Pink Panther's

HARTSWOOD PRIORY

Patrick & Friends

Part One

It all happened so suddenly. Patrick had spoken to his mum no more than two hours earlier, given her a kiss and a hug before she went to teach her art history class.

"I love you, mum!" he'd said.

"Love you too," she'd replied before disappearing through the door.

And now she was gone, her car crushed by a truck loaded with gravel that had skidded on the wet road. She'd died instantly. He was sitting in the lounge room of their house, a policewoman holding his hand, explaining what had happened and telling him that he needed to be very brave. He didn't feel brave; he just felt numb, like it wasn't really happening. He'd doted on his mum and she on him. He'd inherited her looks, the thick ash-blond hair, the twinkling blue eyes, the ready smile. He'd inherited her talent for the arts too. Drawing, painting, story-writing, music, he loved them all; they were what he lived for.

Sitting there on the sofa he tried to envisage life without her; all he saw was a bleak emptiness. Throughout his ten and a bit years, she'd been there for him; a word of encouragement here, a little praise there, sharing a laugh and a joke somewhere else, all the little things that only seem important when you don't have them any more.

And what about dad, he thought. What's he going to do?

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Tom Naylor was intelligent, energetic and industrious. In a little over ten years he'd worked his way up to the position of sales director of a major electrical equipment manufacturer. But he was a world away from the image of the ruthless, driven salesman; considerate and charming, he was possessed of a wonderful sense of humour, a quality that he shared with his wife, and the one thing he seemed to have in common with his son. He received the news of his wife's death in much the same way that Patrick had, from a burly policeman standing in his office.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you, sir," the man intoned sombrely, "that there has been a terrible accident. Your wife's car was hit by a truck. She died at the scene; there was nothing anyone could do."

Tom sat at his desk, trying to take it in, cursing the unfairness of it all. Catherine, his beloved Catherine, had gone, all because of some idiot trucker driving too fast for the conditions, the bright future they should have had together extinguished at a single stroke. So what of the future now? How would they cope, him and Patrick?

They'd never been close; he knew that. Up to that point it had never seemed to matter. He earned a very good salary, more than enough to enable them to live in a large house in one of the smartest parts of town, to run two cars and take holidays twice a year. Catherine, teaching part time at the university, had always been there to provide the support and encouragement that Patrick needed. And with the long hours that he spent at the office, frequent trips abroad and weekends spent playing golf with clients and business associates, he and Patrick saw little of each other.

He had tried, especially when they went on holiday, but Patrick seemed to prefer to spend his time reading or drawing, showing little interest in the rough-and-tumble games that most boys of that age enjoy. So Patrick had gone his own way, and he'd let him get on with it; it was easier all round. He didn't resent the fact that Patrick's interests were all the things that Catherine was good at, far from it. He'd encouraged the boy to pursue his talents to the full, and provided the means for him to do so. What he couldn't do was to feel part of it. So what now? Who would provide Patrick with the help and support he required during his formative years? He couldn't do it; apart from anything else he didn't have the time.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

The funeral was a sombre, joyless occasion; not a celebration of a life lived, but the mourning of one cut cruelly short. Patrick still felt the same numb emptiness that had been with him since the day his mum died. People came up to him, offering their condolences and support; neighbours, aunts and uncles he scarcely knew, mum's friends from the university, so many words washing over him. If he heard one more person telling him he needed to be brave for his mum he felt sure he'd scream.

Finally it was over. Tom and Patrick returned to the house, seeming so big and empty now without Catherine's laughter to fill it.

"Sit down, please," Tom said, pointing to the sofa. "We need to have a chat."

Patrick complied, feeling a little nervous; chats like this were usually reserved for occasions when he'd been in trouble. Tom sat next to him, putting his arm around the boy's shoulder.

"I know how hard this has been for you," he said quietly. "Your mum was everything to you; I know that."

Patrick sat silently, not knowing how to respond.

"Well," Tom continued, "however hard it is, we are where we are. So now we've got to work out what to do next. If mum was able to talk to us, what d'you think she'd say we ought to do?"

Patrick took a deep breath. "She'd say we have to face up to the situation and try to make the best of it," he said, looking at the floor three feet in front of him.

"Good boy," Tom responded. "I'm sure that's exactly what she'd have said. So we need to look at what options we've got. We don't have many, and I have to tell you that carrying on as we are isn't one of them."

Patrick sat in silence, like the condemned man waiting to hear his fate.

"The first option," Tom said, "is for you to go and live with Grandad and Grandma Munro," referring to his late wife's parents. "I know that they'd love to have you; I'm just not sure how well it would work. They're both over sixty and Grandad's health's not too good.

"Staying there for a couple of weeks is one thing; living there permanently is quite a different matter. I know they'd do their best, but I'm not sure they could cope with a lively ten year old any more."

Patrick maintained his silence. He loved Grandad and Grandma Munro too, but he could see what his dad was getting at; they certainly wouldn't be able to help him the way his mum had done.

Tom grimaced. His own parents should have been an option, but they weren't. His father had died two years earlier, the result of over forty years as a heavy smoker. His mother, a bossy, controlling woman, still lived close by, but would insist on Patrick having his hair cut and a great many other things that the boy wouldn't take to. Tom himself had left home as soon as he could just to get away from her. If she hadn't nagged him so much, his dad might have smoked less and still been alive. It was inconceivable that Patrick would thrive in that environment.

"The only other choice is for you to go to boarding school," Tom concluded. "During the holidays, you'd spend part of your time here with me, and part of it with Grandad and Grandma Munro."

Patrick was stunned; his dad might as well have suggested sending him to the moon. I mean, he went to the primary school half a mile away. He came home every afternoon and played with his friends. Boys like him didn't go to boarding school. Then he began to think. Somebody went to those schools and they weren't aliens from outer space; schools like that wouldn't exist if nobody went to them.

And he didn't really like his primary school. Oh, it was in a good area and he did well in class, but there were still bullies around, including boys from homes even posher than his. Rather than deal with the situation, the teachers preferred to look the other way and pretend it wasn't happening. But he knew it was; he'd been on the wrong end of it more than once, like the day they tried to crush his fingers under the lid of the piano.

The teachers brushed that off as just a bit of horseplay. Most of the time he stayed with his friends; they kept the bullies away. But that wasn't always possible, and that's when he was vulnerable; he wasn't able to stand up to them the way that they did.

It wasn't that he was small; on the contrary, at a fraction under five feet he was tall for his age. People who didn't know him often took him for eleven or even twelve. It was just that he was useless at all physical contact sports, fighting included. So going to boarding school might not be such a bad idea after all. But of course, there might be bullies there too.

"I don't know," Patrick said quietly. "I've never really thought about it."

"Over the last few days while I've been off work, I've been asking around," Tom said. "Most of the schools wouldn't suit you at all, but I think I might have found one that would do pretty well. It's called Hartswood Priory. It's in Sussex, just over an hour's drive. Summer term ends in a couple of weeks. I was thinking that one day next week we could have a drive down there, take a look around."

He paused, drawing the boy a little closer. "You don't have to go there if you don't want to." he whispered.

"What about bullying?" Patrick asked.

"Bullying?" Tom responded, taken aback. "It's not something that's ever worried you before."

For an instant Patrick thought about brushing it off, but knew it wouldn't work. It was time to open up. Tom listened, anger building in his chest. He almost asked the boy why he hadn't told him before, but stopped himself. Patrick hadn't told him because he hadn't been there to tell, and he hadn't told his mum because she'd have been worried. So he'd done what most boys do in that situation, bottled it up and got on with things as best he could.

"Well, if that's what's been going on I want you out of there in any case," he said firmly as Patrick finished his story. "I've never been impressed with that school; most of the work they give you is far too easy. It's never mattered before because your mum more than made up for it, but with her not here, I don't want to see you just drifting along." He paused and took a deep breath.

"I'm not surprised that Carl Rogers has been behind the bullying either," he said vehemently. "He's a spoilt brat; his parents let him do as he likes."

He gripped Patrick by the shoulders, turning the boy to look him right in the eyes. A momentary wave of sadness swept over him. He couldn't look at Patrick without seeing Catherine; they were so alike. Just as quickly he snapped himself back to the present.

"Well, mister," he said, smiling at his son. "I think this might be time for a fresh start, don't you?"

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

By the following day it was all set. They'd drive to Hartswood the following Wednesday. They'd be meeting the deputy head, Mr. Halford, at eleven o'clock. After that they'd be given a tour of the school then stay for lunch. In the afternoon they'd be able to observe whatever lessons and activities they wanted to see.

Patrick looked forward to the visit with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. What would it be like? Would the boys all be really posh and snobbish? And what about all the other stuff, like sleeping in dormitories, having showers together, all of that. And what about the food? Although he was very slim he ate like a horse; he'd hate it if the food was horrible. Questions, questions, so many questions!

The day dawned bright and sunny. At half past nine they were on their way, Tom's Jaguar purring along the road. There wasn't much conversation; Patrick was too nervous and too excited to say much. Losing his mum had been the worst experience of his young life, but now a whole new world was opening in front of him, a world he'd scarcely been aware of. Tom followed the directions meticulously as they led him out into the country.

At quarter to eleven he turned the Jaguar in through the gates. At the end of the long drive was what had clearly been a large, imposing country house to which some newer parts had been added. Extensive playing fields stretched away to their left.

Patrick was spellbound; he'd never seen anywhere like it. Could he really be coming to a place like this? As they got out of the car he soaked in the atmosphere. Wow! That was all he could think of: wow! They made their way in through the large oak door. A sign in front of them said 'Reception'. They went to the window and Tom rang the bell. A few seconds later the window opened.

"Good morning," he said politely. "My name's Tom Naylor and this is my son Patrick. We have an appointment with Mr. Halford at eleven o'clock."

"I'll let him know," replied the lady on the far side of the glass.

They sat on the large red armchairs waiting for Mr. Halford. Patrick looked around at the high, oak beamed ceiling and the oil paintings on the walls. The place had an air of tranquillity that Woodthorn Primary never had. It was hard to take it all in. A man was striding towards them, around six feet tall, broad shouldered, with dark wavy hair just beginning to go grey. Tom judged him to be in his early forties, a few years older than himself. They stood up as he approached.

"Mr. Naylor?" the man enquired. Tom nodded. "John Halford; I'm the deputy head here. And you must be Patrick," he continued, smiling at the nervous looking boy. "Let's go to my office."

As they followed him along the corridor, Patrick saw some of the boys for the first time. They were all wearing shorts. The boys at Woodthorn only wore shorts on hot summer days, and not all of them even then. He hadn't worn shorts to school since the previous year; he no longer had any that would fit him. It seemed odd at first, but somehow the boys looked good dressed like that, he decided, smart but casual, their grey shorts complemented by white polo shirts. A few of them had their hair as long as his; he could certainly live with that.

Mr. Halford's office was airy and comfortable. Patrick sat quietly while Tom explained the circumstances leading up to their visit. When Tom had finished, Mr. Halford turned to Patrick.

"First let me say how sorry I am to hear about your mum," he said gently. "Let me also say that you won't be the first boy to come here in circumstances like that; in the twelve years that I've been here there have been several. We'll give you all the support we can to help you get through it and settle into your life here." He paused and looked and the slender boy in front of him. "So, Patrick," he continued. What are the things that you like, what things are you good at?"

"I read a lot," Patrick said, "and I like writing stories. I like drawing and painting; I think I'm pretty good at them. And I like music. I play piano and guitar. I'm up to grade five on piano and grade three on guitar."

"My wife taught history of art at the university," Tom explained. "He gets all this from her; I'm useless."

