] inside, and again Owen said that it didn't hurt. Paul pulled it out and pushed it in steadily for a minute or so, and while Owen thought it felt strange it still wasn't uncomfortable. It was pretty embarrassing, of course, and if anyone else had been there watching he thought he'd have died of shame, but with nobody else there it wasn't too bad. In fact, when Paul stopped and pulled it out he felt almost disappointed.

"That's enough for now," said Paul, wiping the pen off with a tissue. "We'll do a bit of that every day, and we'll use something a little larger every day, so when I come to do it properly you should be used to it. I hope so, anyway."

He used another tissue to clean Owen's bottom and then went and washed his hands, using the shower rather than walking downstairs to the washbasins. Owen, meanwhile, stayed exactly where he was.

"Why are you still on your hands and knees?" Paul asked, drying his hands on his blazer.

"Because you didn't give me permission to move," replied Owen.

"Wow, you really are good at this game! I'd never have thought… Well, since you're still like that, maybe I should make the most of it. Turn round and face the bench, and then you can give me a nice long suck."

Owen didn't mind that at all, and he quickly took up a position between Paul's knees. Paul removed his shorts and pants and lifted his shirt out of the way, and Owen shuffled forward and got to work. As far as he was concerned, this was by far the best part of their game, and he was ready to put up with an awful lot of other stuff if he still got to do this on a regular basis: Paul had a beautiful erection, hard, hot, thick – well, a lot thicker than Owen's pencil-like article, anyway – and getting on for four and a half inches long, and with that perfect uncovered tip that Owen simply couldn't stop looking at – except when it was in his mouth, of course.

As usual he took it as slowly as he could, glancing at his watch now and again – it was the only thing he was still wearing – to make sure they would be done in time for the end of break, and using his hands as well as his lips to make his master feel as good as possible.

Paul still couldn't believe his luck: this was the most incredible feeling in the world (and he still couldn't believe that fucking would be even better, whatever Danny said) and he had a slave who really enjoyed doing it for him. And he thought that Owen would let him fuck him, too, provided he was gentle and careful about it. A small part of him wanted to be like Danny, able to do absolutely anything to his slave: he wondered how it would feel to tie Owen down out in the woods and whip him till his bum bled, or to pee all over his face, or to crush his balls till he cried… but the more sensible part of him realised that as long as Owen went on enjoying what they did together he'd go on sucking Paul's cock, but if he got badly hurt he'd almost certainly stop. Paul wondered if Owen's promise to remain his slave would prove strong enough to keep him in line if his master started to torture him, and he thought that it might not. Better by far not to take the risk… And besides, he liked Owen, and the idea of torturing him didn't really appeal all that much. Of course, if it was someone else things might be different…

Owen brought him to another amazing climax and then knelt humbly at Paul's feet until he had recovered and got dressed once more.

"I see that your little twig's got all hard again," commented Paul, doing up his belt. "You know you're not allowed to let that happen. Stand up."

Owen stood up, and Paul slapped the erection three times, making it jerk about comically. Then he took hold of it and caressed it instead, and Owen gave a little gasp of pleasure.

"How long do you need to get dressed?" Paul asked.

"About two minutes."

"Then we've got about five minutes… so now I'm going to make you feel good for a change." And for the next five minutes Paul stroked Owen's whole body, though spending most of his time gently feeling his genitals and bum. He pressed against Owen's anus once or twice and was delighted when Owen spread his legs a little to make it easier for him to reach it: maybe he'd be able to get his cock in there before too long if Owen was prepared to accept this sort of treatment already.

"Okay, we'd better stop," he said, glancing at his watch, and Owen gave a groan of disappointment. "Don't worry, though: if we camp out during the summer I'll be able to go on doing that to you all night if we want. Well, if I want, anyway… now get dressed, slave, and hurry up!"

So Owen threw his clothes back on, though his penis was really hard by now and it was difficult for him to do his zip up. Paul watched him, grinning, and then, once the battle with the shorts was finally won, led him back to their form room for afternoon lessons.

***

Finally Friday afternoon arrived, and with it the end of term. The boys all had plans for the holidays: most would be going away with their parents at some point, but all of them were also looking forward to spending time with their friends away from the tyranny of the school timetable: more than six weeks of almost unlimited freedom stretched away ahead of them.

