David Clarke

Timmy and the Travellers

Chapters 20-24

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Chapter 20

OK, so we're back with Stephen the Temporary Traveller, and this time he's got a surprise for Tom. But before that their visit to the swimming pool is going to take an unexpected turn…

By Wednesday night the wall was almost finished, so when Stephen went back with Tom's father and the others on Thursday morning it was just to hang the gates, finish off the capping at one end and generally to tidy up. This was done by mid-morning, at which point the boys kept out of the way while Mr O'Leary and Brendan's father showed the householder the finished job

"Another happy customer," said Mr O'Leary, coming back to the van, where Stephen and Tom were waiting for him. "Now… we thought that it might be an idea for us to go to the pool this morning, because it'll be a lot less crowded now than it will be this afternoon. So we're heading back to the site to pick up the ladies and our towels, and then we'll be heading straight off – so don't disappear when we get back, okay?"

He drove them back to the site and they ran inside to collect their towels and swimming trunks – Stephen only had one pair of trunks, so he hadn't been able to find anything too ratty looking, and he'd packed a fairly good towel as well – he wasn't going to be wearing it, after all.

They all piled back into the van – Tom's mum and sister were coming, too – and drove to the swimming pool in Poundford Spa.

"We'll just be coming in for a quick dip and a shower," Mr O'Leary told them, "and then we'll be away to the shops. You boys can take your time – but mind you're waiting for us when we get back – by half past twelve at the latest, mind. Now, I expect you'll want something to eat after, so here's your pay. Make sure you don't lose it." And to Stephen's amazement Mr O'Leary handed him a five pound note.

"But… what's this for?" he asked.

"Helping us with the wall. You've put in a couple of days' work, and hard work, at that. You've earned it."

"What about me?" asked Tom.

"What about you, Trouble?" replied Mr O'Leary. "Do you think I should pay you for getting under everyone's feet and spilling the tea?"

"I only spilt it once!"

"So you did," said Mr O'Leary, grinning at him, and he handed him three pounds. "And before you say anything, your friend's older than you, and he can carry bricks, and lay them. When you can do that, you'll get paid more."

"I never said a word," said Tom, virtuously.

"Good. Okay, away you go and get changed. And mind you behave in there!"

Stephen was quite a good swimmer, and it turned out that Tom was, too – after all, he came to the pool every week, so he got plenty of practice. They raced each other, practised their diving and chased each other round the pool. After a while Brendan and Alan arrived and joined in, trying to catch Stephen and duck him, and then they switched their attention to Tom, though he was generally too quick for them and managed to escape their attempts to catch him.

Eventually they got out and headed for the changing room. They had paid for a small family changing room with its own showers, which Tom explained they did every week because it meant they could take as long as they wanted in the shower without having to fight for a place with everyone else in the pool – which, as today was a school holiday, was quite a lot of people. On the other hand, there were only four shower heads, and one of them was not working, which meant that a certain amount of co-operation was called for.

Stephen noticed that both Brendan and Alan removed their trunks before seizing two of the three working shower heads, so he took his off, too, and managed to grab the third position before Tom, who was hunting in his bag for his soap and shampoo. Eventually Tom found what he was looking for, removed his trunks and came and tried to barge Stephen out of the shower. Stephen, being a lot bigger, simply stayed where he was.

"Come on, Stephen, please – give me a bit of room?" pleaded Tom.

"That's better," said Stephen, moving out of the way. "I don't mind sharing, as long as you ask nicely."

"He never asks for anything nicely," commented Alan.

"Then I'll have to teach him, won't I?"

"Fat chance," said Tom, who, now that he was under the spray, didn't see any point in being polite any longer. "You couldn't teach me anything."

"Probably not, but I think I ought to try," said Stephen. "You can't go on being a cheeky little boy all your life."

"Who are you calling little? You're a lot littler than me, at least where it counts. See, Alan, I told you he had a tiny cock, just like all townies."

"Is that true?" asked Alan, looking at Stephen's genitals and trying not to giggle. "Do all townie boys have small ones?"

"Of course not, Stupid," said his brother. "He's just pulling your chain, as usual. They're exactly the same as us: some have big ones, and some have small ones – like you. Being a townie's got nothing to do with it."

"Mine's not small," protested Alan, and it wasn't, not really: it was probably about the same size as Michael's or Christy's, though he had a little more hair than Michael, albeit not much more. Brendan's, of course, was larger and hairier, but Brendan was fifteen, while his brother had only just turned thirteen.

"I don't think it is, either," said Stephen. "You're bigger than me, anyway. But some townies have big ones – I mean, Tom, what about Colin? He's bigger than Alan, and Colin's only eleven. And Truscott's is pretty big, too."

"Yeah, but what about Timmy? He's hardly got one at all."

"Who's Timmy?" asked Alan.

"A friend of ours," explained Stephen. "He goes to my school. And it is true that his is really small. But I don't think it matters what size it is, and I don't understand why Tom keeps going on about it."

"Wait till you want to go out with a girl," said Brendan. "Girls think it's pretty important, I can tell you."

"Has Annie seen yours yet?" asked Tom.

"That's none of your business!" Brendan told him.

"Yes, she has," Alan put in. "At least, that's what Bren told me after the last time he went out with her."

"Okay, Big Mouth, yes, she has. But I don't want everyone in the camp to know about it – so you'd better button it, O'Leary, or you're dead, see?"

"Ooh, I'm scared!" said Tom, pretending to hide behind Stephen.

"You will be if I find out you've spread it about – seriously, Tom, keep it to yourself, okay, otherwise me and Annie will both get in trouble."

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," promised Tom. "Provided you tell us what you did with her, that is. Did you fuck her?"

"Of course not! Fucking hell, Tom, we've not been going out that long – and I didn't have any condoms, anyway."

"So, what, did she suck you?"

"No!"

"What did she do, then, just look at it and laugh?"

"Get lost, O'Leary. Look, if you really want to know, she gave me a wank, okay?"

"Oh," said Tom. "Not bad, Bren – and obviously now you won't need Alan to do it for you any more."

"Shit! What did you tell him that for, moron?" Brendan demanded of his brother.

"I didn't!" Alan protested.

"Then how does he know about it – 'cos I certainly didn't tell him."

"Yes, you did," said Tom; grinning at him. "Just now."

"What, you mean you didn't actually know… oh, shit. Fuck, O'Leary, you've been hanging round Danny Kelly for too long – that's the sort of trick he usually pulls. Look… you're not going to tell anyone, are you?"

"What's it worth?" asked Tom.

"Well, if you don't tell anyone, you get to stay alive. How's that?" asked Brendan.

"Not good enough. Tell you what, though – I won't tell anyone if you let me and Stephen watch Alan wanking you off now."

"Fuck, no! We'd never hear the end of it!"

"Yes, you will – neither of us will say a word. But if you don't, as soon as I get back to camp I'm going to tell Danny, and five minutes after he hears about it, the whole camp will know. Including Annie, by the way – reckon she'll agree to do it for you again if she knows she's in competition with your brother?"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Wanna find out?"

"No, but…"

"What, are you afraid Stephen will talk about it?"

"Not at all – I trust him a lot more than I trust you. No, it's Annie I'm thinking about – you're right, she'd never speak to me again if she found out about it. I just don't trust you not to tell Danny, and then she'd be sure to hear about it."

"He won't tell," said Stephen. "I know him pretty well by now, and I think you can trust him to keep his word. And if he doesn't, I'll never speak to him again."

"But if you refuse, I'm definitely going to tell," said Tom.

"Well… suppose we said yes: how do we know you won't make us do it again next time we're here?"

"You don't," said Tom, grinning at him.

"Then we're not doing it – unless we've got something to hold over your head, too. So here's the deal: you two can watch Alan wanking me; provided we get to watch Stephen wanking you."

"Why should I agree to that?" asked Tom.

"Because it's fair: that way if you tell anyone about us, we'll have something to tell them about you."

Tom looked at Stephen. "What do you think?" he asked. "It'll be a really good laugh watching them, 'cos I bet Bren comes loads, but there'll be nothing much for them to see from me, 'cos I can't come at all yet. Shall we say yes?"

"It's up to you," said Stephen. "I don't mind."

"Okay, then," said Tom. "It's a deal. Go on, then, Alan, make him spurt!"

So the brothers angled their two showerheads to make sure they would both be in a steady stream of warm water, and then Alan came and stood behind his brother's right shoulder and took hold of Brendan's penis, which quickly responded.

"Let's see it, then," said Tom, once it was fully erect, and Alan let go long enough for them to get a good look. It was now probably a little over six inches [15 cm], sticking out almost horizontally from his body.

Alan took hold of it again and started to rub it steadily, while Tom and Stephen watched with interest.

"Hey, look, Stephen," said Tom after a couple of minutes, "Alan's gone hard! He must really like doing this!"

"I can't help it," mumbled Alan, moving closer to his brother to try to hide his erection. "It just happens, okay?"

"Getting close," said Brendan, after another minute or so. They stared at his penis, and were rewarded when it suddenly erupted: five or six spurts of quite thick white ejaculate jetted out and landed in front of them.

"Gosh, is that what spunk looks like?" asked Stephen.

"Yeah," said Tom. "There's loads of it, isn't there? Soon I'll be able to do that, too."

"You wish," said Brendan, getting his breath back. "Thanks, Al. Okay, you two, your turn."

Stephen wondered briefly if he should lie on his back and invite Tom to sit on him and try the "two willies in one hand" method, but quickly decided against it. Instead he adopted a position similar to that which Alan had used and started to play with Tom's thing, which soon hardened nicely.

"Have you done this before?" asked Brendan. "You look as if you know what you're doing."

"I'm just trying to do what Alan was doing to you," replied Stephen, which of course avoided actually answering the question.

He worked away steadily, and was pleased to discover that, although doing this with Tom was normally enough to make his own penis go stiff; this time it hadn't, probably because there was an audience here. He thought he'd draw this to their attention, so he said, "Looks like yours is still hard, Alan. I hope you can see that mine isn't – I don't seem to get quite so excited by doing this to someone as you do."

"That's probably only because you aren't mature yet," replied Alan. "I bet if you did this to him after you grow up a bit and get some hairs, the same thing would happen to you."

Stephen couldn't really answer that and wished he'd kept his mouth shut. Instead he carried on rubbing Tom's erection until finally Tom tensed up and gasped as he climaxed.

"Nothing yet, then," commented Alan, who was still hard.

"He's only ten," Stephen pointed out, loyally "How much of that stuff did you have when you were ten?"

"Fair comment," said Brendan, grinning at his brother.

"Are you going to do him now? He's ever so stiff," Tom asked him.

"No. Family rule: little brothers have to do themselves," said Brendan.

"That seems a bit unfair," said Stephen.

"That's the way it is: I've never done it to him and I'm not starting now. I'm sure he won't mind if you do it for him, if you're feeling that sorry for him."

"Would you?" asked Alan. "I'd like to know what it feels like if someone else does it."

"Well…"

"Please?"

"Oh, okay, then," said Stephen, and came and stood close behind Alan, reaching round and taking hold of him. It was no thicker than Tom's and not that much longer, so he had no difficulty getting into a rhythm.

"Oh, that's nice," exclaimed Alan. He saw that Brendan and Tom were grinning at him, so he closed his eyes, and after a minute or so he reached round behind his back and took hold of Stephen's genitals. Stephen jumped slightly at the touch but didn't try to move away, so Alan kept tugging on the penis until it was good and stiff.

"Please could you go a little faster?" he begged, after a bit, so Stephen speeded up a little.

"Alan can't come!" taunted Tom.

"I can! I swear I can… come on, Stephen, please let me come…"

"Alan's got no spunk!" teased Tom.

"I have! Let me show you…"

Alan couldn't admit that he'd already wanked himself twice today, once shortly after getting up and once when he had gone back to his caravan to collect his swimming things. What Stephen was doing to him felt absolutely brilliant, and he knew that if this had been his first time of the day he'd have come ages ago; but he still wasn't ready, and the look on Tom's face was humiliating. He closed his eyes again, tugged some more on Stephen's little stiffy and tried to will himself to reach climax.

At last he felt the pressure building up.

"It's coming!" he gasped, and three or four strokes later he spurted out a small jet of something with a whitish tinge but a thoroughly liquid consistency. A second followed, and then a small dribble.

"That's not very much," commented Tom. "Hardly worth waiting for, I'd say."

"Fuck off, Tom," said Alan. "Thanks, Stephen, that felt really, really good. At least now I know what it feels like when I do it to Bren."

"It feels even better when Annie does it, but I reckon that's mostly in my head, rather than her technique," said Brendan.

"Are you going to do Stephen now?" asked Tom. "Looks like you've made him all hard."

"No, thanks," said Stephen, before Alan could reply. "I don't really want you to. I'd better have another wash instead – I probably got all sweaty doing that twice."

He'd found it interesting doing it to Alan, but really he didn't want to do this sort of stuff with anyone except Tom, and certainly he didn't want anyone else rubbing him: as far as he was concerned Tom was the only person who was allowed to do that. He'd only done it to Alan because he felt sorry for him, and if Tom had protested about it he would have stopped straight away.

They all had another good wash – Tom and Stephen washed each other's backs, and then Stephen borrowed Tom's shampoo (he'd forgotten to bring any of his own) and gave his hair a good wash, and then helped Tom to wash his.

By the time they were all dressed they only had five minutes left to get something to eat, so they nipped up to the snack bar and bought some chocolate and a can of drink each and then went outside to wait for Mr O'Leary and Brendan's dad to come and pick them up.

***

The camp site was quiet after lunch: the rest of the men and boys had come back from their drive-laying, picked up wives and daughters and headed for the swimming pool. Tom wanted to go off and play in the woods, but his mother had other ideas.

"You've just got clean, and we're going to church tonight, so you're not doing anything messy," she told him. "And that means you're not going out of sight of this van, understand? I know you, Thomas O'Leary: if there's any mud around, you'll go and roll about it in. Well, not today. You can stay inside and play cards, or something. I'm taking Bridie round to see Mrs Byrne for a bit, but if I come back and find you're not here, you'll be saying hello to your father's belt later on. Now see if you can't behave nicely for a change." And she called Bridie and went out.

"Who's Mrs Byrne?" asked Stephen.

"Brendan and Alan's mum. We're probably the only two families still here – everyone else has gone to the pool, which is why she can't go to visit Auntie Maureen as usual."

"And what's that about going to church? I didn't realise you'd be doing that. Do I stay here, or should I go back home, or what?"

"You can come with us, if you like. We don't go very often, but it's Maundy Thursday today, so we're supposed to if we can. Most of the other families don't go to Mass any longer, if they ever did, but we do."

"Mass? I don't know if I can come to that. I'm not a Catholic – in fact I don't think I'm anything, really. We don't go to church. I suppose that makes me C of E…"

"You don't have to be a Catholic to come to church – it just means you can't take communion. I'd like you to come if you can – that way we'll have been together for the whole time."

"Well, OK, as long as I can just sit there. I won't be able to join in, anyway – it's all in Latin or something, isn't it?"

"No, of course not. I think it used to be, but it stopped being in Latin ages ago – before I was born, I think. It's in English now, so you'll be able to understand what's going on."

"OK, then I'll definitely come. So… what are we going to do between now and then?"

"Well, I can think of lots of things I'd like to do – but we'd better not in case mum comes home earlier than we expect her to. It's a pity we can't sneak off to the garage…Oh, well, I expect we'll find time tomorrow."

So they played cards, and word games, and draughts – there was a battered set in the caravan, though they had to use coins in place of a couple of missing pieces – until Tom's mum came back to the caravan, and at that point Tom had a bright idea.

"Stephen wants to come to Mass with us tonight," he told her, "but he'd prefer to put some better clothes on – he doesn't really want to come to church in his oldest stuff. Would it be alright if we went to his house so that he can get changed? We promise not to go in the woods or anything on the way…"

"Well, I suppose so," said his mother. "But God help you if you don't come back looking as clean as you are now."

"Great! Thanks, Mum!" And he grabbed Stephen's elbow and pulled him outside before his mother could change her mind.

They made their way to the garage and wedged the chair under the door as before, and Stephen retrieved his bag from the shelf and got out the better clothes he had been wearing on Monday morning.

"Now you know how you have to do this," Tom told him. "Take everything off first, and then you can go back to looking like a townie – even if you still won't be one really for a bit longer."

Stephen didn't mind this game in the least, so he removed all his clothing and packed it away in the bag.

"Come and let me check for anything hidden," ordered Tom, moving to the mattress.

"What could I possibly hide?" asked Stephen. "I haven't had anything to hide for the last four days."

"I still want to make sure. Now come here or I'll spank you."

"I'd love to see you try," said Stephen, but he joined Tom on the mattress all the same.

Once again Tom ran his hands all over Stephen's body, and once again the inevitable happened, but this time Tom intended being a lot less cruel.

"Lie on your back," he said, "and then we can make up for what didn't happen at the pool. Though I still don't know why you didn't want Alan to do it to you. Was it because you're ashamed of not being able to come – especially as you're older than he is?"

"Not really. I just didn't want anyone else touching me like this . You're special, Tom, and you're the only person I want to do this sort of thing with. OK, I had to let Timmy touch me there when we were doing our sex homework, and I'll be honest and say I didn't really mind doing it with him; but you're the only one I want to make me get the sex feeling."

"Oh," said Tom. "Then… I'm going to try to do it really nicely. Lie back."

"Not like that, you're not," said Stephen. "I want to have you close against me, and we can't do that while you've got your clothes on. Besides, we don't want your clothes getting all sweaty, do we? Your mum definitely wouldn't like that."

