David Clarke

Why I Hate Wearing Glasses

Chapter One

In which Kevin makes a mistake, and Chris takes advantage of it.

Kevin

I guess nobody is perfect: pretty much everyone has something about himself that they don't like. I suppose that if we were all blond, blue-eyed super-fit sports stars life would get a bit boring, but frankly I wouldn't mind a bit of that sort of boredom. The problem is that my brother is a blue-eyed, super-fit sports star. His hair isn't blond, but I guess light brown is probably close enough. I, on the other hand, am definitely not a sports star, unless you're prepared to consider chess to be a sport. I've got dark brown hair and my physique could best be described as 'weedy'. I do have blue eyes, but the colour isn't what people notice: instead they notice the thick lenses that sit in front of them – without my glasses I really can't see very much at all.

You're probably thinking 'chess, glasses, this guy has to be a nerd, right?' Well, wrong: I'm not interested in computers, other than as a means of looking stuff up and sending the odd email, and my school results are strictly middle-of-the-road. Actually my brother knows a lot more about computers than I do, so he isn't a typical thick sports player, either, and his school results are at least as good as mine. I've always thought that if it hadn't been for the pathetic eyesight I could have done fairly well at sports myself, but as things are I never had a chance of making it into any sports team.

Still, I can't really complain, I suppose: apart from the eyesight I'm healthy, I go to a reasonably good school and I'm not exactly short of money…

OK, as usual I've started in the wrong place, so I'll back up a bit. My name is Kevin Stratford, I'm fourteen and I live in a fairly large house in its own grounds on the outskirts of a small town in south-east England. My brother's name is Chris, and he's eleven, almost twelve, and he goes to the same school as I do. And our father is really rather rich; he has a fairly senior position with a merchant bank in the city. He's probably sufficiently well-off that he would only need to work part-time to bring in a decent income, but he's a workaholic who gets bored if he isn't making money for about a hundred hours every week. And that of course means we don't see him that often, because he spends quite a lot of time dealing with important clients in the Middle East, Japan and Korea.

Normally we see mother all the time, because she doesn't work at all: she comes from one of those old families with money who still believe that a woman's place is in the home. To be honest I like that: a lot of the kids I go to school with have to fend for themselves until one or other parent gets home from work, or they find themselves marooned with Granny or Auntie So-and-So or stuck in some dreary after-school club. Chris and I never had that problem… until last week.

Last week our grandmother had a nasty fall, and as our mother is her eldest daughter – the others still have small children – the family decided that she was best placed to go and look after her for a few weeks until she was on her feet again. Grandma lives in the Lake District, about 350 miles from where we live, so there was no way that this was going to involve anything less than mother actually going to live in grandma's house on a full-time basis. And of course there was never any question of father cutting back on his work to look after us: "You're fourteen," he told me, when I asked. "That's quite old enough to look after yourself. And Christopher's old enough to manage, too. You just keep it going. I'll be back from time to time as usual, and you've got all my phone numbers if anything comes up."

I thought that in this day and age it was illegal to leave boys of our age unattended, but father said he would be 'on call' to us at all times, and Mrs Jordan would be coming in every day to do the cooking as usual, so there would be an adult on hand most of the time.

He told Chris that I was in charge, and Chris managed to look solemn and say "Yes, Father," in the appropriate places, but I knew it would be pointless to try to make Chris do anything he didn't want to: we still have play fights from time to time, and these days he usually wins. Still, he's generally not a bad kid, and I thought we'd probably manage fairly well on our own.

Of course, there's one other thing that's important to a fourteen-year-old, and that's sex. Naturally I had no chance of pulling: not too many people are queuing up to go out with a boy who has the Hubble Space Telescope stuck in front of each eye, even if he has got a bit of money (yes, we both got very generous allowances, which I suppose was father's way of compensating us for his constant absence). And, just to make it even harder for me to find That Special Someone, I had recently come to the conclusion that girls were never going to be my thing. For the past year or so I had listened to the boys in my class talking about girls and passing round girlie mags and dodgy photos they'd found online, and I'd kept telling myself that I'd start to feel the same way soon… only I didn't. And now that I was well and truly into puberty, with proper hair and balls that did their job, I realised that I never was going to feel that way. Instead I found myself looking at other boys. There were a couple of boys in my class that I thought about sometimes, but the one who occupied my thoughts most when I played with myself was Chris's friend Colin, a stunningly-attractive twelve-year-old, who was every bit as physically fit as Chris (they played football for the same team) and was also – okay, I know it's a stereotype, but I can't help that – tall, blond and blue-eyed. To be fair, Chris's other close friend Mark was thoroughly attractive, too, and he had black hair and brown eyes, but if I ever had the chance to pick one – like that was ever going to happen! – it would have been Colin every time.

I've said I wasn't much good at sport, but there was one physical activity I did excel at, and that was masturbation. I got plenty of opportunity to practise, after all. I only ever did it in my bedroom: I'd heard stories of boys doing it in the toilets at school and getting caught in the act, and I swore that was never going to happen to me. Except it turned out that my bedroom wasn't as safe as I'd thought it was…

Chris

I like grandma, but her falling over turned out to be one of the best things that had happened to me so far. I mean, I'm glad she's going to be all right, but mother being out of the house for the better part of two months opened a lot of doors for me. Quite how I managed to keep a straight face when father told me Kev was going to be in charge I don't know, because the whole idea was screamingly funny: Kev hasn't got a clue, and if he tried to make me obey him he'd end up locked in his cupboard again – I did that to him once at the end of one of our play fights and I left him there for the next hour. He didn't dare make a noise because he knew how stupid he'd look if mother had to come and let him out.

Kev's all right, though – he knew it would be pointless to throw his weight about, and so he didn't try. And so for the first three or four days everything ran smoothly: Mrs Jordan came in every afternoon and got supper ready for us, and all we had to do was to heat it through around six, or whenever we felt hungry.

On the Friday evening I was supposed to have football practice, only it hurled it down with rain and our coach gave up on it after about half an hour. Colin's mum gave me a lift home, and as a result I was there about an hour earlier than Kev had expected. I let myself in quietly in case he was doing his homework, but I found the downstairs study empty. Oh well, maybe he's doing it in his room, I thought. I left my shoes in the hall as we always do and went upstairs to have a shower, but as I reached Kev's door I heard a noise that suggested that it wasn't his homework he was working on…

He'd left the door open, which is something he doesn't usually do, but I suppose he thought there was nobody in the house and so it wouldn't matter. Well, we all make mistakes…

I got my mobile out of my pocket, selected the camera option and crept closer to the door, and when I got there I peered carefully around the edge into the room… and how I didn't burst out laughing I'll never know, because Kev was lying on his bed, stark naked and flat on his back, and he was wanking steadily. He'd taken off his glasses, which meant that he probably wouldn't see me at all unless I moved too quickly: I've tried wearing those things and it's like looking through a goldfish bowl full of water. So, very slowly, I moved inside the door and started taking photos. The camera arrangement on my phone is completely silent, so he never heard a thing.

Then I decided that I might as well see just what I could get away with here, so, moving very slowly, I switched to the video function and started recording. And I'd timed that about right, because ten seconds later Kev tensed up, arched his back and shot onto himself. I was quite impressed, to be honest: okay, he is a couple of years older than me – two and a half, if I'm going to be accurate – but I hadn't realised he could produce proper spunk like this. I hardly produce enough to dampen the head – but then I'm barely into puberty, I suppose.

"Nice one, Kev," I said, and he almost fell off the bed in shock. He groped for his glasses, and by the time he had them on I had the phone safely out of sight once more: I wanted that evidence safely stored on my computer before he knew I had it.

"Wh- what are you doing home?" he stammered, frantically mopping his chest and stomach with a tissue from the box beside the bed.

"It's raining – or were you having such a good time that you didn't notice?" I asked. "Mr Clifford sent us home early."

"Oh," he said, looking flustered and clasping his hands over his groin. "Look… don't tell anyone about this – please, Chris?"

"That depends," I said, grinning at him. "You'd better be nice to me from now on, hadn't you?"

"I'm always nice to you."

"That's true, but it's only because you know you'll get beaten up if you're not. Anyway, I was going to have a shower, but I guess you'll probably want one too after that. So you can go first."

"Thanks, Chris," he said, but he was a little less thankful when I said I was going to come into the bathroom with him so we could talk while he was in the shower. And I made him wash facing me, which he clearly found very embarrassing: normally we never saw each other undressed at all. I didn't actually threaten to tell anyone if he didn't let me watch, but I'm sure that's what he thought would happen, and he seemed particularly keen that I shouldn't tell Colin or Mark. I suppose that's because they're both round here quite a lot and so they know him.

Anyway, I watched him shower, and that gave me a chance to see that his cock isn't that big really – it's probably not a lot bigger than mine – but that his hair is coming along nicely. I still haven't got any, but I suppose that's not too unusual for an eleven-year-old.

Afterwards I suggested that he should get dressed and then go and get supper ready, and once he was out of the bathroom I locked the door, got undressed and had a good shower. And while I was at it I had a wank myself: watching my brother had been sort of exciting, somehow. I'd never actually done it in the shower before: Colin had told me a couple of days ago that he sometimes does it like that, and I found that he was right when he said that the warm water running all over your body makes it feel really nice. I thought maybe I'd suggest it to Kev – I thought it might be fun to watch all his stuff coming out and getting washed away at the same time.

I didn't say anything else to him about it that evening, but after supper I downloaded the photos and the film clip onto the computer. They weren't the greatest quality you'll ever see, but Kev was clearly identifiable, and I was sure I could improve the quality next time around…

Kevin

I don't think I've ever been as embarrassed as I was when Chris caught me playing with myself – at least, not since I wet my pants at school when I was eight. I swore to myself that in future I'd make sure the door was shut and locked before I did that. Still, I suppose it could have been worse: he could have had Colin with him, and I think I'd have died of shame if that had happened.

To be fair to Chris, after supper that evening he didn't say anything more about it. I hoped he wouldn't tell Colin, but it must be hard to resist telling a story that starts with 'You'll never guess what I caught my brother doing last night…' But when Colin came round the following afternoon he treated me just the same as always – which is to say he gave me little more than a polite 'Hello'. And when Mark appeared on Sunday afternoon I couldn't see anything different about his attitude to me, either, so perhaps Chris was going to do the decent thing and keep quiet about it.

Father was home on Sunday. I suppose it was our first weekend alone, and so he wanted to make sure everything was working out. We both assured him that it was, and he seemed satisfied about that – at least, he told us he'd be going to Riyadh and then on to Tokyo the following week as he had originally intended, so I suppose he felt confident that we wouldn't actually burn the house down in his absence.

Monday evening was the night I stayed behind after school for Chess Club, or sometimes, as this week, for a match. There's a fair bit of psychology in chess, and for once my appearance helps: any opponent clapping eyes on a skinny kid with thick glasses is going to think him a total chess nerd straight away. Of course, it doesn't always work like that: the top board in my team is an athletic kid who also plays rugby for the school. But if you're playing someone who looks as though he lives for chess you're at a psychological disadvantage from the start. Anyway, I won my game comfortably, and the school won the match by four and a half boards to one and a half, and so I was in a good mood when I got home.

Chris stopped me at the door. "Father said something to me before he left this morning," he said. "He says we have to do our homework as soon as we get home, not leave it until we get to school next day – I admitted I had done that sometimes. So we're to check each other's work and make sure everything is done before supper, or if you have a lot, you can finish straight after supper. He seemed to think we'll both sneak off and watch TV in our rooms if we don't keep a check on each other."

"Well, we could do that anyway," I pointed out. "If we both do it and keep quiet about it he won't find out, will he?"

"No, but he made me promise. And I think he's right, actually: it's better to get it done straight away, rather than having to rush it next morning. Besides, if I get stuck and we're both in the study together, you can help me out."

"I thought there must be something in it for you. But, be honest, when you've come to me in the past I have helped you out, haven't I?"

"Usually. But I thought that since father's trusting us we ought not to let him down. And I thought of a way to make sure we don't cheat: I'll lock my bedroom and give you the key, and if I need to use the computer to look stuff up you can come and supervise me to make sure I'm not playing games instead. I don't get my key back until all my homework is done.

"I suppose I could take your key, but I bet you've got a spare, so I thought of a better way to make sure you don't sneak off and watch TV: from now on you're only allowed to wear your glasses downstairs. Once you've done your homework you can watch TV on the big one in the lounge if you want – in fact it'll be nice if we watch together sometimes. But if I've got your specs you can't barricade yourself into your room to watch telly before your homework is done. And there's nothing else you'd need them for upstairs, is there? I mean, you can find your way to the bathroom without them, and we already know you don't wear them for what you were doing on Friday evening…"

It was the first time he'd mentioned that incident since the day itself, and I hoped it would be the last, too. And I supposed he was right about not needing them to take a shower or have a bath. It meant that if there was something on late at night I'd have to stay downstairs to watch, but then that hardly ever happened. It seemed a bit of a drastic way to make sure I did my homework, but I couldn't see any reason to put up a proper resistance to the idea. And so I said yes.

"Right," he said. "If you go upstairs when I'm not here – on Fridays, say – you're to leave your specs on the telephone table at the bottom of the stairs. If I come back from football and find you upstairs and no specs on the table you'll be in trouble. I'm sure you wouldn't want me to mention a certain event that took place last Friday, would you?"

Well, like he said, I didn't need my glasses to masturbate anyway, so provided I remembered to lock my door there was no reason why I couldn't at least do that on Fridays – and every other night of the week, too, provided I got my homework done first…

Chris

Once he'd agreed to the 'No glasses upstairs' rule he was done for. Of course, he had no way of knowing that at the time, and it was quite a while before he found out, but the battle was won right there and then. This was because on the Sunday I'd asked Mark, who seems to know pretty much all there is to know about computers, to talk to me about webcams, and on the Monday he'd come round again to set things up for me. My webcam was a top-line model that could be configured to activate whenever something moves in front of it, and by the time he went home on Monday I had it attached to my laptop, which was in turn connected to a 750Gb external hard drive (I'd bought it to keep music on, and so far had used no more than a couple of Gb). We'd found a suitable spot for the camera in one of the bookcases in Kev's room, and with the laptop and hard drive hidden behind the bookcase there was virtually no chance of him seeing it even with his glasses on, and none at all without them.

I tried it out before Kev came home: I went into his room, sat on the side of the bed and read a book for five minutes, got up, went out, came back ten minutes later and danced about in front of the camera, and then removed the whole set-up back to my room and had a look at what the camera had recorded – and it turned out to be every moment that I had been in the room, and only a minute or so (after my first exit) when I wasn't. Even when I hadn't been moving very much, while I was reading, the camera had caught everything.

And then, once he had agreed to the no glasses thing, all I had to do was to get it set up in his room once more. I could have done it any day, but settled for Thursday. I usually catch the bus before the one he takes: it means leaving exactly on the bell and running, and he's too lazy to do that: instead he usually just waits fifteen minutes for the next bus. Fifteen minutes was about ten minutes more than it took me to set up the camera, plug the laptop and the hard drive into the multipoint adapter Kev uses for his own computer – the cables were out of sight behind his computer desk and the bookcase – and then get back to my own room. By the time he got in I was already in the study starting my homework, and I was able to hand him the key to my bedroom without a qualm.

I didn't get a chance to check the results until late Friday evening, when we had finished our homework and Kev was watching TV. I told him I was going to the loo, but instead I nipped into his room, removed the entire set-up, dumped it in my own room and went back downstairs. I'd been afraid that the laptop would go into sleep mode after a while and so not pick up what the camera was seeing, but Mark had assured me that the operation of the camera would be enough to turn it on again – and it turned out he was right about that, because the camera had worked perfectly: it had captured images of Kev getting undressed and getting into bed on Thursday night, and although it had shut down shortly after he turned his light out – there was insufficient light for the camera to see anything after that – the recording started again the following morning.

So I had an interesting little film of him getting out of bed with an erection and tweaking it for a few seconds before heading for the bathroom, and then coming back and getting dressed. And the next segment, which started about fifteen minutes after he got home from school that afternoon, showed him removing his school uniform, fumblingly hanging the blazer and trousers in the wardrobe (I was delighted to see that he wasn't wearing his glasses, so he was keeping his word there), and then taking off the rest of his clothes, lying on his bed and masturbating slowly for several minutes.

"Naughty, naughty," I muttered. "You're supposed to be doing your homework…"

Eventually he spurted again, cleaned himself off, got dressed and left the room, and that was all there was. But this time the quality was a lot better – as I said, it's a top of the range webcam – and once I'd transferred it from the external hard drive to the hidden folder on the internal one on my main computer I was able to set to work with the editing software Mark had downloaded for me, getting rid of the boring bits and keeping the interesting stuff.

Next morning while Kev was in the shower I nipped back into his room and set it all up again – after all, I was pretty certain he'd get up to something over the weekend, especially on Sunday morning, when I had a football match…

Kevin

Chris seemed in a particularly good mood that weekend: obviously he liked the freedom of not having either parent around. Colin's mum came and picked him up to take him to his football match. I almost said I'd go along to cheer them on, but the weather was still a bit unpleasant – it was cold and drizzling – and so I decided to stay at home instead. I have been to watch once or twice, and I try not to make it too obvious that I'm watching Colin in particular, who looks amazing in shorts. I thought maybe I should volunteer to help somehow – perhaps I could look after the kit, or something, and that would give me an excuse to be in the changing room after each match…

The thought of that was enough to get me hard, and as nobody else was at home I decided to make the most of it, so I went back to my bedroom and got undressed. It was cold outside, but we had the heating going and so my room was nice and warm. Once I was naked I lay on the bed and began to stroke myself slowly, and then I had a thought – well, two of them, actually. There was a photo of Chris's team in his bedroom and, since nobody was going to be at home for a couple of hours, there was no reason for me not to borrow it. The second thought was that I wouldn't be able to see the photo properly without my specs, but since Chris was out of the house I could also see no reason not to go and get them – as long as I put them back before he got home he'd never know.