Miguel was heading for Spain on the Sunday, and had already packed most of what he wanted to take by Friday evening, and that left him Saturday to do what he wanted. And that was good, because on the Friday evening he got a phone call from Jeremy, asking if he wanted to go round on Saturday afternoon – it would be their last chance to get together for four weeks, because Jeremy was flying to California on the Monday morning. Miguel accepted straight away, and then remembered that he had already more or less agreed to go and visit Kenji again this Saturday. So he called Kenji up and asked if he could go round on Saturday morning instead.

"Yes, okay," Kenji told him after a moment's consultation with his parents. "Normally we do the shopping on a Saturday morning, but apparently they can manage without me for once. Come round any time after nine o'clock – oh, and my mother says you can stay for lunch if you like."

"Thank you. That would be good," said Miguel, and it was only later that he found himself wondering if he would have to eat something really strange for lunch: he'd heard that the Japanese really like raw fish, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to eat something like that without being sick. But he decided not to worry about it just yet.

So the next morning Miguel rode round to Kenji's house and got there shortly after nine o'clock, to find that Kenji's parents had already left. Kenji took him up to his room and pushed the bed against the wall.

"We've probably got an hour and a half before my parents get back," he said, "so if we're going to make a noise, this would be a good time. So I thought we could start by seeing if you've remembered what I taught you last time. See if you can get me onto the floor."

So Miguel tried, and once again he failed more times than he succeeded, but Kenji said he thought he was getting better, all the same.

"Okay," he said, helping Miguel up (he'd somehow spun round and thrown Miguel instead of letting himself be thrown that time), "I think that's enough of that. What would you like to do next?"

"Well… could you teach me some more about sex, please?"

"I knew you were going to say that," said Kenji, grinning at him. "Well, okay: just get undressed while I put the bed back where it belongs."

Miguel stripped off without argument and lay down on the bed. "I think that you should undress, too," he said.

"Do you? Well… okay, then. After all, you've seen me once."

Kenji stripped off, and Miguel watched him, his penis stiffening up as he did so.

"You like seeing me undressed, then, do you?" commented Kenji, looking at it.

"Well, yes," admitted Miguel. "You look good without your clothes."

"Thank you," said Kenji. "Now see if you can remember what I showed you last time – see if you can make mine as hard as yours is now."

He lay down next to Miguel, who took hold of Kenji's penis and played with it until it started to go hard. Then he started to rub it up and down as he had been taught on his previous visit.

"Don't do that", said Kenji. "We've go ages yet before my parents get home, and there are lots of other things we can try first. I don't want to get excited too quickly. Now… is there anything you think we ought to try?"

"I have found out that this feels good," said Miguel, rolling on top of Kenji.

"Really? So what do we do now?"

"Now we relax. It feels good to be close like this."

"I suppose it does…but there are some other things I'd like to show you, too. Lie on your back again."

Miguel did that, and Kenji played with his erection for a few seconds and then, to Miguel's astonishment, slipped it into his mouth.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Relax. I think you'll like this."

And he did like it – it felt weird, but nice at the same time. And when Kenji used his lips to push his foreskin down and then started licking the exposed tip, it felt absolutely amazing. And then Kenji started slipping it into and out of his mouth, still licking hard, and Miguel thought he was going to get that special feeling again… and then Kenji stopped abruptly.

"Oh, please do not stop," begged Miguel. "I had almost had that thing happen to me – please do it again…"

"Not yet," said Kenji. "Like I said, we've got loads of time. So you liked that, did you?"

"It was really good. But… I do not know if I can do that to you… does it not taste horrible?"

"I think it tastes quite nice, actually. Just have a quick try, and if you really don't like it you can stop."

"Well… okay, I will try. But you must not let any of that wet stuff come out."

"Some people think that tastes really nice," Kenji told him. "But don't worry, I won't let that happen this time. Go on, try it – please?"

Miguel wasn't at all sure about this. But he had to admit that being on the receiving end felt really good – and if they were really friends (which he was pretty sure they were) then he ought to at least try to do the same think for Kenji. So he took a deep breath and let the stiff penis slip into his mouth.

It didn't taste bad, but it didn't really taste nice, either: in fact it didn't seem to taste of anything. Encouraged, he set to work, trying to do what Kenji had done to him, licking it extensively and sliding it into and out of his mouth. But when he started to push the foreskin down, Kenji trembled and said, "Please be careful, Miguel: try not to let your teeth touch the end, or it'll really hurt me. It's really sensitive when the skin's been pulled back."