"Very good," Mr. Halford said, nodding sagely. "Sports?"

"Not really," Patrick responded, giving him a shy smile.

"That doesn't matter," Mr. Halford said, smiling. "Sport is an important part of what we do here, as it is in every prep school, but it's not the be-all and end-all. We try to encourage excellence in every sphere, sport, music, art, drama and whatever else, in addition to the usual academic subjects of course. We teach the boys to value high achievement, whatever form it takes."

"That's very good to hear," Tom says. "What do you think, Patrick?"

"Yeah," Patrick said, almost in a whisper.

"Patrick's concerned about bullying," Tom continued. "It seems there have been a few incidents at his present school. I only found out last week. That's another reason I'm keen to move him. So do you have bullies here?"

"There are potential bullies here," Mr. Halford said, smiling. "You'll find those in every school. Our policy is very simple; we don't tolerate bullying. It's our job to enable the boys to make the most of whatever talents they have; that's what parents pay us for. A boy won't be able to perform to the best of his ability if he's being bullied, so it's my job to make sure it doesn't happen. So what sort of bullying was it?"

Rather tentatively Patrick described the incident with the piano lid. Mr. Halford sat in front of him, a very stern look on his face.

"And the teachers didn't do anything about it?" he asked.

"No," Patrick said. "They said it was only a bit of horseplay and there was no damage done."

"That's appalling," Mr. Halford said, turning to Tom. "a complete abdication of responsibility. I can tell you quite categorically that nothing as blatant as that would ever happen here."

"So why's that?" Tom asked, keen to press the point.

"Let me explain," Mr Halford said, leaning back in his chair. "This is a closed community of one hundred and fifty boys. The bush telegraph is very strong. They might not do it in front of witnesses, but within half a day the story would be all round the school. That means I'd get to hear about it.

"So I'd go and find a couple of my moles, not snitches, I wouldn't want that, but boys who'll always tell me what's been going on as long as I ask the right questions. Five minutes later the perpetrators would be on this carpet, and by the time I'd finished with them they wouldn't be able to sit down for two days. Every boy in this school knows that's what would happen, so they wouldn't even try it."

Patrick smiled, feeling reassured; Mr. Halford was the sort of teacher that kids just don't mess with.

"Okay," Mr. Halford said, "Any more questions?"

"No, I don't think so," Tom said. "Patrick?"

Patrick shook his head.

"Right, let's take you round the school." Mr. Halford said brightly.

He went to the door and popped his head out. A fair-haired thirteen year old followed him back into the office.

"This is Russell," Mr. Halford said. "He'll take you round. He'll do it much better than I could; this way you get to hear what it's like straight from the horse's mouth."

Patrick sat there open-mouthed; in his short grey shorts and white polo top with several flashes on it, Russell was the most stunning looking boy he'd ever seen. His penis stiffened in his briefs. That had been happening quite often over the previous few months though he had no idea why.

For Patrick, the tour was overwhelming. Everything about this place was so much better than it was at Woodthorn, and Russell explained it all perfectly. He spoke well but wasn't in the least bit posh, just really friendly. Patrick was completely captivated by him, his penis becoming harder than ever. He might not be much good at sport, but Russell clearly was; the flashes on his shirt bore testimony to that. One bore the word 'Cricket' another the word 'Rugby' and a third the word 'Athletics'. Next to the one saying 'Cricket' was a fourth one bearing the word 'Captain'.

"Don't worry about getting bullied," Russell said quietly. "It's really not a problem."

He glanced over at Tom, who was examining some of the art exhibits, then guided Patrick a few feet in the other direction.

"If you find yourself an older friend," he whispered, "one of the boys in Upper Fourth, you won't have a problem at all; nobody will go near you."

Patrick was completely taken aback; he really didn't understand what Russell was on about, but it was obviously something he hadn't wanted his dad to hear, so he couldn't ask. The idea of a boy in Upper Fourth wanting to be friends with him didn't make sense; it sounded very exciting though.

"Can we see the dorms now?" he asked.

"Sure!" Russell said, smiling. "I'll take you to the lower school dorms first. That's where you'll be if you come here."

He led the way upstairs and opened the first door they came to. The room was bright and airy, tidy but with a welcoming, lived-in look to it, pale blue walls offset by brightly coloured bed covers. It was nice, Patrick thought; much better than he's expected. They followed Russell across a quadrangle into one of the new parts of the school. Russell led them into another room, even brighter than the first one, the posters on the walls clear evidence of the presence of young teenage boys.

"This is my pit," Russell said, jumping onto a bed occupied by a large, well-worn teddy bear. He picked it up. "This is Hercules," he said, smiling. "I've had him since I was four. He goes everywhere with me."

Patrick giggled; he just couldn't help it. Russell had a teddy bear called Hercules. That was so cool! Tom sat down next to Russell, leaving Patrick standing in front of them, unable to take his eyes off the beautiful young teen half sitting and half lying on the bed.

"So d'you mind if I ask why you came here?" Tom said quietly.

"Dad's a drama producer at the BBC," Russell said casually. "We live in Notting Hill, which is great for where he works, and we've got a really nice house, but the schools round there are pretty rough, so mum and dad scraped together the money to send me here."

"And is this your final year?" Tom continued.

"Yes, I leave a week on Friday."

"And where will you be going in September?"

"I've been lucky," Russell said quietly. "I've got a scholarship to Millfield. Mum and dad wouldn't have been able to send me there without one; the fees are astronomical."

Both Tom and Patrick were impressed; Russell hadn't mentioned his own achievements once. The bell sounded for lunch. Russell led the way to the refectory. As they entered, a dark haired boy approached them, a fraction taller than Russell but much slimmer, his long, slender legs making his shorts look even shorter.

"This is Callum," Russell said, introducing them. "We've been friends since the day we started here."

Patrick felt almost dizzy. Callum wasn't as stunning as Russell, but he was very good-looking none the less. They were like a pair of young gods; he had to stop himself staring at them.

Tom and the three boys ate lunch together, chatting about this and that. The food wasn't his mum's home cooking, Patrick noted, but it was far better than the school dinners at Woodthorn, and the dining room had a relaxed but orderly atmosphere, far different from what he was used to. He'd be happy here; he'd do well, he could sense it. The decision was made; if boys like Russell and Callum came here, it was a place he wanted to be. He gazed longingly at the two young teens, still not understanding what it was that he was longing for, or why he had that tingling feeling in his penis.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

It was a warm Sunday afternoon in early September the next time that the Jaguar drove through the gates of Hartswood Priory. Patrick's heart was in his mouth. He'd made the decision to come here; there was no going back now. Two older boys with clipboards were standing near the entrance. They approached one of them, a tall, good-looking boy with wavy ash-blond hair, a badge with his name, Giles Madison, pinned to his sweater. Patrick's penis stiffened immediately, his eyes fixed to the young Adonis

"Good afternoon, Giles," Tom said, smiling. "This is Patrick Naylor. He's starting today in year three."

Giles consulted his list. "Oh yes," he said, looking at Patrick, "You're going to be in Eagle dorm. Just a minute, I'll get someone to show you the way." He scanned the melée of boys in front of the school. "Lee, can you come here please!" he called.

A stockily-built boy strode confidently towards them. He was a few inches shorter than Patrick, with short, spiky hair, blue eyes and a very cheeky smile.

"Lee," Giles said, "this is Patrick Naylor, the new boy in your dorm. Will you look after him please?"

"Hi," Lee said, smiling and extending a hand. "I'm Lee Sheldon; pleased to meet you. Have you got a trunk?"

"Yes, it's in the back of dad's car," Patrick said quietly.

"Okay, let's get it then," Lee said, still smiling. "We'll take it up to the dorm so you can put all your stuff away. Later on we'll have to take it down to the trunk store."

They collected Patrick's trunk from Tom's car and took it up to the dorm. They spent the next hour putting his things away, Lee showing him where everything had to go, where the boys' room was and lots of other routine stuff. Lee was so chatty and bubbly, nobody could ever think of him as a snob. Patrick took to him straight away.

"So why did you decide to come here?" Lee asked.

"My mum got killed in a car smash," Patrick said quietly. "Dad's away on business quite a lot; it just seemed like the best thing to do."

"Sorry, man!" Lee said, the smile now absent from his face, "That's terrible! Sorry, I didn't mean to, you know..."

"It's okay," Patrick said, "and thanks."

Pretty soon, Patrick's other room-mates began to drift in. Lee introduced him to each one of them, though at first he found it hard to remember their names. The only one he did pick up on was Simon, a very good-looking boy with mid brown hair and an outstanding summer tan. At quarter to six Tom appeared.

"Well you seem to have everything organised," he said, "I guess I'd better be going. "Be good," he concluded, giving Patrick a hug.

"Bye, dad," Patrick said.

And with that he was gone, Patrick watching from the window as the Jaguar disappeared down the drive.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

The first few days passed almost in a blur. There were so many new things to get used to, Patrick hardly had time to think. For all that, he slipped into the routine far more easily than he thought he would. He'd been put in the top group for all his classes. The work was harder than he'd been expected to do at Woodthorn, and the pace much more demanding, but within a few days it felt like he'd been doing it all the time. Playing rugby was not as bad as he'd feared, mainly because several of the boys were just as poor at it as he was. He did his best, and Mr.Cooper, the games teacher seemed quite happy with that.

Even having showers with the other boys didn't cause him a problem. Without meaning to, he found himself checking the other boys out, but nobody seemed to notice him doing it. He noted that most of the other boys in the dorm were pretty small, much the same size as he was. The exceptions were Simon and a small, slim boy called Deon; it seemed weird that the smallest boy in the dorm had the largest penis. He also noticed that Simon's penis got hard almost any time he was naked, but nobody said anything about that, either. The odd thing was that his didn't, not in there.

As things began to settle down, he realised that Eagle dorm was split right down the middle. On the one side were Andrew, Philip, David and Paul. Andrew and Philip were very posh. They weren't unfriendly but talked incessantly about themselves. Patrick found them boring. David and Paul were much nicer, but spent all their time talking about the latest toys and what presents they'd be having for Christmas, real kids' stuff. Those four were the 'good' boys. On the other side were Lee, Simon and Deon.

Patrick had to decide which group he belonged to. It wasn't a difficult decision; Lee and his friends were much more fun to be with. Within a few days he found himself gathered with their little group, two of them sitting on Lee's bed, which was right in the corner, while the other two sat on Simon's bed facing it. They talked about soccer and a little about rugby. They talked about the latest pop music and television shows.

Then their voices dropped as they turned to the main topic of conversation: sex. Patrick sat and listened. He couldn't understand all the things the other boys were saying, but he understood enough. He could hardly believe that they were sitting there talking about it like that.

"Are you okay with this?" Lee asked quietly. "We don't want you freaking out."

"Yeah, it's cool," Patrick assured him.

From the far corner of the dorm Andrew looked across disapprovingly.

"Don't worry about them." Lee said dismissively. "They know better than to say anything."

"I thought kids didn't get bullied here," Patrick said, feeling a little uneasy.

"We're not bullying them," Lee countered. "They leave us alone and we leave them alone. That's fair, isn't it?"

Patrick had to admit that it was. He sat and listened some more.

"It's okay for you," Simon whispered, addressing himself to Lee. "You've already got a friend. Man, you got really lucky there!"

The lack of understanding must have showed in Patrick's face.

"Lee is Giles' friend," Simon said by way of explanation.

"I've been going with him since last term," Lee added, "but we haven't gone all the way yet."

Patrick still didn't fully understand, but even so, they were talking about Lee being friends with the boy-god he'd met on Sunday when he arrived. That was exciting! His penis was as hard as iron and straining against his briefs; what Russell had said to him about making friends with one of the older boys was starting to make sense.