So I went downstairs and collected them from the table in the hall and then headed for my brother's room, where I borrowed the photo that had been taken at the beginning of the season and carried it back to my room. Colin wasn't the only stunningly good-looking boy in the team by a long way: there were fifteen boys in the picture, and five or six of them were definitely worth a second look. Come to that, there weren't really any who could have been described as 'ugly' – there were a couple of dodgy haircuts, one case of sticking-out ears and some outsize teeth, and there was also one boy with bright red hair, if you don't happen to like gingers. Personally I thought he looked good.

There was one black kid and a couple of Mediterranean types (including Chris's friend Mark, whose father is from the Greek half of Cyprus), and the rest were white Anglo-Saxons, with hair that ranged from black to ash-blond. Colin was about the tallest boy in the team, with blond hair and blue eyes and an amazing smile…

I put the photo down on the little table beside the bed and started stroking myself again, glancing at the photo from time to time and trying to imagine what it would be like if I could get to know him better. I knew a bit about First Aid – perhaps Colin would get hurt playing football and I'd have to look after him. I imagined taking him back to the changing room, his arm around my shoulders for support, and then finding myself alone with him there… of course we'd have to wash the mud out of the wound on his leg before I could bandage it, so I'd have to help him undress and then carry him to the shower. Then I'd have to kneel in front of him and wash the leg for him, getting rid of all the mud and blood – and maybe he'd have hurt his arm, too, so I'd have to wash him all over, because he wouldn't be able to do it himself…

Of course it didn't take long before this train of thought led me to another great orgasm, and when I finally finished shooting onto my stomach I put my specs on the table with the photo and went to the bathroom to have a shower. Of course when I got back I was feeling a bit guilty, both for putting my glasses on – though really I could argue that the rule shouldn't apply at weekends, and I decided I would talk to Chris about it when he got home – and about wanking over his best friend. But there was no reason why ether Chris or Colin should ever find out about it, so I suppose it was stupid to feel that way.

I put my specs back on, took the photo back to Chris's room and went downstairs to watch TV, and I was still there when Chris got back from his game. Colin was with him, looking as stunning as ever, and again I had to try not to stare.

"Did you win?" I asked.

"Four-one," said Chris. "I scored one and Colin got two. Dwayne got the other one. So what have you been doing?"

"Nothing much," I said. "I probably should have come and watched you lot, because there's nothing worth watching on TV. Maybe I will next week."

"We're away next week – who've we got, Col?"

"Ravensbourne, I think. They're not too far away – you could get there on your bike easy. Or there might be room in someone's car – you could probably come with us if you want."

Sharing a car with Colin – wedged against him in the back seat, squashed right up close because there were four people on a seat made for three, perhaps…

"Hello!" yelled Chris in my ear. "Is there anyone at home? Colin was talking to you."

"Huh? Oh, sorry, I was miles away… Yes, okay, if there's room in your car I'd definitely like to come. Thanks, Col."

Of course, probably Colin would sit in the front next to his mum and I'd be wedged against my brother instead, or against the kid with the big ears or someone like that. But perhaps his dad would come as well, and then Colin would have to sit in the back…

"It won't be a very good game," Chris warned me. "They're bottom of the league, so we should win by miles. But you won't have to run up and down to follow the action: just stand next to their goal and you'll see everything close up. You'll get to see me score some goals, for a start."

"And me," added Colin. "In fact everyone ought to score next week – we'll probably even let Ryan come up for corners so he gets a chance, too."

I knew that Ryan was the goalkeeper – he was another blond, blue-eyed boy, the only one in the team who was as tall as Colin, though he didn't have Colin's perfect features.

"You can keep count if you decide to come," said Chris. "Mr Clifford usually runs the line at away games, so he doesn't always keep up with who scores for us. I don't want Col claiming more goals than he actually scores."

"Bet I get more than you!"

"Well, you should – you're supposed to be our main striker. It would be shameful if you let someone else score more than you."

"I might just be unselfish and set them up for someone else."

"And you might just miss and pretend you were trying to pass instead of shoot."

"Just because you can't even score a penalty."

"It was only once! That was the first time I'd missed one all season!"

"Yeah, right."

They grabbed each other and started wrestling, and I watched with interest: it was exciting watching Colin exerting himself, his shirt coming untucked and revealing a couple of inches of bare flesh around his waist… I sat down hurriedly, afraid that if I didn't the state of my trousers would be a dead giveaway.

There was a hoot on a car horn from outside the house and Colin stood up and said he had to go, but that he'd see Chris at school next day. And away he went.

Chris

I didn't get a chance to retrieve the laptop and camera until Monday evening, when Kev was busy at Chess Club. I'd been a bit worried about letting him wear his glasses in his bedroom, but he was right that it was a bit unfair to make him leave them downstairs at the weekend after he'd finished his homework. But, glasses or no glasses, he apparently hadn't noticed the camera, so there was no harm done.

When I watched the film from Sunday morning I couldn't believe it and had to watch it again in case I'd been seeing things that weren't there. But no, I'd been right the first time: my brother was actually wanking while looking at a photo of my football team. Well, obviously, this had me shaking my head in disbelief: my brother was gay??? Up to now I hadn't read anything into his lack of a girlfriend, or of any professed interest in a particular girl. For a start, we go to a boys-only school, which limits contact with girls rather, and for a second, with the best will in the world Kev is hardly a girl-magnet – those glasses would put most girls off. But now it looked as if he wasn't interested anyway.

Don't get me wrong here – I don't have a problem with gay boys. One of the boys in our football team reckons he's gay, and although we tease him a bit we're still mates with him – actually he's a good laugh. But when it's your own brother – well, it still comes as something of a shock. And then of course there was the question of who exactly he was looking at in the photo while he was playing with himself. I looked at it myself – it was on the shelf above the computer – and tried to guess. I'm not sure what makes a boy attractive to other boys, but I'd guess looks had to be the most important thing. Well, probably at least half the team could be considered good-looking, but as I had no idea whether Kev liked blonds or brunettes… or maybe it was Lee's red hair he fancied – or could he perhaps have a thing for black boys like Dwayne?

No, there was no way I was going to guess: I'd just have to ask him. Because now I really had him in the palm of my hand: that film of him doing it while thinking about someone on my team was absolute dynamite. I thought Kev would do absolutely anything to avoid having it shown to anyone, and that meant that I could do pretty much anything I wanted to him and he'd just have to put up with it. This called for some serious planning: how was I going to play this, and how was I going to punish my brother for taking my photo? And for wearing his specs upstairs, for that matter, though that paled into insignificance beside perving over my friends.

I thought for a while, but this was just too huge for me to deal with on my own, so I called Mark and asked him to come over. Mark doesn't live too far away, so he was with me inside half an hour. I told him what I'd found out and then showed him the film, and he was as surprised as I was.

"I'd never have guessed Kevin was gay," he said.

"Me neither. So what are we going to do about it?"

We looked at each other and cracked up – obviously we were both thinking similar thoughts here.

"We could do absolutely anything, couldn't we?" he said, his eyes shining.

"Yes, we could. I don't want to go completely overboard, though – he's still my brother."

"Yes, but he definitely needs teaching a lesson. I mean, I'm in that photo – I just hope it wasn't me he was looking at."

"I doubt it. I'd guess it was one of the big blondies – Colin or Ryan or Clive. He wouldn't be looking at a little dark dwarf like you."

Mark hit me, which I suppose I'd asked for, but at four feet seven [1.40 m] he was one of the smaller kids in the team, as well as being four inches shorter than me and seven inches shorter than Colin.

"We're going to have to find out who he fancies, though," he said.

"I reckon we can make him tell us. But this really is too good to miss, so what else are we going to do to him?"

"Well, to start with you're going to make a copy of that film and give it to me – you can put it on my USB stick. That way if he goes completely bananas and smashes up your computer we'll still have the evidence. And then we could rig up more cameras in his room so that he knows we can see everything he does. And… we could stop him wanking altogether for a month or so. That would be fun."

"How are we going to do that?"

"We'd need to find someone in his form at school to help us, but if we can do that we can make sure that he never gets an opportunity to play with himself. What we do is this…"

He explained his idea, and I thought it was brilliant – we could humiliate Kevin completely, and gradually we'd get more and more of our friends involved… This, I thought, was going to be tremendous fun.

We copied the film onto Mark's USB stick, and I also made another copy on a DVD and hid it away inside an old encyclopaedia in my bookcase – just as insurance – and then we waited for Kev to get home from Chess Club. Boy, was he in for a surprise…

Chapter Two

In which Kev find out how much trouble he's in and enters the world of football management.

[Additional author's note: if you're not British and of a certain age you might want to skip this paragraph, which is likely to seem like gibberish, and in any case nothing in it makes any difference at all to the actual story — you can consider it purely as a sort of Easter egg… anyway, it took me a long time to find a title for this story. While I was writing it I simply referred to it as 'Kevin and Chris', which is about as boring a title as you could ask for. Eventually I hit on the existing title, which still isn't great, but which will just about do, I think. But I was seriously thinking of calling it Mornington Crescent, not because it has any connection at all with the London thoroughfare and underground station of that name, but because of something which all the juvenile characters in this story have in common (though I readily admit that an ability to speak certain foreign languages, while not indispensable, will make the connection a little easier to spot – French, German, Italian and Greek would all be useful). If you do spot the connection and understand what I'm talking about I invite you to write to me at the end of the story telling me which character would be most likely to win the game, and why.]

Kevin

Chess Club went well that evening and I was in a good mood when I got home. I didn't have too much homework, either, but I dumped my bag in the study and then went through to the kitchen to get my supper. There was a plate already waiting for me – Chris would have had his earlier – so I put it in the microwave and then polished it off quickly.

Once I'd finished I headed back to the study, but before I got there Chris called to me from upstairs, asking me to come up. I decided to keep my specs on – after all, if Chris was with me he could see I wasn't watching TV in my room or otherwise wasting time. And when I got to his room I found him and Mark sitting on the bed grinning at me.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"I've just got a couple of questions," said Chris. "First, did you wear your glasses upstairs before we agreed you could?"

"No," I said, firmly.

"And second, what do you think about when you're playing with yourself?"

I gaped at him: that question would have been intrusive enough if we'd been alone, but with Mark sitting next to him it was unbelievable.

"Mind your own business," I replied.

"What he means," said Mark, "is what type of girls you like – blondes, brunettes, what?"

"Oh. Well, blondes, I suppose."

"And what about boys?"

"Huh?"

"What type of boys do you like?"

I stared at them. Had I slipped up somehow? I didn't think so, but maybe Chris had noticed that I'd got hard watching him and Colin wrestling the previous morning.

"What makes you think I like boys at all?" I said.

"We know you do," said Chris. "Don't worry, we're cool with it… we were just wondering what sort of boys you find attractive. I mean, suppose you were looking at our football team…"

He got up, walked over to the bookcase and handed me the photo.

"Which of them do you think is best-looking?" he asked.

"Look, what is this? I've got homework to do, Chris – I'm going back downstairs."

"It was only a question, no need to get your knickers in a twist. See, I've got this bit of film here, and… well, I'll show you. Come and see."

I followed him over to his computer, and he hit a couple of keys – and I just about fainted: I felt a rush of blood, and I clutched the back of his chair for support.

"Where… I mean, how…" I croaked.

"It doesn't matter how. What matters is that we've got it – and we've made some copies, too. Whether anyone else gets to see it depends on you."

I stared at him, not knowing what to say, but I was thinking frantically: was he bluffing when he said there were copies? Could I get onto his computer and delete the film? Somehow I thought I wouldn't be able to do that, and I also thought he was sensible enough to have made copies, too. And if he hadn't thought to do that, Mark certainly would have done.

"So what do you want?" I asked.

"Oh, good, you're going to be sensible. Well, the first thing we want to know is who in the photo you were thinking about?"

"I'm not telling you!"

"You'll just get punished even worse if you don't."

"What do you mean, 'punished'?"

"Well, you wore your glasses upstairs, despite promising not to. You have to be punished for that. And you went into my room without permission and stole my photo."

"I put it back!"

"Only after you'd used it for wanking off to. That definitely needs punishing."

"What sort of punishment?"

"We both think you wank far too much, so we're going to make you stop. Mark's going to rig up a camera in your bedroom so that we can monitor you from now on, and you'll have to be supervised when you use the bathroom. And you won't be allowed in the house when I'm not here, so you won't be able to sneak off and do it somewhere other than your bedroom, either. If you're good we'll let you do it once a week or so, but of course you'll have to do it in front of the camera. Any attempt to avoid this punishment will result in the film being shown to someone else."

"But…" I gaped at him. "Come on, Chris, that's ridiculous! You can't stop me from doing… you know… in my own bedroom!"

"We're not stopping you. But every time you do another member of the team is going to see the film."

"And if I do what you say nobody else will see it?"

"That's right."

"Okay, then: how do you know I won't just do it at school?"

"Good point. We'll have to think about that… maybe we can find someone in your form to keep an eye on you for us – and until we do you'll have to come and report to me at the start of every break."

"But… God, Chris, you can't do that!"

"I think I can. And you'll thank me in the end, because I'm sure all that wanking can't be good for you. You'll get hairs on the palm of your hand, or something."

"That's just an old wives' tale!"

"Then maybe it'll make you go blind. Perhaps that explains your glasses… anyway, there's no point in arguing, because it's going to happen. And remember, as long as you stick to the agreement nobody else will ever have to find out about it…"

I didn't say anything else, but I was already trying to think of ways to get around this. Obviously there would be times when I was alone in the house, and provided I stayed out of my room I'd be able to do whatever I wanted. I know he'd said I wouldn't be allowed in the house when he wasn't there, but I didn't see how he could stop me. Okay, I might have to cut down a bit if they actually did rig up a camera in my room, but I was confident that they wouldn't be able to stop me altogether. As long as they didn't tell anyone else I thought everything would be okay, and I trusted my brother enough to know that he would keep his word: as long as he didn't think I was disobeying him everything would still be okay…

Chris

I was pretty sure Kev was already trying to think of ways to get around this, and it was up to me and Mark to make sure that he couldn't. The first job was to sort out the camera for his room, and Mark was sure he could deal with that because his uncle was in the business of supplying cameras and security systems in general, and Mark was sure that we could pick up some second-hand stuff fairly cheaply. I said I'd leave that side of things up to him, and he grinned at me and told me he was looking forward to it.

Once he'd gone home I went downstairs and Kev and I got on with our homework. I was quite impressed by the fact that Kev didn't moan or try to wheedle his way around me, but then he isn't the sort to whinge too much. I respect him for that, but it isn't going to stop me having a lot of fun with him…

After we'd been working on our homework for about an hour – in fact, I'd almost finished mine – Kev said he needed the loo.

"You'll have to wait," I told him. "I'll have finished this in ten minutes, and after that I'll be free to come and supervise you."

"Oh, come on," he protested. "I only want a pee, so I won't have time to do… you know, anything else. You can time me if you want."

"Not good enough. You'll have to wait, unless you want us to show the film to someone else."

And, faced with that ultimatum, he did the sensible thing and waited until I'd finished my homework. Once I'd done everything and put my books back in my bag ready for the morning I said "Come on, then," and led him upstairs. He went into the bathroom and tried to close the door, but I told him he wasn't allowed to do that from now on.

"Anytime you're in here you leave the door wide open," I told him. "That way I can pop in and check if I think you're playing with yourself."

He didn't look happy, but he left the door open, and so as soon as he started peeing I walked in, stood next to him and watched. He looked as if he was going to die of embarrassment.

"Make sure you shake off properly," I said. "But no more than three shakes, or I'll think you're trying to give yourself nice feelings."

He glared at me but somehow kept his mouth shut, which I thought was quite impressive under the circumstances. Once he'd washed his hands I let him get back to his homework while I went and watched TV, and twenty minutes or so later he came and joined me. I waited until the next commercial break and then hit the mute button on the remote.

"What you were saying on Sunday about coming to watch us play next week," I began. "I think that's a really good idea. It means we'll be able to keep an eye on you, and it also means we'll pretty soon find out which member of the team you were perving over – we'll just have to watch who you spend most time staring at."

"Oh. Doesn't it worry you, letting me come and watch knowing that… well, you know… that I like boys?"

"Not really. I'm pretty sure it isn't me you fancy… I mean, it isn't, is it?"

"No!" he said, a little too forcefully for my liking.

"Why? Do you think I'm gross, or something?"

"No, but… hell, Chris, you're my brother!"

"So? Sometimes people do fancy their own family. I mean, it's pretty sordid, and I'm glad you don't, but… anyway, we're pretty sure it isn't Mark, either… no, I can see that it isn't. And as we're the only ones who know about you – so far, at least – nobody else is going to care about you being there while we're getting changed…. So you don't think I'm gross, then?"

"No! I reckon you look okay, to be honest… I mean, I've never looked at you… you know, that way, but you're still pretty good-looking."

"But not as good-looking as someone else in the team?"

"Sorry, Chris, but I'm still not telling you. You'd tear me to pieces if you had a name."

"I'm not sure that I would… well, it would depend who it was, of course. If it turned out to be Grant I might."

"Which one's Grant?"

"The little one with wingnut ears."