So Miguel was careful to keep his teeth out of the way, but even licking it made Kenji gasp and groan – though he didn't tell Miguel to stop, so it can't have been entirely horrible.

Keeping the skin fully retracted, Miguel started to move his lips up and down, and it wasn't long before Kenji told him to stop.

"It's going to happen if you don't stop now," he added five seconds later, and Miguel, who really didn't want a taste of whatever that liquid stuff was, quickly slipped it out of his mouth.

"Use your hand," begged Kenji, "but be careful of the end bit… yes, that's fine… that's good…"

It only took about half a minute before Kenji tensed up and produced some more of that colourless liquid.

"Try some," suggested Kenji. "Have a taste and see what you think."

"No, thank you."

"Go on… look, I'll show you." Kenji touched his forefinger to the tip of his penis and collected a small amount of the liquid, which he transferred to his mouth.

"See?" he said. "It won't do you any harm."

"Well…" Miguel was sure it would taste like piss. He had no idea what piss tasted like, but he didn't really want to find out, either. Still, if Kenji thought it was okay… He collected a smear on his forefinger and put it tentatively in his mouth – and found that it didn't really taste of anything.

"See?" said Kenji, again. "It's not too bad, is it? Okay, when I get a bit older and it starts to turn white, there'll be a bit more of a taste, but not a bad one. Anyway, your turn: lie on your back again."

Miguel did that, but instead of rubbing him by hand Kenji used his mouth once more, and soon Miguel was wriggling about again, enjoying the amazing feelings it was giving him. Kenji stopped a couple of times, grinning at him when Miguel begged him to keep going, but eventually he kept moving long enough for Miguel to experience an exquisite climax.

"Nice?" asked Kenji.

Miguel nodded vigorously.

"Good. Then we'd better get dressed before my parents get home."

Miguel got up and reached for his pants, noticing that Kenji's penis was erect again, which suggested to him that Kenji liked doing this. And that was good news, because he thought it was absolutely brilliant, and he wanted to do it as often as possible from now on.

They finished dressing and got the Go set out, and Kenji was still trying to explain tactics when his parents returned home. The boys went downstairs to help carry in the shopping and then went straight back to the game, which kept them busy until lunch time.

Miguel was looking a bit apprehensive when they all sat down at the dining table, but found himself looking at a perfectly normal burger and chips. He gave a sigh of relief.

"What is it, Miguel?" asked Mr Nakamura. "Everything all right?"

"Yes, thank you. I was just not sure what we would eat."

"Ah, you were expecting… what, seaweed, perhaps?"

"Raw fish," admitted Miguel.

Mr Nakamura laughed. "Do you know what a stereotype is?" he asked, and Miguel shook his head.

"Well, a stereotype is what someone thinks someone else should be like. English people seem to think that a typical Japanese person should bow a lot, wear long formal robes, have tea ceremonies that go on all afternoon, and eat strange food. Well, we do sometimes eat sushi – that's your raw fish – but not very often. And we never have tea ceremonies or wear national costume, and I don't do a lot of bowing, either."

"But we do play Go," put in Kenji. "And I do martial arts, though all the other kids I train with are English. Anyway, you know what a stereotype is, don't you? Everyone thinks Spanish people drink lots of red wine, sleep all afternoon and then go to the bullfight. And come from Barcelona, and are called Manuel, and are thick. Right?"

"I suppose that is true. I am sorry – I did not mean to be rude," said Miguel.

"It's not really being rude," said Mr Nakamura. "If you like, next time you come to lunch we can have sushi, just so that you can find out what it's like. But we can have burgers if you prefer."

"I like burgers," admitted Miguel. "But perhaps one time I should try the raw fish… perhaps when I am a little older."

On this occasion he ate the burgers, enjoying them and thinking that maybe the raw fish could wait until he was a lot older. And afterwards he said goodbye to Kenji and his family, got on his bike and rode round to Jeremy's house.

Jeremy took him round to the park so that they could have a game of tennis. Neither of them was really very good, but it was fun, all the same. And after that they went back to Jeremy's house and played chess, which Miguel was reasonably good at: his cousin Roberto played a lot, and every summer they played in the evenings, or during the day if it rained or if they didn't feel like going to the beach, and as a result Miguel had become quite a decent player. Better than Jeremy, at least, who lost the first couple of games but still wanted to try again.

Miguel finished setting up the board and waited for Jeremy to make the first move, but Jeremy was staring into space, his mind obviously elsewhere.