"I suppose not," agreed Tom, grinning, and he quickly threw his clothes off. Then he came and lay close against Stephen's right side, took hold of his small erection and began to rub it slowly.

"That's going to take for ever," said Stephen.

"That's the idea. I want this to go on feeling nice for ages."

"Yes, but we haven't really got ages. If we take too long your mum's going to get annoyed."

"I suppose you're right," said Tom, and he speeded up just a little.

Of course, Tom knew that Stephen was right and they couldn't take too long, so he kept at it steadily and didn't pause along the way, as he would have done if he had really been trying to make it last. Before too long Stephen was wriggling about and begging him to speed up, and so he did, even though he would have preferred to draw the whole process out instead.

Stephen gasped and bucked his way to orgasm and then told Tom to stop, hugging him hard.

"Thanks, Tom," he said. "Okay, your turn…"

"No, it isn't," said Tom, wriggling back out of reach. "I had my turn at the pool. Besides, we haven't got time now. Come on, let's get dressed."

"Are you sure?"

"Well… no, not really But we really should be getting back, so it'll have to wait, anyway. Come on, then, let's see you put all that soft townie stuff back on."

So Stephen put his proper clothes on, complete with pants and socks, which felt a little strange after four days without any. Tom was dressed in half the time, of course, and by the time Stephen was ready to go Tom had removed the chair from the door and was waiting just outside.

***

After supper the whole family, wearing their best clothes (which still made Stephen look good by comparison), got into the van and drove to the Catholic church in Poundford Spa. Stephen was able to follow what was going on in the Mass book handed out at the door, but he didn't know any of the hymns and wasn't entirely aware of the meaning of everything that went on – the foot-washing ceremony struck him as particularly strange.

When it was time for communion he stayed in the pew with Bridie, who was too young to have made her First Communion, while the rest of the family went up to the altar rail. One more hymn and it was all over, and Stephen joined the rest of the family in heading for the door.

"Hey, look," said Tom, nudging him, "there's Colin. Let's go and say hello."

Carlington was of course with his family, and an interesting expression crossed his face when he saw them heading his way: Stephen looked perfectly respectable, but even in his best clothes Tom looked distinctly untidy. He wasn't sure what his mother would say if he acknowledged that he knew this scruffy kid. Still, there was no way out of it, so when Stephen said, "Hello, Carlington," he replied, "Hello, Wood," straight away. Using the surname, as if they were at school, helped to put a bit of distance between them, and Carlington wondered if Stephen had done it deliberately to help him out.

"I didn't know you were a Catholic," he said. "I haven't seen you here before."

"I'm not, but I've been staying with Tom all week, so when he said he was coming here this evening I thought I should come with him."

"What, you've actually been living with him? Gosh! What's it like?"

"Different. There's not much in the way of luxuries, but in a way it's sometimes sort of fun. Look, your parents seem to be waiting for you – I'll tell you all about it when we get back to school if you like."

"Okay. Bye, Wood, bye, Tom – I expect I'll see you here over the weekend."

"Probably," said Tom. "Bye, Colin."

***

The following morning after breakfast they sprang the surprise on Tom.

"Now it's your turn," Stephen told him. "I've had four days as a traveller – now you're going to try life as a townie for four days. You're coming home with me for the weekend."

"But… I mean, how come? Won't your parents throw a wobbly if you turn up with me in tow?"

"Nope, they already know about it. Your dad agreed it all with my dad last weekend. I asked if we could do it like that, so we could both find out a bit about each other. Come on, we're going."

"But… I'm not packed, or anything. And how come nobody said anything to me about it?"

"We thought it would be more fun to surprise you," said Mr O'Leary. "Of course, Mrs Wood's got no idea of what she's letting herself in for, but your mother and I are going to have a nice, quiet, Trouble-free weekend. How could we say no to that?" And he winked to show that he didn't really mean it.

"All you need is this," said his mother, handing him his washing kit. "Off you go, now: we'll see you at church on Saturday night."

"Huh?" said Stephen, because he didn't know about that bit.

"It's Easter Midnight Mass," explained Mr O'Leary. "I explained to your father that Tom really had to be there, and that he wouldn't be able to come and stay otherwise. Actually I think that's why he agreed to the whole swap-over business: the idea that we go to church seems to have changed the way he thinks about us. Of course, maybe he should have realised that it's perfectly OK for us to con townies all year long, as long as we can go to Confession and get it sorted out afterwards." And he winked again.

"Come on," said Stephen once more, more or less dragging Tom out of the caravan.

"Look, are you sure your parents won't mind?" asked Tom as they headed for the garage.

"Well, yours didn't seem to mind me. Of course, mine have never met you, so it could be a problem – after all, it's sort of hard to cope with you…"

They reached the garage.

"Hang on," said Tom. "I can't really spend Easter weekend with you wearing these clothes. They're not even my best ones."

"Then you'd better take them off, hadn't you?"

"But I haven't got any others – and if I wear the ones you were wearing earlier in the week, I won't only look just as scruffy, but I'll look even worse, 'cos they'll be too big for me."

"Well, we can try, anyway. Now get undressed. And you know how this works by now – every stitch, Tom, and then I'll have to check for contraband."

"What's contraband?"

"Stuff you're trying to smuggle in – like for some reason you keep thinking I'm doing, stuck behind my balls and places like that. Now get the rest of those clothes off and come here to be checked."

He still wasn't happy about his clothes, but this was a game that, like Stephen, Tom didn't mind playing at all, so he threw his clothes off and stood on the mattress with his hands on his head, ready for inspection. Stephen, of course, did a very thorough job, and only declared himself satisfied about ten minutes later, by which time Tom's penis was painfully stiff.

Next Stephen removed his own clothes, revealing that he was in a similar state.

"Of course, now I'm not a traveller any longer, there's no reason we can't go back to doing what we did before," he said. "Except… well… instead of me sucking it… look, Tom, do you still want to fuck me? 'Cos I think I want you to."

Tom gaped at him. "Are you sure?" he said. "I mean… well, it's like I said ages back, I only really want to do that with someone… well, you know, special – and that's you. But I don't want to do it unless you're sure it's what you want."

"It is. I've thought about it a lot, Tom: I've really enjoyed being with you this week, and when we were talking on Monday about… you know, you moving away… well, I thought then that I'd like to do this with you so we'll always have something special to remember if… well, just in case. I don't suppose I'll ever let anyone else do that to me again, and you being the only one would be something really important. So… we haven't got any Vaseline, because I haven't had a chance to get hold of any, but you've got some shampoo in your sponge-bag, and I reckon that'll work just as well. So get it out and we'll find out."

Tom got the shampoo from his washing kit and poured a little onto his erection, rubbing it in, and Stephen rubbed a little round his bottom and knelt down on the mattress. Of course, neither of them had done this before, but they'd both watched it being done to Truscott, so it was no great mystery.

Tom knelt on the mattress behind him and tried to line up, and Stephen tried to guide him into the correct position, but he just couldn't get it to slip inside. And after a minute or so vainly trying to get it to go in, the tension finally got to Tom and he started to lose his erection. After everything that Stephen had said, he was desperate to make this feel good for both of them, and that made him even more tense, and soon the erection had completely subsided.

"Oh, Stephen, I'm really, really sorry," he said. "I'm so useless.. I w… wanted it t… to be s… s… special…" And he started to cry.

Stephen rolled onto his back and pulled Tom into his arms.

"Hey, it doesn't matter," he said, stroking his hair and hugging him. "We'll get plenty more chances to try again. Maybe if I suck on you first to get you in the mood – next time, that is: I don't fancy a mouthful of shampoo right now."

"I'm pathetic," sobbed Tom.

"No, you're not. You're my friend, and I love you. Look, it's only 'cos it came as such a surprise this time – you weren't ready for it. Next time you'll be able to think about it beforehand, and we'll both be ready. And probably my mattress at home is softer than this one, too. Come on, Tom, we both know you've got a really nice cock – once it's got a nice comfortable bed to work on I bet it'll do a brilliant job."

"You really think so?"

"Of course I do. Now let's get this shampoo wiped off and then we can get dressed."

So they used the same box of tissues that Colin had used on the Tuesday, and then Stephen retrieved the carrier bag that Timmy had left on the garage shelf on Tuesday morning.

"Put some of these on," invited Stephen. "We reckon Timmy's about the same size as you, so it all ought to fit. He told me he's never worn the pants or socks, by the way – he's got a drawer full of socks that all his aunts keep giving him for Christmas, apparently."

So Tom arrayed himself in Timmy's spare clothes, while Stephen put his own clothes back on.

"Pity we haven't got a mirror here," he commented, once Tom was dressed. "Come here a minute…"

He pulled a comb from his pocket and used it to tidy up Tom's rather shaggy hair.

"Now you look like a real townie," he said, tucking the comb back in his pocket. "Come on, then: let's go and see what my parents think of my new little brother."

Considering the inexperience of all of the boys when the story started, it's a bit of a surprise that none of the others ran into this problem, but sooner or later it was likely to happen, and now Stephen and Tom know what real life is like. Still, as Stephen pointed out, there'll be plenty more opportunities to get it right.

Chapter 21

It'd be a bit unfair to abandon Stephen and Tom after their disappointment at the end of the last chapter, so we're going to stay with them for a bit and see what Tom makes of living in a house…

It didn't take too long for Tom to discover that there were some things about being a townie that he liked: he already knew about the large, soft bed, and the large amount of room that Stephen had to spread his belongings about, and he quickly decided that having a big television on the premises – especially a colour one – was a definite plus, too. He parked himself in front of it, and would probably have been happy to stay there for the rest of the day if Stephen hadn't dragged him away.

"We'll get plenty of time to watch telly this evening," he pointed out. "There's not much on at the moment, anyway. Come upstairs and we'll sort out where we're going to put your stuff."

Since Tom's 'stuff' consisted of a small sponge bag, he didn't think it would take too long to find somewhere to put it, but he allowed himself to be led upstairs all the same. It was the first time he had seen Stephen's bathroom, and, as Stephen had hoped, he was keen to try out the hot water.

"Have a bath," he suggested. "It's a lot better than trying to wash out of a bowl, I can tell you."

"Well… okay, then." Washing was not generally high on Tom's list of priorities: he reckoned that a shower once a week at the pool pretty much did the job, though he was prepared to have a quick sponge down at home if he got particularly grubby. But the novelty value of these arrangements led him to decide to give them a try – after all, he was supposed to be living like a townie this weekend, so he supposed he might as well do it properly.

Stephen put the plug in the bath and started running the water, adding a measure of the bubbly bath stuff he usually used, and Tom watched in fascination as the bath quickly filled with foaming water.

"That's a lot quicker than sticking the water on the cooker to heat up, like we do," he commented. "Is it always hot as soon as you turn the tap on?"

"Usually. If we empty the hot water tank we have to wait while it heats up again, but there's usually plenty." He checked that the water wasn't too hot or too cold. "Okay, get undressed and jump in," he said. "And I bet this'll be the first time you've had two thorough washes in two days…"

Tom wondered if Stephen was suggesting that he ought to wash more often, but he didn't want to get into an argument about it, so he didn't reply. Instead he took off his clothes, folding them up neatly as he went – something he never bothered to do with his own clothes – and climbed into the bath.

"It's hot!" he commented.

"Do you want me to put some more cold in?"

"No, just give me a minute to get used to it."

Gingerly he sat down, gasping a little as the hot water covered his middle, and then even more slowly he slid down until he was lying in the water, which now covered his chest.

"I think I like this," he said, after a minute or so. "It's different to having a shower, but it's nice. I could probably go to sleep like this."

"Better not," said Stephen. "If you did, you'd wake up and find the water had gone cold, which wouldn't be nice. Or you might slip right down and drown. Or, worse than that, my sister might come in and see you."

Tom gave a mock shriek of horror and piled foam over his groin.

"I don't suppose it matters if she sees you," he commented. "There's nothing much to see in your case, is there?"

Stephen filled a jug with water and poured it over Tom's head.

"Don't be cheeky, little brother," he said, "or the next jug will be cold water."

"I thought you were the little brother," said Tom. "I'm bigger than you where it matters, after all."

Stephen filled the jug at the cold tap and held it over Tom's head.

"Sorry, who's the little brother?" he asked.

"You are – eeek!"

A stream of cold water landed on his head, and he ducked under the surface to escape the worst of it.

"Behave, or I'll go downstairs and fill the jug with ice cubes instead," threatened Stephen. "And I'll pull the plug out first, so you won't be able to hide in the warm water: you'll be lying there in the open air, all bare and with ice cubes all over your balls."

"You wouldn't do that to me," said Tom, confidently.

"Why not?"

"Because we're brothers, and you wouldn't do something that nasty to your brother. And because if you did I'd think of something even worse to get you back. And don't forget you'll be a slave again after the holidays: be nice to me, or me and Danny will spend every evening chasing you naked through the woods and whipping your bum."

"And you won't do that to me," replied Stephen. "Same reason."

"Ah, but Danny might. He's not your brother, after all – all he wants from townies is a chance to beat them up. And to get a nice suck, of course. If you're nice to me I might tell him not to be too nasty to you, but if you're not nice to me, I'll let him do whatever he wants."

"That's blackmail!"

"Don't care. Put that jug down – or fill it with warm water: it felt quite nice the first time."

So Stephen refilled the jug with warm water and poured it slowly over Tom's head and down his body, and then he handed him the shampoo bottle.

"Wash your hair and I'll rinse it for you," he said.

Tom lathered up his hair, and Stephen rinsed him down with several jugs of water.

"Wait a sec," said Tom. He stood up, poured a little more shampoo into his hand and rubbed it round his groin.

"Tom, there's no hair to wash there," Stephen pointed out.

"No, but there will be soon enough, so I thought I ought to get used to washing it. Well, go on, then – fill the jug and rinse me."

Stephen refilled his jug and poured it, very slowly, over Tom's genitals, rinsing away the soap and having another effect at the same time.

"That felt nice," said Tom, looking at his growing erection. "Do that again."

Stephen did it again, and again, and each successive jug of water seemed to make it even harder. But after the third jug Stephen put the jug back under the basin and told Tom to get out of the bath and dry himself off.

"You can't leave me like this," complained Tom, staring at himself.

"Why not?"

"'Cos it would be cruel."

"Maybe I'm feeling cruel," said Stephen, passing Tom a large towel. "And then again, maybe I'm not."

He picked up a much smaller hand towel and carefully began to dry Tom's genitals, and of course the attention it was getting meant that Tom's erection stayed good and hard. Tom dried himself off quickly and got out of the bath, at which point Stephen stopped what he was doing, pulled the plug out to empty the bath, picked Tom up and carried him through to the bedroom.

"Now, we can't do anything too bad at the moment, because Mum's downstairs and Emma's out in the garden with Dad," he pointed out. "Probably I should just make you get dressed, but maybe – if you apologise for those comments about my size – I could be persuaded to do something about that thing of yours first."

"I'm sorry I said it was small;" said Tom. "I mean, it is small, we both know that, but I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"That's your idea of an apology, is it?"

Tom shrugged and grinned, and after a moment Stephen grinned back.

"Wait there," he said, and he trotted back to the bathroom and retrieved Tom's clothes, which he put on the chair beside his desk. Then he flicked over the tiny bolt on his bedroom door: one strong push would get past it, but the idea was to allow him to indicate that he'd like a bit of privacy, rather than barring the door to all comers.

He came and sat next to where Tom was lying on the bed and took hold of the hardest part of him, stroking it gently.

"Can you take your clothes off, please?" asked Tom. "Doing this is nicer when we're both undressed."

So Stephen got undressed and lay down on the bed next to him.

"We'd better not take too long now," he said, "or the family will wonder what we're doing. But tomorrow morning they'll be off to do the shopping – they can't do it today because most of the shops are shut – and then we'll have the house to ourselves. Unless you'd prefer to go shopping with them, that is…"

"No, thanks. I'm going to lie in that big soft townie bed all morning. I'll probably kick my little brother out and make him go and get breakfast for me, too…"

"If I hear much more of that 'little brother' stuff, someone round here's going to get his bum smacked."

"You wouldn't. You like me too much."

Stephen rolled Tom over onto his tummy and smacked his bottom lightly a couple of times.

"Don't count on it," said Stephen. "If you were really my brother I wouldn't let you get away with all that cheek, so I don't see why I should when we're just pretending. Just because you've got big balls, doesn't mean you have to have a big mouth, too."

"Ah, but you've only got little balls, and you need a big mouth – otherwise you wouldn't be able to get my big cock in it."

"You must want to be spanked," said Stephen.

"I don't mind. You're so feeble I won't even feel it."

So Stephen spanked him a bit harder, and Tom retaliated, and they wrestled for a couple of minutes, until they slipped off the bed and fell on the floor. The noise of their landing provoked a shouted enquiry from downstairs asking if everything was alright.

"Fine," shouted Stephen, getting to his feet and pulling Tom up after him. "We're just getting changed. Come on," he added in a quieter voice, "we'd better get dressed and go downstairs. And mind you behave, otherwise tomorrow when they're out of the house I'll spank you really hard."

"No, you won't," said Tom, complacently. "You're too nice to do that."

They got dressed and went downstairs, and spent the rest of the day kicking a football about in the garden, playing cards and watching television. By the time bedtime came around Tom had decided he didn't mind being a townie at all: maybe it would get boring eventually, always being in the same place and doing the same things, but in the short term he was perfectly happy.