"It's not Grant."

"I didn't think so – even someone as blind as you couldn't fancy ears like that. Don't worry, sooner or later I'm going to find out, and when I do… well, it will depend who it is. If you've got good taste I won't rip you apart half as much as I would if you fancied Grant. Anyway, you can come to training with me this week and tell Mr Clifford that you want to help out. I'm sure he'll find you something to do, even if it's just cleaning everyone's boots for them… just kidding, we all do our own boots. Still, perhaps you could do mine for me from now on – after all, I think you should get some penalty for sneaking uninvited into my room."

Again he didn't argue, and that made me very happy, because cleaning my boots is a chore I really don't enjoy very much.

For the next three days nothing much happened: Kev came to see me at the start of each break at school, and on the couple of occasions he said he needed a pee either Mark or I went with him to make sure he didn't do anything more. I left the webcam rigged up in his room and kept him from wearing his glasses upstairs, and every time he took a shower I went to the room with him and supervised him. He seemed to find that highly embarrassing, but when he complained I said I'd get Mark to come round and do it instead if he preferred, and that shut him up.

On the Friday Mark told me he'd found a complete set of surveillance cameras, and we arranged that Kevin would raid his bank account to provide the money – after all, they were for his benefit, I told him – and Mark would then rig them up at the weekend. And after school Kev came with us to football practice and I introduced him to Mr Clifford…

Kevin

Mr Clifford turned out to be exactly what I had imagined: a middle-aged guy who looked like a school PE teacher, all muscles and short haircut. But when he opened his mouth he didn't sound at all like a teacher – he was polite and friendly.

"So how come you want to help?" he asked. "Has your brother been twisting your arm?"

"Well, maybe a little. But I like watching him play, and just because I can't play myself – obviously – it doesn't mean that I wouldn't like to help in some way, even if it's just answering the phone or running errands and stuff."

"Oh, I think we can do better than that. Do you know the rules of football?"

"Sort of. My school plays rugby, but I played a bit at primary school, and I like watching on TV."

"Then perhaps we can get you running the line sometimes, or even taking a proper referee's course – everyone thinks refs are blind anyway, so the glasses won't be a problem. Of course, you'd get some stick from the players, and probably from their parents, but if you can learn to handle it you might find you even enjoy it after a bit. Otherwise you can help me sort out the kit, or perhaps you could take a first aid course and learn how to use the magic sponge. There's plenty of ways you could help."

I particularly liked the First Aid idea, since that was exactly what I had fantasised about, but even being a linesman would give me a first-class view of the game.

"The only thing I'll say is this," Mr Clifford went on. "If you decide you want to do this I'll want to see you regularly. You won't be any good to us if we can't rely on you. And that means you turn up any time your brother does, even if it's tipping it down with rain or blowing a gale. If that's okay with you I'll be glad to have you helping."

In view of the weather we'd had so far this year – quite a lot of snow at the beginning of January, with more on and off since, and rain when it wasn't actually snowing – I wasn't sure how keen I was about that. On the other hand, I knew if it was too bad the games would be called off, as had already happened a couple of times because of snow on the pitch, and I assumed that, unless I was linesman – which I didn't think would happen until I'd learned the rules properly – I'd be safe and dry in the dug-out anyway. Of course, that just showed how little I knew, because I eventually found out that at this level there weren't any dug-outs: trainers and supporters just stood at the side of the pitch and got wet.

I didn't have a lot to do that evening, though: instead I was able to watch the team doing some physical training – running, passing, heading, more running and so on – and then playing a practice seven-a-side game in which you weren't allowed to touch the ball more than twice before passing or shooting. Unfortunately most of the boys wore jogging bottoms that covered their legs – it was still only February, after all – and that meant I didn't get to admire Colin's legs. And at the end of the training session I had to leave straight away, because Colin's mother wanted to get back home, and that meant I didn't get to find out whether anyone used the showers in the changing room, or whether instead they went straight home and showered there, as Colin and Chris did.

Once we got home Chris went and had a shower and I went to my room, shut the door and masturbated – after all, if Mark really had found some cameras and would be fitting them up next day, as Chris had told me, this might be the last chance I got, at least without having to find somewhere else to do it. I didn't draw it out because I wanted to be downstairs doing my homework by the time Chris got out of the shower, but it still felt good. I thought helping with the team would probably give me plenty of material to think about, but I wasn't sure it would be quite so easy to find an opportunity to actually do it.

I cleaned up and went downstairs to the study. Okay, you'll say that I should have checked my room before doing it, especially since I'd already been caught on a camera I didn't know about, but when your penis is doing the thinking you don't always stop to think about things like that. And I think, too, that I was distracted by the thought of cameras being set up next day: somehow I equated 'cameras tomorrow' with 'no camera today', which, as I discovered half an hour later, simply wasn't true.

"Oh dear, Kev," said Chris as he came into the study. "Now you're in real trouble. You know you're not allowed to play with yourself, and yet there you were half an hour ago, lying on your bed and thinking about… well, we'll find out eventually. You know what that means, don't you? So who should we tell first? We could do it by squad number – that would make Ryan first – or alphabetically – that would be… Charlie, I think. Or I could just pick a name out of a hat. Unless you have any preference, of course…"

"No! I mean… come on, Chris, please? I can put up with you and Mark knowing, but please don't tell anyone else…"

Chris

It was fun seeing Kev get into a state about it, but I'm not really cruel and – as I've said before – he's still my brother, and I didn't want to go overboard on him. Or at least, not yet…

"Tell you what," I said. "We have to tell someone, because that's the rule, but as it's the first time we'll tell them about catching you wanking but we won't tell them you're gay, or about the photo. That seems reasonable. And I think we'll start with Colin, because, after all, he knows you already and I don't think he'll be too shocked. And I can trust him not to tell anyone else, too: after all, he thinks you're okay. Of course, if he'd still think that if he knew about the photo is another matter, but we won't tell him that. But this is your last warning: the next person we tell gets to hear everything."

"Please, Chris, don't tell Colin," he begged. "I mean, he's round here quite a lot and… well, I don't want him laughing at me."

"Sorry. He's my mate, and I share good stuff with my mates. So – shall we get on with our homework?"

He didn't look at all happy, but again he didn't argue, and for that reason I decided I was not going to tell Colin about him being gay. Actually I don't think it would have bothered Colin at all – he really does think my brother is okay, and he was quite pleased about Kev coming to help out at football. He says some big brothers are complete bastards, and that I'm really lucky to have one who's basically pretty decent. Still, having people find out you're gay must be scary, and so Mark and I have agreed to keep that part of things to ourselves. And now we've got a film of Kev wanking without the team photo beside him there's no reason to tell anyone that bit just yet. Of course, if Kev starts messing us about I could easily change my mind…

Anyway, next morning Mark came round carrying a big box, and by the time Mrs Jordan called to say that lunch was ready he had finished rigging things up. I kept Kev downstairs with me while Mark was working upstairs and then supervised him in the bathroom while he was washing his hands ready to eat, and that left Mark free to pop another camera into the living room. We wanted to make sure all avenues were covered, after all.

Once we had eaten we took Kev back upstairs and showed him some of the cameras. Well, obviously we didn't show him all of them – we only showed him the two that look like cameras, one in his bedroom and one in the bathroom pointing at the shower. Nobody else uses the bathroom that he and I use, so there was no danger of it accidentally filming our parents (which would have been really gross!).

We didn't show him the covert ones: the one hidden inside a desk-light in my room (I thought he might well try doing it there on the assumption that I wouldn't bug my own room), the second one in the bathroom hidden in a sponge-bag identical to mine, or the one in the living room hidden in one of the bookshelves. And nor did we show him where the receiver box was (it was actually in my wardrobe).

"Now," I told him, "when you're in your own room you're not to try moving outside of the camera's range. It's a wide angle, so you probably couldn't anyway. And nor are you to try moving it or putting anything in front of it. If you do that we'll assume you were breaking the rules and punish you." And, I didn't add, we'll probably still see you anyway, because I intended leaving my webcam hidden in his bookcase. "The same in the bathroom, and in any case you're not allowed to close the bathroom door." And if the overt camera didn't catch him, the covert one would, because that covered the whole room including the toilet. "And there's a microphone under your bed, too, and if we pick up any rhythmic sounds on it – you know what I mean – or even think you're trying to do it in bed, we'll find a way to stop you. Tying your wrists to the headboard, perhaps. And I'll be checking your pyjamas and sheets for stains, too. Face it, Kev, your wanking days are over.

"You won't be here at any time when I'm not – you'll be coming to football with me anyway, and while our parents are away my friends will be coming to visit me instead of me going to them. And between me and the cameras you're going to be covered at all times.

"You're not allowed to visit any of your friends, either, but you can invite them over here if you want – though you'll have to think of a good explanation for the cameras if you do."

Actually Kev didn't have a lot of friends, and he hardly ever went to other boys' houses, so I thought this wouldn't be too great a hardship. But he still didn't look at all happy when I finished explaining what his immediate future looked like…

Kevin

This was worse than I had expected, and it got worse still when Chris went and locked the spare bedrooms and took the keys away, because I'd been intending to use one or other of them – I figured he wouldn't have enough cameras to cover those rooms, because, even second-hand, they weren't what I would call cheap. I could only hope he'd get lax about keeping track of me after a week or two, and then maybe I could sneak off to the attic or somewhere.

Of course I still had Monday evenings: Chris went straight home from school on Mondays, whereas I stayed behind for Chess Club or matches, and that meant that at least I could count on nipping off to the bogs to masturbate after the match or at the end of club evenings. But once a week in the school toilets wasn't what I was used to at all. Still, I didn't complain, because I knew there would be no point, and I thought that if I made a fuss about it things might get even worse.

The following morning Colin arrived with his mother to take us to the game, and I got my first job as assistant manager… oh, okay, then, let's be honest and call me the club dogsbody – by handing out the registration cards to the players when they lined up before the game. The cards all have a photo on, and the idea is to stop teams playing unregistered players, because each manager inspects the other team's cards before the game and makes sure the photo is of the player holding the card. Anyway, Mr Clifford thought this would be a good way for me to get to know the players, and so I gave them out to our players and collected them again once the Ravensbourne manager had checked them.

Once I'd done that my official duties were over until after the match and I was able just to stand near the Ravensbourne goal and count the goals as they went in because, as Chris and Colin had warned me, this was a very one-sided game. I'd brought a little notebook with me to keep track of who scored, and the team kept me good and busy with it. I hadn't learned all the names yet, of course, so I just jotted down the shirt number of each scorer, and after the match I totted up the totals.

"Come on, then," said Chris, as the players clamoured round me, "who scored most goals?"

"Colin," I said, trying to keep my voice from giving away my satisfaction. "He got five. Then Number Ten got three, Number Seven got three, Dwayne got two, Mark got two, and Chris, Ryan and Number Fourteen got one each."

"Hah!" said Colin. "In your face, Stratford!"

"Shut up," said Chris, mildly enough. "I set you up with two of them, remember?"

"Bet you were trying to shoot. And even the goalie got as many goals as you did!"

"That's 'cos we let him take the penalty," Chris pointed out. "Next week I'll play up front and you can drop back into midfield, and then we'll see who scores most."

"Yes, okay – we've got the Royals next week, and they're top of the league, remember? I bet you don't score five against them."

"Bet you don't score at all!"

"Well, neither will you."

"Break it up, you two," said Mark, getting in between them. "You can talk about it on the way home if you want – right now Cliffie's waiting to tear into us for not scoring twenty."

That was almost true, as it turned out: once we were back in the dressing room Mr Clifford said that the team had done well enough, but that they'd missed a whole host of other chances. "Next week you'll only get a couple of chances, and you have to put them away," he went on. "Today you missed some absolute sitters. Okay, this was an easy game, but you can't sit back and take things for granted: you still have to work. Two weeks ago North End put twenty-six past this lot, and they're not as good as you're supposed to be…"

And so on, for another five minutes or so. Quite what he'd be like if they actually lost a game I couldn't imagine. Anyway, then we got to what should have been the good bit: he gave me a plastic bin-liner and told me to collect everyone's kit while he went and signed the paperwork with the other manager and the referee. Except the next thing that happened was that Chris took my glasses and… well, without them I couldn't see well enough to see what he did with them.

"No perving," he whispered in my ear. "You can have these back once everyone is dressed."

So I stood holding the bag open in the middle of the room while the players stripped off their kit and dropped it in before heading for the showers. And I simply couldn't see anything… well, you know what I mean. It was really frustrating, but there was nothing I could do about it.

Once I was fairly sure everyone had got in the showers I yelled "Any more kit?" and when I got no answer I closed the bag, groped my way to the bench by the door and sat down to wait for Chris to give me my specs back. And, to my surprise, he came and handed them to me three or four minutes later, while most of his team-mates were still in the shower.

"Here you are," he said, quietly. "But if you get a boner we'll punish you when we get home!"

I thought that was worth the risk, and I put them on, noting that Chris had put his own boxers back on before returning them to me. But only a couple of others had reached that point, and more than half the team was still in the showers. So, making sure I wasn't being too obvious about it, I started looking around.

As it turned out the boy who was nearest to me was Grant, the kid with the wingnut ears, and he really didn't have anything worth looking at: he hadn't started to develop at all, and so it was tiny. But beyond Grant was one of the taller defenders – I couldn't remember his name – and he had much more to look at: he had a substantially larger penis than Grant, and it was circumcised, which I thought made it look interesting. And he was just starting to get a little hair, too…

And of course the obvious result of looking at him was some twitching in my jeans. I hunched forward to make it less obvious, but Chris was already looking at me and shaking his head slowly, so he clearly hadn't missed it.

And then Colin emerged from the showers with a towel around his waist. Since Chris was already watching me I didn't dare look in Colin's direction for more than a couple of seconds, so I returned my attention to the circumcised boy, who was just about to put his boxers back on. And once he was covered up I looked casually around the room, trying not to linger on Colin, who was standing with his back to me on the far side of the room and towelling his hair dry.

As the remainder of the team came back from the showers I got enough glimpses to keep me happy for a long time, though Colin kept his back to me throughout, which was a pity. And once the last boy had pulled his underwear back on I stood up, holding the kit bag in front of my still-tented jeans, yelled "Any more kit?" once more, accepted the donations of a belated pair of shorts and some socks, and then took the bag back to where Mr Clifford was waiting outside.

"Thank you," he said, taking the bag and handing me a small booklet in return. "Here are the rules of Association Football. There are only seventeen of them, so it's not too complicated. Pay particular attention to Rule Eleven – that's about offside – but you'll need to know all of them before you can officiate properly. I'll test you next week, and if you're okay on them maybe I'll ask you to run the line in two weeks' time."

That promised to be interesting – and maybe if I'd been running up and down the line I'd need a shower after the match… although, come to think of it, the idea of sharing a shower with the team was both wonderful and completely impossible, because if I did it was a certainty that I'd react to my surroundings in an unmistakable way, and that would surely get a hostile reaction.

Still, even if I couldn't risk having a shower, at least it would give me a valid excuse to be in the changing room. I thought I was going to enjoy my Sunday mornings from now on…

Already Kevin's cloud is showing signs of being lined with silver – which is not to say that he's going to be happy with the developments in the next chapter.

Chapter Three

In which Kevin learns that not all boys mature at the same time, and Mark teaches Kevin a new trick.

Chris

Once Colin's mum dropped us off at home – and today Colin didn't come in with us because he was going to be coming round for tea instead – I took Kev up to his room and told him to sit on the bed.

"So?" I asked. "Did you enjoy yourself? I'm talking about the football, not being in the changing room afterwards."

"Well, yes," he said. "I mean, it was a bit one-sided, and probably next week will be a better game, but it was fun watching. And there was some really good play, too, even if you were up against some pretty rubbish players. So I don't mind coming to watch every week – in fact I'd want to even if you didn't tell me I had to."

"Good. Of course I might not let you in the changing room next week, or at least I might not let you wear your specs at all, because it'll be embarrassing if you keep getting hard like you did today. So which one were you looking at – Grant or Charlie?"

"Charlie," he said, which didn't surprise me, because I suppose you'd say Charlie is sort of buff, if you were into boys. He has interesting green eyes, though I'll bet it wasn't his eyes that Kev was looking at this morning.

"Well, I suppose it's okay for you to look, but you're not supposed to get stiff. That's going to be a bit of a give-away if anyone notices, isn't it? Actually, that might well be a good way to help keep it under control: once you start running the line we'll make you shower with us, and then if you get stiff everyone will see and guess why."

"Come on, Chris – I thought you said you weren't going to tell anyone?"

"I'm not, but if people see you with a stiffy and draw their own conclusions, that won't be my fault, will it? Anyway, you'll probably be safe enough because you won't have your specs on in the shower, and so you won't be able to see anything clearly enough for it to get you going."

"I suppose so, but I'd sooner not take the risk, just in case."

"Then you'll just have to learn to control yourself, won't you? And don't forget that you have to be punished for going stiff this morning after I told you not to. Mark's coming round straight after lunch, and once he gets here we'll decide what to do with you. Maybe we'll tell Colin you're gay after all…"

"No, don't, please!"

"Well, we'll have to think of something. I'll talk to Mark and we'll find some suitable way of teaching you a lesson. Anyway, I'm off to get changed – I'll see you at lunch."

I went to my room and closed the door, making sure that I put a book in front of my desk-light before I took my clothes off: the last thing I wanted was to get caught by my own security camera. I still didn't intend telling anyone about Kev being gay, though it was fun winding him up about it, and when Mark came round after lunch he said he agreed with me.