"So what d'you do?" he asked breathlessly, his voice little more than a croak.

"They suck each other's dicks," Simon mouthed at him from the bed opposite.

Patrick thought he was going to explode. Sucking each other's dicks! That was when it dawned on him, like somebody had just switched a light on. That was why his penis got hard every time he saw one of the good-looking older boys. That was what he wanted!

"What did you mean about 'going all the way'?" Patrick whispered.

"That's when he bums me," Lee said casually. "He's put his finger up there, but he hasn't got his dick up me yet."

Patrick felt more excited than ever. So if he made friends with an older boy, that's what he'd do! Maybe not straight away, but he'd do it. It was a bit scary, but very exciting just the same.

"So how did you start, you know...?"

"I'd been watching him playing cricket," he said. "Afterwards I got chatting to him. He asked me if I'd like to be his friend and I said yes."

"Giles is one of the top boys," Simon told him. "That's because he'll be cricket captain in the summer. The other one's Jeremy, the rugby captain, but he's already got a boy. You wouldn't want to go with him in any case; he's a dickhead."

Patrick sat on the bed, completely bewildered, hardly able to believe what they'd told him.

"When Deon says he's going for a piss," Lee whispered in his ear, "say you need one too and follow him."

He nodded at Deon.

"I'm going for a piss," Deon announced, loud enough for the boys in the opposite corner to hear.

"I need one too," Patrick said nervously.

Both boys got to their feet and headed towards the door. Once on the corridor, Patrick was surprised to find they weren't heading towards the nearest boys' room; they were going in a different direction completely.

They turned a corner and a minute later they were walking past the science lab. Just beyond it was another boys' room; Patrick hadn't even realised it was there. Deon pushed open the door and they made their way inside. The place was deserted. He grinned at Patrick, jerking his head towards one of the stalls. Patrick followed him in like Deon had him on a piece of string.

Deon bolted the door, then opened the clip at the top of Patrick's shorts and pulled down the zip. He nodded to Patrick, indicating for him to return the favour. Patrick did it like he was on autopilot, Deon's shorts falling to the floor. Deon put his hand in the back of Patrick's shorts, pushing them down over his hips. They dropped round his ankles. He tugged at Patrick's underpants, skinning them down his legs. He reached out, fondling Patrick's stiff penis.

"Nice little cock!" he whispered. "The older boys will love that!"

Patrick almost choked, the touch of Deon's fingers the most exciting experience of his life.

"Do mine now," Deon continued.

Patrick pulled down the smaller boy's underpants. To his surprise, Deon wasn't hard, his penis hanging limply over his balls. He reached out and fondled it; it felt good.

"Sit on the toilet," Deon ordered.

Patrick sat down, Deon's penis now inches from his face.

"Suck it!" Deon hissed.

Patrick was very nervous; he'd never dreamed that things would advance so quickly. But he didn't dare say no; the other boys would know he was chicken and not let him join in any more. He held Deon's penis between thumb and forefinger and took it into his mouth. His apprehension melted away; it didn't taste bad and it certainly didn't feel bad.

He began to suck it. Deon rocked his hips, his penis hardening rapidly in Patrick's mouth. Patrick could hardly believe how big it had grown, more than twice the size of his own. Deon held the taller boy's head, pumping his hips more insistently. Suddenly his body stiffened, his penis jerking wildly between Patrick's lips. After a few seconds he pulled away.

"Cool!" he whispered, pulling up briefs and shorts.

Patrick followed suit, still scarcely able to believe what they'd just done. Seconds later they were heading back to the dorm.

"Did he do it?" Simon whispered as they resumed their places.

Deon nodded, smirked and licked his lips.

"Cool!" Simon breathed. He leaned across to Patrick.

"You can do me tomorrow," he continued. "We can help each other out till, you know..."

Patrick wasn't completely sure, but he thought he knew.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Patrick felt more relaxed heading to the boys' room than he had the day before, this time in Simon's company.

"None of the older boys will look at you at the moment," Simon advised.

Patrick didn't know what to say; it was another statement he didn't understand.

"All they know is that you're new and you've never been to boarding school before. It would be far too risky. You might go bleating to Mr. Halford that they'd molested you; then there'd be a right stink. But now we know you're okay, Lee can ask Giles to put the word around."

Well, it did seem to make some sort of sense, Patrick could see that.

They strolled into the boys' room, into one of the stalls and bolted the door. In a matter of moments shorts and underpants were round their ankles. Patrick couldn't wait to get started, sitting on the toilet without even waiting to be asked. He leaned forwards, sucking Simon's hard penis right down to the base. Simon stood motionless. Patrick took the hint, sucking eagerly like he'd been doing it for ages. Without warning, Simon shuddered, his penis coming to life between Patrick's lips. After a few seconds Patrick let him go.

Patrick thought that this would be the end of proceedings as it had been the day before, but Simon had other ideas, taking Patrick's place on the toilet and positioning the boy in front of him. Patrick was pretty small, but no less suckable for that. Simon held him round the hips, sucking him greedily, working his mouth all over the hard, swollen object. Patrick could scarcely believe how good it felt. Being fondled by Deon had been pretty amazing, but being sucked was far better than that!

Suddenly his body tingled all over. He felt an irresistible urge to pee. He tried to wriggle free but Simon wouldn't let him. His penis jerked and throbbed in Simon's mouth, the most incredible feeling of all. Then it was over. He was gasping for breath. He had to pull away; his penis was so sensitive he couldn't bear Simon to touch it. Then it started to make sense. Those were the feelings Deon and Simon must have had when he's sucked them. Wow! he thought. He hadn't realised it was that good.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

"Take your time, I've got something to show you," Lee whispered as they headed for their evening shower.

Patrick was in the dark again; Simon and Deon seemed to know what it was about; he didn't have a clue. Still there was only one way to find out. After a couple of minutes the 'good' boys trooped out, leaving them on their own.

Lee grinned and turned his back to them, his feet well apart. Then he bent down. Patrick couldn't believe what he was looking at. Lee's bum-hole was stretched open, the area around it chafed bright red. Giles had done it, gone all the way, bummed him! Wow!

Lee stood up, grinning proudly.

"You did it, man!" Simon breathed, excitedly. "What was it like?"

"Hurt quite a bit when he put it in, but once he got going it was fantastic. He went nuts! He loved it!"

"Have you been bummed" Patrick whispered to Simon, pretty sure he knew the answer.

"Yeah, last year." Simon told him. "Tim was in Upper Fourth. Upper Fourth aren't supposed to go with second year kids, but he did. I wanted it anyway. He used to bum me all the time. I loved it! Man, I've got to find another boy to do it with."

It was time to go. They turned off the water and headed out of the shower.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Out on the school field watching the school rugby match, Lee and Patrick stood together, Lee pointing out the different players. Patrick couldn't remember them all, but a few of them stood out; Jeremy, the team captain, a stocky, dark haired boy who played in the middle of the pack, William, a very slim blond boy who was Jeremy's friend.

He noticed a tall, slim boy with mousey coloured hair cropped very short. He recognised him without Lee having to say anything.

"Is that Deon's brother?" he asked.

"Yeah," Lee replied casually. "Can't miss that they're brothers, can you? But they're totally different; Deon's not into sport at all; he hates it.

He pointed to a long haired boy, playing in the position that he called scrum half.

"That's Toby Redman," he said. "His dad's a famous heart surgeon. Toby's mad; he's always getting caned for things he's done. Great kid though."

Patrick watched, fascinated, his penis rock hard again. Toby was the smallest boy on either side, but quick, skilful and very aggressive. He didn't seem to think twice about taking on kids who were far bigger than he was.

"I think you might be out of luck there," Lee said, grinning. "From what I've heard he's getting together with this little second year kid, can't remember his name."

Patrick was disappointed, but there was nothing to be done. Another boy caught his attention, tall and athletic looking, with short, mousey coloured hair.

"That's Robert Shearsby," Lee informed him. "He's in lower fourth, the same as Toby. He'll probably be captain next year. But you've missed the boat there too; he's going with Peter Cranham out of Osprey dorm."

Patrick felt the frustration building. Peter was in all his classes; pleasant enough and not bad looking but nothing exceptional. Why had Robert picked him, he wondered?

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Patrick strolled along the main downstairs corridor. He'd decided not to stay in the dorm, chatting to the other boys the way he did most evenings. It wasn't that the other boys weren't friendly towards him, but they still hadn't fully accepted him; he was still something of an outsider. It transpired that even Deon had been bummed, although the circumstances were surrounded in mystery. Deon wouldn't tell him about it and neither would anyone else.

Patrick knew that things wouldn't change until he found an older friend, but he'd looked and watched and waited, and absolutely nothing had happened. Perhaps it never would, he thought, and Lee's little gang would treat him as an outsider for the rest of the year.

But it wasn't just that. Every time he saw one of the good-looking senior boys his penis would harden in an instant. He was desperate to have the same experiences that Lee was enjoying with Giles, but so far none of the older boys had shown any interest.

As he wandered past the maths classroom he could hear voices. He stopped and listened; the voices were coming from the maths store room a few feet further along the corridor. He stood outside the door and listened, his heart pounding. They were boys' voices and they were talking about sex.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Brian and Jonathan had been very happy to find the maths store unlocked; it was a new place to hide away, and one not supposedly under the control of the obnoxious Jeremy. The rule was that those places were for the use of older boys entertaining younger friends, not for Upper Fourth boys to have sex with each other, so he'd been thoroughly awkward about it. And as they weren't in the same dorm, getting together after lights out wasn't an option.

The problem was that now they were safely ensconced, there was a difference of opinion as to what they were going to do.

"Come on, Jon," Brian pleaded. "I've had nothing since we got back. You like being bummed; you always have before."

"Why do I never get to be on top?" Jon countered.

"I haven't taken it for over a year," Brian reminded him. "You have."

That was true enough; Jonathan had to admit that. He'd been the friend of Henry Jarvis, last year's rugby captain. They'd been together for two years. Henry had penetrated him the very first time they got together, and had bummed him remorselessly three or four times a week right up to the day he left.

Henry had grown considerably during that time, as boys of that age do; what began as a slim four inches when they first met had developed into a substantial six and a half, which had combined with large heavy balls to deposit copious amounts of thick, creamy fluid into Jonathan's rectum every time they had sex. Jonathan didn't mind; he loved Henry and everything about him; more to the point, he loved being fucked.

But Henry had gone now, and Jonathan was desperate to experience the active role. There were other considerations too. As a younger boy, being the friend of one of the star seniors was not just acceptable, it was a badge of honour, a status symbol. But once you reached Upper Fourth, being known for accepting the passive role with one of your contemporaries would get you a reputation, one that he didn't want.

He'd been hoping to find a younger partner; there were plenty of cute boys around, but he was too shy. Plucking up the courage to ask one of them was going to be difficult. But there was still hope; Brian hadn't found one either, and he wasn't shy at all.

Brian put his finger to his lips. The room fell silent, both boys listening intently. There were footsteps outside on the corridor. Brian crept noiselessly towards the door, Jonathan in his wake.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Patrick listened excitedly, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. Then the conversation stopped. He should have recognised the warning signs but failed; a couple of seconds later, the store room door flew open and two boy-gods were standing there looking out at him. He looked back at them, fearful of what might happen next.

The boy in front was a few inches taller than he was and quite well built, with long fair hair just a little darker than his own. The other boy was a little taller and much slimmer, with long, slim legs and brown, almost black hair. Although he couldn't remember their names he was sure he recognised them from the rugby match. It hardly mattered. What did matter was that they were both very good looking and both had a hard bulge in their shorts.