Stephen's parents were not given to coming in to say 'Goodnight', but just in case Tom started out in a sleeping bag on the folding camp bed: they had already decided that "having a bad dream" would offer a suitable excuse for him moving in to share Stephen's bed later. They talked quietly for an hour or so until they heard Stephen's parents coming upstairs to go to bed themselves, and ten minutes later, when the house had gone quiet, Tom abandoned the sleeping bag and got into bed next to Stephen. Neither of them had been wearing anything, so they were now the way they wanted to be: naked, and in the same bed.

"Your mum won't come in to wake us up for breakfast or anything, will she?" asked Tom.

"No. She might knock at the door, but she won't come in – or not unless she hears strange noises, anyway, which means I won't be able to spank you until she's gone shopping."

"What a pity! It means I won't be able to spank you, either."

"Keep dreaming."

Tom wriggled a bit closer, and Stephen put his arm round him. He really enjoyed being close to Tom like this, and it was at times like this that he regretted not having a real brother. It would be fun to have someone like Tom to play with, and to tease – and, indeed, to be teased by, because he enjoyed the way Tom made fun of him sometimes. He wondered if he would change his mind if Tom really did live with him full time: after all, having a little brother could probably be really annoying sometimes, especially if they kept sticking their nose into his business. At least, that's what a couple of his friends at school had told him. But he found it hard to imagine that he would ever get tired of having a brother like Tom about the place…

He enjoyed the sex things they did together, too, though he thought that was something that might change as he got older; probably he'd be going out with girls before too long, and he'd only want to do that sort of thing with them once he reached that stage. But the sex was only a small part of being friends with Tom, and he was sure he'd still want them to do other stuff together, playing and talking and things like that, even after he started dating girls. In the meantime he'd enjoy that sort of thing with Tom, too: he was determined that they should have another try at what they had failed to do that afternoon.

Tom had quickly adjusted to the softer bed and was already almost asleep. Stephen stroked his hair, and Tom murmured something inaudible and moved even closer, so Stephen did it again and then hugged him.

"Night, little brother," he said, softly.

"Night, even littler brother," replied Tom, in a sleepy murmur. Stephen smiled to himself and settled down to sleep.

***

As predicted, their morning wake-up call came in the form of a knock at the door and a voice telling them that breakfast would be ready in fifteen minutes. Stephen would have liked to spend the whole morning where he was now, but he supposed that breakfast might be a good idea, too, so he threw back the covers and stood up. As seemed to happen quite often when he first got up, he had an erection, and when Tom noticed he giggled.

"You must think I'm really sexy," he said.

"No, this just happens most mornings," said Stephen.

"Yeah, right. Anyway, it's still smaller than mine, even like that."

"No, it isn't," replied Stephen, and he wrenched the sheets back to prove it. Tom's was still soft, but almost as soon as the sheet was removed it started to harden.

"Looks like you think I'm sexy, too," observed Stephen.

"No, it's stiff with terror, 'cos it's never seen anything as horrible as your face."

"You've obviously not used a mirror lately, then."

Tom made a rude noise and stood up, holding his erection alongside Stephen's and demonstrating that they were still about the same length, and that Tom's was still thicker.

"Little brother!" he said, cheekily.

"You wait till my parents have gone out," said Stephen, pulling on his hitherto-unused pyjama trousers and heading for the bathroom. Tom pulled on his underpants – which still felt strange to him – and followed him, and they peed, washed and cleaned their teeth (without splashing each other more than was absolutely necessary – at least, necessary in Tom's eyes), and then went back to the bedroom, dressed and went downstairs for breakfast.

After breakfast they waited impatiently for the rest of the family to go shopping.

"Sure you don't want to come with us?" asked Stephen's mother.

"No, thanks. We'll see you when you get back."

"Okay. Mind you behave yourselves while we're gone." And she closed the door behind her.

They waited until the car had pulled out of the driveway and driven away, then Stephen said, "So – are we going to behave ourselves?"

"That depends on whether you're going to do what I tell you, baby brother."

Stephen grabbed him and dragged him upstairs to the bedroom. Then he pushed him onto the bed and started trying to strip him. Tom retaliated by pulling at Stephen's clothes, and for a couple of minutes they struggled happily, each trying to undress the other. Stephen's extra weight and strength soon told, however, and before too long Tom was naked.

"Now, are you going to apologise, or do I have to tickle you to death first?" asked Stephen.

"I might decide to apologise – but only if you finish getting undressed first."

Stephen could see no good reason not to go along with this, so he took off the rest of his clothes, but the moment he was naked Tom leapt on him and grabbed his genitals, squeezing hard.

"I've thought about it," he said, "and I've decided that apologising would be a bad idea."

"That's fighting dirty," complained Stephen, struggling briefly but stopping again when Tom squeezed even harder.

"No, it isn't: it's fighting clever. After all, you're three years older than me, and a lot bigger and stronger, so I have to find ways to beat you – and this one seems pretty good to me. So – are you going to apologise, or do I have to pull everything right off?"

Stephen struggled a bit more and tried to grab Tom's privates, but Tom squeezed again and moved his vulnerable areas a little further away.

"Come on, then: admit you're my little brother and promise to do what you're told, or I'll turn you into a girl."

Stephen knew perfectly well that Tom wasn't going to do anything of the sort, but his balls were hurting, and every attempt to break free simply resulted in Tom gripping even harder.

"Okay!" cried Stephen, eventually. "Okay, I'm sorry, okay? Now let go."

"Not until you admit you're the little brother."

"Alright, I'm the little brother. Happy now?"

"And do you promise to be a good little brother and do what I tell you for the rest of the day?"

It took another couple of squeezes before Stephen was prepared to do that, but in the end he gasped out what Tom wanted to hear, and Tom gave a final squeeze and let go. Stephen held himself, checking that everything was still where it was supposed to be.

"Now, baby brother, I want you to kneel down and kiss my great big cock, and to admit to it that it's loads bigger and better than yours," Tom commanded.

Stephen grinned and dropped to his knees, and Tom sat on the bed in front of him and thrust his groin forward.

"Hello, Tom's cock," said Stephen. "Tom wants me to say that you're loads bigger and better than mine, so I'm saying it." And he placed a quick kiss on the tip.

"That's not quite the same as admitting it," Tom pointed out.

"You're right there," agreed Stephen. "But I've done what you told me to. And now, if you'd like to shut up for five minutes, maybe I can do something you didn't tell me to."

He slipped the erection into his mouth and began to suck on it, very slowly. Tom decided that keeping his mouth shut would be a good idea, in the circumstances, so he simply sat where he was and enjoyed it.

Stephen groped under the bed and managed to get hold of the small jar of Vaseline he had placed there the previous evening, and without stopping what he was doing he managed to open the jar and transfer a blob of Vaseline onto his bum. Then he scooped up a little more, took Tom's erection out of his mouth and anointed it with lubricant.

"Stand up," he told Tom. "This time it's bound to work, because now we both know you're the boss, and I'm just the little boy who has to do what he's told. And now you can prove it."

He positioned himself across the bed and spread his legs, and Tom took up position behind him and moved forwards until his erection was just touching Stephen's bum. Stephen took hold of it and tugged it into approximately the right place, determined to get it inside before Tom started thinking about what he was doing and getting nervous about it again, and this time he got it into position first time.

"Now push," he said, and Tom leaned forward while Stephen tried to push out and then relax – and this time it slipped in easily, so easily that as soon as Tom moved it slipped back out again.

"See? That was simple. This time once it's inside, just keep still until we both get used to it."

Having succeeded once, Tom was able to relax a little, and the second attempt went in as easily as the first, except that this time it went all the way in. Stephen gave a gasp.

"Are you OK?" asked Tom, nervously.

"Fine. It's just bigger than I thought… yes, okay, I admit it's big. Just shut up about it, OK?"

"I don't think you can tell me what to do at the moment," said Tom, his self-confidence flooding back. "Looks to me like I'm in complete charge here – you're getting a fucking, like you deserve for insulting me earlier." He paused. "It's not really hurting too much, is it?" he asked, in a completely different tone of voice. "I mean, tell me if it hurts and I'll stop straight away. I don't want to hurt you, Stephen."

"It's OK, it just made me feel a bit strange – sort of like I needed to… well, you know. But I seem to be getting used to it now. Try pulling back a bit – not too far, we don't want it coming right out – and then shove it in again."

But Tom pulled back a little too far, and it came out again. Annoyed with himself, he lined it back up without assistance and pushed it in once more.

"It's because it's so short," said Stephen, grinning. "You can't work with one as small as that – it's bound to pop out every time you move half an inch."

"You were just saying how big it was," said Tom.

"That was thickness, not length."

"Well, stop being cheeky about it, or you'll get spanked. In fact, you're in just the right position." And Tom slapped the side of Stephen's right buttock. "Anyway, it only came out 'cos I'm still getting used to this. Bet it won't this time."

And it didn't: gradually Tom worked out how much he needed to move to make it feel good without it slipping out, and once he had the answer to that question he started rocking backwards and forwards. And Stephen found that it didn't hurt any more – in fact, it felt quite nice. He squeezed a little, and Tom gasped and told him to keep doing it…

Considering their complete inexperience, their first attempt was remarkably effective: Tom slowly thrust his way to a brilliant orgasm, and although Stephen didn't reach a climax himself he enjoyed the sensation it gave him – and, even more, he enjoyed the look on Tom's face afterwards, which demonstrated how much Tom had got out of it.

Stephen grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on his chest of drawers, handed a couple to Tom and wiped himself down with a third. Tom cleaned himself up and then came and hugged Stephen fiercely.

"That was so good," he said. "You're brilliant, Stephen: I'll never forget that as long as I live."

"That was the idea, to give us both something to remember about each other even if… well, you know… you moving away, and that."

"But we are going to do it again, aren't we?" asked Tom.

"Of course, if you want to."

"And you really don't mind?"

"Don't mind? I enjoyed it – I loved having you stuck inside me like that. I'd certainly like to do it again."

"Brilliant!" And Tom hugged him again, even harder.

"We'd better clean ourselves up properly before mum and dad get back;" said Stephen, breaking free. "I'll run you another bath, shall I?"

"Yes, please!"

So Stephen ran another bath and Tom washed himself thoroughly and then soaked for a bit. Stephen waited until he had finished and then jumped in long enough to wash his bottom, and then they both went back to the bedroom and got dressed. When Stephen's family got home they found the two boys innocently watching television.

Shortly after lunch Stephen got a phone call from Timmy.

"Me and Christy are going to the cinema on Tuesday," Timmy started.

"'Christy and I'," said Stephen.

"Huh?"

"'Christy and I', not 'Me and Christy'," said Stephen. "'Me and Christy' is bad grammar."

"Oh, right. Anyway, me and Christy are going to the cinema on Tuesday, and we wondered if you and Tom would like to come, too."

"What's on?"

"The Eagle has Landed. Michael Caine's in it, and it's supposed to be quite good."

"Hang on, I'll ask," said Stephen, and he put the handset down. "Oi, Tom!" he shouted.

"What?"

"Do you want to go to the cinema on Tuesday?"

"Yes, OK."

Stephen picked up the handset again. "Okay," he reported, "me and Tom – if you insist on ignoring the rules of grammar – would like to come, too. What time does it start?"

Timmy checked – he'd copied the times from the local paper – and they agreed to meet at the cinema.

"We're going to ask Michael and Danny to come, too," Timmy said. "Apparently they got paid for a job at the end of last week, so they should have some money."

"Okay," said Stephen, "we'll see you there."

***

That evening Stephen's dad drove the two boys to church for Midnight Mass. Tom's family had kept a place in their pew for them.

"Who's this town kid, then?" asked Mr O'Leary, looking his son up and down. "And what has he done with my son?"

"Stephen's friend Timmy lent them to me," said Tom, feeling a bit embarrassed. "We're about the same size. They feel a bit strange, to be honest."

"You look really sharp," said Mr O'Leary, winking at Stephen. "Are you sure you'll want to come back to living with us poor travelling folk afterwards?"

"Of course I will. It's sort of fun being a townie for a few days, but I wouldn't want to do it for good. I'd miss you, and I'd miss being able to move about and see new places."

"Oh, OK. Maybe we won't sell your bed after all, then," said Mr O'Leary.

Stephen found the service easier to follow this time: even though it started completely differently, after a bit he found things following the same path as they had on Thursday. Once again he stayed in the pew with his dad and Bridie when it was time for communion, and this time he didn't have to be told what to do.

After the service Tom spotted Carlington again, and this time when they went to say hello Carlington didn't seem at all embarrassed.

"Very smart, Tom," he commented. "Did you find some pathetic town boy to steal them from?"

"Sort of. Timmy lent them to me. And I'll tell him you said he was pathetic."

"I was kidding, silly. Anyway, you look completely different like that."

"Which shows you shouldn't judge by appearances," said Stephen, "because he's the same, stroppy, cheeky kid he usually is. He's staying with me at the moment, and I can tell you he hasn't changed a bit."

"Watch it, little brother," said Tom, grinning at him. "Hey, Colin – we're all going to the cinema on Tuesday. Do you want to come?"

"Yes, OK. I won't be doing anything else because dad will be back to work and mum's going to visit my gran – I was going to have to go, too, and I really don't mind having something else to do instead. I like my gran, but it can be boring, just sitting about all day. Hang on, I'll just go and make sure…"

He trotted off and spoke to his parents, and came back a minute or so later.

"Yes, it's fine," he reported. "Er… would it be okay if I bring someone with me?"

"Why, have you got a girlfriend?" asked Tom, grinning.

"Don't be silly – who'd want to go out with me? No, I thought I might ask my friend Luke to come, that's all. I mean, you lot all know each other, but I don't really know any of you very well, and I'd like to have someone to talk to."

"We'd all talk to you," protested Tom. "But obviously if you want to bring a friend with you, you can."

"It starts at half past two, so we're going to meet at the cinema at two o'clock," Stephen told him.

"Great," said Carlington. "I'll see you there."

***

So on the Sunday morning Carlington tried to call Luke Jenner, but the phone was not answered; and it went on ringing unanswered when he tried again in the afternoon and evening. He tried again on Monday morning, with the same result, so it looked as if the Jenners had gone away for Easter.

Damn, he thought. He was sure Tom was right, and that he wouldn't be ignored if he went on his own, but it would be more fun if he had one of his own friends there to talk to and share his Maltesers with. He wondered who else he could ask… Matt would eat all the Maltesers himself, and he knew Owen was away for the holidays…

And then he had a thought. Why not? he said to himself – and he picked up the phone book and started looking under 'T'…

"What are you doing tomorrow?" asked Carlington, when the phone was answered.

"Well… nothing, really – except I'm meant to be revising."

"I know. But… how do you fancy going to the cinema?"

"What, with you?"

'"Obviously. Actually, it's the travellers who are going, and Timmy and Stephen, and they asked me if I'd like to go, too. And I thought you might like to come with me."

"Then… yes, I would. Very much."

"Good. Then come round here about eleven, and that'll give us enough time to have something to eat before the film starts."

***

Truscott rang Carlington's doorbell just before eleven o'clock; and was greeted – in complete contrast to his previous visit – with a big smile.

"You didn't have to put your best clothes on," Carlington said.

"They're not, not really. But I didn't want to look too scruffy. And… I've got a pair of shorts in my bag, in case you'd prefer me to wear those…"

"That's only for at school. Anyway, come upstairs."

Truscott followed him up to his bedroom.

"I thought maybe we could do some sex before we go," said Carlington. "But only if you want to – I did promise to let you have this week for revising, after all."

"No, I don't mind at all. Are we going to do it properly this time?"

By way of response, Carlington showed him an old newspaper and a jar of Vaseline.

"You'd better get undressed," he said, "and then you can help me to get ready."

Truscott undressed quickly, and watched as Carlington took his own clothes off and sat on the bed. Without having to be told, Truscott dropped to his knees in front of him and started to suck at Carlington's large erection.

Carlington let him get on with it for a minute or two and then told him to stop and take up position across the chair. The newspaper was deployed underneath him, a dab of Vaseline was applied to him, and then Carlington carefully entered him.

"You don't have to fight it this time," Carlington told him. "Try to enjoy it instead."

So Truscott relaxed a bit, squeezed a little and enjoyed the feeling of Carlington's body against and inside him. And very quickly he went hard, and steadily the feeling grew…

"I'm getting there, Colin," he said.

"Then we'd better wait for a bit," replied Carlington. "I don't want you getting there too quickly; or you won't enjoy the rest of it." And he stopped moving.

He waited thirty seconds or so and then started again, and by a series of starts and stops he succeeded in delaying Truscott's orgasm for some time. Eventually, however, he just kept going, and Truscott ejaculated all over the newspaper. After that Carlington did his best to finish himself off as quickly as he could, finally thrusting hard against Truscott as he reached his own climax.

"Well, at least you won't need to masturbate this time," he commented, pulling out and looking at the newspaper. "Come on through to the bathroom."

Carlington washed himself down in the washbasin, though he had to stand on a chair to get his genitals up high enough, and then he ran a bath and told Truscott to get into it.

"I've got a couple of presents for you," he said, nipping back to the bedroom and returning with a small plastic bag. "This shampoo is supposed to be good for greasy hair – use it instead of whatever rubbish you're using now, and use it at least three times a week, and it should sort your hair out. And this soap is supposed to help get rid of zits, provided you use it all the time. I've kept the packets, so you'll know what to buy when these run out. After all, if we're going to be seen together, I'd like you to look as good as possible."

"Thanks, Colin. I'll use them all the time, I promise."