"It would be a bit bad," he said. "Besides, if we do it too quickly we'll lose all our leverage. But I've been thinking, and I reckon there would be a better member of the team than Colin to tell first."

"Really? Who?"

"The Magic Microbe."

"Huh? Why him, Mark? He's only been in the team a few weeks!"

"Yes, but he'd be perfect, because he's got a brother in Kev's form. And if we tell the Microbe and he tells his brother – or if we tell his brother at the same time as we tell him – it'll mean we'll have someone to keep an eye on Kev while he's at school. We won't have to keep checking up on him ourselves."

"Yes, but… I mean, I hardly know the Microbe… in fact I can't even think of what his real name is…"

"Luke," Mark supplied.

"Right. Anyway, I don't know him very well, and I don't know his brother at all, so what makes you think he'll go along with it?"

"I know his brother. He goes to Computer Club at school, same as I do. And I reckon he'd be up for it. He's a total geek, and he doesn't seem to have a whole lot of friends – at least, every time I see him outside of the Club he seems to be on his own. I think he'd be quite keen, to be honest."

"Well, do you want to sound him out tomorrow?" I asked. "We don't have to tell Colin anything this afternoon, after all. If Microbe Senior isn't interested, we can still tell Col instead, can't we?"

"Okay, let's do that," he agreed. "After all, Kev did say he didn't want us to tell Colin about him…"

Kevin

I was really scared Chris would tell Colin about me being gay, and that if he did Colin would never speak to me again. Okay, he didn't speak to me very much now, but at least when he did it was always in a friendly way. To be completely fair, both Mark and Chris himself were still speaking to me in a friendly way, but somehow I was afraid that Colin would be different. In fact I thought that even if he found about Chris's film of me wanking it would be enough to make him hate me.

All right, I know that's sort of illogical – after all, I suppose almost all boys masturbate, and Colin probably wouldn't be any different. But it's still something you want to keep to yourself…

Mark came round after lunch, and he and Chris spent quite a while talking in Chris's room. I was afraid they were plotting something nasty, but in fact when they came into my room afterwards I discovered that they'd decided to give me a reprieve.

"We're not going to tell Colin about you this afternoon," Chris told me. "We're thinking about telling someone else on the team instead, because I know you don't want Colin to find out what a pervert you are… But if we do agree to tell someone else there are going to be a couple of conditions."

"Okay," I said, before he could change his mind. "Um… what conditions?"

"First, you have to promise to go on doing what you're told, and to accept whoever we decide to tell without arguing, whatever the consequences might be. And second, you have to go over to Mark's house after supper and clean his boots."

"And tidy my room, and do anything else I decide needs doing," added Mark.

Well, that didn't sound too bad. I was a bit more worried about the other part, though.

"What do you mean about consequences?" I asked.

"I don't know yet," said Chris. "But depending who we tell, there might be things that happen – like whoever it is might want their boots cleaned, too."

I've said before that cleaning boots isn't the way I'd choose to spend my spare time, but it was a whole lot better than having Colin see the film of me and wondering who in the photo I was thinking about. So…

"Okay, I agree," I said.

"Good. Then you can clean my boots now, just to get you in the mood. I've left them down in the utility room, and I expect them to look brand new when you've finished. If not we'll have to punish you – we've been thinking of ways to do that, too. We'll draw up a proper list later, but it'll include things like fining you part or all of your allowance, making you miss meals – especially when it's lasagne, or something else that you like – putting you in detention – that'll mean locking you in your cupboard, I expect – or beating you. Don't worry, we won't go overboard if we do that!"

I didn't like the sound of that at all, but I supposed it was sort of logical, and I'd prefer any of those things to having Colin find out about me.

"And remember, if we catch you playing with yourself at any time we'll tell someone else about you," he reminded me. "So don't think you can sneak off to the toilet when you're supposed to be cleaning my boots, because if you do and we catch you…"

I went downstairs to the utility room and found Chris's dirty boots standing on a sheet of newspaper next to the sink. There were a couple of brushes there, too, but I decided to start by getting the mud off under the tap. I was careful not to get water inside the boots, because somehow I thought Chris wouldn't be very happy if I did that…

It took me about half an hour to get them clean and dry, and when I thought the job was done I went and found Chris – he and Mark were playing on his Xbox – and showed him.

"Not bad," he said. "Next time you'll have to take the laces out and wash them, though – there's still mud on them, look. But as it's your first time I'll let you off for now."

The rest of the afternoon wasn't too bad at all: they let me join in with their games, and when Colin arrived all four of us played. And they never said anything to him about me, either, and so he went on treating me almost like a friend, which made me feel really good. Mark went home for tea, and I said I'd be round about half-past six, and then Chris, Colin and I ate our own meal and watched TV. And when Colin's mum came to pick him up after tea he asked if I was going to come and watch the team play again next week.

"Yes, of course," I said.

"Great! I reckon you bring me luck – I've never scored five in one match before!" he said.

"I don't care how much luck he brings, I bet you don't score at all next week," said Chris.

"Bet I do!"

"Okay, you're on. Fifty pence?"

"Make it a pound, cheapskate!"

"Agreed. Kev, you're our witness, okay? When Fumblefeet here fails to score next week he owes me a quid."

"And when I score a hat-trick, you don't only owe me a quid, but I'll expect you to kneel down in front of the whole team and apologise to me!"

Chris made a rude noise at him, and I got out of the way and watched them wrestling for a couple of minutes, which was fun. I had trouble restraining myself from joining in on Colin's side.

Once he'd gone we tidied up and I washed up without being asked, and Chris came and did the drying, which sort of surprised me, though I wasn't going to complain.

"We've got a little surprise for you," he told me, as I was getting ready to walk down the road to Mark's house – he only lived about half a mile away. "Mark found these, and we thought you ought to wear them between our house and his. After all, we don't want you to nip off into the woods to play with yourself, do we?"

'These' were a pair of handcuffs.

"Oh, come on!" I protested. "I swear I won't do that! I'll run all the way if you want, and I'll get Mark to call as soon as I arrive. I can do it in about five minutes if I keep running – and obviously I won't be able to stop on the way if I've only got five minutes…"

"Well, it's a good offer, but I think the cuffs would be more fun," he said. "Turn round."

So I turned round and he cuffed my hands behind my back.

"Mark's got the other key," he told me. "Of course, if he loses it you'll be in trouble… off you go, now!"

And he pushed me out of the door.

Mark

I suppose I should be upfront here and say that I actually quite like Kevin. I agree with Colin, in fact: I think as big brothers go he's pretty good. There are a couple of boys in our class with older brothers further up the school, and as far as I can make out both brothers are total dicks. Kevin has never thrown his weight around (not that he's got a lot of weight to throw – he's probably no heavier than Colin or Chris) or tried to boss his brother about, and whenever I've been there in the past he's always joined in stuff with us and generally treated me and Colin like we're his equals, not his kid brother's stupid little friends, or something.

On the other hand, having an older boy completely at our mercy was something I wasn't going to waste. In a way I felt sorry for him – after all, I suppose all of us wank quite a lot – but letting your brother catch you in the act… well, that's just careless, and it deserves punishing. And there was some stuff I wanted to try, and having an older boy who had to do whatever I told him was far too much of a chance to miss.

He arrived five minutes early, though he had some trouble ringing the doorbell because Chris had cuffed his hands behind his back and he had to go through all sorts of contortions to get his finger on the button. Fortunately for him I got to the door before my dad, so at least Kevin didn't have to try to explain to him why his hands were cuffed.

I took him up to my room and closed the door, locking it to make sure we wouldn't be interrupted. Since my older sister was out as usual there wasn't any serious risk of that, because my parents always respected my privacy, but it pays to be careful.

Our house is nothing like as grand as theirs: we don't have things like 'utility rooms' for a start. So I'd put some warm water in a bowl and put the bowl on top of some old newspapers next to my desk, with my boots next to them.

"Off you go, then," I said, indicating them.

"Undo my hands!" he replied.

"Ah. Now, what did I do with that key?" I pretended I'd lost it, but I could tell he didn't believe me, so, after a few seconds I produced it and undid the cuffs.

"Before you start," I said, "I don't suppose you want to get mud all over your jeans, or your shirt, so you'd better take them off."

"Huh?"

"You heard me. Take off your jeans and your shirt… actually, no: take everything off. That'll be a lot funnier."

"Oh, come on, Mark – please don't make me do that!"

"Don't keep me waiting," I said, implacably. "I want to see you naked inside sixty seconds, or I'll have to punish you."

I could see that he was thinking seriously about telling me to sod off and storming out, but he was chess-player enough to stop and assess the consequences if he did. And apparently he didn't like the conclusion he came to, because he stood up and reluctantly started to strip. And I couldn't help grinning, because I hadn't been sure that Chris would have backed me up if Kevin had gone home and complained. I mean, I thought he would, but you never know.

So Kevin got undressed, and when he was naked he knelt down in front of the bowl and started working on my boots, first getting the excess mud off with an old paper-opener I used for the purpose, and then making a start at washing the rest off. And I sat on the bed and watched him, trying not to grin too widely, because I knew that once he'd taken this first step along the path of obedience, the next one would be that much easier…

I suppose Kevin isn't exactly a typical fourteen-year-old: he's skinny and not particularly tall – about a hundred and sixty to a hundred and sixty-five centimetres, or call it five feet four in old money. Of course, that's way taller than me, but then I'm very short for my age – and at least I'm not the smallest in the team: Grant, Silvio and the Microbe are all smaller than me. Still, Kevin is probably nine inches taller than me, which is one reason I liked him kneeling down, like he was at the moment.

He's not all that big where it counts, either. Of course, I've only really got the film to go on, but he didn't look that huge when stiff, and he really hasn't got a lot of hair for fourteen. Soft, it didn't look special at all. But then I didn't intend that it was going to stay soft…

Kevin

Having to strip like that was embarrassing, though of course knowing that Mark had seen the film of me made it a little bit easier to cope with. And to be fair to him he didn't say anything or do anything to distract me while I was working on the boots: instead he just sat on his bed and watched, and after a bit I just sort of tuned his presence out and got on with the job. This time I remembered to remove the laces and wash them, and that also made it easier to get all the mud off the top of the boots. It still took quite a bit of work, though: I got the impression that this was the first time these boots had been thoroughly cleaned in ages.

Eventually I was satisfied with the result, so I told Mark I had finished, put the laces over the radiator to dry off and brought the boots to the bed for him to inspect.

"Not bad," he said. "There's still some mud here, though," and he pointed out a place where the tongue joined the rest of the boot.

"I did try to get rid of that," I said. "I think it's too deeply ground in, though."

"Hmmm. And there's still some stuck to this stud, too."

"Sorry."

"Okay, I suppose they'll do. Probably I ought to punish you for missing those two bits, but I suppose you tried to do a good job… we'll see how you get on next week. Now – lie on the bed."

"Can I get dressed?" I asked.

"Obviously not. Lie down."

So I lay down, and I was shocked when he took hold of my penis and squeezed it.

"This isn't very big, is it?" he commented.

"Well, it's big enough," I argued.

"It's pretty poor for fourteen. And you've hardly got any hair. I'm way more mature than you."

"No, you're not!" I argued. "Don't talk rubbish, Mark: you're about four feet five [1.35 m]…"

"I'm four-seven!" he interrupted.

"Okay, four-seven, then. And I'm more than two years older than you – so stop trying to wind me up by pretending I'm immature for my age."

"I'm only telling the truth," he said.

"No, you're not! I'm perfectly normal… well… okay, I'm within normal limits, then. There's no way I'm less mature than a twelve-year-old dwarf!"

"Oh, now you're dissing me. Apologise!"

"Well, okay, I didn't mean to be rude or anything, but you shouldn't tell lies like that just to see if you can get me going!"

"I keep telling you, I'm not lying."

"Okay, prove it! If you're more mature than me, I'll…"

"You'll what?"

"I don't know… apologise, I suppose."

"That's hardly good enough! Once I prove I'm more mature than you, you have to accept whatever punishment I suggest without arguing, okay?"

"Well… okay, but I think you're bluffing," I said. "So if you don't prove you're more mature than me, not only do I get let off cleaning your boots in future, but you have to try to talk Chris out of punishing me any more."

"I can't do that – it wouldn't be fair on him. But if I'm going to let you off cleaning my boots every week, if you lose the bet you have to take a punishment from me every week, too."

I thought about it. I was ninety percent certain he was bluffing: after all, I'd caught a few glimpses of his team-mates in the changing room, and not one of them seemed to be anything like as mature as me. And I remembered that when I'd been twelve I looked like Wingnut Grant, which I thought was normal for that age.

"Okay," I said. "But you can't give me a punishment that involves anyone else: this is strictly between us. And in return I won't tell Chris, or anyone else, how immature you are."

"That sounds fair."

"Okay, so how do we measure this?" I asked. "Are we just talking about who has the biggest erection?"

"No – there's a lot more to maturity than length. There's how much hair you've got, and how quickly you can shoot, and what it looks like when you do – how thick is it, how much of it is there, that sort of thing. And I reckon I can beat you on all of those counts."

"Crap!" I declared. "Come on, then: show yourself up!"

The problem was that I hadn't met any Mediterranean kids before, and I wasn't aware then of the fact that, for whatever reason, they often seem to reach puberty faster than northern Europeans like me. I had a feeling I was in trouble when Mark took his shirt off and I noticed small tufts of black hair in his armpits – I haven't got any yet. And when he pulled his pants off and stood naked in front of me I discovered that he hadn't been bluffing at all.

"Bloody hell, Mark, that's amazing!" I commented. "I don't think there are any kids in my year with hair that thick – at least, not that I've noticed."

"And we all know you've been looking," he said, grinning.

As I stared at him he started to get an erection, and of course once that happened, so did I. And once it was fully up he grabbed a ruler from his desk and measured us both.

"Okay, yours is about half an inch longer," he admitted. "But you have to admit I've got way more hair, haven't I?"

"Shit, yes!" I breathed, unable to tear my eyes away from it.

"Then we don't actually need to have a wanking contest – though it would be sort of fun, I suppose," he went on. "After all, you admit I'm more grown-up than you, so you have to be punished. I tell you what… lie down again."

I did that, and he sat down next to me, took hold of my erection and started to rub it steadily. And it felt amazing: obviously nobody had ever done it for me before, and so this was totally new… and I loved it. I didn't care that this was my kid brother's friend, or that he was younger than me, or even that he had far more pubic hair than me: instead I just closed my eyes and enjoyed the incredible sensation.

It didn't seem to take very long: soon I could feel the pressure building up and I began to writhe about.

"Getting close?" he asked, and I nodded, not trusting my voice. I thought he'd probably stop, just to frustrate me, but instead he kept going steadily until I couldn't hold it back any longer, and shot onto myself with a gasp. He pumped out three spurts and a dribble, which is rather more than I usually manage.

"Not bad," he said, keeping hold and squeezing out the last drops. "That took you about a minute and a half, which is pretty quick, and you've got some proper spunk, too… okay, it's a little bit watery, but it definitely qualifies as whitish. Did it feel good?"

"It was brilliant," I said, getting my breath back. "Thanks, Mark. So I suppose you want me to do it to you now?"

"Not exactly. It would be good to find out how that feels, but there's something else I want to try even more…"

Mark

I wasn't sure if he'd actually do this, and if he'd really thrown a wobbly about it I would probably have let him off, provided he agreed to wank me instead. But this had to be tried, so I sat on the side of the bed and ordered him to kneel in front of me.

"Now you have to suck me off," I told him.

He stared at me. "You're joking," he said. "Aren't you?"

"Nope. Come on, Kevin, you're gay – I bet you've done this for loads of boys."

"I bloody well haven't! I've never done anything with anyone until just now!"

"Bet you've wanted to, though."

"Well, maybe I have wondered how it would be if I could touch someone's thing when it's hard, or if they were to touch mine – though I had no idea it would feel that good… but that's not the point! Nobody knows I'm gay except you and Chris, and I wouldn't risk anyone finding out by trying it on with anyone, either – so I don't know anything about… you know, doing stuff with boys!"

"Well, now's your chance to learn," I told him.

"But I don't know how!"

"Well, to be honest, nor do I – I mean, I've never done anything like this before, and I haven't got a girlfriend to show me how, either. Okay, I've seen some porn online where women suck men off, but I don't really know how it works. So now we're going to find out together, and if it's half as good as people say it is you can keep doing it for me until I get a girlfriend to take over from you. All you have to do is to put it in your mouth."

This was the moment of truth: I thought if he once did this he'd be prepared to do anything else I could think of, too. And I was hoping that he'd want to explore this possibility as much as I did – after all, this is something that gay boys have to know how to do, surely? And apparently he agreed with that.

"You're not going to tell Chris or Colin or anyone about this?" he asked.

"No. I promise, Kevin. Like we agreed, this is just between you and me."

"Well… okay, then."

And to my absolute delight he leaned forward and took my stiffy in his mouth, all four and a little bit inches of it. And it hurt, too.

"Ouch!" I exclaimed. "Keep your teeth out of the way, Kev!"

"Sorry!" he said, and slipped it back in a lot more carefully. And that felt really nice – it was sort of warm and wet, and I suppose that's probably a bit like what it feels like when you put it inside a girl's vagina. Not that there's much chance of me finding out until I've grown a bit taller: for some reason girls seem to think short boys are a joke.

"That's nice, Kevin," I said. "Now you have to sort of slide it into and out of your mouth."

Instead he took it out again. "Have you got any of those porn films on your computer at the moment?" he asked. "Only if I could see one…"

"Sorry," I said. "I don't keep them. It's easy enough overriding my 'rents' Parental Control program – at least, it is if you can guess the password, and they really haven't got a clue – but I still don't actually store porn on the machine's hard drive, just in case."