"What is wrong?" asked Miguel.

"Huh? Oh, nothing… sorry, Miguel, I was miles away…"

"What were you thinking about?"

"Well… I've got a bit of a problem: I need to talk to someone about something but I don't know how to do it."

"Oh. I am sorry – I do not know how you should do that. Perhaps you should just start to speak and then just let the words happen – maybe it will work."

"Maybe. Sorry, Miguel – let's get on with the game."

Jeremy lost again, so Miguel played the next game with a running commentary on why he was making each move, just as Kenji had done for him when they played Go, and he was able to give Jeremy some advice about having a definite plan and working towards it, rather than just moving aimlessly as he seemed to do most of the time.

Miguel went home after tea. He'd enjoyed being with Jeremy even though they hadn't done anything rude together: just being with him had been fun. And because Adolf had raised no objection to the visit it meant that Jeremy now had another friend who could come round to see him at home, and Miguel knew that was important to him. He was still a bit concerned about his friend, though: Jeremy had seemed to be really worried about something…

***

Miguel was travelling on the Sunday afternoon, which meant that he wasn't able to attend the first football session of the holidays. Everyone else was there, however; Kam had rescued his ball from the neighbour's garden, and a good round of four-a-side matches ensued. Nobody suggested a game of headers and volleys today, not even Tony, because Jeremy had told him on the way to the car park that today was going to be the day that he spoke to Bilal, and Tony was therefore too preoccupied to suggest a round of the streaking game. So when they finished playing Jeremy, Bilal and Tony walked back to Tony's house together – Tony had offered Jeremy the use of his room for his conversation with Bilal.

Jeremy had just told Bilal that he needed to talk to him without giving any hint as to why, and Bilal had just accepted it at face value. Tony installed both of them in his room and went out, telling them that he'd be downstairs if they needed him.

"Well," said Bilal, sitting on the bed, "what did you want to talk to me about?"

Jeremy was already wishing that he hadn't done this: now that the crunch had arrived he had no idea of how to proceed. What was it Miguel had said: just start to speak and hope that the words come? Well, he couldn't think of anything better to try…

"Look, Bilal, I've… I've got a problem. See… well…" He swallowed, wondering how on earth to say what he had to say.

"Hey, relax," said Bilal. "Just tell me, okay? Whatever it is, I'm sure we can sort it out together – can't we?"

"I don't know. I really hope so, but… see, Bilal, I think… I think I love you."

"Sorry, I'm not getting you. I mean, I already know we're friends, you don't have to tell me so… so what's this problem you're worrying about?"

"No, stupid, you're not listening. That is the problem: I think I love you."

"Well, I'm not sure I'd put it quite like that, but obviously I really like you, too. I mean, we've been best friends for ever, haven't we?"

"No, you're still not getting it. I mean… I mean more than friends, Bilal. Much more. I mean…"

Realisation finally dawned. "Oh," said Bilal. "You mean… do you mean that… you fancy me?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so."

"Oh. Oh, shit, Jeremy, why?"

"I don't know. I mean, I didn't choose for it to happen, or anything. It just did."

"Oh, fuck."

"Is that all you can say?"

"Well, what the hell do you expect me to say?"

"You could say that you feel the same way."

"But I don't, Jeremy! I don't… I mean, I could never think of you that way. Don't you get it? I like girls, the same as everyone else. I couldn't even think about doing… stuff… with you… Oh, shit…" He put his head in his hands.

Jeremy could think of nothing constructive to say at this point, so he just stood awkwardly by the window and hoped that Bilal would say something. But Bilal said nothing at all.

"So… where do we go from here?" asked Jeremy, eventually. "I mean, are we still friends?"

"I don't know," said Bilal, looking up at him. "I mean, I suppose so… but… look, I need to think about this. I've got to go."

"Wait!" cried Jeremy, as his friend stood up and headed for the door. "I'm sorry, Bilal – I didn't mean to… "

"To what? To mess with my head? To ruin us being friends? To… I have to go, Jeremy. I'll talk to you when you get back from California, okay? By then I'll have sorted it out in my head. Maybe." And he went out and closed the door.

Tony met him at the foot of the stairs, and one look at his face was all it took. And one look was all it took for Bilal, too.

"You knew, didn't you?" he accused. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I promised him I wouldn't. He had to decide for himself whether to tell you – I couldn't decide that for him."

"How long have you known?"