"Good. You can start now." And he took the soap out of its wrapper and tossed it to Truscott, and then sat on the loo and watched as Truscott bathed.

"Aren't you going to get dressed?" asked Truscott.

"Not yet. I know you like looking at me like this… we can get dressed together when you've finished in the bath."

So Truscott washed and shampooed his hair, twice, and then got out, dried himself and followed Carlington back to the bedroom, where they got dressed – and he noticed that Carlington put on some clothes that were rather tidier than the ones he had been wearing when Truscott arrived.

They caught the first bus into Poundford Spa, went to the Wimpy Bar for something to eat and then walked to the cinema.

"I hope you've got enough money to buy me some sweets to eat inside," commented Carlington.

"Isn't that your job? I mean, I'm the girl, aren't I – so you ought to buy sweets for me, if you're taking me on a date."

Carlington laughed. "I hadn't thought of it as a date," he said. "I hadn't really thought of you as a girl, either – you're not exactly Miss World, are you? No, I think we'd better both be boys, and as you're the oldest, you can buy the sweets. We can think of it as a date if you like, though – as long as you don't call it that in front of the others."

"Okay," said Truscott. "I'll nip into Maynards. What do you want?"

"I'm joking, silly. I know you haven't got much money – after all, you've been paying us back for the last few weeks. I'll buy something for us to share – my mum gave me some money to spend. Come on, we'll go in together."

The others were a little surprised to see Truscott there with Carlington, but nobody made any adverse comment, not even Danny. The cinema was quite full, so they couldn't get into the back row, and that made it difficult for any of the couples to misbehave too much: Timmy and Christy held hands for much of the film; Tom and Stephen occasionally groped each other; and Carlington and Truscott fed each other Maltesers. Michael and Danny were too engrossed in the film to take any notice of what was going on around them, anyway.

They emerged into the sunshine afterwards talking excitedly about the film. Timmy said it was the first film he'd ever seen which made the Germans seem human – "After all," he pointed out, "if that soldier hadn't jumped into the water to rescue the little kid, nobody would have found out they were Germans. Maybe someone should make a film about travellers like that, so us townies would realise you're just normal people, too."

"Nah, it'd be better if we had guns, like the Germans," said Danny. "Then anyone who said the wrong thing about us would get shot…" and he broke into a loud impression of someone firing off a machine gun.

"Yes, but then everyone else would get guns and shoot back," Timmy pointed out. "And you'd lose, just like the Germans in the film, because there are loads of us and not many of you."

"Never mind about that," said Michael. "I want to learn how to do the whistle to control the dogs, like the Irish guy did. That'd be really useful – we could go and rob townie houses, and if they set the dogs on us, I'd just do that whistle and we could get away easy. I'm just kidding," he added, seeing the look on Timmy's face. "We never rob. We might swindle a bit, but we don't break in. That'd be asking for trouble."

"Hey, look, there's a 91", said Stephen, interrupting the discussion. "Let's run and catch it."

So they dashed off to the bus stop to catch the bus home.

So now Tom and Stephen have succeeded in taking their relationship to another level, but – like Timmy and Christy – they're trying not to think about the future, which after all is likely to separate them. As for Carlington and Truscott, they're not far off achieving 'couple' status themselves: before too long I'll probably have to start referring to them as Colin and Graham instead of using their surnames.

Chapter 22

It's almost time for the start of the summer term, but one of our couples intends to go on enjoying the holiday right to the end…

The week rolled on, and the start of the summer term grew closer. The senior boys, with the spectre of the CE exam looming over them, all got down to some serious revision, but the rest of the school had no such worries: they would be taking the usual school exams at the end of term, but these would not have any permanent impact on their future. They were therefore able to go on enjoying the holiday right to the end.

Simeon and Usman had kept the final Sunday of the holiday free: they were determined to make the most of their time away from school, and getting together on the last day before the start of the new school term seemed an excellent way of doing that. They had arranged to meet at Uzzy's house at two o'clock, and as usual Sim arrived a little early, having bolted lunch and grabbed his bike the moment his mother told him he'd waited long enough after eating for his food to have gone down.

Uzzy greeted him happily. "Wait a moment," he said. "I'll just go and tell my mum that we're going."

He went back into the house and closed the door, appearing a minute or so later from the side of the house and pushing his bike.

"I hope you've been practising your goalkeeping," he said, closing the gate and getting on his bike. "Otherwise you might be sore by the time you go home."

He led the way to Kamran's house. Kam, too, was happy to see them, telling them to put their bikes round the side of the house and to come on up to his room. They followed him upstairs, where they found that the bedroom had an important addition to it today: it had an extra inhabitant.

"Hi, Awais," said Uzzy. "This is my best friend from school: his name's Sim. Sim, this is Kam's brother Awais."

"Hello," said Awais, standing up. In some ways he was a smaller version of his brother: they both had the same wide smile, and longish hair cut in the same way. But Awais' ears stuck out a bit, and he was missing one of his front teeth, and obviously he was quite a bit shorter – though he was only a couple of inches shorter than Uzzy.

"Can you go out and play for a bit?" asked his brother. "We need to… talk, and stuff, in private."

"Ooh, you want to have a big boys' talk," said Awais, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. "Gimme ten pence and I'll go."

"Go, or we'll gang up on you and tickle you till you wet your pants," threatened his brother.

Awais made a rude noise at him, but got up and left the room nonetheless.

"OK," said Kam, once he had gone, "so what are we going to do with naughty little Sim today, then?"

"Nothing," said Sim. "I haven't done anything wrong yet, tho you can't punith me."

"Don't bet on it," said Uzzy. "But I thought we might start with the serious stuff first: what we do to you later will depend on how well you play football. So we're going to start by doing something about your lisp. Get undressed."

Sim still wasn't sure about this: he was willing to try to lose the lisp, but he didn't fancy being hurt in the process. But he took his clothes off and waited for further instructions, and it was a measure of how nervous he was that when he removed his pants his penis was soft and dangling.

"Lie face down on the bed," said Uzzy. "We'll trust you not to fight us, so we're not going to tie you up this time. Put your hands on either side of the pillow, as if you were tied to the headboard, and keep your feet still. Now, I'm going to give you something to read, and you're going to try really hard to get all the S sounds right, because if you don't, we're going to punish you."

"How?" asked Sim, nervously.

"By sticking a pin in your bum. And if you get more than five wrong, we've decided that we're going to embarrass you by making you strip in front of the others when we play football later on. We won't hit you, or do anything bad with you, but we will make you take all your clothes off and run about."

"And I think everyone's going to be there today, so that'll be a big audience," added Kam.

"Look, Sim, you know you can do this if you try," said Uzzy. "Just think how much better it'll be when people don't call you names all the time."

Sim took a deep breath. "Okay, then," he said, "I'll try. But it'th difficult for me…"

"I know," said Uzzy. "Just do your best, okay?"

He fished a copy of Alice through the Looking Glass out of his pocket, opened it and put in on the pillow in front of Sim's face. "Read the poem," he instructed.

Sim took another deep breath, and began, "Twa… twasss brillig, and the thli… – OW!"

Kam had jabbed a pin into his left buttock, and it hurt.

"Carry on," said Uzzy.

"…and the… the… ssslithy toveth… Ouch, Kam, that really hurtth!"

"Get it right, then."

Concentrate, Sim told himself. Keep the tongue back, away from the teeth – you know how to do this…

"…the sslithy tove… tovess, did gyre and gimble in the wabe. All mimth… -sssy were the borogoveth… – oh, hell, Kam!"

"That's three," Kam told him. "Think about my brother laughing at you later on, and concentrate."

"Watch out for the S's at the end of a word," advised Uzzy. "You're thinking about the others, but missing those."

"…the borogovesss, and the mome raththss – come on, Kam, that wathn't wrong!"

"Sorry, you're right," said Kam, peering over his shoulder at the word. "I won't count that one."

"…the mome rathss outgrabe. Do I carry on?"

"Yes, obviously – you have to read the whole poem."

"Oh, come on, Uthy… okay, okay, I'll try. Beware the Jabberwock, my… my th… my sson, the jaw… jaws that bite, the clawth that – OUCH!!"

"'Claws'," Kam pointed out. "Not 'clawth.' You just got caught by a claw that catches."

Sim swallowed: this poem had a long way still to run, and he had already failed four times. He'd been pricked five times, but he didn't want to waste his energy trying to suggest that he should be let off next time he messed up. There won't be a next time, he told himself. I can do this…

"…the clawss that catttch. Beware the Jubjub bird, and… and… sshun the fr… how do you pronounth that word, Uthy?"

"'Frumious', I think. You try it. And stop calling me 'Uthy' – you're just being lazy."

"…the frumi… frumiou…" He swallowed. "Frumious Banderthssnattthchhh." He waited for the jab, but one was not forthcoming: obviously Kam had felt this was close enough.

"He took his vorpal blade…"

"Brilliant!" interrupted Uzzy. "You didn't even hesitate over that one, Sim! See, I knew you could do it!"

Sim looked at the line he'd just read, and realised that he'd just read the word 'his' with an S at the end. Gosh, maybe I really can do this, he thought.

"…vorpal blade in hand, long time the mancthth… mancccth… ma- SHIT, Kam!"

"That's five," said Kam. "But did you notice you just said 'shit' and not 'thit'?"

That was true, Sim realised, though it didn't stop his bum hurting from yet another jabbed pin. He took another deep breath. "Manc… manccssssome" he managed. "Long time the mancc…mancsssome foe he th… ssought. Then re… ressted he by the Tumtum tree, and sstood awhile in thought. And, a… asss in uffith – WAIT! – uffisssh thought he ssstood, the Jabberwock, with eye… eyes aflame, came whiffling through the tul… tulgey wood, and burbled ath… as it came…"

"OK, that's enough for now," said Uzzy. "We'll finish the poem next time. See, Sim? If you think about what you're saying, you can do it, and if you keep concentrating I'm sure it'll get easier, too."

"You made five mistakes, or probably six or seven, but you corrected the others in time," said Kam. "So we'll give you a chance to get out of being stripped – if your goalkeeping is good enough, you won't have to undress."

"Stay there for a minute," said Uzzy, and he took a tissue and wiped the couple of spots of blood on Sim's bum. Kam took a roll of plaster and cut off a piece to cover the appropriate area: he had restricted his pin jabs to a small area to make it easier to cover them afterwards.

"You won't need the plaster on for long," he said, sticking it down. "You'll have stopped bleeding before we get to the car park, but at least it'll keep the blood off your pants in the meantime."

"Stand up," said Uzzy, once the plaster had been applied. Sim got to his feet, and Uzzy came and stood right in front of him.

"You're not too mad at us, are you?" he asked.

Sim shook his head. "I didn't like it, but it'th… it'ss a good idea," he admitted.

"Prove you're not angry with me," insisted Uzzy, opening his arms, and Sim hugged him willingly. Uzzy hugged him back, and after a moment Kam came and stood beside them, and Sim drew him into the hug as well.

"Uth… Uzzy, you're my betht friend," said Sim. "I'm never going to get mad with you, you know that. And Kam, you're my friend, too. If it helpth… helpsss me to be normal, I don't mind at all what you do to me."

"You'd better get dressed," said Kam, breaking out of their three-way embrace, "before Awais gets bored and comes to see what we're doing. Then we might as well go round the car park."

So Sim put his clothes back on and they went downstairs, collecting Awais from the living room on the way past. Kam picked up his ball from the hall cupboard and they set off for the pub car park.

"Try really hard to speak normally while we're playing," said Uzzy, quietly, not wanting Awais to hear. "See how long it takes the others to realise you've got a lisp."

They reached the car park and found Tony already there, taking penalties against a boy of about Sim's own age that he hadn't met before. At first he thought it was another Pakistani: the boy had black hair and dark eyes, and his skin was darker than either Tony's or Sim's own. But alongside Kam, Awais and Uzzy his skin looked lighter.

"This is Miguel," said Tony. "He's Spanish, but his name isn't Manuel and he doesn't come from Barcelona, OK?"

This confused Sim, who hadn't seen Fawlty Towers, but he didn't bother querying it: if he was going to try not to lisp, the less he said, the better.

"Hello," was all he said.

"This is my best friend from school," said Uzzy, doing the introduction for him. "His name's Sim."

"Hello," said the Spanish boy, offering his hand. Sim wasn't used to this continental handshaking business, but he took the offered hand and shook it nonetheless.

Kam looked at his watch. "Jeremy and Bilal are supposed to be coming," he said. "We might as well have a quick match while we're waiting for them. How about me, Awais and Uzzy against you three?"

"Okay," said Tony, straight away. "Sim, you're not too bad in goal, so you can start there; me and Miguel will go outfield."

They had been playing for about five minutes – Kam's team was winning 3-2 – when they were interrupted by the arrival of another white boy. This one had very short light brown hair and looked to be about the same age as Tony.

"Hi, Jeremy," Kam greeted him. "Where's Bilal?"

"He's probably trying to catch up on lost sleep. Probably their plane was late getting away from Karachi, or something, because they didn't get back until well after midnight. I heard them come back home, but I haven't seen them since, and when I went to knock for him they didn't answer the door."

"Pity," said Kam. "That leaves us with odd numbers."

"That's OK, I'll watch this one and play in the next."

So Jeremy went and leant on the fence and the game resumed.

Over the next hour or so they played several matches, and Sim managed to say so little than nobody could possibly have guessed he had a lisp. But after the latest game he suddenly found himself the centre of attention.

"Sim was getting all mouthy before we came round here," Kam told them. "He reckons we were just lucky last time, and that normally we'd never score five in a row against him. So we said prove it, and he's made a bet with us: if we score five before he catches one, he's going to strip naked and run the length of the pitch and back."

That drew a chorus of scornful comments, especially from Tony, who had already seen what Sim's goalkeeping was like.

"As there's six of us this time we're going to split up and have two teams," Kam went on. "If both teams score five before he catches one he has to do his streak, but if neither team scores five then me and Uzzy have to do it instead."

That was news to Uzzy, who didn't look too pleased with the idea. But then he'd seen Sim in goal, too, so he thought it wasn't likely to happen.

"What if only one team scores five?" asked Tony.

"Then it's a draw and nobody has to do it. And I think it would be fairest to let Sim pick the teams, to try to give himself the best chance."

Sim wasn't sure what to do here: he reasoned that the best thing to do would be to have one very good team and one bad one, and then to try really hard against the bad team. But he didn't really know the players well enough yet. Okay, he'd seen them kicking around this afternoon, but even Uzzy had looked quite good at times during the matches: being able to head and volley the ball was a different thing. In the end he decided to team together the players he knew were good and hope that Miguel and Jeremy were less able.

"Kam, Tony and Awai… Awaisss," he said.

"Okay," said Kam. "We'll go first."

And they slaughtered him, scoring five without even coming close to offering a catch: Awais turned out to be as good as Tony had said he was the previous week.

The teams swapped round and he rolled the ball out to Uzzy, who flicked the ball into the air, and Jeremy ran in and met it perfectly, sending an unstoppable volley past Sim's knee. Then Uzzy shocked him by scoring a header: normally Uzzy wouldn't risk using his head in case he damaged his glasses.

Miguel then almost offered a chance with a volley that he got his left hand to but couldn't hold, and while he was still off-balance Miguel flicked the rebound up for Jeremy to head in. Jeremy scored a fourth, and Sim took a deep breath, determined to catch the next one. And he almost did: Jeremy crossed the ball a little too close to him and he got both hands on it, but he couldn't hold it: it bounced up and over his shoulder, and as he turned to try to catch the rebound Miguel came in with an almost suicidal diving header. The ball went into the goal while Sim and Miguel collided and ended up on the ground.

"Five-nil!" cried Jeremy in delight. "Oh, dear, Sim – good thing it's warm today, isn't it?"

Sim helped Miguel to his feet. The Spanish boy had grazed his hand when he landed, but it didn't seem serious.

"Why did you go for that ball?" Sim asked him, choosing his words carefully. "You might have got badly hurt."

"I want to see you streak," said Miguel, grinning at him. "That will be funny. I do not mind a little of pain for that."

"Come on, then, Sim, get them off," said Kam. "Awais, just go to the corner and check that there isn't anyone about round the back of the pub."

With a sigh Sim undressed as far as his pants, waiting for Awais to signal the all clear before stripping them off and running to the other end of the overflow car park. The others cheered him on, laughing and pretending to try to attract the attention of the people whose gardens backed onto the car park, though the fences and hedges were so high that nobody could have seen over them.

He got back to the start and reached for his pants, but Tony stopped him.

"You're not naked," he pointed out. "You've got a plaster on your bum. Take it off and do it again."

"Oh, come on, Tony, that's not fair," protested Uzzy, but Sim pulled the plaster off.

"He'th right," he said. "I'm meant to be naked." And he set off once more.

This time Awais ran back from the corner alongside him. "Race you," he said, and put his head down. Sim grinned and took up the challenge, beating Awais to the fence by a couple of yards.

"I want a rematch," demanded Awais. "Ready, steady…"

"Shut up and let him get dressed, Awais," said his brother, and he handed Sim his pants. "He can race you when he's dressed if you want – that'll be fairer."

Sim started to put his pants back on. He was very much aware that everyone was looking at his private places, and his initial embarrassment had now faded and been replaced by a strange feeling of excitement: he could feel his penis starting to twitch, and he knew that if he didn't cover it quickly it was going to get properly hard – and that really would be embarrassing.

"How come your skin's been cut off?" Jeremy asked him. "You're not a Muslim too, are you?"