"Well, look what we have here!" Brian said, smirking. "What d'you think, Jon?"

"Very nice," Jon commented.

Patrick stood frozen to the spot, like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Were they angry with him for spying on them? It didn't sound like they were.

"Are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to come and join us? "Brian asked, smiling at him.

Patrick knew this wasn't how it was supposed to happen, but what was he to do? He stepped inside, allowing Brian to close the door behind him.

"You're new, aren't you?" Brian continued.

"Yes," Patrick said.

"Name?"

"Patrick; Patrick Naylor."

"Oh, so you're Patrick!" Brian said. "An associate of Giles' little friend, I believe. I hadn't been able to put a face to the name. I'm Brian."

"And I'm Jonathan," the other boy said.

Well, at least Patrick knew their names now, Brian with fair hair and Jonathan with dark hair.

Patrick remained motionless as Brian stood right in front of him, undoing the front of his shorts; they fell to the floor. His underpants quickly followed. Brian lifted up the younger boy's shirt.

"What d'you think?" he asked, addressing himself to Jonathan.

"Just what we were looking for, I'd say," Jon said, smiling.

"Here's what I have in mind," Brian said quietly, running his hands down Patrick's back and over his silky-smooth bum. "You can have sex with both us, one at a time. Afterwards, you can choose which of us you'd like to be your friend. You can even say you don't want either of us, but I don't think you will. Is that okay?"

"Yes," Patrick croaked, his mouth as dry as sandpaper.

"So why don't you find out what we've got for you" Brian asked, smiling.

Patrick knew what to do. He began with Brian, quickly lowering the older boy's shorts and tugging down his briefs. Brian's penis was a little over four inches long, but much thicker than the others he'd seen. His balls were bigger too and they hung down low instead of being pulled up tight in their sac. Simon had explained what that meant.

He moved onto Jonathan. Jon's penis was about the same length as his friend's but much slimmer, no thicker than Deon's, Patrick estimated. His balls weren't that big either. He'd start here, he decided; it would be easier, more like what he was used to. He got onto his knees, taking Jon's stiff pole into his mouth. He sucked it eagerly, the older boy stroking his hair. He hoped he was doing okay; Jonathan seemed to be enjoying it.

"Why don't you try mine now?" Brian asked.

It wasn't what he'd expected, but he wasn't going to object. He shuffled around, opening his mouth wide to swallow Brian's erect penis. Within a few seconds he found it wasn't a problem at all; he could suck Brian as easily as the other boys he'd been with. Up that close, he noticed a few tiny hairs that had just started to sprout.

"Very good!" Brian cooed, ruffling Patrick's thick blond hair. "Your friends been teaching you, have they?"

Patrick stopped and looked up. "Yes," he admitted. "Simon and Deon."

"Ah, Simon," Brian sighed. "Very cute, but soiled goods, I'm afraid."

"Soiled goods?" Patrick questioned.

"Last year he was getting fucked senseless by a boy called Tim Westlake," Brian informed him. "Still, I guess he'll find someone eventually."

So that was why Simon hadn't found an older friend, Patrick reflected; they want boys who've never been with anyone before.

"You can get up now," Brian said. "There's no need to rush."

Patrick got to his feet. "Are you in the rugby team?" he asked.

"Yes," Brian said. "I play centre and Jon's right wing."

"Oh, I remember the blond kid who played on the left wing," Patrick told them.

"William; he's useless," Jon commented. "He's only in the team because he's Jeremy's fuck."

"Mr. Cooper's too, if you believe the rumours," Brian added, grinning wickedly.

Patrick was shocked. "You mean...?"

"Oh, don't worry, William likes it," Brian said soothingly. "He won't come after you."

"Do any of the other teachers, you know...?"

"Mr. Burman, the music master," Brian says. "He goes with Leo Johnston, a boy in our year, brilliant musician, plays the trumpet. You don't have to worry about that, either. Leo keeps him very happy."

Patrick fell silent; it was a lot to take in all at once.

"You really are very cute," Brian whispered, stroking Patrick's bum and fondling his penis, "beautiful little cock!"

"Thanks," Patrick said, giving the older boy a shy smile.

"We understand that Giles' little friend lost his cherry a few nights ago," Brian continued.

"Yes, I know," Patrick confirmed. "He showed us."

"Oh he did, did he?" Brian said, suppressing a giggle, remembering the day two years ago when he'd done exactly the same thing. "So is that what you want?"

Patrick swallowed hard. This wasn't supposed to happen either; it was something you built up to, just like Lee had. But he did want it. Every night since Lee had told him about what Giles did he'd been inserting a wet finger into his bum. The feelings had been amazing. He couldn't say no; he wanted it so much it almost hurt.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Sure?" Brian asked. "It will hurt when it goes up. You can just suck us off if you like."

"No, it's okay," Patrick confirmed.

"I got bummed the first time I did it," Jon said quietly. "It was fantastic."

Brian retrieved a pillow from its hiding place behind a few boxes and placed it on an old desk.

"Very careless of Mr. Thompson to leave this place open," he commented. "Very handy though. Make yourself comfortable."

Patrick positioned himself over the desk, his chest resting on the pillow.

"You go first," Brian said, passing Jon a tube of gel. "It'll be easier for him."

Jon moved in behind the younger boy, squeezing some gel onto his fingers and gently working it into Patrick's tight little bum. He touched the younger boy's prostate, causing his penis to twitch sharply.

"Ooh!" Patrick moaned breathlessly.

Jon pushed a second finger in.

"Aagghh!" Patrick whimpered.

"Easy," Jon cooed. "Just relax; you're doing great."

He withdrew his fingers, moving in close. He pressed the head of his penis against Patrick's hole.

"Relax," he whispered. "Push out like you're having a shit."

Patrick complied. A second later, half of Jon's penis was inside him.

"Ohhhh!" he gasped, stung by the sudden sharp pain.

"Good boy!" Jon whispered, holding his position to allow Patrick to get used to him being there.

The pain slowly subsided. Jon held him around the top of his legs, gradually drawing him further and further onto his penis; it struck Patrick's prostate.

"Ohhh!!" Patrick moaned, his own penis twitching even harder that it had the first time.

There was barely an inch to go. Jon tightened his grip and pushed harder, his tummy colliding gently with Patrick's bum.

"You're beautifully tight!" Jon breathed, remembering the night that Henry had said that to him.

Patrick grimaced; it still hurt, but less than it had. After a few seconds, Jonathan began to move within in him, the older boy's penis thrusting back and forth in steady, rhythmical strokes. Within a short time the pain was forgotten, overtaken by intense feelings of pleasure, his penis twitching every time the invader touched that hard, knobbly spot inside him.

His quiet moans and squeaks spurred Jonathan to even greater efforts; in less than a minute his body was overtaken by wild, crazy spasms. He held on tight as his penis swelled and jerked deep inside Patrick's slim body. For a time he stayed right where he was, savouring the moment. He'd taken the boy's virginity, just as Henry had taken his two years previously. Unless Patrick chose him, he'd never be able to tell, but he'd know, and Brian and Patrick would know; that was what mattered.

Slowly and gently he withdrew, his penis leaving Patrick's bum with a quiet pop. Brian stepped up to replace him. Patrick's bottom was a little red, but nothing to be concerned about. After all, Jonathan wasn't that big and it looked like he still hadn't cum. He guided his well-lubed penis onto the younger boy's waiting entrance and gave one hard thrust.

"Aaarrgghh!!" Patrick squealed, struggling to hold back the tears, the pain far more severe than when Jon had entered him.

"Easy, Easy!" Brian encouraged, worried that the boy's cry might easily have been heard by someone passing along the corridor.

He paused for several seconds, savouring the tight, velvety sheath that was gripping his penis.

"Are you okay?" he whispered.

Patrick nodded his assent, wondering how it would feel when Brian began his assault in earnest. He didn't have long to wait; backwards, forwards, in, out, harder, faster, the intensity building with every stroke, Brian's penis bringing him to heights of pleasure he could have never imagined. Brian closed his fingers around the boy's hard spike, caressing it lovingly. Without a moment's warning, Patrick bucked like a wild animal, his bottom jamming tight around the older boy's thrusting penis.

His own boyhood sprang into life, swelling and jiggling until it became so sensitive he had to push Brian's hand away. Three, four, five more times Brian pounded into his new young friend, his breathing becoming harsher with every stroke. Everything dissolved into a blur of lights and colours. By pure instinct he slammed in one last time. His penis jerked wildly, three little jets of watery semen squirting into Patrick's rectum.

Brian held his position, just as Jon had done. This was the greatest ever, he decided. He'd dreamed about it for months; now he'd actually done it. And it wasn't just as good as he'd imagined, it was better, ten times better, maybe even fifty times better. He carefully eased his way out, his penis glistening with a mixture of lube and cum. Patrick's bum was much redder now, his hole still somewhat open.

A small bead of liquid leaked out, dribbling down between the boy's legs. Brian grinned. Maybe Jon had been the first get his penis in there, but that was his spunk the boy had inside him.

Very gingerly Patrick stood up. His bum was sore, messy too; Brian had cum inside him, just as he'd thought he would. He wondered if he'd make it to the boys' room before he messed his underpants. None of it mattered; he'd just had the most wonderful experience possible.

"Are you all right?" Brian asked, smiling at him.

"Yes, thanks," Patrick confirmed. "That was great; I never dreamt it would feel like that!"

"That's how it was for me too," Brian continued. "You were fantastic."

"Incredible," Jonathan said, smiling warmly.

"Well, I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to choose," Brian said. "Which of us is it to be?"

It might have been a close call. Jonathan was quiet and gentle, his slimmer penis making penetration less painful. But it was no contest. Patrick was completely captivated by Brian's easy charm and assertive, almost brash self confidence, the intensity of the fucking he'd given him simply the icing on the cake.

"I'd like it to be you, Brian," Patrick said, smiling shyly.

Brian felt a wave of elation. He and Jonathan were well-matched in many things; sometimes he won, sometimes Jon did, but this was a contest he'd really wanted to win, and win he had.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "You won't regret it, I promise. You know where the science lab is?"

"Yes," Patrick confirmed.

"Thursday, the day after tomorrow, meet me there straight after supper, okay? I'll sort out for us to be there."

"Okay," Patrick said. "By the way, what's your name?"

"Oh, I guess you're going to tell your friends," Brian said, grinning. "It's Harper."

They dressed quickly and made their way out onto the corridor, the older boys turning one way, Patrick the other. He headed for the nearest boys' room, feeling like he was on cloud nine. In an hour's time they'd have their evening shower. He'd tell them to take their time, and when the other boys had gone, he'd show them, just as Lee had done. And they'd congratulate him, shake his hand, pat him on the back. They'd ask him who it was and he'd tell them.

But most important of all, they'd accept him as a full member of the gang. He was one of them now.

Part Two

Four weeks into term and Hartswood Priory was beginning to feel like home. Patrick had been through a difficult few days when the full impact of what had happened had suddenly hit him, but largely thanks to Brian, he'd come through it. He still missed his mum, of course, but mostly his school life kept him so busy that he scarcely had time to think about it. And he'd realised that he had a lot to be thankful for; he had a great group of friends, he was doing well in all his classes and he'd met Brian.

Meeting Brian was the best thing that had ever happened to him, he reflected. Not only was he one of the best looking boys in the whole school, he was charming, funny and gentle. On those occasions when he'd been feeling sad, Brian always knew the right thing to say, asking him what his mum was like and the sort of things they used to do together. He was very sexy too, of course; you couldn't forget that. There was one thing he didn't understand; his friends in Eagle Dorm described Brian as 'rather full of himself'. That certainly wasn't the Brian he knew.