I didn't tell him that I had a USB flash drive for that sort of thing, but that was because there were some things on that stick that I didn't want anyone to know about, not even Chris. See, the idea of having a girlfriend appeals to me a lot, but I've downloaded some gay stuff, too. I don't really know why, because I don't think I'm gay, but it is sort of interesting watching guys doing stuff. Anyway, I'm not risking anyone else seeing my stash of porn.

"So you'll just have to imagine it," I went on. "Just try sliding it in and out, like I said."

He put it back in his mouth and tried doing that.

"Squeeze with your lips," I said.

He did that, too.

"And keep sliding, obviously!"

And now it was feeing pretty good.

"Could you try licking it at the same time?"

He could, and now it felt even better.

"A bit faster… yes, now you've got it! Keep going, Kevin!"

Instead he stopped again. "You will warn me when it's going to shoot out, won't you?" he said.

"I thought I wasn't mature enough to do that?" I said, grinning at him. "But yes, of course I will. Except you have to keep it in your mouth until I've finished, or it'll ruin the feeling. Anyway, I think my stuff tastes good. Now get on with it!"

He started again, and now he definitely had the technique right, because it felt great, ten times better than when I wanked myself off. Here there was a feeling of not being in control of things, and somehow that made it way more exciting than just rubbing it myself. Soon I could feel the moment building and building, and although I tried my best to hold it back I never had a hope.

"It's coming, Kev," I warned him, holding his head in case he decided to back off. But he didn't, and even when my first spurt erupted into his mouth he kept his lips squeezed tight and his tongue pressing against the sensitive bit underneath the tip. I think I must have spurted five or six times, and I know my stuff is thicker and whiter than Kevin's, so I reckon he did really well not to back away. Finally it stopped and I was able to relax a bit.

"That's it, Kev," I said. "You can take it out now."

He did that, shuffled across the carpet on his knees and spat onto the newspaper next to the bowl of dirty water.

"That was absolutely fucking incredible," I told him. "Tell you what, Kev, if you can find a boy who wants to go out with you he's going to fall head over heels in love the first time you do that for him. I think you're really supposed to swallow it, though, not spit it out."

"I just wanted to see what it looked like," he said. "I can't really tell, though – I suppose it got diluted by my saliva. But there was loads of it."

"Of course – I'm more mature than you, remember? Anyway, next time you can swallow it."

"Okay."

Oh, what a giveaway! Not a word of argument, no protest, no "If you think I'm doing that again you have to be joking" – no, just "Okay".

"Did you like doing that?" I asked.

"Well… not really, but I suppose that's just because it's the first time I've ever done something like that, and it felt weird. It didn't hurt or anything, though, and in a way it was sort of exciting, getting you all worked up. As long as you're not going to tell anyone about it I suppose I don't mind too much."

"I won't. I think if they knew I'd got a boy to suck me they might call me names, too. Okay, it's much more gay to suck than to be sucked, but still… So we can practice that a few times, and then by the time I get a girlfriend I'll be able to tell her how to do it, and by the time you get a boyfriend you'll be expert at it."

"Okay," he said again. Yup, he was clearly okay with this – and that meant that he and I were definitely going to be spending a fair bit of time together from now on…

Kevin

"Can I ask you something?" I asked, as he began to get dressed. "Me being gay… does it bother you?"

"Not really. I suppose it means what you mean by 'bother', though.

"Well, we've always got on okay, haven't we? I mean it's not going to make you hate me or anything."

"If it means I get sucked like that every week it's not going to bother me at all – in fact I'm entirely happy about it. But I expect I'll still join in when Chris decides to punish you – that'll be fun. But I'll make sure you only get punished if you actually break the rules – after all, if you get too mad at me you might just bite it off!"

I grinned at him. "I could, at that," I said. "I don't think I will, though… can I get dressed now, please?"

"Yes, I suppose so. I'll go and get rid of the bowl while you're at it."

So I got dressed again and he took the bowl out and presumably chucked the water down the sink or something, and then he came back and led me downstairs and out of the front door. I thought that was it, but it wasn't, not quite: he made me put my hands behind my back and put the handcuffs back on.

"Oh, come on, Mark," I protested. "Obviously I'm not going to stop and play with myself on the way home, not just after…" (I lowered my voice) "…you know, after you made me shoot."

"I know," he said. "But Chris doesn't know I wanked you, and I'm not going to tell him, either, so he'll expect you to have the cuffs on. Besides, I like the idea of you having to walk home like that. It's funny. See you tomorrow," and he went back inside and closed the door.

I wasn't sure that 'funny' was the word I would have chosen: 'scary' would have been better. The road between Mark's house and ours is a country lane, with no street lights once you get past half-way, and by now it was dark. Okay, I was glad Mark had shown himself ready to keep secrets from my brother, but stumbling along a country lane in the dark and with my hands shackled behind my back was definitely a bit frightening. And to make things worse I needed a pee: I normally need to pee after I've masturbated, but tonight I hadn't had a chance to do so. And of course I couldn't get anywhere near my zip with my hands behind my back, which meant that I had to get home quickly before I had an embarrassing accident.

At one point I fell over – I lost track of where the road was and tripped onto the grass verge instead. It was a soft landing onto the grass, but the grass was a bit wet and it took me a while to get to my feet again. But I kept going, and I managed to get home before my bladder betrayed me… only to find a new problem: my house key was in my pocket, and I couldn't reach it, and nor could I reach the bell. I had to kick the door in order to try to attract Chris's attention, and by the time he finally heard me over the noise of the TV I was on the verge of wetting myself.

"Where's your key?" he asked.

"In my pocket," I said, half turning so that he could see the cuffs. "Come on, Chris, get these off – I need a pee."

"Really?" He smiled nastily. "How badly?"

"Badly," I said. "Come on, Chris, please?"

He pulled the handcuff key from his pocket and twirled it round his finger in front of my eyes.

"Come and get it," he said, retreating into the house.

I followed him in, kicking the door closed behind me, and followed him up the stairs the way a donkey follows a carrot on a stick. But instead of taking me to my room, or his, he led me into the bathroom and pushed me into the shower.

"Go on, then, pee," he said, turning me to face the camera and standing out of its line of sight.

"No way!" I cried.

"Go on," he said, turning on the basin tap to add the sound of running water to my problems. "You know you want to!"

"No!" I wriggled and danced and tried to turn my back, but he wouldn't let me.

"Do it," he insisted. "Do it, and I'll let you have a free wank later this week, without the camera running and without me watching, too. Go on, Kev, it'll be a laugh."

Pissing my jeans in front of my kid brother wasn't what I would have described as 'a laugh'.

"Two free ones," I negotiated, hideously aware that I was going to lose control in the next few seconds.

"All right, agreed," he said.

And so I gave him what he wanted, and as soon as I'd finished he undid the cuffs and told me to get undressed and have a shower, which I did, enthusiastically. And afterwards we went to his room and he showed me the playback, and I have to admit that the way my jeans slowly turned dark, and the look on my face, were pretty funny, as long as you weren't the person it was happening to. But at least it put Chris into a really good mood, and since Mark was obviously happy with me too I thought that maybe things could have been a lot worse…

So Kevin's starting to learn a new and very useful skill – it's good to be able to clean a pair of boots properly…

Chapter Four

In which Kevin is afflicted with Microbes and learns what his lips are for.

Kevin

That night I thought a lot about what had happened at Mark's house. I suppose if I'd been in any doubt about whether or not I really was gay, this would have settled it once and for all, because I'm pretty sure no straight boy would have been able to suck another boy like that. And he certainly wouldn't have enjoyed it the way I did.

Okay, I know I'd told Mark I hadn't really enjoyed it, but that was because I still wasn't sure about admitting it to him. In reality I thought it was really interesting, and I was quite looking forward to doing it again, too, especially if he was going to rub me the way he had this evening. That had felt amazing. Of course, it was too much to hope that Colin would also want me to do that for him, but I could always dream…

Next day was more or less a normal Monday, though when I went to Chess Club after school I was surprised to see Chris and Mark there. As far as I knew Chris couldn't even play chess, and Mark had never been to the club before, either. But when I asked what they were doing there they refused to tell me.

I didn't play very well that evening, because I was distracted by my brother's presence. Mark played three or four games against other members of the club, so obviously he knew how to play, and Chris sat next to him and watched. I thought perhaps they were there to keep an eye on me and to make sure I didn't sneak off to the toilets to masturbate, and if that was the idea, it worked well enough. I didn't think they'd want to come every week, though, so I wasn't too worried about it.

But it was on the Tuesday that my situation got a bit worse. When I got home after school I found that we had guests: Chris had invited another member of the football team round. I didn't know the kid's name, but I was able to work out who he was fairly quickly because he had his older brother with him, and the older brother was in my form. His name was Jason Temple, and his kid brother turned out to be called Luke, except nobody called him that: everyone called him the Magic Microbe, or just the Microbe, because he was about three feet tall. Well, okay, I'm exaggerating: he was actually four feet four [1.32 m], but he was the smallest kid in the team, and he even made Mark look tall. Okay, taller. Jason was a shrimp, too: although he was my age he was actually an inch shorter than Chris.

"What are they doing here?" I asked, unhappily.

"Well, you know we have to tell someone else about you," Chris said. "And you didn't want us to tell Colin, so we thought we might as well start with the Microbe. And his brother's here because they always go home from school together, and it seemed unfair to split them up…"

"It seems pretty unfair on me not to," I pointed out. "You're only supposed to tell one person if I mess up."

"You seem to be forgetting about the sounds the microphone picked up last night."

"Yes, but… that was only a little bit, and I stopped as soon as I realised…"

"You mean, you do it without even realising you're doing it? Wow, Kev, you really have got a problem! See, what it is, guys, is my brother has a problem: he's addicted to…"

"Hang on!" I interrupted. "I don't want to hear this. Just wait until I'm out of the way."

"No, I think you ought to stay – after all, if I don't tell it right you'll be able to correct me. I wouldn't want to exaggerate, would I?"

"No, but…"

"Good, so that's settled. See, Kevin just can't stop playing with himself: whenever he's left alone for five minutes he strips off and starts giving himself cheap thrills…"

The Temple brothers were staring at him, clearly unable to believe that they were hearing this. And then they both turned and stared at me instead, and I felt myself going bright red. And at that point they both burst out laughing.

"Why are you telling us, though?" asked Jason, when he finally got himself back under control. "Okay, it's funny, but even so…"

"Well, Mark and I reckoned we should try to help him stop," Chris explained. "See, we've got a film of him doing it – a couple of them, actually – and that means he has to do what we tell him if he doesn't want the film to be sent round everyone at school, or even getting put online. So we've made some rules that will help him to stop doing it, only we're going to need some help supervising him – we can't have him sneaking off to the toilets when we're not around. And we thought you'd be able to help us with that, Jason, because you're in his form. And if there are three of us watching him at football, it'll be much harder for him to sneak off there, too, especially if we're not all on the pitch at the same time."

"You mean, because I'm only ever a sub," translated Luke.

"Not really. I reckon when you've been in the team a bit longer you'll get some starts. But, okay, for now you'll be able to keep an eye on him when you're not playing."

"Do we get paid for, er, helping him out?" asked Jason.

"Possibly. Mark and I make him clean our boots, so obviously you could do that too, Microbe. And I'm sure Jason can think of something you could do to help him out…"

"My homework," said Jason, grinning at me.

"That might not be a good idea," I said. "You're better than me at most subjects, aren't you?"

"True. Oh, well, I expect I'll think of something."

"Good. Come upstairs, then, and we'll show you how this works."

I tried to sneak off towards the kitchen, but Mark grabbed me and frog-marched me up the stairs after Chris and the Temple brothers. First we went to my room, where Chris showed them the camera pointing at the bed.

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Luke. "I thought you were making it up!"

"Nope. We're deadly serious about it. After all, you wouldn't like it if your brother was a pervert, would you?"

"My brother is a pervert," said Luke, grinning, and giving rise to a short scuffle. Chris let them fight for a few seconds and then prised them apart.

"So the idea is that he's supervised all the time," he explained. "And if you two can help out we can make it almost impossible for him to play with himself."

"Why can't he just do it in the toilet?" asked Jason.

"Because there's a camera in there, too – and he isn't allowed to go without asking permission, so that one of us can go too to keep an eye on him. And he isn't allowed to lock the door, either, so if I think he's misbehaving it's easy for me to check. If he does go without permission or locks the door, he gets punished."

"Seriously? What sort of punishment?"

"Every time he plays with himself we tell someone else about it, and show them the film."

"Film? You mean you really have got a film?"

"Come through to my room and I'll show you," said Chris.

"What! Oh, no, come on, Chris – you don't need to do that!" I protested.

"I do so need to. You knew what would happen. And it wouldn't be fair to let the Microbes miss out."

"Hey, he's the Microbe!" protested Jason. "I was calling him that for ages before he decided it was cool and started doing it himself. I'm no Microbe, though!"

"Well, you're not exactly a giant, are you? I think we'll call you the Major Microbe."

"Microbus Maximus," I suggested.

"That's worse – it sounds like a people carrier!"

"Minibus maximus, then?"

"Shut up! You just wait, Stratford – I'll tell your brother you went to the bogs and tossed yourself off every day, and then you'll end up with everyone knowing about you!"

"Hey, you can't tell lies!" I protested. "Tell him, Chris!"

"He's right," Chris confirmed. "That really wouldn't be fair, Jason. If you're going to join in, you have to do it properly."

"So tell him to stop calling me names, then!"

"Hyper-geek!" I said. "Mega-dweeb! Tiny Temple!" I was hoping if I wound him up enough he'd lose his rag and then Chris would see that he couldn't be trusted to supervise me fairly. But he wasn't stupid, and the moment he realised what I was doing he just shut up and smiled at me.

"You're right," he said to Chris. "We should do this fairly. Now, let's see this film."

I think he still didn't really believe it until now, but once the film started running he had no choice: his jaw dropped and he turned to stare at me.

"Oh, my God, Stratford!" he said. "You complete wanker!"

"So? I bet you do it, too," I said.

"Not on bloody camera, I don't! How the hell did your brother get this?"

I shrugged.

"That's a secret!" Chris told him. "But it's good, isn't it?"

"Good? It's fucking perfect!"

"So, you get the idea," Chris said. "He does what we tell him, or this goes viral."

"Great! Can I get a copy?"

"No!" I shouted. "He'll tell everyone, and then… then you won't have any way to make me do what you say, Chris!"

"Well, there would still be one way… but perhaps I won't do that. So I think I'd better hold on to the film for now – but if he messes up you can definitely have a copy, Jason, okay?"

"Fair enough. But he has to do what I tell him, doesn't he?"

"Yes, but only if you're fair," said Chris, who seemed to be thinking that maybe Jason might not be going to play the game after all.

"Oh, I'll definitely be fair!"

Jason

I simply couldn't believe this: White-stick Stratford caught on film, by his kid brother, no less! Okay, I knew he had trouble seeing without those massive specs he has to wear, but he must have needed a guide dog not to have noticed a camera in his bedroom. What a complete pillock! And, thanks to the Microbe being in the same football team as Stratford's brother, here I was with a chance to take advantage of the situation. And, boy, was I going to! I hadn't worked out exactly how yet, but the important thing was to convince Stratford's brother that I was going to play it straight. Which I would, just so long as anyone was watching. After that I was determined to have some fun.

"So what exactly do you want me to do?" I asked.

"Just keep an eye on him while we're at school," his brother said. "Make sure he doesn't nip off to the toilet without telling you, and if he does have to go you should time him to make sure he isn't having a sneaky wank instead."

"Should I go with him, just to make sure? I mean, that would be a lot safer, wouldn't it?" I offered.

"Well, yes, if you wouldn't mind. At least then we'd be sure."

"That wouldn't be any trouble," I assured him, enjoying the look on Stratford's face. "What about after school? We usually get the same bus home, but not always, and I get off before he does… so what about if I take a note of which bus he's on, and then you could make sure he comes straight indoors once he gets off the bus. After all, we wouldn't want him sneaking off into the woods, would we?"

"That's a good idea. Of course, most of the time I can arrange to catch the same bus as him, but it would be useful if you could act as back-up in case I can't."

"No problem. And maybe he could come home with me once a week, too – that'll give him a chance to clean the Microbe's boots, and help me with homework if it's something I can't do on my own. If both of us are there we can make sure he's supervised all the time. How about every Thursday?"

"Yes, okay," agreed the brother. Stratford looked as if he was going to explode.

"Great," I said. "We can start tomorrow, then."

So as soon as Stratford arrived at school next day I grabbed him and took him out into the yard so that we could talk quietly.

"Despite all that name-calling yesterday I've decided I'm going to play this game fairly," I told him. "That means I won't lie to your brother. But in return you have to do exactly what I say and not try to sneak off without telling me – and that means you have to stay where I can see you during break and at lunch-time, okay? And I think it would be a good idea if we sat together during lessons, too – that way you can't disappear without me noticing."