"No," said Sim, getting his pants back on properly. "I'm a Jew."

He couldn't understand why this made Tony and Jeremy look at each other and then burst out laughing.

"What'th wrong with being a Jew?" he asked.

"Nothing," spluttered Tony, between bursts of uncontrolled laughter.

By the time the two of them had recovered their composure, Sim was fully dressed once more and feeling a bit miffed: he didn't like being laughed at, especially for no reason.

"I'm sorry, Sim," said Jeremy, when he could speak again. "But it's just too perfect. Look, let's sit down and I'll tell you all about it."

There was a low wall running along the base of one of the fences, which enclosed an area of bare earth that had once held a flower-bed. They all sat on the wall and listened to Jeremy's explanation.

"My parents are divorced," he started. "I don't know all the reasons, because it was a few years ago and I was too little. I think it was because my dad got offered a really good job in the USA and wanted to take it, but my mum refused to go to live in America. There's probably more to it than that, but anyway, they got divorced, and now I only see my dad in the summer holidays, when I fly to America to live with him for a month or so.

"Anyway, about a year ago my mother met this man and I supposed they fell in love, or something, because they got married six months ago. But I don't know why my mum likes him, because he's a total prick. See, he runs the local branch of the National Front, and he's always rattling on about how disgusting it is that the country is crawling with immigrants, and stuff like that. Bilal's been my best friend for years, and he used to come round all the time, but after the marriage Adolf… his real name's Andrew Jordan, but I call him Adolf. And he wanted me to change my surname to Jordan, too, like mum has, but I refused – which I'm allowed to, apparently – so I'm still a Fielding. Anyway, after the marriage Adolf told me he didn't want 'that immigrant boy' coming round any more.

«Do you mean Bilal?» I asked. «He's not an immigrant – he was born in Poundford Spa.»

«You know what I mean,» he said. «And I bet his parents weren't born here. Anyway, I don't want him coming to this house any more. It's bad enough that the country is awash with them – I don't have to have them in my own house.»

"I told him it wasn't his house, that my real dad had paid for it, and that in any case Bilal had been coming round much longer than he had, but he just hit me, hard and several times, so I decided to shut up. But since then I've made a point of making friends he won't approve of. He doesn't like Tony, though he can't make up his mind if he's a long-haired hippy layabout, a drug-using rocker, or a girly poof – he lets him in the house because he's white, but he always has a go at me for it afterwards."

"I've told you before," Tony put in, "if you like I'll put on some lipstick and a bit of make up and make out I'm a total queer, if you think it'll wind him up."

"It would, but he might lose it and hit you," said Jeremy. "He hates poofs almost as much as he hates coloured people. And communists. And the Trade Unions. And foreigners. And pretty much everyone except his stupid, brain-dead NF mates. Anyway, Sim, you're a perfect addition to the Jeremy Fielding Collection: now I can go home and tell him I've been playing football with a long-haired queer, a Dago, three Pakis and a Yid. With any luck he'll get so mad he'll have a heart attack and drop dead."

Sim didn't know what to say to this.

"Anyway," Jeremy went on, "the JFC has rules – well, one rule, really: we stay friends, and nobody ever takes the piss out anyone else because of his colour, or where he comes from, or anything like that. We can make jokes about other stuff, like Tony's metal mouth, or Awais's elephant ears, or your front teeth, Sim, or Uzzy's specs, because that's nothing to do with race, but that's all. So we've all sworn never to called Miguel 'Manuel' or do any Fawlty Towers jokes…"

"What'th Fawlty Tower… Towersss?" asked Sim.

"What, you haven't seen it? I suppose it is on a bit late… anyway, it's a comedy programme about a mad hotel owner – he's played by John Cleese – and there's this stupid Spanish waiter there called Manuel, who messes everything up, and every time he gets something wrong they say it's because he comes from Barcelona. And Miguel gets teased about it all the time at school – don't you, Miguel?"

"Even the teachers do it – if I get a low mark in a test they say is because I come from Barcelona," said Miguel. "But is not true – I come from Algeciras in Andalucia. And in football I support Real Zaragoza, because is where my father born. I hate Barcelona." He clutched the badge on the white football shirt he was wearing proudly.

Of course, he said all the names as they sound in Spanish, so Sim heard 'Barthelona' and 'Alhethiras' and 'Andaluthia' and, above all, 'Tharagotha', and he found himself wondering if he wasn't the only one with a lisp.

"So the JFC rule is: nobody calls him Manuel, and nobody mentions Barcelona, OK?" Jeremy went on. "This is the only place he can get away from all that." He stood up. "Come on," he said, "we've got a new member. Group circle."

They formed a circle, facing inwards, put their arms round each others' shoulders and pulled forward into a football huddle.

"Friends?" asked Jeremy.

"Friends," they all agreed.

"And no bloody fascists are gonna stop us, right?"

"Right!" they agreed, although Miguel's response was a mere mumble: his father worked at the Spanish Embassy, and although Franco had died the previous November, Miguel was aware that his father had been working for Franco's government for several years before the dictator's death. Of course, his father wasn't a racist, like Jeremy's step-dad, but technically he might have been considered to be a Fascist.

"Okay," said Jeremy, breaking up the circle. "Right, then – welcome to the Collection, Sim. Now… we've all laughed at Sim, but does anyone else think he's good enough in goal to keep out five in a row?"

They all looked at each other: this was an interesting challenge, because they didn't need Jeremy to say that anyone failing the challenge would be expected to do a streak of his own.

"Okay, then," said Kam. "I know I'm better than Sim, anyway."

"A dead snail would be better than Sim," commented Awais.

"Watch it, Jumbo," said Sim – after all, jokes about Awais's ears were apparently allowed.

"Tombstone Teeth," retaliated Awais.

"Come on, then," said Jeremy. "We'll give you a chance – you can take on me, Sim and your brother."

"Yeah!" cried Awais happily. "I'm gonna make you strip, Kam!"

Sim didn't think he'd be much good at volleying, and he usually closed his eyes when heading the ball, so he stayed wide and chipped the ball up for the other two to hit. They scored three, but then it was Awais who mis-hit a volley straight into his brother's arms. he was absolutely furious with himself, kicking the fence in frustration.

"Next?" said Jeremy.

Nobody moved.

"Come on, you bunch of pussies," said Jeremy. "Am I gonna have to show you all up myself?"

"Yup," said Tony, before the offer could be withdrawn. "Get in goal, Jer. I can't wait to see if you can run faster than Sim with your balls swinging about. Me, Miguel and Kam, I think."

Jeremy blocked a few but couldn't catch any, and eventually a fifth goal flew past him. Without argument he started to get undressed.

"Someone check the pub," he said, when he was down to his pants, and Kam trotted off to the corner and gave him a thumbs up. Jeremy slipped his pants off and sprinted off, reaching the end and coming back equally quickly. He looked for his pants, and found Tony twirling them round his finger.

"Sim went twice, remember?" he said.

Jeremy sighed and ran again, not quite so quickly this time, and he paused for a moment to get his breath back before putting his pants back on. This gave Sim a chance to see that Jeremy was about the same size as he was, the only difference being the fact that Jeremy had a foreskin. He also had quite a few bruises on his bum, and also in other places, on his chest and back and one arm, and now Sim had heard his story he could guess how he had got them. The fact that nobody else commented on them supported his theory.

"Anyone else?" asked Jeremy, pulling his shirt on, but again there were no takers.

"Bunch of girlies," grumbled Jeremy. "You're cowards, all of you – except Sim and Kam."

"Nah, we just fancy another match," said Tony. "But this is a good laugh – we'll have to do it again next time. And what about this as an idea: if the keeper wins the game, he can make anyone else he chooses do the streak for him. Bet that'll encourage people to volunteer."

"That's a brilliant idea," agreed Jeremy. "And I can promise you that the first time I win, you'll be the one with his willy in the cold."

They played for another half hour or so and then they broke up and headed for their homes, and Sim walked back to Kam's house thinking that he had definitely made some new friends today.

"Did you know all that about Jeremy?" he asked Uzzy.

"Most of it. Bilal told us what he knew at mosque, and Tony's dropped hints here and there, too."

"And… all thothe bruitheth… brui… bruisseth – oh, thod it, you know what I mean – doeth hith dad hit him a lot?"

"Don't ever let him hear you call Adolf his dad," advised Kam. "He's his step-father. And, yes – at least, that's what we all think, which is why nobody talks about it – we don't want to embarrass him. I think it's almost like we're his real family sometimes. That's why it's so important to him that we all get on with each other: he seems to spend all his time at home fighting, and he doesn't want the same thing happening with us."

"He can be quite funny about it sometimes, too," said Uzzy. "I mean, joking, and that. Once he told me and Tony that when he grows up he's going to join the communist party, turn queer, dress up in women's clothes and run off with a black boyfriend, just to see the look on Adolf's face."

"Yeah, he jokes about it, but he's really not happy," said Kam. "That's why his Collection is so important: we're a bunch of friends who won't let him down."

"Why doethn't he go to live in America with hith real dad?" asked Sim.

"I wondered that, too," said Kam. "I think it's 'cos he loves his mum and doesn't want to leave her on her own – or, worse, leave her with Adolf, even if she did choose to marry him."

"Race you the rest of the way," challenged Awais, suddenly. "Come on, you've got your clothes on. Loser gets tickled till he wets himself." And he darted away. Sim grinned and chased after him, confident he could win easily – after all, he'd already beaten him once, and that was in bare feet – and soon he was alongside. And then Awais deliberately barged into him, and Sim lost his balance and ran into the hedge, spun around and fell over. Awais made a rude noise at him and trotted the rest of the way home.

"That'th cheating," said Sim, when he reached the door.

"Tough. You're gonna get tickled, you're gonna get tickled…"

Kam and Uzzy caught up with them: they were trying not to laugh. They all went back up to the boys' bedroom.

"Come on, then," said Sim, "come and try to tickle me."

"You're not allowed to fight back."

" Thayth who?"

"Me. Come on, Kam, hold him down for me."

"If I do, we're doing it on your bed," said Kam. "He's not peeing all over mine."

"That's not fair! I don't want to have to sleep in his pee!"

"Then you'd better not tickle him, had you? But… how would you like to spank him instead?"

"Hey!" started Sim.

"Come on, Sim, he did win the race. Besides, he's already seen everything you've got – and you have been lisping a lot since we left the car park."

"Well… he won't tell anyone, will he?"

"No, he won't. It's one of the best things about him: he knows how to keep secrets. I mean, Jeremy wouldn't have said anything with him there if he didn't think he'd keep quiet about it."

"I'm in the Collection, remember?" Awais put in. "We're friends – we never tell on each other."

"Well… okay, then."

"Great! See, Awais, Sim's got this speech problem – sometimes he messes up the letter S. I expect you've noticed…"

"Once or twice. I thought it might be because he's Spanish – Miguel does that all the time, but he says that's what Spanish sounds like."

"I'm not… SSpanith," said Sim. "I jutht have trouble with the lettter eth."

"We're trying to help him to stop," said Kam. "And if he doesn't do very well, he gets punished – which is why we're going to spank him now. Get undressed, Sim."

So Sim stripped off for the third time that day and bent over the bed. Awais started by spanking him really lightly, so the other two had to show him how to do it properly, and soon Awais had the hang of it.

By the time the three of them had finished, Sim's bum was going red again.

"This is fun!" commented Awais, happily. "Can I help spank him next time he messes up?"

"I ecthpect… expect…sso," said Sim. "I thpo…ssuppothe I trusst you enough."

"Goodie!" cried Awais, and he jumped on Sim's back and bounced. Sim bucked and dislodged him and rolled over before he could get back on.

"Hey, look, Sim's thingy's all hard and sticking up!" commented Awais.

"I can't help it," said Sim, somewhere between embarrassment and excitement. It was pretty humiliating being seen like this by an eight-year-old, but there wasn't much he could do about it now. Besides, he was starting to really like Awais, who was fun to be with, and part of him at least didn't mind the younger boy looking at him.

"Here's a useful lesson for you, Awais," said Uzzy, correctly gauging Sim's mood. "If you can get him like this, anyone can spank him on their own – even you. Watch this."

He grabbed Sim's erection with his left hand and used it to pull his friend to his feet. Then Uzzy sat on the bed and pulled Sim down over his lap.

"If you keep hold of it, you can thrash him with your other hand and he won't be able to do anything, 'cos if he struggles you just squeeze it really hard, and twist a bit…"

He did that, and Sim gave a gasp of pain and stopped wriggling.

"See? And then you just spank him until you're too tired to carry on. Want a try?"

"Yes, please!"

Uzzy stood up, pushing Sim up at the same time, and then carefully handed over the contents of his left hand to the younger boy. Sim struggled a bit for form's sake, but stopped pretty quickly when Awais wrenched at him, far harder than Uzzy had done.

"Aahhh! That hurtth!" he protested.

"Stop struggling, then," said Awais, sitting on the bed and dragging Sim down over his lap. He then delivered yet another spanking, distinctly harder than the first one – and once again Sim found it incredibly exciting, even more so than when Uzzy had done this to him: this time the boy who was spanking him was three years younger than him, and he was also holding him in a humiliatingly personal way.

By now he was starting to wonder quite seriously if there was actually something wrong with him – after all, the spanking hurt, and so did the way Awais was squeezing his thingy – and getting hurt shouldn't make you feel excited, surely?

"Okay, Awais, that's enough," said Kam, to Sim's disappointment. "Let him go."

"You look really funny – it's all big and hard," said Awais, as Sim stood up. "I'm going to do that to you again every time you lose a bet with me."

"Maybe he won't come round any more, then," said Kam.

"You will, won't you?" said Awais, looking worried. "I like you – you're fun."

"I ecthpect tho," said Sim, starting to get dressed once more. "I mean, I'm th… ssure the Collection aren't thu… ssuppo… suppossed to abandon each other."

"Brilliant!" said Awais. "When are you coming next?"

"Ssoon, I ecth… ecccsspect. But we've got to go back to…"

"School," put in Uzzy, who was worried that constantly fighting those recalcitrant S's was going to make Sim choke, or something. "We're back to school tomorrow, and I don't think Sim will be allowed to come over here every weekend."

"I'll try, though – and I'm bound to be allowed at half term," said Sim. "Bethidesss, Kam owes me ssome punithmentth, too, tho I have to come back ssoon."

"Magic!" said Awais.

"I'm still looking forward to it," said Kam, grinning at him. "Maybe next time, huh?"

"Yeth, next time," agreed Sim. "That'th a promi… promise, Kam."

Well, maybe Sim's lisp is improving a little, but his idea of excitement certainly isn't getting any less strange. Still, if he's enjoying himself, who am I to argue? And then there's Jeremy, and the rest of his Collection: with only a couple more chapters to come, this story is too close to the end for me to tell you much about them now, but I think that theirs could be a substantial story in its own right, and if there's sufficient interest I might try writing it once I've finished "Timmy".

Chapter 23

Okay, the summer term has started, and that means that an important exam is hanging over the senior boys, and the certainty that the travellers are going to move on is hanging over everyone. There are one or two other matters to be dealt with first, though – and one of our hitherto fringe characters is suddenly going to find himself at the centre of most of what goes on in this chapter…

At break on Monday morning Carlington called all the juniors to a meeting in the pavilion.

"I was talking to the travellers over the holidays," he told them, "and they've agreed with me that we should leave Truscott alone this term…"

There were a couple of mutterings of discontent.

"After all," Carlington went on, "he's done absolutely everything we've told him to, even the really disgusting stuff – and we did say when we first talked about it that if he behaved we should let him take his exams in peace. Well, I think he's behaved well enough. Does anyone think different?"

They looked at each other, but nobody raised any argument.

"Okay, that's settled, then. Oh, by the way, he's agreed to keep wearing shorts right through the exams and until the end of term – at least that way you'll have something to remind you that he's still being punished. Oh, and another thing: apparently he's now paid back all the money he owed us – he sold some records and cassettes or something last week. He's giving the money to Timmy this morning, so if you're still owed anything, you'll probably get it today. Stephen – Wood – still owes a bit, but that's our bonus, rather than the money they took in the first place, so I've told Timmy to tell him we don't mind waiting a little longer for that. Okay, everyone happy?"

Again, nobody argued, at least not audibly, so he said they might as well go back to the yard, and everyone followed him out.

"I'm really not very happy about this," said Williams to Gwyn-Thomas as they walked together back towards the yard.

"Then why didn't you say anything?"

"Because Colin's right, really: we can't say Truscott didn't do what we told him to. But I really wanted to make him suck on my thingy again – that felt absolutely brilliant. I can't believe I only got to make him do it once."

Gwyn-Thomas stopped and checked that the others were now out of earshot, and then said hesitantly, "Matt… if you want…maybe…"

"What?"

"Well… I could do it for you, if you want."

"Huh? Seriously?"

"Yes, if you want – and if you promise not to tell the others."

"But… why would you want to do a disgusting thing like that?"

Gwyn-Thomas shrugged. "Maybe I won't want to, once I've tried," he said. "But… I don't know, it seems sort of interesting, and I don't mind trying."

"Okay, then," said Williams, who wasn't going to turn down an offer like that. "But… there's no way I'm going to do it to you as well, OK? Right, well, if you're happy with that, how about back at the pavilion at lunch time?"

"Okay. But you'll have to tell me what to do – Truscott didn't really do it to me for long enough for work out the best way to do it."

"Don't worry, I will. And if you mess it up I'll make you pee in your pants… I'm joking," he added, seeing the look on Gwyn-Thomas's face. "Don't worry, Owen, I can tell the difference between you and Truscott. You're the one with the funny accent."