Patrick watched as the older boy made his way up the stairs that led from the main dorm corridor. He checked to see that nobody was watching then followed him.

"So how are you today?" Brian asked as Patrick reached their appointed hiding place.

"Good, thanks," Patrick said, returning his older friend's smile.

They sat on the floor, their backs against the wall, Brian's arm around the younger boy's shoulder.

"I don't want to seem cheeky," Patrick said, "but d'you mind if I ask you something?"

"No, of course not," Brian responded, smiling down at his young friend.

"All my friends say, 'Brian Harper, he's okay but he's really full of himself'," Patrick said. "I don't understand it; you're never like that when you're with me."

"I'm never like that with Jon either," Brian said sadly, looking at the floor between his feet. "But with other people, well, I don't know. You may think I'm really confident, but sometimes I'm as nervous as fuck inside. So I show off. I know I shouldn't and I know it's stupid, but I still do it.

"I guess I worry too much about what people think. I'm not like that when I'm with you because I don't need to be; I feel safe with you. I don't have to pretend; I can just be myself."

"I understand, I think," Patrick said reassuringly. "Well, I like you just the way you are."

"Thanks," Brian said, smiling again. "I love being with you," he continued. "It feels great just being here, snuggled up chatting, even if we don't do anything."

"But we are going to do something, aren't we?" Patrick asked, looking up imploringly.

"If you want to," Brian confirmed.

Their mouths met in a wonderful, sensuous kiss, Patrick throwing his arms around Brian's neck as though he were afraid he might lose him. Kissing Brian felt so right, so natural. He was born to love another boy like this; he just knew he was.

For his part, Brian counted his good fortune. Although Patrick was one of the prettiest boys in the school, because he had never been to boarding school before, neither he nor any of his classmates had pursued the lad, expecting him to be shy and far too nervous to do anything. But for that chance meeting in the maths store he might never have discovered how affectionate and eager Patrick was. He had beaten his contemporaries to one of the best prizes available and that felt very good indeed.

They began undressing each other almost without thinking about it. Shoes were discarded, sweaters pulled off, shirts removed, the momentum building towards the inevitable climax. They pulled down each other's shorts, which were hastily kicked off. They stood facing each other, each of them aware of the other's erection. Simultaneously they lowered each other's underpants.

Patrick sucked in his breath. Brian was so beautiful! The broad shoulders and strong muscular thighs, the chest and tummy with the muscle definition just beginning to show, and the uncircumcised penis with the low-hanging balls and little tufts of pubic hair; he was everything he could have wished for.

Brian's eyes feasted on the slender boy that stood in front of him, the thick, ash-blond hair that covered the boy's ears and reached down to where his collar had been, the sparkling blue eyes, the perfect nose, the wonderfully open smile, the cute little pointed penis and what he felt certain was the most beautiful bottom on the entire planet, and marvelled that such a boy was really his. But he was. He didn't have to show off when he was with Patrick. Patrick loved him just the way he was; the boy's eyes said it all.

They sat down again, arms wrapped around each other. Their lips locked together, Brian's tongue pushing into his young friend's mouth. Patrick eagerly returned the favour, sliding his hand between Brian's legs and fondling the older boy's penis. The touch of his slender fingers drove Brian almost insane; never in his wildest fantasies had he imagined he would meet a boy as beautiful and sexy as Patrick.

They stretched out on the floor, their hands going everywhere. Without even thinking about it Brian snaked around, resting his head on Patrick's tummy. He devoured the boy's hard little spike, sucking it right down to the root.

Patrick moaned quietly, the pleasurable sensations that Brian was giving him too wonderful to describe. Just a few short weeks ago he hadn't known that such feelings were even possible. Instinctively he rolled onto his side, pulling Brian towards him, his lips sliding over the head of the older boy's penis. He pushed down, taking it all in, working his tongue all over it.

He sucked it steadily, savouring its warmth and its texture, silky soft on the surface but as hard as iron beneath. A greasy finger touched his anus and pushed steadily inside, raising the intensity still further. It all seemed so right, so natural, so instinctive; he hardly had to think about it.

The invading finger pushed deeper, touching Patrick's small, knobbly prostate. His penis twitched wildly in response. A second finger joined the first, the two of them slowly twisting round, opening him up, getting him ready. Patrick knew exactly what they were getting him ready for. Very soon Brian's penis would be inside him, giving him the best feeling of all, pumping in and out until his bottom was filled with his older friend's semen.

They untangled themselves without a word being spoken. Patrick got onto all fours, his shoulders almost touching the floor, his bottom pushed right back behind his knees. Brian knelt behind the lad, hardly unable to take in the sight that presented it self to him, Patrick's slender thighs and small, perfect buttocks seeming almost too beautiful to be real. But they were real, and they were there for him to do as he wanted, what they both wanted, Patrick almost begging Brian to penetrate him.

Brian shuffled in close, lining up his penis against the younger boy's sphincter. With one determined thrust he pushed it in. Patrick gasped; the brief stab on pain as Brian entered him the necessary prelude to the pleasure to follow. Brian continued to push until Patrick was completely impaled. After a few seconds to compose himself he set to work.

He began quite steadily, savouring the tightness of hot little sheath that was gripping his penis. Gradually he built it up, spurred on by Patrick's quiet moans and whimpers, fucking the boy faster, fucking him deeper, fucking him harder until he was giving it everything he had. He reached down to fondle Patrick's steel-hard penis, bringing his younger friend to a shuddering climax in a matter of seconds.

The feeling of Patrick's sphincter closing around his invading penis took Brian right to the brink; a few more thrusts and his whole body was seized by wild convulsions, his sticky juices spurting over and over into Patrick's tight little bottom. He sank down over the younger lad's back, feeling so light-headed he scarcely knew where he was. He was ecstatically happy; it had been the perfect release from all the pressures of boarding school life. Sex with Patrick always was.

"Has Jonathan found a younger friend yet?" Patrick asked as they got dressed.

"No," Brian replied. "Jon's too shy to approach anyone, and nobody's approached him."

"I know someone who's looking for an older friend," Patrick informed him. "Only he's shy too."

"Really?" Brian said, his attention perked up. "So who's that?"

"Deon."

"The mad scientist?"

"Deon's okay when you get to know him," Patrick said. "And he's very sexy."

"Not the cutest; nice little body though," Brian observed. "I'll have to ask Jon, so don't say anything at the moment. Meet us out on the field tomorrow morning break, okay?"

"Okay," Patrick said. "The thing is, Deon's a bit worried about getting bummed. He wants to do it but he's a bit scared, you know, that it's going to hurt."

"Well, he'd be all right with Jon," Brian assured him. "Jon's really gentle, and he's not that big in any case."

"That's what I thought," Patrick said, smiling. "See you tomorrow morning then."

He gave Brian a final kiss and trotted downstairs.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Gym classes were a trial to be endured. Patrick consoled himself with the thought that some of the other boys struggled even more than he did, and in any case as long as you tried your best, Mr. Cooper seemed quite happy. He finished changing into his gym kit then trooped through to the gymnasium, sitting on the floor with the rest of the third year boys, waiting for Mr. Cooper to tell them what they would be doing.

"Okay, lads," Mr. Cooper said, looking round at the twenty nine boys ranged in front of him. "Today we're going to start by doing some exercises in here. Then we're going to go out onto the field and you're going to run a circuit of the field and the woods. It's all marked out so you can't get lost. It's nearly a mile and a half, so around ten minutes running for the better ones among you."

There was a quiet buzz around the gymnasium; this was something new. Patrick was extremely nervous. Running well over a mile seemed like a very long way; he'd never attempted anything like it before. He looked around, it seemed as though there were several other boys who weren't looking forward to it either.

The exercises were fairly easy, mainly stretching and loosening. At least that part hadn't been too bad, Patrick reflected. They made their way out onto the field. Mr Cooper explained the course to them, but as he'd already told them, it was clearly marked; they couldn't really go wrong. He lined up next to Deon. They'd trot round together, Patrick decided. He wasn't going to start off too fast and find his lungs burning up; he knew what that felt like from playing with his mates from primary school.

Mr. Cooper blew the whistle and they were away. After a quarter of a mile Deon and Patrick were almost at the back, only a couple of extremely fat boys behind them. To his surprise, Patrick was finding it very easy. In fact, the hardest thing about it was running slowly enough for Deon to keep up with him; his long legs kept wanting to stretch out.

So maybe I could go a bit faster, he thought. He increased his pace, still not really pushing himself, just letting his legs move more comfortably. As they headed into the woods he began to overtake people.

By the time they emerged onto the field again he was in fifteenth place and still running quite easily. There was half a mile to go. Almost all the boys in front of him seemed to be finding it hard. One by one he picked them off. As they turned towards the finish he'd moved up to seventh. He made one final effort, picking up another two places on the run-in. Out of twenty nine boys he'd finished fifth. It was a total surprise, by far his best result in any sporting endeavour.

Evan Williamson had won the race quite easily with a time of nine minutes thirty two seconds, with Chris Barnett second in nine minutes fifty one. Evan seemed to be good at just about any sport they tried, Patrick reflected; he was a good student too. Chris was a boy-god in the making, the tallest in the year, strong, athletic and a star rugby player. Even so, he had only beaten Patrick by fifteen seconds, and having started so slowly, Patrick knew he'd be able to run faster.

Once all the boys had returned they headed back to the changing room to shower and change.

"I would like a word with Patrick Naylor, John Mitchell and Mark Anderson," Mr. Cooper announced as they were getting dressed. "The rest of you may leave when the bell goes."

A few minutes later the bell sounded for morning break. The bulk of the group headed outside, leaving Patrick and the other two sitting on the bench, wondering what Mr. Cooper wanted to see them about. He emerged from his room, smiling. At least they weren't in trouble, Patrick reflected.

"First of all, let me say well done today, all three of you ran very well. The reason that I've asked you to stay behind is to tell you that Mr. Thompson is starting a cross-country club, something we haven't had here before. I would like you three boys to consider joining it. In case you're wondering, all the boys who beat you are rugby players; I would expect Evan and Christopher to be in the school team next year, the others the year after, so they won't be involved."

All three boys looked at one another, nobody wishing to be the first to speak. Patrick was completely taken aback; participating in any sport outside class time was something he'd never even considered, and with his piano practice, guitar practice, spending extra time in the art room and seeing Brian three or four times a week he was already very busy.

On the other hand, he knew his dad would be pleased, and he'd just beaten John and Mark so he wouldn't get shown up. But the real clincher was Mr. Thompson. Mr. Thompson was the best teacher Patrick had ever had; maths had never been Patrick's strongest subject, but Mr. Thompson made it fun. Maths was easy the way Mr. Thompson taught it. If Mr. Thompson was in charge of the cross-country club, Patrick would be more than happy to join.

"Well?" Mr. Cooper asked. "What d'you think?"

"I'd like to give it a try," Patrick said nervously.

The other two nodded their agreement.

"Excellent!" Mr. Cooper said, smiling again. "Next Tuesday, come here with your kit as soon as classes finish for the day."

Patrick made his way out. He spotted Brian and Jonathan sitting near the edge of the playing field and hurried over to them.

"We thought you weren't coming," Brian said.

"Oh, Mr Cooper wanted to see me," Patrick said, grinning. "Mr. Thompson's starting a cross-country club and he asked me if I'd like to join it."

"And?" Brian continued.

"I said I'd give it a try. I've no idea how I'll do; I've never done anything like that before."

"You'll do great," Brian said, smiling.