"Since that night in the garage. That's what I messed up about – remember I told you I'd reacted badly to something he told me? Well, that's what it was."

"Ohhhhh – yes, now I understand."

"No, you don't. See, it wasn't the thought of him being queer that freaked me out, it was the fact that he'd fallen for you instead of me."

"Huh?"

"I'm the same as him, Bilal, except I think I'm in love with him. So when he told me that he was in love with you I couldn't handle it."

Bilal gaped at him. "Bloody hell, am I the only normal person round here?" he asked.

"Depends how you define 'normal', I suppose."

"Well, liking girls, then. And… have you told him how you feel?"

"Not yet. If you'd turned out to feel the same way about him I'd have kept quiet about it and hoped you could be happy together. But now… now I'll have to try to see if he'll accept me instead of you. Maybe if he can he might stop thinking about you in that way."

Bilal shook his head slowly. "I really can't cope with this," he said. "I'm going home, Tony. Look… no, forget it: I need to think."

"Call me tomorrow," said Tony. "Even if you decide you don't ever want to speak to either of us again, call me and tell me, okay? We've been friends for years, Bilal – you owe me that at least."

"I suppose so. I'll speak to you tomorrow, then." And he went out.

Tony took a deep breath and went upstairs to his room, where he found Jeremy sitting on the bed staring into space.

"Now what?" he asked him.

Jeremy shrugged. "If I'm lucky he'll still be friends with me. If not, I've probably ruined the best friendship I've ever had."

"Right. Well… there's something you need to know, Jeremy. That night in the garage, when you told me you fancied Bilal and I freaked… it wasn't because you said you liked boys that I couldn't handle it, but because… because I was jealous."

"Jealous? What, because you thought it would get in the way of the three of us being friends, do you mean?"

"No, I mean jealous, as in, I wanted the same thing."

"Eh? What, you mean… you mean, you fancy him too?"

"No, stupid. Don't you get it yet? I was jealous of him, not of you. I was jealous because you said you loved him and… and not me."

"But… shit, Tony, of course I love you… I mean, you've been a brilliant friend to me, for years. Obviously you're important to me. Of course, I don't mean 'love' like I love Bilal…" He tailed off, staring at Tony. "Oh, shit," he said, quietly, exactly as Bilal had done earlier. "Christ, Tony, you don't mean… oh, God, you do, don't you? You… you're…"

"I'm in love with you, yes," said Tony. "I have been for ages, but I've never dared say anything – just like you and Bilal, I suppose. Stupid, isn't it?"

"Oh, God, what a fucking mess," whispered Jeremy. "No wonder you went spare when I told you about him… why didn't you go and tell him then? He'd have told me to fuck off and you'd have had a clear chance…"

"Because I love you, of course. I could never do anything to hurt you."

"But… what would you have done if Bilal had said yes to me?"

"I'd have tried to be happy for you. After all, we'd still have been friends, and I suppose I can live with that. Whereas now… now he's said no… do you think I could take his place, Jeremy? I'll even go and get a heavy suntan and dye my hair if it'll help…"

Jeremy suppressed an involuntary snort of laughter at the thought of Tony with black hair, but then immediately he went sombre again.

"I'm sorry, Tony, but… you're not him, and you couldn't be him. And… look, I just don't fancy you, okay? It's not your fault – like I said, I couldn't have asked for a better friend – but you just don't… I mean, you're not what I'm looking for… I'm really, really sorry, Tony…. Look, I've got to go. I'll speak to you as soon as I get back home, okay? I mean, if you still want me to, that is…"

"Of course I will. Look… have a good holiday, okay? Just go and forget all this for a month. We can get together and try to sort it all out when you get back."

"Okay. Thanks, Tony… and I'm really sorry that I don't…"

Jeremy broke off and ran from the room, and now it was Tony's turn to sink onto the bed and put his head in his hands, and this time he didn't try to hold back the tears. He had absolutely no idea where to go from here. Nor was he alone in that: while he was sitting crying in his bedroom, Bilal, who had just got home, was sitting on his bed staring blankly at the wall and feeling utterly numb and empty, and Jeremy was stumbling along the road towards his house feeling totally lost. Only the thought of going to America next day kept him from complete despair…

Well, this is hardly cheerful and uplifting stuff: all three of them are now feeling utterly wretched. And it might be a while before we discover how it all pans out, too, because we're now into the holidays, and for the next two or three chapters we'll be finding out how the various members of the Collection are spending their summer.

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