Gwyn-Thomas rammed his elbow into his ribs, and Williams tried to retaliate, but Gwyn-Thomas skipped out of range.

"Don't be cheeky, or I'll bite it off, see?" he threatened. And he ran off before Williams could catch up with him.

***

They went back to the pavilion at lunch time. They knew there was nobody else inside because the key was still in its usual place in the bush: if anyone else came now that they had taken it they would know that the pavilion was occupied and so would hopefully go away. Indeed, unless they were carrying a knife they would be unable to get in anyway. Consequently Matt and Owen felt quite safe, but they nonetheless went up to one of the small rooms at the top of the pavilion: if the caretaker were to take it into his head to visit the pavilion this lunch break, he would be unlikely to come all the way to the top of the building.

"Come on, then, get undressed," said Matt, sitting on the bench.

"And you."

"You go first. After all, we always made Truscott strip before we did, and if you're pretending to be him you have to do it right."

"Well… okay, then." Owen wasn't sure that he really wanted to 'pretend to be Truscott', but he supposed it wouldn't do any harm: Matt had seen him undressed before, after all. So he took all his clothes off, hanging them up carefully on the pegs.

He was still hanging his pants up when Matt grabbed him and started tickling him. Owen squealed and tried to escape, but he was desperately ticklish and Matt was stronger than he was, so there was nothing he could do except to beg for mercy, which he did, breathlessly.

"Submit?" demanded Matt.

"I submit!" gasped Owen.

"Good. Then your punishment for submitting is that you have to suck my thingy."

"But… I was going to do that anyway," said Owen in confusion.

"I know. But now if anyone ever finds out about it – which they won't, I'm sure – you can honestly say that you did it because I forced you to. If you say you volunteered people might think you were a bit strange, but if you were made to do it, nobody will blame you at all. They might blame me for bullying you, but that's nothing like as bad as it would be for you if they started thinking you were a homo, or something."

"Oh, right. Thanks, Matt – I hadn't thought of it like that."

"Of course, since I'm now officially bullying you, you'd better do a good job, otherwise I might have to punish you."

"You'd have to catch me first."

"That's why you haven't got any clothes on – you can't run far like that. Anyway, let's get on with it…"

He sat in the edge of the bench and Owen dropped to his knees in front of him. Hesitantly he leaned forward and closed his lips around Matt's still soft willy.

"Now you lick it until it goes hard," his friend told him. "And then you sort of slide it into and out of your mouth."

Owen did as he was told, and after a few seconds he felt Matt's little organ starting to react. He licked a little harder, and once he thought it was as hard as it could get he started to slide his lips up and down the shaft. Matt had to give him a few instructions as to speed and pressure, but soon he was doing it the way Matt wanted.

Owen felt a bit strange about doing this, but at the same time he thought it was sort of fun, making his friend wriggle about and utter strange noises. It didn't taste bad, or anything… soon he became aware that his own thingy had gone hard, and he slipped a hand down between his legs and started playing with it, until Matt told him pretty sharply to get back to using his hands in the approved manner – in other words, on him.

It took quite a long time to get Matt to the point of no return, but he gave the impression that he was enjoying every second of it, groaning and wriggling and pulling Owen's head hard against him, until finally he gave an extra big thrust and pulled Owen against him as hard as he could. Owen went on licking at it as Matt squealed his way through his orgasm, only finally stopping when Matt let go of his head and relaxed.

"Was that OK?" he asked, standing up.

"That was bloody amazing," said Matt. "I reckon you do it even better than Truscott did. Look, Owen… you will do that again for me, won't you?"

"Maybe," said his friend, grinning at him. "Let's see…I could charge you ten pence a go – or maybe I won't charge you, provided you run across the cricket square in the nude first…"

"Or maybe I'll beat you up if you get stroppy," said Matt. "Maybe I'll sit on you and bounce up and down for half an hour."

Owen giggled. "I'd end up squished all over the floor," he said. "And I wouldn't be able to do it at all afterwards, so maybe you better not."

"Okay, but I could probably think of some other nasty things to do instead."

"Or you could just ask me nicely."

"OK, I'm asking you nicely. Please?"

"Good. In that case, no, I don't mind doing that again."

"Brilliant! Come on, then, we'd better get dressed."

They put their clothes back on and let themselves out of the pavilion.

***

Stephen and Truscott went to the garage after school, and Timmy went with them, even though he was no longer a slave: it would give him a chance to see Christy, which was reason enough for going.

Michael was in a very good mood – he'd been flirting round one of the girls on the site for a while, and to his complete amazement she had agreed to go out with him. This would be the first time he had ever been out with a girl, and thinking about it had simply driven everything else from his mind. Besides, he'd been thinking about what Stephen had said just before the holiday had started, and what Colin had said to him on the first Tuesday – and Timmy's comments outside the cinema hadn't done any harm, either.

"Stephen, you first," he said. "Tom's been saying all sorts of nice things about you, and Bren Byrne reckons you're OK, too – he says you worked hard and didn't act like you were afraid to get your hands dirty, which is what he expected. Anyway, Tom reckons you shouldn't have to be a slave any longer, and I'm happy enough with that. So here's your file – and if you want to borrow my lighter to get rid on the photos in a minute, fine – just do it outside.

"Truscott… I'm still not sure about you, to be honest, but Colin reckons you've been a good slave. I'm probably going to be too busy to spend a lot of time here for a while, but I expect Danny will still want to see you on Mondays, at least until your exams start…"

"Obviously," interrupted his brother. "I'm not missing out on getting a good suck."

"…so from now on you just have to come round on Mondays, and if Danny doesn't want you for… well, anything, you can go home. And once we get to a week before the exams you can stop coming: we'll give you your file back and you won't have to be a slave any longer."

"Then who's going to suck me off?" demanded Danny.

"You'll have to find your own slave – or get a girlfriend, if you can find one stupid enough to have you."

"Try the local blind school," suggested Tom, grinning at him. The usual wrestling match ensued.

"Anyway, as far as I'm concerned you can all use this place whenever you like," Michael went on, "unless I'm using it, of course."

"How will we know if you're using it?" asked Stephen.

"You'll hear his bird laughing hysterically and saying things like, "Call that a cock?" and "Lend me a magnifying glass," suggested Christy.

"Fuck off, baldy," said Michael, without rancour. "Just 'cos you're jealous, because no girl's ever going to look at you."

"I think I could live with that," whispered Christy in Timmy's ear.

"No, it's a serious question," said Stephen. "I mean, we should have a signal or something, so that if Michael – or anyone else, come to that – is using the garage, nobody will interrupt."

They discussed it for a bit and finally decided to put a pair of large sticks in the form of a cross on the ground just outside the door if the garage was in use.

After that Michael said he was going, there was someone he had to see, which was greeted with some mock cheering. Danny collared Truscott before he could disappear: "If I've only got you for a few more weeks, I'm going to make the most of it," he said. "So get undressed, and we'll see if you've remembered everything I've taught you."

The others drifted off, Christy walking up to the bus stop with Timmy while Stephen and Tom went and burnt Stephen's file (and Tom didn't think to ask if he could keep the pictures) and then walked slowly back to Stephen's house. Both schoolboys knew that visits would be discouraged, except perhaps at weekends, until the exams were over, so this short period immediately after school was all the time they would have together for a while.

A week rolled by, then another. Christy came over to stay with Timmy one Friday night, and Tom spent a Saturday with Stephen, but both the older boys were too preoccupied with the exams to be able to get the maximum out of the visits. Danny made Truscott suck him for the next couple of Mondays, but after that he took pity on him and told him he didn't have to come any more until the first Monday after the exams, at which point he would be freed – "Provided," Danny added, "that I get a really good suck first."

Colin and Truscott got together at the weekends, which Truscott enjoyed a lot more than he had his Mondays with Danny, but they spent more time revising together than they did misbehaving: Colin was bright enough to be able to help Truscott with some of his revision, and was able to test him from the textbooks for the more difficult subjects. Nonetheless, there was a point on the second Saturday where Truscott was obviously finding it hard to concentrate, and so Colin decided to give him an incentive.

"I know you can do better than this," he said, "so I'll make you an offer: get the next ten questions right and I'll get undressed, and stay undressed for the next half hour – or, at least, until my parents get home from the shops. Okay?"

That gave Truscott a serious incentive, though it also gave him a bit of a distraction: he had to concentrate on his work and not on imagining a naked Colin. But he knuckled down and got the questions all right.

"See?" said Colin. "I knew you could do it. Perhaps you'll do your best in the exam if I offer to spend a whole day with you without any clothes on provided that you pass… no, I'm not offering that yet, but I'll think about it. Okay, put the books away for a bit: I bet you won't be able to concentrate if I'm sitting here in the nude, so we'll take a break for half an hour."

He undressed, and Truscott sat and watched him in admiration.

"Your turn," said Colin, once he was naked.

"Hey, how come I have to get undressed? This is supposed to be a reward for me!"

"Yes, but we can have a lot more fun if we're both naked, can't we? Besides, I like seeing you naked. You look nice these days."

The shampoo had been effective: Truscott's hair was now soft and clean. The soap still had some work to do, because the zits were proving a little more stubborn, but there were still fewer than there had been at Easter.

So Truscott got undressed and they first looked at each other and then started to touch each other, and Truscott was delighted to see that Colin had an erection: maybe he really was starting to like looking at him, he thought.

They caressed each other for a bit, and then Truscott asked if Colin wanted to be sucked.

"Not today. But… would you like to masturbate me? I'd like to know what it feels like if someone else does it."

"Okay," agreed Truscott, with alacrity. "Lie on the bed, then."

So Colin relaxed on the bed, and Truscott came and sat down beside him, took hold of the beautiful organ and started to rub it steadily.

"That's nice," said Colin, dreamily. "Keep going like that."

So Truscott kept going like that, and after a bit Colin reached round and took hold of Truscott's erection and started to caress it. Truscott moved a little closer so that he could reach it more easily and then got on with his own side of the operation. Soon Colin was wriggling about.

"I'm almost there," he said. "Don't stop, please… aaah… aaahhh… yes!"

And Truscott found that his hand was wet, and so was the tip of Colin's penis.

"Hey, look, Colin, you've got some," he pointed out.

"What!? Gosh, so I have… I must be growing up faster than I thought. Thanks, Graham, that was really good."

It was the first time he had used Truscott's first name – in fact Truscott hadn't even realised he knew what it was.

"That's okay, Colin. I enjoyed it."

"Good. Now it's your turn. Lie on your back."

So they swapped places and Colin returned the favour, though he moved his box of tissues to the side of the bed first: he knew there'd be rather more to mop up afterwards.

Truscott closed his eyes, thinking how perfect this was: here he was, relaxed and comfortable, being masturbated by the most beautiful boy in the world. He decided that it had been worth going through everything he had been through in the past few weeks to get to where he was now.

"Get ready," he said, as he felt the moment sweeping towards him, so Colin pushed a bit to the right and kept going, so that the output – and there was lots of it – landed squarely on Truscott's chest and stomach, rather than on the bed. Colin held on until the eruption was over and then cleaned up with some tissues.

"Was that okay?" he asked. "I mean, I've never done it to someone else, either."

"It was brilliant," said Truscott, sitting up. "I don't deserve to have you do that to me…"

"Yes, you do. We're friends now, Graham, and friends are supposed to share – and that includes nice feelings. Agreed?"

"Okay," said Graham, feeling as happy as he had ever felt. "Agreed."

***

During one break three weeks into term Timmy was sitting in a corner of the yard studying maths problems when he was interrupted by a polite cough at his elbow. He looked up and recognised Gwyn-Thomas.

"Hello, Owen," he said, dredging up the boy's Christian name from the depths of a memory that was currently preoccupied with trigonometry and sentence structure. "What can I do for you?"

"Well… it's a bit awkward, see…"

"Go on," said Timmy, putting his book down. "What is it?"

"Well… what it is, see… look, when we let Truscott stop… you know, doing stuff, Matt – that's Matt Williams, see? – was a bit upset, because he really liked having his… you know, his thingy, sucked. So… Look, I can trust you, can't I?"

"Of course you can."

"Okay… well, look, I said I'd do it for him instead, see?"

He was clearly expecting Timmy to jump up and tell him how disgusting he was. Timmy, of course, did nothing of the kind.

"Okay," he simply said, "so what's the problem?"

"Oh… Well, I mean, I… I sort of enjoy doing it, right, and Matt enjoys me doing it, too – we've done it a few times now, usually in the pavilion, but I went round to his house last weekend when his parents were out and we did it there, too… But… OK, it's fun doing it with Matt; but I was sort of wondering…"

"Yes?"

"I was wondering… see, Matt's one is really small, and I wondered what it would be like to suck on a bigger one. And I thought, well, you're two years older than us, so you've probably got quite a big one, and I'm pretty sure I can trust you not to talk about it, and… well, I'd like to do it for you, if you want me to."

"Oh. Well, Owen, I'm sorry to disappoint you…"

"Oh, that's OK, pretend I didn't ask," said Owen, backing away.

"No, it's not that. It's just… well, mine's really tiny – I'm sure Matt's is bigger than mine."

"Gosh… could I see?"

"Well… I get a bit embarrassed about it," admitted Timmy.

"That's OK. I won't tell anyone, not even Matt – and… well, there's something about me that people laugh at, too – we could swap embarrassments, if you like."

"OK, then," said Timmy, intrigued. "Meet me at the pavilion at lunchtime, then."

So at lunchtime he met Owen at the pavilion and they let themselves in and went up to the back room.

"I'll go first," offered Owen. "It's not quite the same as… you know, being small, but it's something that everyone laughs at…"

"Is it your squint?" asked Timmy. "I mean, I can imagine that people make fun of you for that. Well, that and the accent, of course."

"Well, sort of. See, I'm supposed to wear this." And he pulled an eye-patch from his blazer pocket and put it over his left eye. "I have to wear it in class, so I can see the board without it going double, and I'm supposed to wear it all the time. But everyone makes jokes about it when I do – you know, calling me Long Taffy Silver, and asking where my parrot is, and stuff like that – and I get sick of it, so I usually only wear it in class, where it's just my own lot who make the jokes. So… this is what I look like out of school. Go ahead and laugh if you want."

"I'm not going to laugh," said Timmy. "Only stupid people would laugh at you for wearing it – and I bet your real friends don't, do they?"

"Well, sometimes – but not very often," admitted Owen. "It's like we don't make jokes about Matt being overweight – the rest of the class call him Fat Matt, but we don't. At least I can take my patch off: Matt can't leave his stomach at home, and Colin and Uzzy can't see without their glasses, and of course they all laugh at Simeon's lisp. I just get sick of it…"

"That's the whole point," said Timmy. "Everyone has something for other people to take the mickey out of – I mean, look at me: I'm a titch with a tiny thingy. You have to learn to ignore the idiots: it doesn't matter what they think or say. What matters is what your real friends think of you – and they won't laugh at you, especially if they know how much you hate it."

He stood up and started to undress.

"You know that me and Wood are friends with the travellers," he went on. "A lot of people don't like them, calling them names and stuff – but anyone who gets to know them is going to find out that they're just kids, like us: it doesn't matter how they live, it's what they're like inside that counts. Some people in your class probably don't know you very well, so they just pick up on the obvious stuff, like the squint and the accent, and they think that's all you are. Same as Matt's stomach or Colin's hair. But once they get to know you properly, they can sort of look past those things and see the real you.

"Okay, now you can see why I wouldn't be much use to you if you want a nice big one to suck…"

He pulled his pants off and stood up. Owen stared at him.

"Gosh, Timmy, that really is small," he said. "Is there something wrong with it?"

"No, it's just little. Everyone tells me it'll start growing soon, and I hope they're right, but it's not the most important thing about me – any more than that patch should be the most important thing about you. And… look, Owen, it's really none of my business, but if you're supposed to wear it all the time, don't you think you should? I mean, I expect it's meant to help your eyes get better, and they won't if you don't do what the doctors told you to. Just ignore the idiots – or maybe you could try playing along: get yourself an inflatable parrot, or a crutch, or something, and practise going "Aaaarrrrghhhh, aha, Jim lad," and stuff. You might find they like it and start laughing with you instead of at you."

"Or they might just laugh at me a lot more."

"Yes, they might," agreed Timmy, starting to get dressed again. "But they might not. I'd have thought it's worth a try, anyway. And your real friends won't change how they feel about you, and that's the most important thing."

He finished getting dressed and they headed down the stairs.

"Actually," said Timmy, "if you seriously want to try sucking a proper-sized one, I know someone who would definitely let you – and there'd be no danger of him spreading it about the school, either, because he doesn't go to our school. Do you want me to see if I can arrange it?"

"Yes, please."

"Okay – come and see me in the same place tomorrow morning at break and I'll tell you how I get on."

So that evening after school Timmy went to the travellers' site. A couple of months ago the idea of walking into a travellers' encampment in his school uniform would have made him wet himself in fear, but now he didn't even think about it. He said hello to the dogs as they wandered out to meet him, and they gave him a cursory sniff and a lick and wandered off again.

He went to Michael and Danny's caravan, hoping Michael wasn't entertaining his girlfriend there, but only their mother was in. She greeted him cheerfully – by now the whole encampment knew about the friendship between him and Christy – and told him that Danny was off playing somewhere, and that he should try by the water tower. He duly went that way and found Danny and Tom playing cards round the back of it.

"Hello, Tiny" Danny greeted him, happily. "What's the matter – are you missing the beautiful taste of my cock?"