"So Deon's looking for an older friend," Jon enquired.

"Yeah," Patrick confirmed.

"So is he okay?" Jon asked. "I thought he was just a little swot; that's what his brother says."

"Deon's really nice," Patrick said. "He is very clever, of course, and he does work hard, but he's not big headed about it or anything. And he's very sexy."

"Has he got a big cock?" Jon whispered.

"Yeah, why?" Patrick asked.

"Like his brother then," Jon said, looking at Brian and giggling. "Ashton's got a monster, hasn't he, Brian?"

Brian nodded his agreement, giggling too.

"He'd come and watch you play rugby too," Patrick said. "He feels quite left out because he's got nobody to go and support."

"What about Simon?" Brian asked. "Has he found someone then?"

"Yes," Patrick said. "He's going with this boy in Lower Fourth, I think his name's Pascal."

"Oh, Paz!" Brian said. "That makes sense. Paz is new; probably doesn't know Simon was with someone last year."

Patrick didn't comment; he couldn't understand why that was considered so important. It might make things difficult for him next year, after Brian had left. But there was nothing to be gained by worrying about it now; he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

"Well, I'd like to meet your friend Deon," Jon said. "And tell him he doesn't have to worry; I'm not going to rush things."

"Cool," Patrick said, grinning broadly. "I'll tell him."

They finalised the arrangements and went their separate ways.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Jonathan waited on the small courtyard between the main building and the new block that housed the older boys. He wasn't at all certain if Deon would show up. Still, he reflected, it would be disappointing but he wouldn't have actually lost anything. A moment later the younger boy emerged.

"Hi," he said, sounding very nervous. "Where are we going?"

"Out in the woods," Jon said gently. "All the inside places were taken. Is that okay?"

Deon nodded.

"Okay, follow me until we're at least halfway across the field," Jon said. "Just make sure nobody's watching."

They set off, Deon following Jon's instructions to the letter. Halfway across the field he looked around. There was nobody to be seen. He increased his pace, quickly catching the older boy.

"Hi," Jonathan said, smiling at him. "I'm glad you came; I wasn't sure you would."

They entered the woods. The sun was already setting; although still pleasantly warm there was scarcely enough light for them to see where they were going.

After taking a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness, Jon guided them into their appointed hiding place. He sat down, motioning for Deon to sit next to him. This was going to be the hard part. He wasn't much good at small-talk; he guessed Deon probably wasn't either. He put an arm loosely around Deon's shoulder, drawing the younger lad towards him.

"So you're interested in science," he said.

"Yes," Deon confirmed.

"I like science," Jon continued, "especially since Mr. Chandler's been here. I don't think I'm as good at it as you are though."

"Mr. Chandler's great," Deon said warmly. "He's told me that if I work hard I can achieve anything I want. Mr. Thompson's great too. He gives me special work 'cause I'm so far ahead of everyone else; Mr. Jones never did that. Maths is important; you have to be really good at maths if you want to do science, especially physics."

Jon was impressed. He was also feeling very uncomfortable; the conversation had gone up a blind alley; he just couldn't think of anything to say.

"Of course, science isn't the only thing I'm interested in," Deon said, grinning at him.

"So what else?" Jon asked.

"You, of course!" Deon responded, reaching across to put his hand on Jon's chest.

They began to undress each other; in less than a minute they were down to their underpants.

"Okay, let's get these off!" Deon said, grinning mischievously.

He pulled Jonathan's briefs right down to the ground then knelt down. He held the older boy's penis between thumb and forefinger, gently pulling back the foreskin so he could lick the small shiny head. He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath then closed his lips over Jon's penis, gradually working his way down until the whole four inches was in his mouth, the head tickling the back of his throat. He settled himself for a moment and began to suck.

Jon sighed in contentment, amazed by the sensations Deon was giving him. He could hardly believe his luck; Deon was every bit as sexy as Patrick had said. He gasped for air, his right hand stroking the younger boy's hair. Deon might not be as cute looking as some of his contemporaries, but the boy was very good; his friends in Upper Fourth didn't know what they were missing. He felt himself getting close.

"You'd better stop," he whispered. "I don't want to cum yet."

"So how was that?" Deon asked, looking p at him, the mischievous grin back on his face.

"Beautiful!" Jon breathed. "Okay, it's my turn now."

Deon got to his feet, allowing Jonathan to remove his briefs. Jon's eyes were out on stalks; despite the near two-year age difference, Deon's penis was as long as his own and a fraction thicker. He could scarcely believe it; for a ten year old Deon really did have a big one.

"Nice cock!" he commented.

"You have too," Deon responded.

"So you and your mates do stuff together then?" Jon asked.

"Yeah, sometimes," Deon confirmed.

"And what d'you like doing?"

"Sucking, getting sucked," Deon said. "When Patrick sucks me he sticks his finger up my bum; I love that!"

"Cool!" Jon breathed. "Come on then!"

He lay down on his back.

"Kneel across my chest!" he ordered.

Deon moved into position. Jonathan pushed himself up on his elbows. Deon crawled forward, guiding his penis into Jon's open mouth, the older boy's lips closing around it. Jon reached out to retrieve the KY from the pocket of his shorts, quickly lubing up his middle finger. He slipped his hand between Deon's legs, reaching up to find the boy's anus. He paused for a second then pushed it in.

Deon's reaction was immediate. He held Jon's head, eagerly fucking his penis into the older boy's mouth, while bumming himself on his finger. His orgasm, though dry, was swift and violent, his penis jamming itself repeatedly against the roof of Jon's mouth till he was totally spent. He eased himself away, sinking back onto Jonathan's tummy.

"I think you liked that!" Jon commented, grinning.

"Man! That was better than anything!" Deon responded, still gasping for breath, his cheeks glowing.

"Are you going to bum me?"

"Do you want that?" Jon asked gently. "Patrick said you were very nervous about it."

Deon flopped down next to him.

"I was, only not with you I'm not," he said. "Can I tell you something? But you've got to promise not to say anything."

"Yeah, course," John said quietly. "I won't breathe a word, not even to Brian."

"You remember Mr. Atkinson?" Deon asked rhetorically. "Well the beginning of last term I wrote this science fiction story. He asked to see me about it, one night straight after supper. Well, when I got to his room he started by telling me how good it was, then he said he'd got something he wanted to show me.

"He took me to the trunk store. When we were inside he locked the door. Then he got my shorts and pants down and bummed me. He'd got a real big one, man! It hurt like hell! I didn't know what to do; I thought I might get in trouble if I said anything. I was scared shitless that he was going to do it again, but a couple of weeks later he left, dunno why; he just went."

"Fuck!" Jon said. "I always thought he was a bit odd; I didn't know he was into that though. Somebody must have found out, so he had to go."

"Some of the other masters seem to get away with it," Deon commented.

"That's because the boys they go with like it. Leo Johnston loves having sex with Mr. Burman; he can't get enough of it. But they mustn't force you to have sex with them."

"Oh," Deon said, "I didn't realise; none of us did."

"Well I guess he must have tried it with someone else," Jon speculated. "Whoever it was reported him so he was asked to leave. I'd love to know how he got into the trunk store. If you need to get in there you have to go and see Mr. Halford; the other teachers don't have the key. Does Patrick know?"

"No," Deon said, shaking his head. "I didn't want to freak him out. He's worried as it is. He thinks next year Mr. Burman's going to expect him to, you know, do what Leo does."

"Yeah, well, he'll probably sound him out, invite him to concerts, that sort of thing. If he doesn't want to do it, he just has to say no. Burman's won't touch him if he doesn't want him to."

"Oh," Deon said absently. "Anyway, that's why I was worried about getting bummed again, but I want you to do it; you're okay."

Jonathan wasn't sure if Deon meant that he thought he could trust him, or just that his penis was quite small for a boy in Upper Fourth and wouldn't hurt that much. Either way, it was not an invitation he was going to turn down.

"Cool," Jon said gently. "But if it's hurting just say and I'll stop, okay?"

"Yeah, cool!" Deon said, grinning again.

Jon got Deon onto all fours, a position that Henry had fucked him in more times than he could count. He smeared some KY over his penis and moved in close, guiding it right onto Deon's sphincter. This was the moment he'd dreamed about. Oh, he'd fucked Patrick in the maths store room, but that was different; Patrick wasn't really his boy. But Deon was, and that made it very special. He pushed hard. For a couple of seconds the ring of muscle resisted, then all it once it gave way and he was there. Deon gasped audibly.

"Are you okay?" Jon asked softly.

"Yeah, I think so," Deon responded.

"D'you want me to take it out?"

"No," Deon insisted. "You're okay, man!"

Jon knew what to do, holding his position until Deon began to relax.

"Good boy," he cooed, pushing forward again, his penis hitting Deon's prostate.

"Oh, yeah!" Deon moaned.

Jon smiled to himself. Deon had got through the pain and the pleasure had taken over; that's how it had been for him the first time he'd been with Henry. He steadied himself for a moment then set to his task, fucking his young friend with long, even thrusts, listening to Deon moaning and gasping every time he pushed it in.

He began to move faster, building it up until he was fucking the boy with all the power he could muster. He reached down, fondling Deon's genitals. Almost immediately the younger lad shuddered violently, his penis swelling and jerking between Jon's fingers.

Jon was past the point of no return, his orgasm upon him. But there was something different, the tingling in his penis more intense than he could remember. Then it happened, two watery little jets squirting into Deon's rectum. Then it was over. He sank down over the younger boy's back, gasping harder than if he's sprinted the length of the rugby pitch. He could hardly believe what had happened, his first ever ejaculation. Nothing, he decided, could ever feel better than that.

He slowly withdrew, his penis so sensitive he could hardly bear to touch it.

"Are you okay?" he enquired.

Deon flipped onto his back.

"Yeah!" he said, grinning mischievously. "That was way out! You spunked up my bum!"

"Yeah, I know," Jon confirmed. "I've never cum before."

"So d'you want me to be your friend then?" Deon enquired.

"Of course I do!" Jon replied, smiling warmly. "You're amazing!"

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Patrick made his way to the main changing room and began to strip off. The rugby team were training as well; the place was packed.

"What are you doing here?" one of the rugby players demanded.

"Mr. Thompson's starting a cross-country club," Patrick said quietly. "We're having our first training session."

"Hmmph!" the older boy responded scornfully, obviously unaware that Mr. Cooper had walked in and was only a few feet behind him. "This is our changing room!"

"James!" Mr. Cooper barked. "These boys are here because I asked them to be here. So you concentrate on getting yourself changed instead of commenting on matters that don't concern you. I want you out on that field in two minutes! Clear?"

"Sir," James replied, looking uncomfortable.

A few minutes later the rugby players were trotting out onto the field, leaving Patrick and seven other boys behind. Patrick looked around at them, all now dressed in shorts, gym tops and training shoes. Of the other third year boys, Mark was in most of his classes, although he'd not had much to do with him; he only saw John in gym and games classes where the whole year came together.

He didn't know the boys from the other years at all. One of them did stand out though, a tall, long-legged boy with fair hair just a little shorter than his own. He certainly looked the part, Patrick decided.

A moment later, Mr. Thompson emerged from the masters' changing room, dressed much the same as they were. Being blond, slightly built and very smooth skinned, he looked even younger than when he was fully dressed. Patrick admired him immensely; not only was he a wonderful teacher, he was very good looking. Mr Thompson looked at his young charges. They weren't the best athletes in the school; the needs of the rugby team precluded that. Even so, there was potential there; it was up to him to develop it.