He didn't look too happy, but he agreed to that. To be honest it didn't make a lot of difference to either of us, because we're both classified as 'geeks' – we're both small… okay, I'm a lot shorter than he is, but he's skinny as fuck; we both wear glasses; and neither of us is ever going to represent the school at anything more athletic than chess – though actually once we start playing cricket in the summer term I can bowl a bit: the problem is that I never get a chance, because I end up batting at number ten or eleven and fielding out in the deep somewhere. People take one look at me and decide I'm going to be crap at everything just because I'm not very tall, which is bloody unfair. Okay, I'm sort of used to it by now, but it still pisses me off…

Anyway, the point is that neither of us is anywhere near the top of the popularity league, and so we're pretty much free to sit anywhere we like, as long as we stick to the geeky seats near the front of the class. And Stratford and I already sit next to each other in Chemistry because that teacher has us all in alphabetical order, basically because he hasn't a clue who anyone is and it helps him to remember if we're lined up A to Z. At least that way he doesn't get me and Stratford mixed up with Alperton and Croxley. One day we should all deliberately sit in the wrong places – I bet he wouldn't notice. Stupid pillock.

As it happened, sitting next to Stratford turned out okay, because he actually appreciated the muttered comments I make from time to time, though the first couple of times he nearly got into trouble through snorting with laughter. He managed to make out it was a cough or a sneeze or something… anyway, I appreciated someone actually reacting like that: most of the other dweebs in this form sort of look scandalised when I say something sarcastic, like I'd farted in church or something. Stratford seems to have a sense of humour, at least.

On Wednesday at break he needed a pee, and since I did too I went to the bogs with him. I sent him up to the far end of the row of urinals – I didn't want him looking at me while I was having a piss, because that would just be weird. And on Thursday he needed to go twice, once at break and once at lunchtime, and this time I just hovered outside and waited for him – though I thought afterwards that it would have been funny to go and stand next to him and then stare, because I bet that would have made him feel bad. Maybe next time.

And on Thursday evening he came home from school with me and the Microbe. I'd picked Thursday deliberately because that's when we get French homework, and French is one subject where Stratford is definitely better than me. Stupid bloody language…

Anyway, we went up to my room – I should say 'our' room really, because our house is too damned small, which means Luke and I have to share a room, which is a complete pain in the arse. Okay, most of the time I get on well enough with the Microbe, but there are times I wish I had a bit more privacy – I mean, Stratford was right when he said that most kids of our age wank. I certainly do, but it's bloody difficult when you have to share a room with your kid brother. I can't just lie in bed on a Saturday morning and have a nice leisurely toss, not with him in the room: instead I have to go and lock myself in the toilet, which is a lot less enjoyable. My dad has been talking about converting the loft into a bedroom for one of us for ages, and to be fair he has actually started, though it'll probably be ages before it's ready.

So – Stratford and I sat at my desk and did our homework. And, yes, he did give me most of the answers to the French, but because I'm not a complete moron I made sure I made some mistakes in it – I'm not going to get pulled up for copying. And then we wrote up that day's chemistry experiment, and as we're both not too bad at chemistry we didn't actually need to cheat there. And finally we had to copy a diagram of a bee into our biology work-books and label everything, and I'm a bit better at biology than he is, so I was able to help him out a bit.

The Microbe doesn't get as much homework as we do, so he was finished and already playing some soccer game or other on his Playstation before we even started the biology, but he used his headphones so as not to distract us. So once we were finished we crept up on him and dug him in the ribs, just to see how far he would jump.

When he'd finished swearing he took Stratford downstairs and out into the garden so that he could clean his boots for him – we have to use the garden tap for stuff like that so as not to get mud all over the kitchen. Stratford wasn't too happy that the boots hadn't been cleaned since Sunday, because it made it harder for him to clean them, but the Microbe said he always left it until Thursday, and only did it then because he needed them for practice on Friday after school. So Stratford got on with it, and the Microbe and I went back upstairs and played on the Playstation until he came back. He showed the Microbe the boots, and the Microbe was not impressed.

"All this bit round the studs is still muddy," he pointed out. "And it's ground into the bit where the sole joins the sides, too. Didn't you try scrubbing?"

"Yes, but it's impossible to shift. I bet you've never cleaned the underneath, have you?"

"Of course I have! You're just lazy! You'd better do a better job next week, or you're really going to be in trouble! In fact, Chris said I could punish you if I wasn't happy with you, so I think I will. Let's see, what should I do to you…?"

"Make him strip!" I suggested. I thought that would be pretty funny, to be honest, and the fact that Stratford didn't like the idea at all just made it seem even better. He begged a bit, but the Microbe obviously realised that he was actually going to do it, and so he dug his heels in. And Stratford started to undress, and soon he was standing naked with his hands on his head.

He really is skinny – you can see every rib. But of course it wasn't his ribs we were looking at… and I have to admit that seeing what he had almost made me jealous, because my body still haven't started to change yet – in fact I've hardly grown at all in that area since I left primary school. The Microbe, of course, is even smaller than me – one thing about sharing a room is that you generally get to see each other undressed now and again – and he was staring at it in interest. I'd guess that there are plenty of boys in our year with bigger ones, but seeing one with proper hair and large soft balls still made me feel sort of inferior…

Kevin

This was really humiliating. It hadn't been half so bad with Mark because at least he and I know each other, but I'd hardly spoken to Jason until this week and I didn't know Luke at all, and to have two total strangers staring at my balls was horribly embarrassing.

"He's got a big one, hasn't he?" Luke commented. "Is he really only the same age as you, Jase?"

"He's a few months older, I think," said Jason. "When's your birthday, Stratford?"

"November 18th," I told him.

"So you're already fourteen… and that makes you about seven months older than me, because my birthday's June 13th," he said.

"Yes, but it's way bigger than yours, isn't it?" said Luke, and I had to fight not to laugh, especially when Jason said, "Yes, okay, you don't need to go on about it!" because that pretty much proved the point.

"All right, Stratford," said Luke, "lie down on your front on my bed."

So I did that, wondering what was coming next, and then Luke picked up the ruler from his desk and began flicking it against my buttocks. It was surprising how hard that ruler felt… okay, I suppose it shouldn't have been, but it was only made of plastic – and, besides, nobody had ever hit me like that before. So I yelped, which they both found funny, and when he kept doing it I kept yelping: that ruler wasn't getting any softer. But the really bad thing about it was that I started to get an erection – I suppose it was because I was wriggling about and so rubbing it against the bed.

"Next time you'd better clean my boots properly, or maybe I'll have to find something heavier to beat you with," said Luke, finally tossing the ruler back onto his desk. "Okay, you can stand up now."

I really didn't want to, but he insisted, and when he saw why I'd been reluctant to move he started laughing again.

"Stratford likes being spanked!" he commented. "Bloody hell, that really is big now…"

Before I could stop him he reached out and pushed it down, laughing as it sprang up again. He did it again, and it seemed to get even harder.

"Come and see how hard it is!" he invited his brother, and Jason came and joined in, slapping it about and generally making it bounce for several seconds until I protested. And then, reluctantly, they left it alone, but not before tugging on my pubes and squeezing my balls.

"Nice, Stratford," said Jason. "I reckon the girls would appreciate that. Pity your face means no girl will even get to find out what she's missing."

"Well, at least a girl could do it with me without needing to lend me a ladder," I retorted.

"Harsh," he said. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood, or I might have to do something nasty to you. Anyway, I suppose we can let you get dressed…"

"Not yet," said Luke. "Let's make him toss himself off first!"

"Well, that would be sort of fun… but he's not supposed to do that now, and I'm not sure his brother would want him to."

"Sod Chris!" said the Microbe. "I want to see his spunk come out!"

"Again, that would be good… no, we'd better not. But we can ask Chris tomorrow if it'll be okay to make him do that next week, okay? So get dressed, Stratford, before I change my mind."

I didn't need telling twice: having to masturbate in front of these two would have been appalling. As soon as I was dressed again I felt a whole lot better, though when they said I could go home I didn't argue.

Next day at school Jason said he'd quite enjoyed the previous evening.

"I don't have people round too often," he said. "After all, sharing a bedroom makes it hard to do a lot, and in any case I don't like most of the kids in our form – they're either the sports players, who take the piss out of my height, or complete dweebs that have to run home to Mummy as soon as the final bell goes. All right, I wouldn't normally have asked you round either, but as it turned out I thought it was a laugh. And it's useful having someone to help do my French. So you can definitely come again next week."

I wasn't sure that I was quite as enthusiastic about it as he was, but I suppose it was nice to be appreciated.

After school I went straight to football training with Chris, getting a lift from Colin's mum, and while the team worked on their fitness Mr Clifford tested me on the laws of the game, which I had done my best to learn. And apparently I hadn't done too bad a job, either.

"You'd probably better not take the line this week, not against the Royals," he said, "but we'll give you a run next week. And at half-term I'd like you to do a First Aid course, too, if you're not going to be too busy."

If it was going to lead to me administering First Aid to Colin – or, indeed, some of the other members of the team – I decided that I would definitely not be too busy. And Chris couldn't object if I was going to be busy on team business, either. So I said I'd definitely like to do it.

"Good," he said. "Now, if you're going to run the line you probably ought to do a little fitness training, so perhaps next week you could bring some kit so that you can do some running with the team."

I wasn't quite so keen on that: I'm not a huge fan of physical exercise. Still, I supposed it wouldn't do me any real harm to keep fit.

At least it was pretty clear that nobody had told the rest of the team about me, because a lot of the boys greeted me in a friendly way at the end of the training, though the Microbe did whisper a comment about certain aspects of my anatomy, warning me that they would be in danger if his boots weren't spotless next week. But the fact that it was whispered demonstrated that he was going to keep things secret from the rest of the team, for which I was very grateful…

Chris

Of course, part of what Mark and I were doing with Kev was giving him enough rope to hang himself – after all, we wanted more and more of the team to join in with punishing him. So on Saturday morning I told him I was going round to Mark's house for half an hour, and that he should behave himself while I was gone. I know my brother pretty well, and I thought there was every chance he would take the opportunity to play with himself. I assumed he'd have the sense not to do it in his room, but I had the other most likely places covered by cameras that Kevin didn't know about. And, sure enough, when I checked the recordings out after lunch I found that the cheeky bastard had used my bed, and that he'd also done it while looking at the team photo once more.

But this time I didn't say anything – well, not straight away, anyway. I filed the evidence away in the hidden folder on my PC and said nothing about it, and it was clear watching him that he thought he'd got away with it.

"I hope you behaved yourself this morning," I asked, just to see if I could get him to look guilty.

"Of course I did," he said, virtuously. "Check the camera if you don't believe me!"

"I already have, and it does look as if you stayed out of your room," I said. "It would be nice to think that you're learning. Maybe we won't have to tell Colin about you after all. Of course, I might decide there are other members of the team who need to know about you – or even maybe someone who isn't in the team…"

He wanted to know what I meant by that, but I refused to tell him. At the moment there was still one event a week where he wasn't being supervised, and I wanted that loophole closed before I started opening things up to the rest of the team.

The rest of Saturday passed quietly enough, and on Sunday morning Colin's mum came and picked us up to take us to the game, which this week was being played at our home ground. Once again Kev handed the cards out before the game, and it was obvious that he was trying hard to learn everyone's name – he was keeping a little notebook with everyone's name and shirt number in, too, so that if we had another goal-feast like the one we'd had against Ravensbourne he'd be able to tell us straight away who had scored.

This week was nothing like that, though: the Royals were a hell of a lot better than Ravensbourne, and it didn't help that Colin's strike partner Jack Parsons was away this weekend. But it made the Microbe happy, because he got a start for once, and to be fair he played pretty well, too. In the end we managed a two-all draw, which even Mr Clifford thought wasn't a bad result.

Colin scored one of the goals, so of course he was in my face about what I'd said the previous week, but because he hadn't scored the hat-trick he'd promised us I didn't see that an apology was called for. He said he'd come round after lunch and change my mind for me, and I said he'd be welcome to try.

After the game I allowed Kev to keep his glasses on while he was in the changing room – once again he came in to collect the dirty kit, and he stayed while everyone had a shower… well, not everyone actually does take a shower: a couple of the boys just head for home and have a shower or a bath there, I suppose. But most of us do. I made good and sure that I kept my back to my brother while I was getting changed, though as soon as I had my boxers on I started watching him to see if he was staring at anyone in particular.

This week he had Grant in front of him again, though I was pretty sure it wasn't him that Kev fancied: he'd told me that the previous week, and I believed him. He did keep shooting little sideways glances at Lee, who was getting changed next to him, but he was obviously aware that I was watching him, so he spent as much time watching everyone else. And when I asked him after we got home if he was into redheads he said no.

"So why were you looking at Lee today, then?" I asked.

"I wasn't! Well… not especially, anyway."

"I saw you."

"Yes, but I just wanted to see… well…"

"What?"

"I wanted to see if his pubes are the same colour, okay?"

"Ah. And are they?"

"He hasn't got any – at least, not that I could see."

"Right. So who else were you looking at?"

"Nobody in particular."

"Yeah, right. I'm going to find out, Kev, so you might just as well tell me now."

"Get lost!"

"Suit yourself. I'll find out in the end, and then, boy, are you going to be in trouble!"

Colin came round after lunch and we spent most of the afternoon mucking about in my room, playing video games, wrestling and stuff like that. Kev joined in part of the time, though he also had to clean my boots, and Mark's – Mark had left his boots with Kev after the game and ordered him to clean them and take them round to Mark's house after supper. And so after we had eaten I once again cuffed Kev's hands behind his back and sent him to Mark's place, carrying the boots in a bag on his back…

Kevin

I'd managed not to make a fool of myself while Colin was there that afternoon – I'd even managed to join in wrestling with them without getting an erection, which I thought was pretty amazing. And it was obvious that Chris still didn't suspect, or he wouldn't have gone through all that stuff where he accused me of fancying Lee.

I'll admit that I was actually looking forward to going to Mark's place: what we'd done the previous week had been pretty exciting, and now I was sure he wasn't going to tell Chris, or anyone else, about it I was a lot less worried than I had been the previous week.

Anyway, I got to Mark's house while it was still just about light enough to see where I was going, managed (after a few contortions) to ring the doorbell again, and followed him up to his room.

"Let's see the boots, then," he said, taking the handcuffs off for me.

I opened my bag and handed them over.

"Not bad," he said. "Better than last week, anyway. Maybe I won't have to beat you up this week."

"Yeah, like you could beat me up!" I said. "Everyone knows dwarfs can't wrestle!"

"Oh, now you're in trouble. Strip down to your boxers and we'll find out who can wrestle and who can't!

I like play-wrestling. Okay, I'm not much good at it, and both Chris and Colin beat me regularly, but Mark is a lot smaller than them and I reckoned I had every chance of winning for once. So I stripped down to my underwear, put my glasses on the desk and waited while he took off everything except his shorts. Of course I'm at a bit of a disadvantage to start with because I can't see properly, but once we're grappling the bad eyes don't matter too much. So he closed in and grabbed me, and I tried to twist as we fell so that I would end up on top, except I didn't manage to…

We rolled around inconclusively for a couple of minutes. He was actually a lot stronger than I had expected, but because he's small he didn't have a lot of weight, and the first couple of times he got on top of me I was able to dislodge him again. But the third time he got me flat on the carpet underneath him, and by digging his thumbs into my biceps he was able to make me stop struggling.

"So," he said, "who can't wrestle?"

I tried not to answer that, but a thumb rammed into your biceps hurts, and after a few seconds I had to give in.

"Me!" I gasped. "Come on, Mark, that hurts!"

"Submit?"

"Yes! Shit, Mark…"

He relaxed his grip but didn't actually get off me. Instead he lay flat out on top of me, so that we were chest to chest, though he paused long enough to remove my boxers first.

"Getting hard again, I see," he commented. "Maybe you're starting to think I'm sexy after all."

"No, I don't! I mean…"

"What?"

"Well… actually you are nice-looking. But I don't fancy you, or anything!"

"Really? So why are you getting hard, then?"

"I can't help it – you're lying on top of it and sort of squashing it. I bet yours would get hard if it was being squashed like that!"

"Perhaps you're right. Shall we find out?"

He slipped his boxers off and chucked them onto the bed with his other clothes and then lay down on top of me again, so that our genitals were pressed together. And that certainly didn't persuade mine to subside: on the contrary, it got harder and harder. And I suppose the way mine was twitching set him off, too, because I could feel him starting to stiffen up.

"You were right," he said. "And it certainly isn't because I fancy you… although you shouldn't run yourself down too much, Kev: once you lose the specs you look okay. I reckon I wouldn't mind going out with you if I was into boys."

"Really?"

"Seriously. Take a photo of yourself in a mirror when you're not wearing your glasses, then put them on and have a look at it. Then you'll see what I'm looking at now, and maybe you'll realise that there's nothing wrong with the way you look. And you've got nice eyes… it might be sort of fun to pretend we fancy each other for a bit – we could practise for when I get a girlfriend and you get a boyfriend."

He got up, helped me to my feet, swept his clothes onto the floor, lay down on the bed and pulled me down on top of him, putting his arms round me and holding me, and I have to admit it felt really nice. Okay, he wasn't Colin, and in fact he looked nothing like Colin; but having a warm body pressed against mine felt great.

"You can kiss me if you want," he said quietly. "I'd like to know what that feels like."

I stared at him. "Are you sure?" I said.

"Yes, why not? I've never had a chance to kiss a girl, and maybe if I get a bit of practice with you it'll help me to make a good impression when I do get the chance. And I reckon I can trust you not to tell anyone about it…. Unless you think I'm too gross to kiss, of course? Maybe kissing dwarfs is against your religion?"

"You're certainly not gross – in fact you're way better-looking than me. And it doesn't really matter how tall you are when we're lying down, does it?"

"I suppose not. Okay, then, show me how you do it."

"I've never actually kissed anyone before… but I suppose we can learn together if you like." And I lowered my head and gently touched my lips to his.