"No, strangely enough. But… I might have a replacement for you."

"Huh?"

"There's this kid at school, in Colin's class, and he owes me. Don't worry about the details: let's just say that he has to do what I say for a bit. I'd like to make him suck me, but as you know, there's not a lot of me to suck…"

"You can say that again!"

"So I thought I could lend him to you for a bit – provided you stop making cheeky remarks about me, of course. What do you think?"

"What, and he'd have to suck me?"

"If you want. But… that's all, Danny, okay? No chasing him naked through the brambles, no sticking it up his bum, no whippings, just sucking, okay?"

"God, yes! When can he start?"

"Tomorrow. But I'm serious, Danny – if he tells me that you've done anything else to him, the deal's off, all right? Stick to sucking and you can have him for a couple of weeks, and after that we'll see."

"Right! Thanks, Tiny – er, Timmy, I mean. Since I let Truscott off I've had nobody. I'd have made Tom do it – I know I can beat him up – but he threatened to set Stephen on me if I did."

"Crap!" said Tom. "I don't need Stephen's help to beat you up."

"Okay," said Timmy, backing away from the start of another wrestling match. "Be at the garage tomorrow at four – and, look, could you have a proper wash first? Make him puke and I might not be able to make him come a second time."

"Are you saying I smell?"

"Well… let's say a good wash first wouldn't do any harm to your chances of getting him to do this for you more than once."

"Okay, I suppose I'll think about it," muttered Danny.

"Great. Oh, and Tom, I've only said there'll be one. Would you mind letting Danny come on his own?"

"Depends if he pays me," said Tom, grinning.

"Or if he puts you in hospital first," growled Danny.

Tom grinned even wider and jumped on him again – he didn't mind too much, because he knew he could always have fun with Stephen if he needed a bit of sex, while Danny had no outlet at the moment. He was quite happy to let Danny go to the garage on his own, but he wasn't ready to say so yet.

Timmy left them to it, and the following day he told Owen that he'd found a boy who would be happy to let himself be sucked.

"It's one of your traveller friends, isn't it?" asked Owen, who was wearing his patch today.

"Yes – is that okay?"

"I suppose so – it's just… I don't know anything about them, and they seem a bit scary."

"They're not, once you get to know them. Like I said, they're just kids like us. Anyway, his name's Danny, and we've got a place… I'll show you after school. Meet me by the west gate at four o'clock."

So after school Timmy took Owen to the garage, where Danny was eagerly waiting for them. He'd managed to persuade Tom not to come, though Tom made him agree that he now owed him one.

"What's with the patch?" he asked.

"He's got a bad eye," said Timmy, before Owen could answer. "Don't take the piss out of it, or I might have to start talking about your freckles."

"It's better to have freckles than a tiny cock," countered Danny. "Anyway, Blind Boy, what's your name, and how did you manage to upset Tiny, here?"

"My name's Owen, and I was cheeky to him, lots of times," said Owen, who had already worked out the right line to take – with Timmy's help, of course. "See, I saw him getting changed and made some jokes about his… you know, his thingy…"

"I know, it's tiny, isn't it?" said Danny, grinning at Timmy. "But… where the hell did you get that stupid accent?"

"You think I've got a stupid accent?" said Owen, incredulously. "What about yours?"

"There's nothing wrong with the way I speak," said Danny, in his usual broad Irish brogue. "And if you're cheeky about it, I'll have to punish you some more."

"I think you've both got funny accents," said Timmy, "so nobody's getting punished for it, okay? Anyway, I'll leave you to it. Owen, I'll want to see you in the playground at break to hear all about it – which means you stick to our agreement, Danny, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," said Danny, putting his tongue out at him. "Now you'd better go, before the sight of my great big cock makes you faint with jealousy."

"One day, Danny," said Timmy, "you're going to insult the wrong person."

"Maybe, but it isn't going to be you – you're always the right person to insult."

Timmy gave up. He let himself out and walked back up to the bus stop to catch his bus home.

"So…" Danny began, once Timmy had gone, "what exactly has he told you, then?"

"Nothing, really. He just said I'd have to… well, you know, suck on it."

"Then he hasn't told you any of the important stuff. See, this is my place, and anyone who comes in here has to do exactly what I tell him, and if he doesn't, I can punish him however I like. Did you know that Timmy used to be my slave?"

Owen shook his head, and he wondered if it could be true. But Colin had said something about the travellers being in overall charge of Truscott, so he supposed it was possible.

"You wouldn't believe the stuff we used to do to him," Danny went on. "I'll tell you about it later, if you like. But right now you've got to strip – we don't let townies stay in here with their clothes on."

Owen had expected this, but it still made him feel a bit strange: this wasn't like undressing in front of Matt – this was a complete stranger, and a rather scary one, too.

"Come on, hurry up," said Danny. "Or do you want to be punished?"

Owen didn't, so he took his clothes off. He hesitated when he reached his pants, but Danny glared at him and he took them off.

"Stand up straight with your hands on your head," ordered Danny, and Owen complied. Danny stared at him.

"Well, you're bigger than Tiny, but not much," he commented. "How old are you?"

"Ten," said Owen. "I'll be eleven next week, though."

"Brilliant! I won't be eleven for another three weeks, so you're older than me. And that means I can do whatever I want to you, and nobody can accuse me of bullying."

"Are you sure? I mean, you're taller than me, and a bit heavier, too."

"Doesn't matter," said Danny, confidently. "You can only bully people younger than yourself. So, I can do whatever I want, and it won't be bullying. Anyway – let's see if you can suck as well as Tiny." He started to get undressed.

"You mean – you've made Timmy do this?"

"God, yes, loads of times. And he's brilliant at it, too. So let's see how you compare."

He threw off the last of his clothing and lay down on the mattress. Owen came and took up a position between his legs, and immediately decided that this was more comfortable than kneeling on the pavilion floor. He examined Danny's equipment with interest: it was clearly bigger than his own, and substantially bigger than Matt's, but it didn't look too big to fit in his mouth. He opened wide and slipped it in.

Danny told him how he wanted it done and then relaxed and enjoyed it. For a beginner, the kid was doing okay, he thought, but he had a way to go before he got anywhere close to Timmy's standards.

"Use your hands a bit more," he said. "Just try touching me all over – I'll tell you what feels best."

So Owen tried using his hands a bit more, and Danny seemed to like it, judging by the way he was wriggling about.

Owen was starting to enjoy himself: he liked the feeling of control, and he definitely enjoyed having a bit more to work with – and he thought Danny tasted nice, too. Of course, he didn't know that this was because Danny had taken Timmy's advice and had a proper wash that afternoon. His mother had wondered if he was ill when he said he wanted to have a proper strip wash: normally Danny wasn't all that bothered about hygiene between visits to the pool. But she had heated up some water for him all the same, and he had taken it outside, put up the canvas screen, undressed and given himself a thorough wash.

Tom had leaned over the top of the screen watching him and making sarcastic remarks, but Danny had ignored him, at least until he had finished. At that point he had put his clothes back on, picked up the bowl, and walked past Tom, pointedly holding his nose.

Danny was by now getting close. This was the point at which Timmy would have stopped, making him wait and drawing the whole thing out, but of course Owen hadn't been taught to do that yet. Instead he kept going, pushing Danny closer and closer, until finally he thrust upwards, forcing Owen's head against him as he climaxed.

"Not bad," he said, afterwards. "Obviously you'll need a lot more training before I'm really satisfied with you, but you did it well enough that I won't have to whip you today. Okay, pass me my clothes."

Owen stood up to do that, and it didn't escape Danny's notice that he had an erection. Excellent, he thought, realising that if Owen liked doing this he'd be able to get him to keep doing it for ages – and maybe he could be persuaded to do other things, as well…

"Stand by the wall with your hands on your head until I'm dressed," he ordered, and Owen complied without argument. Danny dressed, taking his time, and then stood in front of Owen, taking hold of his stiff little penis and squeezing it.

"Now, are you going to go on being a good little boy and do whatever I tell you?" he asked.

"Yes, I promise! Aaahh… that hurts!"

"It'll hurt a lot more if I have to punish you. OK, get dressed."

So Owen put his clothes back on, though he had trouble doing his shorts back up at first.

"When can you come again?" Danny asked him.

"It's up to you. Timmy just said I have to do what you tell me, so if you tell me to come tomorrow, obviously I have to."

"Brilliant! Tomorrow after school, then. And remember, if you don't turn up on time I'll have to punish you, like we did with Timmy."

"What did you do to him?"

"We beat him with my belt, loads of times. And… come on, I'll show you what else we did to him."

He led Owen out of the garage and up the lane, taking him into the wood.

"We used to make him strip bare, apart from his shoes, and then we used to hunt him through the woods. If we caught him, he got beaten. It was really funny, watching him running about in the nude trying not to get scratched. And if you mess me about, I might do it to you, too."

"I won't," promised Owen, who didn't fancy that idea at all. "I'll be good, I swear."

"Good. OK, you can go – but don't be late tomorrow, or else."

Danny headed back to the site, and Owen set off for home. He was surprised by how much he had enjoyed the evening: he'd hoped he would enjoy sucking Danny, and he had; but what made it better was the feeling of danger: he wasn't completely sure he could trust Danny not to hurt him, and somehow that made the whole experience even more exciting. He found himself really looking forward to their next session…

So now Danny's happy, because he's managed to replace Truscott, and Owen's happy, because he's got something a little larger to work with – clearly as an enthusiastic player of the pink woodwind instrument, he'd rather have a bassoon to blow into than a piccolo.

So, does that mean everyone is happy now? No, it doesn't: the Move is still looming. And in the next – which will also be the final – chapter, we'll see what happens when the moment arrives.

Chapter 24

We left everyone worrying about the imminent departure of the travelling community. Let's see how things turn out in the end…

Timmy was studying hard when Owen came to find him the following morning: the first exam was now only just over a week away.

"So, how did it go?" he asked.

"Fine. It was fun – a bit scary, but still fun."

"And he didn't do anything nasty to you?"

"No. He threatened me with stuff if I misbehave, but I think he's only playing."

"Okay, but mind you let me know if he does anything bad to you, all right?"

"Okay. I say, Timmy… is it true that you used to be his slave?"

"Oh," said Timmy, putting his book down. "I suppose I should have guessed that he'd tell you about that. Well, yes, I was – and not just Danny's slave, either. What has he been telling you?"

"About how they used to chase you through the wood in the nude, and whip your bum if they caught you. What was that like?"

"Scary. It really hurt, being given the belt, especially when Danny did it. And it was frightening, having no clothes on with four of them chasing me and beating me – I couldn't run away into the wood because of the brambles, and I couldn't run out of the wood because I was bare. And when they beat me it made me cry, too. I was lucky I made friends with Christy quite quickly, because after that he stuck up for me a bit and wouldn't let them go too far."

"And Danny says he made you suck it, too. Did he really?"

"Yes, loads of times. He really likes it, which is why I thought he'd be happy to have you do it. I had to do the others, too, but not so often."

"Danny says you were really good at it."

"Well… I don't know if I want people to think I'm good at sucking boys' thingies – but he did seem to like the way I did it. I'd sooner you didn't tell anyone else about it, though."

"Don't worry, I won't. So what did you do that was so good?"

"I don't know, really. He liked it when I played with his balls and stroked all round his thingy – and sometimes I'd stop every so often, to make it take longer. You could try that, I suppose. But otherwise you just have to ask him how he wants it done. And don't forget that if you want to stop doing it with him, you just have to come and see me. I'll sort it out for you."

"Thanks, but I think I'll keep doing it for now. I'll tell you if I change my mind, though." And Owen wandered off and left Timmy to get on with his revision.

***

"So, what was it like?" Tom asked Danny, the same morning – he hadn't had a chance to ask the previous evening. "Was he any good?"

"Not bad," said Danny. "Timmy does it better, but that's just practice. I think the new kid is already almost as good as Truscott, though. With a bit of training, and maybe a whipping or two to wake his ideas up, he should be pretty expert in a couple of weeks' time."

"Do you think you've got that long to train him?"

Danny was silent. The move was looming over both of them, though Danny had a feeling that it would be harder for Tom than for himself. As Tom had told Stephen during the holidays, normally when the travellers moved on it didn't have any significant impact on them – it just meant a change of scenery and a chance to find some new places to play. For most of them, this move would be no different: for the Byrne brothers, for example, this would just be a move like any other. Even Michael wouldn't mind too much, now that he was making progress on the romance front, since of course his girlfriend would be moving with them.

But neither Tom nor Christy really wanted to move this time, and both were dreading the announcement, which they knew was imminent. And Danny was in two minds about it, too: he'd had a lot of fun with the townies here, and if he was honest he knew he'd really miss Timmy: He liked him a lot, and he'd never been able to tease an older boy the way he had Timmy. And now that he had a new townie boy to suck his cock he was even less enthusiastic about going. He supposed that they might be able to snare some new townies at their next site, but with Michael unlikely to be interested it would be a lot harder.

"I don't know. But I'm going to try. God, Tom, I'm really going to miss this when we go – I love getting sucked. I don't think I can stand the thought of having to go back to wanking all the time, but where am I going to find someone else to suck me?"

"Don't look at me," said Tom, hastily. "Seriously, Danny, I'm not doing that for anyone, not even my best mate. You'll have to get a girlfriend."

"Oh, come on – what girl's going to want to go out with me? I'm not even eleven yet. I wouldn't even bother asking, 'cos I know they'd just laugh in my face."

"Well, there is one other possibility," said Tom. "I wouldn't swear to this, but… I reckon if you played your cards right, you might be able to get Alan Byrne to do it for you."

"You're kidding – aren't you? Why would you think that?"

"Well, when we went to the pool he went hard really easily – and it was obvious that he was checking Stephen out. I just got the impression that he likes boys."

"That doesn't mean he's going to want to suck me, does it?"

"No, but it's something to threaten him with: I bet he wouldn't want everyone knowing, if it's true. And there's another thing: Bren told me that Alan wanks himself all the time. If you can catch him doing it, you'll be able to threaten to tell if he doesn't do what you want. Anyway, if he does like boys, maybe he won't mind doing it."

"Maybe not…" said Danny, thinking.

"So – either you watch him carefully, and next time he goes to the toilet block you sneak up on him and catch him playing with himself; or you could just invite him to play cards with you, play some strip game and see what happens. If he gets hard, or wants to play again, you'll be able to suggest forfeits – and I bet you can cheat at cards better than he can."

"I never cheat – well, not all that often. And never against my friends."

"Yeah, right. Anyway, try it and see: if you can get him to do it, you won't miss your little townie so much."

"Okay, thanks. Look, Tom… what are you going to do when we move – about you and Stephen, I mean?"

"I don't know. I'd like him to come with us, but obviously he won't, and I can't leave my family and stay here. I'll just have to hope we don't go too far."

"Mum and Dad were talking about it after me and Mikey went to bed last night," said Danny. "I think Dad knows where we're going – it sounded like he's got some work lined up for everyone. But he didn't say where, or how soon we were going, and when I asked him this morning he told me I'd have to wait and see, because nothing was settled yet."

"You will let me know as soon as you find out, won't you?"

"Aah, poor little Tommikins is afraid he's going to lose his townie boyfriend!" teased Danny.

This would normally be the signal for Tom to say something sarcastic and to jump on him, but this time that didn't happen, and when Danny looked at Tom's face he saw that his friend was trying unsuccessfully not to cry.

"Fuck, Tom, you really are serious, aren't you? Shit, I'm sorry: I wouldn't have joked about it if I'd known."

Now it was Tom's turn to stare: he'd expected Danny to tear into him mercilessly if he ever found out how he really felt about Stephen. Instead, Danny looked really worried.

"I really, really like him," said Tom, letting himself go and starting to cry properly. "I don't want to go, Danny…"

Danny put his arms round his friend and held him, and it was a measure of how sympathetic he was that he wouldn't even have cared if someone had come round the tower and seen them hugging each other.

"I'll try really hard to find out when we're going and how far away it is," promised Danny.

"Thanks," said Tom, trying to pull himself together.

"That's what friends are for. Oh, by the way: if Alan does turn out to be interested, I expect you'd like to help me keep him under control, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, please!" And Tom managed to smile again.

***

That evening Danny had another entertaining session with Owen, teaching him a bit more about how to suck and spanking the boy lightly at the end of the evening, "Just so you don't forget who's in charge," as he put it. Owen didn't seem to mind too much, promptly asking when he should come again, and they fixed their next session up for the following Monday.

Alan had been off working with his father and brother for most of the week, and Danny hadn't been able to get hold of him. But on Friday afternoon he found him wandering around on his own: the family had been to the pool a little earlier and now Brendan was making the most of his state of extreme cleanliness to go round to Annie's caravan. Alan, of course, had nothing similar to distract him, so when Danny approached him and said hello, he was quite happy to see him. For a moment he wondered if Tom had told his friend what had happened at the pool, but then he decided that if he had done that, Danny would have been round to taunt him about it long before now.

"What are you doing?" asked Danny.

"Nothing."

"Me neither. Fancy a game of cards?"

"Okay, then."

He followed Danny round the side of the water tower. "Are we playing for money?" he asked.

"It'll be a short game if we do," said Danny. "It's alright for you – I bet you just got paid. I won't get my pocket money until Sunday, and right now I've got…" He ferreted in his pocket. "…exactly four pence."

"That won't get you far," agreed Alan. "Shall we just play for fun, then?"

"That's a bit boring. I dare you: let's play strip."

"I'm not playing strip," said Alan, straight away, and Danny thought he'd have to try something else. But then Alan went on, "at least, not here. Anyone might come and see us."