"Good afternoon boys," he said brightly. "Thanks for coming. As Mr. Cooper told you, the school hasn't had a cross-country team before, so I'm going to start one. I just want to start by explaining what will be happening. This term we're going to concentrate on training and getting you reasonably fit. Next term we'll do a few races, nothing too serious, just to give you some experience.

"What I'm really working towards is next year, when we'll have a full racing programme right through the autumn and spring terms. Now let me say straight away that cross-country is a tough sport, but you've all shown that you have the potential to do well if you're willing to put the work in, so by next year I'd hope to have a pretty decent team here. Now I know you all, but some of you won't know each other, so please could you introduce yourselves."

"Craig Shackleton, Lower Fourth," the tall, leggy boy said.

Patrick noted the name. The other boys followed in calling out name and year, three from lower fourth, three from third year, and two second year boys. Jamie Barnett, a rather cheeky-looking second year boy, was the only other name that Patrick registered; there was something a bit special about him too.

"You'll note that we don't have any boys from Upper Fourth," Mr. Thompson said. "That's because I'm looking at this as more of a long term thing. None of them was that keen to do it, apparently, so that's fine. Next year, once we've got ourselves established, I will be hoping to get a few more boys in, especially from what is now second year.

"Okay, let's get started. We're going do a steady run first, have a short break then do a few sprints to finish off with. To begin with I want us all to run together, so don't start off too fast. I want you to concentrate on breathing right down to the bottom of your lungs; that's very important."

They made their way outside and set off, Mr. Thompson making sure that he controlled the pace. They headed around the field and out through the woods, exactly as they'd done during their gym class. Patrick found it easier than he'd expected; he wasn't running anywhere like as hard as he'd done in the trial race. They emerged from the woods, Mr. Thompson slowly them down to a jog.

"Okay, he announced. "We're going to do the circuit of the woods again, only this time you can run faster if you want to. Don't go mad, just run as fast as you feel comfortable with. When you get back here, run around the perimeter of the field, back to the pavilion, the same as you did last week."

As soon as they set off the pace picked up considerably. Patrick's suspicions about Craig were confirmed almost immediately; within two hundred yards he'd pulled clear of the group and was running completely on his own. As things settled down Patrick found himself in the following group with Jamie Barnett and a boy from Lower Fourth whose name he couldn't remember, the other four boys a little way further back.

Jamie towed the little group along, trying to break clear. Although Patrick was having to work hard to keep up, he found it surprisingly enjoyable, running as free as a bird in the dappled October sunlight, the breeze ruffling his hair.

They emerged from the woods, the three of them still locked together, Craig now a hundred yards ahead. They had half a mile to run. Jamie made another effort to break away, but Patrick was reluctant to let the younger lad beat him. That surprised him too; it wasn't sort of thing he'd never bothered about before. He sensed somehow that if he really concentrated he'd be able to hang on. So he concentrated; he was good at that, running as hard as he could, harder than he'd have believed possible.

As they turned towards the pavilion, he was still glued to Jamie's shoulder, the other boy just a metre behind. And finally it was done. Patrick collapsed onto the grass, his lungs bursting. It'd had been the hardest thing he'd ever done, but he felt strangely elated; for the first time ever he'd found a sporting activity that he seemed to be reasonably good at.

A minute later everyone was back, Mr. Thompson shepherding them home.

"Well done, lads!" he said enthusiastically. "That was excellent. Let's go for a little jog, then in around ten minutes time we'll do a few sprints to finish off."

Patrick got to his feet, his breathing starting to get easier again.

"Hi, you're Jamie, aren't you?" he said, turning to the younger boy. "I'm Patrick."

"And I'm Martin," the third member of the trio chimed in. "Martin Greenhall. Are you really only in second year? If you're that good I'd have thought Mr. Cooper would have wanted you for the rugby team."

"My brother's into rugby but I'm not," Jamie told them. "I love running but I'm useless at ball games. And when I get tackled the bigger kids squash me! I hate it!"

Well, that seemed to explain it, Patrick reflected, noting that Jamie seemed to dislike rugby even more than he did.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

The training session finally over, they jogged back to the changing room.

"Okay, lads, strip off and get a quick shower," Mr. Thompson said. "I'll see you all again on Thursday."

They did as they were told, Mr. Thompson watching them as they trotted naked towards the showers. Patrick couldn't help checking out his new team mates. Craig wasn't just the best runner; he was the best looking too, his uncut penis a real beauty. Jamie's boyhood was only slim but quite long for a nine year old and showing definite signs of starting to get hard. Patrick wondered if Jamie had an older friend like he did, but as it wasn't something he could ask him about he put the thought to one side.

They'd been in the showers for a couple of minutes when the rugby players began to appear. For Patrick it was an unexpected bonus. He'd seen Jonathan's penis when they'd met in the maths store, but Brian was the only one of these boy-gods that he'd seen completely naked.

He was mesmerised, his eyes drawn inexorably to the older boys' private parts. His attention was drawn to two boys with penises much larger than any of their fellows, Deon's brother Ashton and team captain Jeremy, Ashton's penis with just a few short hairs sprouting above it, Jeremy's already surmounted a crop of thick, dark hair.

Patrick wondered idly what it would feel like to get bummed by one as big as that, but quickly decided that it didn't matter because he had Brian, and Brian's suited him perfectly. Even so, he couldn't help looking around. He was pleased to note that apart from Aston and Jeremy, Brian was as big as any of the other boys, although Pascal, the boy that Simon had hooked up with, and Robert Shearsby were pretty big too.

The one slight disappointment was Giles. Although he was tall and very good looking, his penis was somewhat on the small side, not at all the impression that Lee had conveyed, but then Lee's penis was tiny, which probably explained it.

Patrick felt himself becoming aroused and hurried back to the changing room before anyone noticed. Martin followed him out. They began to get dressed.

"I was surprised to see you here," Martin said, addressing himself to Craig who was changing right next to them. "You made the final trial for the rugby team."

"I don't like rugby that much," Craig said. "I'm not aggressive enough."

"Not like Toby then," Patrick offered. "He's aggressive, isn't he?"

"Very," Craig agreed smiling. "I'd love to be able to hurl myself into tackles the way he does, but I'm too scared of getting hurt. He tackles kids who are much bigger than he is and he's never got hurt, not once; I don't know how he does it. Anyway, Mr. Cooper said I'd do far better as a runner than a rugby player, so here I am."

Patrick had mixed feelings about that. While it was clearly good for the team to have someone as good as Craig, it was rather daunting too. He wasn't sure if he could ever be as good as Craig was.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Patrick's life at school continued on its increasingly busy course. Since joining the cross-country club he had been doing well in every aspect of it, but the one that stood out was music. Mr. Burman had assumed responsibility for his piano lessons, and like Mr. Thompson, he was an outstanding teacher.

Patrick had done always done well in his piano studies, but since Mr. Burman had taken charge he'd mover onto a much higher level, practising harder and making more progress than he ever had before. He felt much more in command of the instrument and had a much better understanding of what it could do.

The guitar teacher that came in to work with him was good too, though nowhere like in Mr. Burman's class. Although he was not neglecting his other creative talents, Patrick already sensed that music was where his future would lie.

He made his way down to the practice room for his evening rehearsal. He was working with Leo, the school's star trumpeter, providing the accompaniment to the solo that Leo would play at the Christmas concert. This was normally a task that Mr. Burman undertook himself, but he had entrusted it to Patrick. Working with a musician as good as Leo was a privilege and a responsibility; Patrick was determined not to let him down.

After some brief preliminaries, they settled to their task, playing the piece together for the first time.

"That was not bad," Leo declared, smiling at his young accompanist, "but some of the timing wasn't quite right. There are a few sections we need to work on."

Over the next half hour they worked on the three sections that Leo had identified. Patrick listened intently as Leo explained what he wanted; they then played each section through until the older boy was satisfied.

"Okay," he said finally, "I think we've got it now. Let's take it from the top."

The played the whole piece again and this time it really flowed. Patrick could feel the difference, the two of them absolutely together.

"Well done!" Leo said as they finished. "That was just about perfect; I don't think Mr. Burman could play it any better than that."

Patrick glowed with pride; coming from Leo that was praise of the highest order.

"Leo," Patrick said nervously. "Is it true that you and Mr. Burman, you know, do stuff together?"

Leo paused, studying the younger boy's face.

"Yes," he said finally.

"And do you like that?" Patrick asked.

"Of course I do!" Leo assured him. "I wouldn't do it otherwise. Mr. Burman's great; I love being with him. You're Brian Harper's younger friend, aren't you?"

"Yes," Patrick confirmed.

"And I'm guessing you like that; am I right?"

"Yes."

"Well there you are then," Leo said smiling. "That's how I started off, with an older boy. Then when he left, Mr. Burman sort of took over; I'm not even sure how it happened really. It's been fantastic, much better than going with Anthony was. And when I leave next summer, it'll be there for you, if you want it. Mr. Burman really likes you; he's told me."

Patrick didn't know what to say. He'd known for weeks that Mr. Burman 'liked him', as Leo put it, but he'd tried to ignore it; hearing it spelt out like that was most unsettling.

"Wouldn't you like that?" Leo enquired.

"He's older than my dad!" Patrick protested.

"Well, he's not older than my dad," Leo informed him. "My dad doesn't give a shit about me, he never has. Oh, he pays for me to come here and pays for all my music lessons, but that's just to get me out of the way; he doesn't care really. He never comes to hear me play. But Mr. Burman cares; that's why I like him so much."

Patrick was dumbstruck. He'd never heard anyone talk like that before. And that was the difference; his dad did care, he cared a lot. They'd never been close, but since his mum had died his dad had done everything he could to make sure he was happy and settled; it was what dads did, wasn't it?

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Autumn term was finally over. Grandad Munro collected Patrick from school. Patrick would spend a few days with his mum's parents before going home for ten days over Christmas and New Year. He would then return to his grandparents who would deliver him back to school at the start of the spring term.

"Patrick!" the man exclaimed, giving the boy a hug. "I've not seen you in your uniform before; it looks really well on you."

They set off for the journey back to High Wycombe. As the car bowled along Patrick responded politely but guardedly to his grandad's questions. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk, but so much had happened over the months he'd been away, it was difficult to know where to start.

If he wasn't careful, it would sound like he was boasting; he didn't want that. And of course there was one thing he couldn't talk about; that was his secret and would have to stay that way.

The car crunched to a halt on the gravel drive. As they took Patrick's things from the car, Grandma Munro opened the front door.

"Who's this handsome young man you've brought me?" she demanded, giving Patrick a hug and a kiss. "Come inside; lunch is almost ready."

Patrick took his things up to his bedroom. He loved this house; it was so cosy and welcoming, that's the way his grandparents made it. He felt just as much at home here as he did back in Guildford, maybe even more so now his mum wasn't there any more. After lunch they went into the lounge room. Patrick sat on the sofa, trying to relax.

"Patrick," his grandad said, "your dad said we could see you're school report, if that's okay."

Patrick collected the document from his bedroom and handed it over. The two adults took turns to read it.

"I thought you were doing better than you were letting on, young man!" his grandad said finally. "This is excellent stuff. I didn't know you were a runner."

"Neither did I," Patrick said. "I've never done it before. I'm okay at it, I guess. We haven't had any races yet so I don't know really."

"Patrick, I'm so pleased," his grandma said, sitting down next to him and putting an arm around his shoulder. "Your mum would be so proud of you."

A tear escaped from Patrick's eye and rolled down his cheek. His mum would be proud of him. But would she? Would she be proud of him if she knew what he was doing with Brian? He didn't know; he really didn't.