It's hard to describe what it felt like, but I liked it a lot, especially when he put a hand on the back of my head to stop me withdrawing. We started out with our lips closed, and then he opened his mouth a little, and I did the same, and one thing led to another… like I say, I liked it a lot. And so, apparently, did he.

"Bloody hell, Kev!" he said, "Are you sure you've never done that before?"

"Never, I swear!"

"Well, you're bloody good at it, then. Let's swap places and then we can do it again."

So I went underneath and he lay on top of me and we did it again, and it felt just as good this way up. After a couple of minutes he rolled off me and stared at me.

"Fuck, Kevin," he breathed. "That was… well, amazing, to be honest. And if it feels like that with you, it has to be unbelievable with a girl."

"Sure you're not turning gay?" I asked, grinning, but he looked as if he was actually thinking about it.

"I don't think so," he said, finally. "I think it's just that we're friends, and so it feels good because I know I can trust you, and that you like me. But perhaps I should try something else, just to be sure." And to my astonishment he wriggled down and put my erection in his mouth.

He'd obviously learned from instructing me how to do this the previous week, because he very quickly got into a nice, steady rhythm, and I hardly had to give him any instructions: he got the pressure and speed right almost at once. And in less than a minute I had to warn him that I was about to shoot.

I'd expected him to stop at that point, but he didn't: he just kept going until I lost control and spurted into his mouth. And that did give him some trouble: I suppose it shot against the back of his throat, because he coughed and spluttered and took it out of his mouth before I'd finished, though he kept hold of it, which meant that I went on enjoying it until I finally dried up.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

He nodded. "Sorry," he said, once he could speak again. "I wasn't expecting that. I guess you're supposed to make sure it's pointing off to one side, or something. But other than the end I didn't really mind that, so perhaps I am turning queer… I hope not, though: I'd much rather be normal."

"So would I," I told him, "but you don't get to choose, I'm afraid. And I'm glad you didn't mind doing that, because I hope that means you won't mind doing it again. Not until you and Chris have stopped punishing me, obviously, but maybe after that we could… well, practise a bit. And when you've grown a bit you'll be able to get a girlfriend, and then you'll get a chance to find out what feels best."

"I don't think I'd mind keeping doing this sort of stuff on Sundays, to be honest," he said. "As long as nobody else finds out, of course – and as long as you remember that I'm in charge. So I reckon it's your turn now, isn't it?"

So we switched places again and I sucked him, and as far as I could tell he loved every second of it. And when he finally finished spurting – and it seemed to go on for a very long time – I swallowed it, because I thought that's what gay boys are supposed to do, and I found that it tasted okay. Quite nice, actually.

And after that we got dressed and sat and talked about football until it was time for me to go home. And I thought that if this was going to happen every Sunday I wouldn't mind too much what happened to me during the rest of the week…

On paper Kevin is still in trouble here, but somehow he doesn't seem to be suffering too badly…

Chapter Five

In which Kevin meets a humourless chess nerd and finds his freedom restricted yet further.

Kevin

If Sunday evening had been fun, Monday evening was rather less so. I went to chess club as usual and was happy to see that neither Chris nor Mark had turned up this evening, but before I could relax completely I was challenged to a game by Danny Engel.

Engel is in the same year as Chris, though not in the same form, and he's a strange kid… well, okay, a lot of chess players are a bit strange, including me, I suppose. But Engel is stranger than most, and he's scary to play against because his eyes never stop moving, scanning the board continuously – you can almost see the cogs in his head spinning round. And he never seems to smile, either, even when he wins: he's just got this permanent deadpan expression on his face. He's really scruffy, too: I suppose he must look fairly smart when he leaves home in the morning, but by the end of the day he's always got ink-stains on his hands (for some reason he uses an old-fashioned fountain pen) and sometimes on his face, his shirt is always at least half hanging out, his shoes are scuffed, his laces are knotted and the knot of his tie is somewhere close to one ear. And I'm sure he has no idea what the word 'comb' means, because his hair always looks as if he just got out of bed. He's got black hair and blue eyes, and he's thin – even thinner than me – and I think if he made an effort he could look quite nice, but there's no sign that he cares what he looks like.

I don't think I've ever seen him talking to anyone, either in the yard during breaks or at chess club, except where essential to get a game under way. He's the ultimate loner, and makes the likes of me and Jason Temple look like Captain Popular. But this evening he came and sat opposite me, helped me set the board up, made his first move, hit the clock – and then handed me a folded piece of paper.

"Read this," he said.

Well, it was my turn to move, so I shoved a pawn forward, hit the clock and then unfolded the paper – and found myself looking at a short note in my brother's handwriting.

'Hi!' read the note. 'We need someone to keep an eye on you while you're at chess club or off playing matches, and since Engel is in the team he's volunteered. So you don't go anywhere without asking his permission, and then he goes with you. If your game finishes before his you have to stay in the room until his game ends. You know what will happen if you don't do what he says. See you later, Chris'.

"What's he told you?" I asked, making my second move.

"Enough. Just play."

So I played, and he beat me inside twenty-five moves, though I think that was mainly because I was too distracted to play properly. Although he is a decent player – he wouldn't be in the same team as me otherwise, bearing in mind that he's a couple of years younger than me.

After the game we both moved on to other opponents, and I managed to put him out of my mind for most of the rest of the evening. I'd been hoping to sneak off to the toilets afterwards, not just for the usual reason but because I needed a dump and I didn't think it would wait until I got home, but I'd only taken a couple of steps along the corridor when he materialised at my side.

"Where are you going, then?" he asked.

"To the bogs."

"You're supposed to ask my permission, remember?"

"Oh, okay, then: please can I go to the toilet?"

"If I said no, would you have to piss yourself?"

"No, I'd probably just ignore you and go anyway and then explain to my brother that you were being unreasonable."

"He said I'm allowed to be unreasonable, and if you don't obey me you'll get punished. But, okay, I suppose there's no reason to be unreasonable. Let's go, then."

"You don't have to come with me!" I protested.

"Yes, I do – if I'm not there you'll just do what you're not supposed to."

"Look, what exactly did Chris tell you?"

"That you keep playing with yourself, and that he's trying to get you to stop. And I don't mind helping him, because that's a nasty habit."

"Oh, come on – don't tell me you've never done it!"

"Of course I haven't!" he replied, looking at me as if I'd just trodden in a pile of doggy-doo. "We're not all disgusting perverts like you, you know!"

"Bloody hell, Engel, everyone does it – or almost everyone. Do you really mean you've never even tried?"

"No, I haven't. It seems like a pretty dirty thing to do – I mean, why would you want to get germs all over your hands?"

"Well, you can do it in the shower," I pointed out. "That way you're washing it at the same time. Assuming you ever actually take a shower, that is."

"Of course I do! Are you saying I smell?"

"No, not at all, but you do look a bit of a mess most of the time – I mean, you've got ink on your right ear!"

"Have I? Oh, well, it'll wash off. My pen leaks a bit, that's all."

"When's your birthday?" I asked.

"July the tenth – why?"

"That's a bit far off… I was going to suggest you ask your parents for a new pen, because that one seems to leak all the time."

He shrugged. "It writes okay, and I think that's what matters. I don't care what anyone else thinks."

"Perhaps you should," I said. "After all, you'll be looking for a girlfriend soon, even if you're not already trying to find one, and that'll be a lot easier if you look a bit tidier."

"I'm not bothered about girls. All right, I suppose that will change, and perhaps if it does I'll start thinking about what I look like to other people, but right now I couldn't care less. Anyway, here we are – go and have your pee, then."

I went inside and opened the door of a cubicle that I knew still had a bolt – most of them didn't. But the moment I touched the door he yelled at me and came in after me.

"Use the trough," he said. "Heaven knows what you'll get up to inside a cubicle."

"I can't," I said. "I need to… you know, do the other thing."

"Really? Go on, then."

So I opened the door and stepped into the cubicle, but before I could close the door he pushed in after me.

"I'm not allowed to leave you unsupervised," he said.

"What! Fuck off, Engel – I can't have a shit with you watching me!"

"You'll have to, because I'm not leaving. I can guess what you'd do if I wasn't here."

And although I argued for a bit he remained obdurate: he wasn't leaving this cubicle until I did. And in the end I had to give in, because I could tell I wasn't going to be able to hold out until I got home. So I lowered my trousers and pants and sat hunched forward with my arms across my lap.

There's something intensely personal about having a crap – at least, I think so – and it feels hideously humiliating to have someone standing there watching you. I was dreadfully conscious of the splashes, and the smell, and I could sort of feel Engel sneering at me, even though his usual expression didn't change in the slightest. And then I had to go through contortions to wipe myself without uncovering my front. Finally I got the business over with and reached down to pull my trousers up, but at that point he stopped me.

"Are you sure you're clean?" he asked.

"What?!"

"I said, are you sure…"

"Yes, I heard you. Of course I'm clean – now shut up and turn round, would you?"

"Please yourself. But once you're dressed I'm going to give you a wedgie and then check for skid-marks, and if I find any…"

"Okay, okay!" I did a bit more wiping and then stood up and pulled my trousers and pants back up, and this time he didn't say anything. He didn't give me the threatened wedgie, either.

I flushed and then went out into the wash-room and washed my hands, and he waited for me by the door until I was ready to go.

"You'd better get used to that," he said as we walked to the bus-stop, "because that's what'll happen every time while I'm supervising you. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone – except your brother, if he asks."

"What, and I'm supposed to be grateful for that, am I?"

"It's up to you. I can tell everyone I meet if you'd prefer."

"No! No, you don't need to do that. Sorry."

I didn't like having to apologise to a kid two years younger than me, but I thought it would be better than having the whole school finding out about what was happening to me.

I had no idea where Engel lived, but it turned out to be in the same direction as me, though he got off the bus before I did. And just before he got off he took his phone out of his pocket, called Chris and told him which bus I was on, just in case I decided not to go straight home.

"You didn't have to do that," I protested to my brother, as soon as I got indoors.

"No, I don't suppose I did, but I thought it would be funny. And Engel took it really seriously, too – I don't think you'll be able to sneak off while he's in charge…"

Chris

Now that we had Engel on board we had Kev covered throughout the week: I would be able to watch him at home, the Microbe's brother would deal with him during the day and Engel had chess club covered. So now all we had to do was make sure he had no chance to sneak off anywhere and then just wait for him to collapse under the pressure. Mark reckons that when a boy is in Kev's stage of development he needs to wank fairly often, because if he doesn't he's going to start having wet dreams all the time, and so of course the next thing for us to do was to forbid those as well. So…

"I think we've got you covered now," I said. "I know you're not happy, but you'll thank me in the end. Now, I know you, and I'll bet you've been practising doing it really quietly in bed, so quietly that the microphone can't hear it and carefully enough for the camera not to pick up any movement. So from now on I'm going to check your pyjamas and sheets every morning, and if I find any trace of spunk it'll count the same as if you'd jerked yourself off in broad daylight, okay?"

"No, it's not okay!" he argued. "I promise I won't do it in bed, okay? You don't have to check me out every day!"

"I think I do. Now you'd better go and do your homework, hadn't you?"

And off he went. Yup, I thought, I've definitely got him where I want him now…

The next couple of days passed normally: as far as I could tell Kev behaved himself perfectly, but I was still confident that it was just a matter of time before he slipped up. And then on Thursday at lunchtime I was approached in the yard by the Microbe brothers.

"We were wondering," said Luke. "When your brother comes round this evening… would it be okay if we make him wank himself off in front of us?"

I thought about that. The problem was that it would greatly decrease the likelihood of wet dreams, and I needed those if I was going to have an excuse to involve other people. On the other hand, I suppose an occasional one or two might not matter, and I was pretty sure Kev wouldn't enjoy having to do it in front of these two at all…

"Well, okay," I agreed. "Not every week, mind, because we're trying to get him out of the habit, but I don't suppose making him do it occasionally would do any harm.

"Great! Thanks, Chris!"

I watched them walk away, reflecting that I wasn't exactly feeling sorry for my brother yet – after all, it was his own fault he was in this mess – but thinking that things were certainly moving in that direction. Not that I was going to let that interfere with my fun, of course…

Jason

That Thursday evening started out much as the previous one had: first we sat and did our homework together, then Stratford went and cleaned the Microbe's boots, and then he brought them back to the bedroom so that my brother could find fault with them – which, of course, he did, finding tiny grains of mud almost too minute to be seen with the naked eye, commenting that the laces weren't as clean as they might be and complaining that the inside of one of them was a bit damp.

"But you haven't got to wear them until tomorrow evening!" Stratford pointed out, reasonably enough.

"That's not the point!" said Luke, which was a bit rough because I thought it was the point. Still, I wasn't going to take Stratford's side in this, was I?

"Sorry," said Stratford, grumpily. "Why don't you let me take them home next Sunday, and then I'll have loads of time to get them cleaned before next Friday?"

"Well, next week's going to be different. It's half term, in case you've forgotten, so we're likely to have an extra practice or two – so actually it would be a good idea if you keep them after the match on Sunday. But you'd better clean them straight away, just in case I need them on Monday."

Stratford didn't look too happy about that, but he didn't argue, which I suppose ought to count in his favour.

"Anyway," I said, "how are you surviving? I think I'd find it fucking difficult to stop doing that, so if you're actually managing not to I reckon you must be stronger than me."

"It's not that I'm strong, it's just that I don't have a lot of choice, what with the camera in my room and everyone watching me all the time to make sure I don't sneak off on my own. Sure, I could just do it anyway, but if Chris does what he's said and lets someone else in on it every time I do… well, it's not worth risking that."

"Well, I was talking to the Microbe before you got here, and we've decided to give you a chance at a bit of privacy. We're going to challenge you to a game of cards. If you win, you can have fifteen minutes in our bathroom, behind a locked door, to do whatever you want."

"That sounds okay," said Stratford. "What happens if I lose, though?"

"Then you have to do it here with us watching."

"No, I don't think…"

"Of course, we could just make you do that anyway," I interrupted. "If the Microbe doesn't like the state of his boots he can punish you however he wants, remember? But because you've gone along with it without arguing this week I thought you'd like a chance to do it in private instead."

Of course, he didn't have a snowflake's chance of doing it in private, but he didn't know that yet. See, I went through a stage a couple of years ago when I was interested in doing conjuring tricks, and although it didn't last long I did buy some bits and pieces for it, including a couple of packs of marked cards. The Microbe knows about them because in the end I told him about them (though not before I'd beaten him at pretty much every game we ever played with them), and so when I fished them out to play Stratford at Strip Pontoon my brother just grinned at me and gave me a surreptitious little thumbs up sign.

"Beat both of us and you can have your fifteen minutes in the bathroom," I told him. "Lose to both of us and you have to do it here with us watching. And if you beat one of us but not the other it's a draw and you don't get to do it at all, unless you want to challenge us to a replay."

He agreed to that and we started playing. We teased him a bit by making sure we both lost a few hands, and it was interesting to see his reaction: he definitely seemed to like it when either of us lost, and not just because it took him a bit closer to his fifteen minutes of privacy, either: the way he looked at us as we took things off almost had me thinking that he wanted to see us naked. Well, I suppose he probably just wanted to be able to take the piss out of us, because you'd need a magnifying glass to see what my brother's got, and I'm scarcely any bigger – God knows nobody could fancy either of us for our bodies. Anyway, Stratford didn't get to find out because he lost before either of us got too close.

"Best of three?" he tried, hopefully.

"Er, no," I replied. "Lie on my bed and get on with it."

So he did, while Luke and I pulled our chairs up next to the bed and watched him. It was interesting and sort of exciting, too – at least, I suppose it must have been, because I got hard and had to hunch forward so that it wouldn't be obvious. Not that anyone was looking at me: my brother was staring at Stratford's prick, and Stratford himself had his eyes closed – I suppose he was trying to pretend that we weren't there.

It didn't take long at all – no more than a couple of minutes, I'd say.

"I'm nearly there!" he told us.

"Good. Keep going," I said, watching closely.

Stratford tensed up, gasped, arched his back and shot onto his stomach, three good spurts of the stuff. I'd never seen this in real life before: sure, I'd seen the odd bit of online porn, but seeing a real person do it from a distance of no more than a metre was way better. Obviously I can't do it myself yet, so it was interesting to see what I had to look forward to.

"Neat!" said Luke. "That's pretty cool, huh, Jase?"

"Pretty cool," I agreed. "Okay, Stratford, you can go and clean it off. Mind you come straight back, though – no trying for an encore in the bathroom!"

Kevin

Having to do it in front of an audience was embarrassing, especially since I still didn't know Jason very well and hardly knew the Microbe at all… and yet at the same time there was something sort of exciting about it, especially since they both obviously enjoyed watching. I'm pretty sure Jason had an erection, anyway. And I'd already decided that it would be better to do it with an audience than not to be able to do it at all, and if I had to have an audience, at least this was a small one. In every sense.

After I'd cleaned myself up they let me get dressed, and we sat and talked about this and that for a bit longer until I had to go home. I was definitely starting to like Jason by now – okay, he swore all the time, which took a bit of getting used to, but he had a wicked sense of humour and was very sharp – his off-the-cuff comments during lessons often made me crack up. And I was pretty sure he wouldn't tell anyone else about my situation.

When I got home Chris collared me and told me that he'd arranged a few things he wanted to do during the week of half term, and that consequently I'd be on my own for a lot of the time.

"I've been trying to arrange for someone to come and baby-sit for you, but I haven't managed to cover the whole week," he went on. "Now, I could just lock you in your cupboard while I'm out, because at least then I could be sure you wouldn't misbehave, especially if I tied your hands behind your back first… but I won't do that unless I think it's absolutely necessary. So I'm going to trust you. Have you got any plans yourself?"