"Where, then?" said Danny – even at this late stage he was reluctant to share the knowledge of the garage with someone else if he didn't have to.

"Come with me," said Alan, getting up and heading for the wood. "I did some exploring, and I found a place…"

He led Danny over the fence and into the wood, and in due course he reached a large rhododendron bush – the same one, in fact, that Christy had shared with Timmy once before during a round of the hunting game.

"I found this a couple of weeks ago," Alan told him. "It's perfect, because you can get right into the middle of it, and nobody can see you from outside."

He led Danny into the middle of the bush. Alan had cut a few more branches back in the middle of the bush to give them a bit of room. Danny thought that it was nothing like as good as the garage, but it wasn't bad as a hideaway. The ground was dry – it had not rained for a few days – so they were able to sit down to play.

Danny got the cards out and gave them to Alan to shuffle, and then they started playing standard draw poker, taking three changes each. As Tom had suggested, Danny wasn't averse to a little cheating if the situation called for it, but it seemed quite unnecessary here: after five hands he had lost once and Alan had lost four times, which already had him on his last item, assuming (as Danny did) that he wasn't wearing pants.

Danny lost once more, removing his second shoe, and then Alan lost again. He stood up, undoing his trousers, but then hesitated.

"Promise you'll give me another game, so I can try to get revenge," he said.

"Yes, OK," said Danny.

Alan undid his trousers and stepped out of them, revealing that he was very stiff.

"Oh, dear, Alan, how embarrassing," said Danny. "Come here and let me see it properly."

Alan stepped closer without hesitation. The fact that he didn't point out that Danny had no right to look, and that the game was now over, reinforced Danny's conviction that Tom had been right about Alan.

Danny took hold of the hard penis and tugged, and Alan uttered a little gasp and allowed himself to be pulled to his knees. Danny played with it for a bit, slapping it around lightly and tugging at the little curls of hair.

"It's not very big, is it?" he commented. "I reckon Mikey's is bigger, and he's quite a bit younger than you. In fact, I don't think you're that much bigger than me."

"Let's see," said Alan, straight away.

"Oh, no. Not unless you win the next game, anyway. And if you lose I'll have to punish you."

"How?"

"Don't know yet. I'll have to think of some bad forfeits – and the more times you lose, the worse they'll get. So, are you going to chicken out?"

"Of course not. I'm going to win the next five games and make you do the dirtiest forfeits I can think of."

"You can try. Oh, and by the way, you're not allowed to get dressed until we finish playing. I own all your clothes now, remember? You'll have to play in the nude. We'll just keep count of how many times you lose, and when you've lost five times you've lost the game, again."

Alan didn't object to that, either, and now Danny knew he had him where he wanted him. He dealt again, and Alan sat down cross-legged and looked at his cards.

"Move your hand a bit," said Danny. "You're not allowed to use your cards to hide your little wee-wee."

Obediently Alan moved his cards to one side, revealing his still-twitching erection, and also (though he didn't seem to realise this) revealing his cards. This made Danny's strategy much easier, and once again he won five-one. Alan didn't seem too dismayed.

"That's one," said Danny, shuffling once more. "Once one of us has got five forfeits lined up, the game stops, okay? So you've got four more tries to make me undress."

Danny won the next two games, but then Alan rallied, aided by some very lucky draws, and won the next game.

"Go on, then," he demanded, his eyes shining, "let's see it."

By now Danny was stiff too, so it looked quite impressive (for a boy still a couple of weeks short of his eleventh birthday) when it emerged into the light.

"Let me look," demanded Alan. "You were allowed to look at mine."

Danny stood in front of him, and Alan took hold of it and stroked it gently, making it twitch.

"It's nice," he said. "And you're quite big for your age, too."

"Unlike you," said Danny, sitting down once more. "Okay, let's see if you're going to get any forfeits against me."

He was interested to see what Alan would make him do, so he deliberately lost the next game, but then won the next two to wrap things up.

"Okay," he said, putting the cards away. "I've got one forfeit, you've got five. I'll do mine first. What do I have to do?"

For the first time Alan seemed a little nervous.

"You're not going to tell anyone about this, are you?" he asked.

"What do you think?" asked Danny, carefully ducking the question.

"Well… for your forfeit, you have to give me a wank," said Alan.

"Is that all? OK, then, in a minute. But you're not getting off as easily as that. I mean, your punishment should be five times worse than mine – more than five times, in fact, because you're older than me. I can't really think of anything bad enough at the moment – so let's say that for the next five weeks you have to do whatever I tell you, no matter how bad the things are."

"That's not fair!" protested Alan. "That could be hundreds of forfeits, not just five."

"True. OK, then: for the next five times we play together you have to do what I tell you. And after that you have to agree to play cards again to see if I go on being in charge, or if you can get me back for the next five times."

"OK," agreed Alan, his cock twitching, and Danny knew he was hooked. And now he was less worried about the move: he reckoned he could keep Alan dancing to his tune indefinitely if he handled it properly.

Danny came and stood behind him, taking hold of the erection and rubbing it slowly, and soon Alan was making little groaning noises and writhing about, and then he reached behind himself and started playing with Danny's. Danny smiled to himself and gave him the wank of his life, drawing it out for the best part of half an hour, until Alan was desperate. Finally Danny let him come, and this time the amount that came out was rather more than Alan had managed at the pool, though still hardly enough to over-impress Danny.

"Now you can just stand there and drip until I'm dressed," he said, wanting to stamp his dominance on the older boy, and Alan obediently did just that, until Danny told him he could put his clothes back on.

They headed back to the camp with Danny feeling thoroughly satisfied, even though he hadn't had an orgasm himself: he was certain now that he could count on Alan to make him feel good in every conceivable way from now on. Problem solved, he thought as they separated on reaching the site. And he went off to tell Tom all about it.

***

Two days before the first exam Timmy walked up to the bus stop in the usual way at four o'clock and found Christy sitting on the bank waiting for him. One look at his face was all it took.

"It's happened, hasn't it?" he said. "So… when are you going?"

"Can I come home with you?" asked Christy. "I'd sooner talk about it somewhere quiet."

"Okay. But… can't you just tell me now?"

"When we get home."

So they waited for the bus in silence and rode to Timmy's house without saying anything, though Timmy leant his head on Christy's shoulder, and Christy put his arm around him, just as they had done on their first bus journey together. On that occasion Timmy had just been more or less raped by Michael, but he wasn't feeling any better this time: this was going to be Basingstoke all over again, he thought, and he didn't think he could handle it.

They got off the bus and walked round to Timmy's house, and it was Christy who led them up to Timmy's room – though he did pause to say 'hello' to Angus on the way past, and that simple moment was enough to start Timmy crying.

Christy got undressed and then got into bed, and Timmy mechanically removed his own clothes and got in with him, rolling into his arms.

"When?" he asked again.

"At the end of next week."

"And… how far?"

"I'm not sure, but I'd guess between ten and fifteen miles [15-25 km]."

"Is that all?" asked Timmy, raising his head and looking into Christy's eyes for the first time. "Then… maybe we'll still be able to see each other sometimes – at least until you move again. And it's bound to be further next time…"

The moment of hope died almost at birth: at best he'd got a stay of execution for three or four months.

"I don't think we'll be moving on again for quite a long time," said Christy. "Look, I'll start at the beginning. Apparently they've just started building a massive motorway that's going to go all the way round London – it's going to take years to finish it. And one of the companies building it is Irish, and they need loads of workers – and Mikey's dad went to see them, and basically they'll take all the men on our site, because they've all got some sort of useful experience. So there's going to be a bit more money coming in for a while. Of course, Dad says it's going to be hard not to pay taxes on it, what with it being a proper job…

"Anyway, we're going to be moving to a proper fixed site. We went to see it yesterday, and it's brilliant: there's electricity, and a proper shower block with hot water, and decent toilets, and everything."

"So you're going to settle down and live in one place, like townies?" asked Timmy.

"Well, no. We'll still be moving about – after all, the motorway's going all round London. They're not building it in one go, but in little bits and pieces all round London, and eventually it'll all fit together. So it means that the men will want to move north of London if they're working on that side. But Dad says if that happens they'll find another proper site for us. And we won't move very often, at least while they're working on the motorway – and by the time it's finished I'll be working myself.

"And that's the bad news as far as us kids are concerned: because this is proper work, only the men will be able to do it, so we'll all have to go to school. I've already seen the school I'll probably be going to – it doesn't look too bad, to be honest."

"So… we'll still be able to see each other sometimes?" repeated Timmy, for whom this was the only bit that mattered.

"Sure. OK, it's a bit far, but there's a bus that goes from near the new site all the way into Poundford Spa, and then of course there's your usual bus that goes from Poundford Spa out here – so two bus rides and I'll be here. It takes about an hour and a quarter, I think, but that won't matter at weekends. And the best bit is this: if you pass your exam you'll probably be going to Poundford, won't you?"

"Well, yes, I expect so. I've already told Mum and Dad I don't want to go to boarding school, and Poundford School is about the only Public School I could go to as a day boy – so if I pass, I'll probably go there. Why?"

"Because our new site is only a couple of miles north of Poundford – and, better yet, the school I'm probably going to is less than half a mile [800 m] from Poundford School – I checked yesterday. So we'd be able to see each other after school every day if we wanted to."

"What do you mean, 'If we wanted to'? cried Timmy, in delight. "Of course we'll want to – well, I will, anyway. Won't you?"

Christy hugged him and gave him a quick kiss. "Obviously," he said. "Though I'm not sure what your new public school friends would say about you hanging about with a scruffy gippo from the local Secondary Modern."

"Who cares what they think?" Timmy returned the kiss. "God, Christy, I've been so scared of losing you… Now I really am going to have to pass the exam: if I mess it up I might end up anywhere – well, probably anywhere except Poundford, and that's all that matters." He paused for a moment, and then went on, "Why didn't you call and tell me last night?"

"Because I wanted to tell you properly – and I thought maybe you might want to celebrate, and we couldn't do that down the telephone, could we?"

"I suppose not. But it would have given me one less day of worrying."

"Well, you can stop worrying now," said Christy. "And I thought maybe on Saturday we could take the bus up to Poundford, and then I'll be able to show you where everything is. Do you think your parents will let you come?"

"Probably, as long as I work hard on Sunday. Of course, if we're going out together on Saturday, wouldn't it be easier if you came and stayed here on Friday night?"

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing," said Christy, grinning at him. "Now, what were we saying about celebrating?"

"Stay there," said Timmy, getting out of bed. "I'll just nip to the bathroom and fetch the Vaseline…"

***

Tom, meanwhile, was giving the same good news to Stephen, though their celebrations had to be a little more restrained because Stephen's mother and sister were in the house: they had to be content with a fully-dressed hug, at the end of which Tom surprised Stephen by kissing him for the first time.

"We're sort of family," explained Tom. "You're allowed to kiss your family."

"As far as I'm concerned, you're allowed to kiss me whether you're family or not."

"Nah, boys don't kiss other boys: that would be queer. But it's not queer if it's family – so we're family, okay?"

"Fine by me," said Stephen.

***

By the end of the week Christy had got together with Tom and told him about their proposed trip, asking if he and Stephen would like to come too. Tom thought this was an excellent idea, so on the Saturday morning he and Stephen were waiting at the bus stop opposite the site for the bus Christy and Timmy would be on. They travelled together into Poundford Spa, where they changed onto the bus that went up to Poundford and then out the other side to the travellers' new site.

The bus went right past Poundford, and a couple of stops later Christy pointed and said, "My school's just down there. I expect you'll be coming there too, Tom, because you'll be eleven by the time the autumn term starts, and they probably won't make us go to school until then."

The bus rolled on out of town into the countryside, and five minutes after that Christy stood up and rang the bell. They walked a short distance down a lane and then came to a caravan site. Christy took them a little way inside the gates.

"We won't go any further – after all, we don't live here yet, so the people here won't know us," he said. "But you can see what it's like."

They could: there were a number of large, permanently stationed mobile homes, and also several concrete stands which could be used by towed caravans. Most of the mobile homes had patches of properly-tended lawn outside, and some had flower beds. Christy pointed out the showers and the toilet block, and then they retreated before the local dogs could come to investigate them.

"Of course, we'll still be living in our caravans, though Dad says we could probably afford to get one of those bigger places in a year or so if we want," said Christy as they walked back to the bus stop. "But if we keep what we've got now we'll be able to go back to living like we do now once the motorway's finished."

"How long is that going to take?" asked Stephen.

Christy shrugged. "Years," he said. "I might even own my own van by then. You'll be able to come and spend all your holidays with me, Timmy: it'd just be us two. We could go where we want and do anything we feel like…"

"Sounds like you're going to have to get your own caravan too, then, Tom," commented Stephen. "Then we can do the same thing – obviously it sounds as if Christy won't be inviting you and me to go along with him and Timmy…"

"I wonder why not?" said Tom, grinning. "Do you think they get up to anything they shouldn't when they're on their own, Stephen?"

"It wouldn't surprise me at all," Stephen answered. Christy and Timmy just ignored them.

***

The exams were well under way by the time the travellers moved on, but the traveller boys had persuaded their parents not to actually leave the site until four o'clock, by which time the schoolboys would be free to came and wave them off. Timmy, Stephen, Colin and Owen met at the west gate of the school, and rather to their surprise Graham Truscott said he wanted to come with them, and so he walked round to the site with the others.

The caravans were already hitched to the lorries and vans ready to go and the travellers were doing some last minute tidying up – "After all," Tom's dad told them, "you never know when we might want to come back here, so it doesn't hurt to keep the council happy by sticking everything in the skip for them."

The four traveller boys they knew came to meet them, though it was noticeable that Alan Byrne was trailing along behind Danny.

"Okay, Alan, go and put this in my dad's van, would you?" said Danny, handing him his bag.

"Can I say goodbye to Stephen first?" asked Alan.

"OK," said Danny. "Go ahead."

The schoolboys looked at each other, grinning: they all had a pretty good idea of what was going on here. Alan shook Stephens's hand and said goodbye.

"Goodbye," Stephen replied. "And good luck!" And he looked meaningfully at Danny. Alan blushed and ran off, carrying Danny's bag.

"Is he my replacement, then?" asked Owen.

"Well, he's not as good as either you or Tiny, but he'll learn – unless he wants to get whipped every day, that is."

"I'm going to miss you," Owen told him.

"Me, too," said Danny, a bit more seriously. "You were fun. You'll have to come and visit me at the new place sometime. That goes for the rest of you, too – I mean, obviously I'll see plenty of Stephen and Timmy, but if you others want to come and visit, it'd be good. Tiny, I'm really going to miss you: I've had more fun with you than with anyone ever, I think. Well, so far: maybe Alan's going to be as funny before too long. Well, I gotta go…"

He shook their hands and trotted off. Michael shook their hands, too. He hesitated for a moment, then looked at Timmy and said, "Timmy… look, I… I want to say sorry for… well, you know. I was really horrible to you when we first met. I just got carried away with being able to hurt a townie, and I never stopped to think about what it felt like to you. I shouldn't have done any of that stuff to you. Sorry."

"Okay. I suppose I wouldn't have got to be friends with Christy if you hadn't, so I suppose it worked out well in the end. But… please promise you won't be like that with anyone you meet in future, okay?"

"I promise. Anyway, I'm going to try what you said about seeing people as individuals when I get to my new school," Michael told Stephen. "But if it doesn't work I'll beat you up next time I see you."

"Right," said Stephen, grinning at him. "Seriously, though, I hope it all works out for you."

Colin thought this would be a good time to make an exit, so he said goodbye to Christy and Tom, and then he and Graham wandered off together. The remaining four boys went round the back of the water tower, out of everyone else's sight, and looked at each other for a moment, and then Christy opened his arms and Timmy ran to hug him, and after a second or so Stephen and Tom did the same thing, and after that each couple was oblivious to the other as they hugged and kissed. Only when there was a shout from where the lorries were waiting did they let go of each other.

"The first weekend after the exams finish we're coming to see you," Timmy promised. "And… I've asked my parents if you can come on holiday with us in the summer, and they said yes. We're only going to Cornwall, but it'll be better than having nothing to do right through the holidays, won't it?"

"That's a brilliant idea," said Stephen to Tom. "I'll ask my parents the same thing when I get home. Of course, I'm not sure we'll be able to afford to go anywhere this year, but if not you and me can go camping somewhere instead, couldn't we?"

"Brilliant idea!" said Tom. "In fact I'd like to do that even if you do take me on holiday too."

"Okay. Hey, Timmy, maybe you and Christy could come camping, too. But you'd have to bring a separate tent – we're going to want some privacy once it's time for bed…"

The voice shouted again, a bit louder, so they headed back to where everyone was waiting for them. Christy and Tom got into their respective vehicles and the convoy moved off, while Stephen and Timmy stood and waved goodbye.

"I don't know how I'd have coped if they'd been going further away," said Stephen, as the last vehicle vanished round the corner.

"Me neither. Now all we've got to worry about is passing the exam so we can go to Poundford in September. How do you think you're doing so far?"

"Not bad. I even think I did OK on the geometry questions…"

And they walked away from the site together, discussing what promised to be a happy future.

Note: the construction of the M25 motorway around London took around ten years to complete: by the time it was finished Christy and Mike would have joined their fathers in the construction business in time to gain useful experience for future employment. The work would, as Christy told Timmy, have kept their community in the area for several years, and I can see no reason to think that their friendship would not have lasted throughout that time and, indeed, beyond.

The End