"Not really," I said. "I told you Mr Clifford wants me to go on the First Aid course on Friday, but that's about it. I thought I might go out on my bike if the weather's decent, but otherwise I was just going to lounge about. Except you said something about extra football practice, didn't you?"

"Yes, and I expect we'll find out about that tomorrow evening. Okay, I'll talk to the Microbes and Mark, and perhaps Engel, tomorrow and find out when they're available, and then I'll sort out a timetable for you."

I didn't really like the idea of that, though at least it sounded as if I might be left unsupervised for some of the time, and that was the most important thing. I only needed fifteen minutes a day, and I was hopeful of getting that.

I didn't get any time to myself at all on the Friday, of course, because we went straight from school to football practice, but on Saturday morning Chris said that he was going shopping with Colin – he'd saved up enough for a new video game – and that I'd have to look after myself until lunchtime. I waited until he had been gone for ten minutes, since I was fairly sure he wouldn't turn round and come back after that, and then I went into his bedroom, stripped off, lay down on his bed with the photo in easy reach and let myself drift off into a fantasy, though on this occasion both Colin and Mark featured in it.

After I'd cleaned myself up, got dressed and put the photo back where it belonged I went downstairs to watch TV. I was a bit surprised by the way Mark had popped into my mind like that: after all, if Colin is my dream boy, Mark is almost the complete opposite, physically. Colin is tall, blond, blue-eyed and slim; Mark is a midget with black hair and dark eyes, though he certainly isn't fat. Perhaps it's that contrast that makes the idea of doing bad things with both of them at once so exciting, though I don't suppose I'll ever get a chance to find out what that would be like for real.

When Chris got back he found me innocently watching TV. I'd made sure I'd left his bed exactly as I had found it, so I was confident that he wouldn't find out what I'd done, and indeed he didn't say anything about it. After lunch Colin came round and we all spent most of the afternoon playing video games, though a fair bit of wrestling took place as well. And because I'd managed to relieve my frustrations that morning I even managed to wrestle with Colin without going hard.

Although it was half term there was still a football match on the Sunday morning. We were away this time, playing on the far side of our local town against Boarmead Arena, a mid-table team that Chris said we would normally beat, though this time it would depend on which team had most players absent, because there were always people who went away during school holidays, even the mid-term ones.

It turned out that one of the people who was away was Ryan the goalkeeper. The team didn't really have a second specialist keeper, so today the job went to a boy called Jamie Leyton, who sometimes played in defence when his goalkeeping skills weren't needed.

"We're going to lose," commented Colin quietly when he saw Jamie pulling on the keeper's jersey. "He's rubbish on crosses."

"Then we'll have to make sure they don't manage to put any over," said Chris. "Or you'll have to do your job for once and make sure we score more goals than they do."

"What do you mean, 'for once'?" retorted Colin. "I've scored in every game this year!"

"You didn't score against North End."

"That's because I didn't play against North End, you muppet! I was on holiday that week, remember?"

"So? You still didn't score."

"Oh, okay, then: I scored in every game I played…"

I left them to it and went to find Mr Clifford, who handed me a flag and told me I was running the line. I was a bit nervous, but he told me not to be.

"At least you'll be better than the man who does it for them," he commented. "He just stands near the halfway line and guesses whether someone is offside or not. The ref will probably just ignore him. Anyway, do your best – and if you have to give a decision, look confident and don't get into arguments. It won't be the kids who shout at you, it'll be the parents – you just have to learn to ignore it."

To be fair I quite enjoyed the game. I didn't get shouted at all, and nobody argued with any of my decisions, either. And we won the game, too, by four goals to two, even though three of the regular players were missing.

I didn't take a shower – I hadn't had to do that much running – and so I was able to sit by the door with the dirty kit bag as usual, which gave me a chance to check out a couple of the boys who got changed near me – and I managed to do that without getting hard, too, which was good news, especially since Chris was keeping a careful eye on me…

Chris

It was a really good match – Colin and I got a goal each, and Lee, the kid with the bright red hair who doesn't even start most games, got the other two, which made him very happy. And Jamie didn't have a bad game in goal, either, even though he did fumble their first goal into his own net. Even Kev made a decent job of running the line, though he didn't have to run very much because we spent most of the match in their half of the field.

I knew Kevin had used my bed, and the team photo, on Saturday morning, of course, but I didn't say anything about it because this seemed to be much the best way to bring a few more people into the game – and so that's why I went out on Sunday afternoon, leaving him at home on his own. I didn't want to make it too easy for him, so before I left I told him that I had locked my room because I didn't want him perving over our team photo. He was watching TV at the time and didn't react, but when I got home again at tea-time and checked the cameras I was rewarded with a nice film of him lying naked on the living room sofa and bringing himself off. Excellent, I thought: that's already two.

My strategy for the first half of the week was to make sure he got no further chance to play with himself before Thursday: I'd arranged for him to be supervised full time from Monday morning until Wednesday evening. I intended to leave him unsupervised on the Thursday, by which time I was sure he'd be unable to resist the temptation, and that would give us a third new recruit. Good old Kevin – he's so predictable…

He didn't go over to Mark's on the Sunday evening because Mark had volunteered to keep an eye on him on the Monday while I was round at Colin's house. We had a football practice booked for Tuesday morning and I'd invited Danny Engel to come round on Tuesday afternoon, and on Wednesday the Microbes were going to look after him in the morning before our second extra football practice in the afternoon. I'd impressed upon them that this week they should not allow Kev to wank himself, and even though they were obviously disappointed by this they agreed.

Mark appeared shortly after breakfast, and he seemed surprisingly enthusiastic about having to baby-sit my brother for the whole day. I wasn't sure that Kev was going to be quite so happy, though, because Mark had brought a bag with him which turned out to contain his boots, which were definitely in need of a clean.

"Sure you're okay about doing this all day?" I asked.

"Yes, it'll be fine. We can play games on your console, can't we? At least, once Kev has cleaned my boots we can. I'll see you at… what, around five?"

"Probably. If it's going to be later than that I'll text you." And I got on my bike and left them to it.

Mark

I'd been looking forward to this since Chris had first suggested it – me and Kev, alone in the house for an entire day! And we could do anything I wanted!! Of course, I'd have to be careful about the cameras, but I knew where the control box was, so I could simply turn them off if I wanted, or block them off if I wanted to leave them on. I didn't think Chris would check on them, not with me being here all the time, but maybe it would be better not to turn them off… although I could quite easily reset the clock, which would make it harder for him to tell that I'd turned them off…

I decided to leave them on for the moment and to try to avoid doing anything in front of any of them – which wouldn't be difficult: all I had to do was to stay out of the two bedrooms, the TV room downstairs and the toilet next to Kevin's room. I didn't foresee any problems doing that.

I have to say that Kev seemed to be quite looking forward to the day, too – he greeted me enthusiastically, though he waited until his brother had gone before he did so.

"What are we going to do today, then?" he asked.

"Are we likely to be interrupted?"

"Not once Mrs Jordan has gone. She's out doing the shopping at the moment, and she'll only be here for an hour or so when she gets back. After that we'll have the house to ourselves."

"Cool! In that case let's go and play video games until she goes, and then… I'm sure we'll think of something else to do."

So we went up to Chris's room and played on his games console for an hour and a half or so, and once the housekeeper had gone (Kev went downstairs to check) I took him into his own bedroom and ordered him to strip.

"There's no reason for you to wear anything for the rest of the day," I pointed out. "And if you're naked you won't forget which of us is in charge."

"Aren't you going to get undressed too?" he asked.

"Why, do you want me to?"

"Well, yes. That way we could do… stuff without having to wait for you to get your clothes off."

"So you admit you want to do 'stuff', do you?"

"You know I do – and I know you do, too, so you don't have to pretend otherwise!"

I remembered the microphone under the bed.

"Well, get undressed and then wait here," I said. "I'll be back in a moment."

I went to Chris's room, turned on the computer, connected to the surveillance program, found the sound recording and erased the previous couple of minutes, and then I went back and beckoned Kevin out into the corridor.

"Your bed isn't very big," I said. "Nor is Chris's. Can we use your parents' room?"

"I'm not sure about that," he said, doubtfully. "I mean, I suppose we could, but we'd have to be really careful about tidying up afterwards, because we're not really supposed to go in there at all. And my dad might be coming home for a couple of days at the end of this week, and he'd be sure to notice if we messed everything up."

"I'm sure we'll be okay," I told him. "I'll take a photo of the bed before we start, and then we can remake it exactly the same afterwards."

So he led me to his parents' room on the other side of the house, and I got my phone out and took a couple of pictures of the bed. And then I got undressed and we got into bed together, because I wanted to find out how it would feel to actually share a bed with someone. And it felt really nice: we spent the next half hour or so kissing and cuddling, and by the end of it I was starting to think I was going to be one of those people who likes boys and girls, because having Kev lying on top of me and kissing me felt incredible. I'd have been quite happy to stay there all afternoon, but after a bit Kev decided he wanted to move up a stage, because he wriggled down in the bed and began to suck me, very slowly.

"I didn't tell you to do that," I pointed out, though without trying to stop him.

"I know," he replied, and promptly started doing it again.

"So you like doing this?"

He didn't take it out of his mouth this time, so his response was unintelligible, and I'm sure that was intentional. I didn't mind too much: I could always ask again later when his mouth was empty – and I was pretty sure I knew the answer to the question anyway.

I let him get me close, but stopped him before he pushed me too far.

"We've got all afternoon," I said, pulling him up to lie beside me again, "so there's no hurry, is there? Now, tell me again whether or not you liked doing that – and tell me the truth."

"I liked it," he admitted. "I like it a lot, in fact. Obviously it helps that we're friends – I wouldn't want to do it for just anyone – but I'm pretty sure I can trust you not to tell anyone else about it. And, besides, I like making you feel good."

"Good," I said. "I'm glad you're being honest. When I did it for you last week I wasn't sure whether I really liked doing it or not, so I suppose I ought to do it again to help me decide. What do you think?"

"Yes, please!" he said, enthusiastically.

"Okay, then. But stop me before it happens – like I said, we've got ages yet."

To be honest I'd already decided the first time that I didn't mind doing this, and doing it like this, in complete privacy and in a comfortable bed, only convinced me further that this was fun. Kev warned me when he was getting too close for comfort, and at that point I stopped and returned to my place lying beside him.

"Kev," I asked, "how would you feel about us…trying something else?" He didn't seem to get it straight away, so I put a hand on his bum, stroked it a little and then let my middle finger press gently at his hole. And at that, daylight dawned.

"Oh!" he said. "You mean, you want to… to put it in me?"

"Well, partly. I thought we might both try putting it in each other. What do you think?"

"Well, you're in charge…"

"No, you're not getting out of it that easily! I wouldn't make you do something like this. We'll do it if you're okay with it, and we won't if you're not, so it's up to you."

Kevin

I suppose I should have realised that this was going to come up sooner or later, but somehow it just hadn't occurred to me. After all, I'd never dared dream that I would ever be in this position with another boy, and even after my session with Mark the previous Sunday I hadn't imagined that things would progress to this situation – at least, certainly not this quickly.

I'd never even fantasised about actual… in fact, even thinking the word 'fucking' was difficult for me. But now that the matter had been raised…

I did a quick mental balance sheet. On the plus side, I liked Mark, I was sure I could trust him to keep it private, and he was proposing a proper, balanced, two-way transaction. On the other hand, even though Mark wasn't too big I still thought it would hurt, and I wasn't sure about putting mine into him – wouldn't it be, well, messy? Still, if I really was gay this would presumably be part of my life in the future – and I supposed that people wouldn't do it unless it felt good…

"Well… yes, I think I would like to try that," I said. "But I'm not sure we'll be able to – I mean, you're quite big, and I think my… my hole, is quite small. And even if you could force it in I think it would hurt."

"I've been watching some porn," he told me. "In some of the films I've seen guys who are twice the size of us manage to get it in fairly easily. You have to use some sort of lubricant – apparently Vaseline works quite well. You can't really tell from the films if it hurts, but I should think it would be okay if we're careful… still, perhaps we should use something else to get us ready first. Can you keep a secret?"

"Of course I can!"

"Okay. Stay there."

He got out of bed and left the room, returning a couple of minutes later with his bag. And inside the bag (apart from his football boots) were a small jar of Vaseline and something that I was shocked to recognise as a plastic penis.

"Bloody hell!" I exclaimed. "How did you manage to get that? I'm sure you have to be eighteen to go to Ann Summers or somewhere like that!"

"Not if you buy it online."

"But surely you'd need a credit card for that? And won't it show up on your dad's credit card bill – God, Mark, what's he going to say when he sees an entry for 'Acme Sex Toys' or whatever the place was called?"

"He won't, because I didn't use it there. Actually he probably wouldn't notice even if I had, but still… he lets me use his card to buy odds and ends for the computer online, and so I know the card details. It's possible to get a sort of virtual credit card online, so I used his card to set me up a virtual card of my own, and then used that to do my shopping. It's a bit expensive because there are charges for using the card, but it works and it's difficult to trace. I mean, I wouldn't risk using it to buy anything illegal, but buying a dildo is legal, provided you're over eighteen – and the profile I used to take the card out says I'm twenty-two. Simples!"

I stared at him. Okay, I know he's a whiz with computers, but I wouldn't have had a clue about this sort of thing.

"So, shall we try?" he went on. "I only bought it last week, so I haven't even tried it on myself yet. I thought it would be more fun to try it out together."

Well, I couldn't say no to that, could I? "All right, let's," I agreed, and his face lit up with a brilliant smile.

"Okay," he said. "I suppose you should try to put it into me first… I'll kneel against the bed, and you try to push it in. But take it slow, and stop if I tell you to, okay? And put some Vaseline on it first."

Obviously I'd never tried anything like this before, and I was too scared of hurting him at first – he had to tell me to push harder. But eventually it started to penetrate, and at that point he gasped and I froze.

"It's okay, keep going," he said. "Gently!"

And once I got the moulded tip past the entrance it seemed to slide in fairly easily, though he gasped and wriggled some more as it went in. And once it was in he told me to move it in and out, and I did that, and on about the third thrust he gave another gasp.

"I think you just got the angle right," he said. "There's supposed to be something it rubs against inside, and I'm pretty sure you just found it. Keep going."

So I did, and he confirmed that it was doing what it was supposed to do, and in the end he had to tell me to stop and take it out, because he was afraid that otherwise he was going to make a mess on the bedding. And after we'd washed the dildo down in my parents' en-suite bathroom we swapped places and I found out why he'd liked it: it did hurt a bit to start with, but then it started to feel weird but sort of nice.

I stopped him before I lost control of myself, which I think would have happened if he'd kept going for another ten seconds or so.

"So, did you like that?" he asked, once he got back from cleaning it off.

"Yes, I think so. It felt strange, and it hurt at the start, like you said, but… I suppose that means we could… you know, do it for real, then?"

"I think so. I bought one of the smallest ones they had, but I think it's still a bit bigger than either of us, so if we can take the plastic one, we should be able to take the real one. Except I don't want to do that straight away – I'd like to have it to look forward to another day. Let's just get back into bed for now."

So we cuddled some more.

"Are you sure this doesn't bother you?" I asked. "I mean, if you get a girlfriend you won't end up having anything put inside you, will you? So…"

He shrugged. "I think maybe I'll have boyfriends and girlfriends. After all, I like you and me being together like this, and I don't see why I should stop doing it with boys when I start going out with girls – if I can ever find a girl who likes going out with a midget, of course…"

"You'll grow," I assured him. "It's less than a month since your twelfth birthday, so you've got plenty of time. Okay, you might not be over six feet when you're grown up, but I expect you'll be decently average. I don't think you'll have too much trouble getting a girlfriend by the time you're fourteen or fifteen. And I'll be around to do stuff with until then – unless I find a boyfriend, of course, but since I'm never going to tell anyone I'm gay I don't think that'll happen."

"It might. And maybe another gay boy might fancy you and try it on with you, especially if he sees you without your glasses. You'll have to spend as much time as you can not wearing them."

"Sure – but you'll have to get me a white stick and a guide dog first."

"Not really. I know you can get about the house without them, and you could probably get around the school, too – all you'd have to do would be to follow the rest of the class. Just wear them during lessons and try keeping them off between. Although if I'm going to be selfish I hope you don't get a boyfriend just yet, because that way I get to keep you to myself."

"I wouldn't mind sharing myself around," I said.

"You slut!" he replied, grinning. "Don't forget you have to do what I tell you, and if I order you not to go out with anyone else you'd have to obey. I wouldn't do that, though," he added, seeing my face. "That would be pretty cruel. I'm happy just to do stuff with you until you find someone else. Now, lie on your back."

So I did that and he threw the bedding back out of the way and then took hold of me and masturbated me steadily until I shot onto myself – four spurts today, another new record. And then I did it to him…

This was the first time I'd actually seen what he produced, and it was amazing – it was thick and white (a lot thicker and whiter than mine) and there were six or seven proper spurts of it. I thought it was no surprise that he had choked me with it the first time I had sucked him.

"Okay, Mark, I admit it: you're a lot more mature than me," I said, staring at his chest.

"I'm glad you noticed. Now go and find me something to mop it up with."

So I did that, and then we got dressed, went and had something to eat and then, after I'd cleaned his boots – and he actually helped me – we spent the bulk of the afternoon playing video games, though we did have a couple of games of chess as well. And at least that was something I could beat him at…

Kevin's under ever-increasing surveillance, but his sexual education is coming along by leaps and bounds.

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