He spent the next few days reading, practising both piano and guitar and relaxing. He went into town to buy a Christmas present for his dad. A couple of times he went out running just like Mr. Thompson had said they should, even though he had to do it on his own. All in all he kept himself occupied.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

The Jaguar drew to a halt outside the house. Tom was apprehensive. He'd been abroad on business during half term week; he hadn't been able to see Patrick then. The reports from Catherine's parents had been encouraging but gave few details. Patrick had sent a couple of letters, but they'd been much the same. So how well had things really gone? He didn't know.

He was concerned on another score too. Patrick had been so much into all the things Catherine was good at that he'd let the two of them get on with it, being as supportive as he could without really getting involved. He hardly knew the real Patrick at all.

During the summer holidays he'd done what he could, but so soon after Catherine's death it had been difficult for both of them. It had been more than three months since he'd seen the boy. He's planned to spend the next ten days trying to build their relationship, but maybe Patrick would have grown even further away from him; he might not be interested. That would make things very difficult.

He locked the car and rang the bell. A moment later there he was. The rosy cheeks, sparkling blue eyes and welcoming smile said it all; his son was well, happy and pleased to see him. They embraced each other in the biggest hug they'd had since Patrick was no more than three years old.

"I've missed you," Tom said softly.

"I've missed you too, dad," Patrick responded.

They went through to the lounge room.

"I guess I'd better find out how well you've been doing," Tom said, taking a seat on the sofa.

Grandma Munro handed him Patrick's school report. He read through it carefully, reading some passages a second time just to make sure. It was the best school report he'd ever seen, far better than anything he'd ever managed, 'A' grades for effort in every class, top marks in the year for English, art and music, close to the top in everything else. He'd done very well in maths which he'd never excelled at before; even the comment for games and physical education was positive.

He moved onto the section for out of class activities. Patrick seemed to be making great progress, especially on the piano, but there was more. He read through it once, and promptly read it again, convinced he must have got it wrong, but he hadn't; it said exactly what he thought it said.

He read it a third time just to make sure. Patrick had joined the cross-country club; he was training well and showing the potential to develop into a useful distance runner. Tom could hardly believe it. Cross-country wasn't a sport he'd have picked, but for Patrick to voluntarily involve himself in any sport was a major breakthrough.

He finished by scanning through Mr. Halford's summary, saying how pleased he was with the way that Patrick had settled in and the progress he'd made. The report surpassed his expectations by some margin. It was a huge weight off his shoulders; sending Patrick to Hartswood was working out better than he'd dared to hope.

"You're in the cross-country team," he said, looking up, a broad smile on his face.

"Yeah," Patrick said. "That's Mr. Thompson, the new maths teacher; he just started it up this term. He's the best! Maths is so easy to understand the way he teaches it. Anyway, we had this trial race during out gym class; I did okay so Mr. Cooper asked me if I'd like to join so I said yes. Actually there are lots of kids better than me, but they're rugby players so they're not allowed to join."

"But you're doing okay," Tom continued.

"Yeah," Patrick said diffidently. "There's a boy called Craig Shackleton; he's the best. He's in Lower Fourth, that's a year older than me. Then there's me, Martin Greenhall who's in Lower Fourth and Jamie Barnett who's in second year; we're all about the same. Jamie's really skinny; he's very good though, considering he's only nine. But we haven't had any races yet, so we don't really know how good we are."

"And you played at the Christmas concert."

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you tell me? I'd love to have come."

"I thought you'd be too busy; I was only accompanying Leo in any case. He's brilliant; plays the trumpet."

"Well, if you're doing anything special like that, please let me know," Tom said gently. "I'll always be there if I can."

"Sorry dad," Patrick mumbled, giving his dad a wry smile.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

After lunch, the journey home to Guildford was quiet and uneventful. It wasn't the time to talk in greater depth about how the term had gone, Tom decided. By four o'clock they were back at home.

"Just leave your stuff in your room for now," Tom said quietly. "Then come down to the lounge room; I want to have a chat, just the two of us."

Five minutes later they were seated facing each other, Tom in the armchair he always favoured, Patrick on the sofa.

"So, it seems to have gone very well," Tom said quietly. "So fill me in on the details a bit."

"I don't know where to start, really," Patrick responded.

"Well, you seem to be doing much better at maths than you have before," Tom ventured. "Tell me about that."

"Oh, that's because of Mr. Thompson," Patrick told him, his voice full of enthusiasm. "He's great. He's only just come to the school; he's only young, well, younger than most of the teachers anyway. He just makes it so easy to understand. It's fun too; everybody likes him."

"And it was Mr. Thompson who persuaded you to join the cross-country club?" Tom asked.

"Well, sort of," Patrick explained. "I mean he didn't ask me; Mr. Cooper the games master did. But when he told us that Mr. Thompson would be in charge, I knew I wanted to give it a try."

"Right," his dad said softly. "But the rugby players aren't allowed to join."

"No," Patrick confirmed. "The rugby team is fantastic. "They've played nine matches this term and only lost twice. The teams that beat us were both boys' grammar schools; they've got almost as many boys in one year as we've got in the whole school."

"You seem to know a lot about it," Tom commented.

"Well, I always go and watch when we play at home," Patrick said. "You remember Lee, the boy who looked after me when we first arrived?"

"Yes," Tom said, pleased at the way the conversation was developing.

"Well, we always go and watch together. Lee's good at rugby; he might get in the team next year."

"And you seem to be doing well on the piano," Tom said, changing the subject slightly.

"Really well," Patrick said, smiling warmly. "I said Mr. Thompson was the best; well Mr. Burman's great too. He's a bit older than you, I think. He dresses really old fashioned and he talks posh, but he's a fantastic teacher. He usually accompanies Leo when we put on a concert, but he said I was good enough so he asked me to do it."

"Excellent," Tom said. "So how old's Leo?"

"Nearly thirteen," Patrick said. "He's in Upper Fourth. He's already passed grade eight trumpet. He's helped me a lot too. He lets me listen to his records; most of it's stuff I've never heard before. Some of it's classical, but a lot of it's jazz. He says for the big concert in the summer there are a couple of jazz pieces he wants to play if Mr. Burman will let him."

"Great, Tom said warmly, wondering if Leo might be 'the one'; the way Patrick had talked about him it certainly sounded like he could be. "Well, give me the date for that as soon as you have it and I'll make sure I'm there."

Patrick nodded his assent.

"So tell me about your other friends," Tom said.

"Well apart from Lee there are two other boys in our dorm that I hang out with, Simon and Deon. Deon's really clever! In maths Mr. Thompson gives him special work to do because he's so far ahead of everyone else.

"He wants to be a nuclear physicist. Some of the older boys call him the mad scientist, but he's not; he's really nice when you get to know him. I hang out with him a lot. Then there's Jamie at the cross-country club. He's a year younger than me but Martin and I can only just keep up with him. He's great."

Tom swallowed hard. He wasn't sure about this next bit, but he wanted things out in the open so he didn't have much choice.

"So have you found yourself a special friend?" he enquired.

"I don't know what you mean," Patrick said defensively, the hair rising on the back of his neck.

"I was thinking maybe one of the older boys, someone like Russell," Tom explained.

Patrick was distraught, panic stricken. He knew! His dad knew what he'd been doing! But how? It didn't matter. It had all been going so well; now everything was ruined, the whole lot of it.

"Patrick, calm down," Tom said gently. "It's okay."

Okay? How could it be okay? It didn't seem to make sense.

"You're not angry with me?" he said nervously. "But how did you know?"

"Well, I'd wondered for quite a while," Tom said quietly, "but you were still so young it didn't seem to matter. You remember the day we visited Hartswood? We were sitting in Mr. Halford's office and he called Russell into the room.

"I saw the way you looked at him; that was when I knew. I never went to boarding school, as you know, but I had a very close friend at university who did. He told me all about it, so I've got a pretty good idea of the sort of thing that goes on."

"But you still let me go there?" Patrick asked, hardly able to take everything in.

"I didn't have too many choices, did I?" Tom said, smiling. "I didn't want you to stay at Woodthorn, drifting along and getting bullied; that wasn't an option in any case. So if it wasn't Hartswood, it would have had to be another boarding school and maybe that one wouldn't have been as nice." He paused for a moment.

"Russell was just the sort of friend you needed; I could see that. I just thought to myself if you could find an older friend as nice as him, well, that wouldn't be too bad."

"So don't you mind?" Patrick said.

"Not much point in minding," Tom said. "You're just being you; it's part of who you are. I just want you to understand this; you're my son and I'll love you no matter what." He went across and sat next to Patrick, putting his arm around the boy's shoulder.

"I want to say something else too," he continued. "You're the only bit of your mum that I've got left. After her death I made a promise that I'd do whatever I needed to do to help you get through it and achieve what you're capable of. If you having an older friend is part of that, that's how it is. So have you found someone like that?"

"Yes," Patrick whispered. "His name's Brian; he plays in the rugby team."

"And is he nice like Russell was?" Tom asked.

"Yes," Patrick confirmed. "Some of my friends say he's a bit of a show-off, but not when he's with me he isn't; he's great."

"So he hasn't pushed you to do anything you didn't want to do?" Tom asked.

"Not at all," Patrick confirmed. He omitted to add that it wouldn't have been necessary as he'd wanted Brian to do everything right from their first meeting, but his dad didn't need to know that.

"And is he good looking like Russell?"

"Yes," Patrick said, smiling.

"I thought he might be," Tom replied, giving Patrick's shoulder a squeeze. "Well that's cool then. I just wanted you to know it's okay, that's all."

"Thanks, dad, you're the greatest," Patrick croaked, scarcely able to believe what had just happened.

Part Three

Sunday morning, a little after ten thirty; Patrick wandered out of the showers and slowly got dressed. He didn't rush; there was no hurry. It was the one time during the week that the cross-country team had the pavilion to themselves. Training was going well; he was feeling stronger and more confident than he ever had. He still couldn't shake off Jamie or Martin, but that didn't matter; it seemed that they were running well too. They had a few races coming up so they'd soon know.

The other difference on Sunday mornings was that Deon's brother ran with them. Ashton was the best runner in the school, but as a key member of the rugby team Sundays were his only opportunity. His participation was helping Craig a great deal. At their other training sessions Craig was out on his own, but on Sundays he had to work hard just to keep up, the two of them running right away from everyone else.

By the time Patrick finished dressing, he was the only one left in the changing room. He wasn't the last to leave though; Ashton and Martin were still in the showers. He couldn't imagine why anyone would want to stay in there for that long, but as he didn't know either of them very well, it didn't greatly concern him. He got his things together and strolled outside, heading back towards the main building.

He'd walked about fifty yards when he felt the need to relieve himself. Getting to the main building would not have been a problem, but the pavilion was closer. He turned around, retracing his steps. He re-entered the building and headed for the toilets.

He passed the changing room door and glanced inside. He stopped in his tracks. Martin, still naked, was standing bent at the waist, his hands resting on the bench. Ashton was standing behind him, thrusting his penis into the younger boy's bottom. Patrick could hardly believe what he was seeing; doing it right there where anyone might have walked past and seen them was stupid. You had to keep it quiet, discreet; that's Brian had told him.

Nonetheless, he was completely transfixed, his penis instantly becoming hard. He'd seen Ashton naked on a good number of occasions, but he'd never previously seen him with an erection. It was even bigger than he'd expected; not only was it longer than Brian's, it was much thicker too. Martin was whimpering, clearly indicating that it was a painful experience, but he was hard too, so he had to be enjoying it. That's how it had been for him, Patrick reflected, the first few times that Brian had penetrated him.

"Nng! Nnng!! Nnnnggg!!!" Ashton growled, ejaculating powerfully into Martin's rectum.

Patrick jerked himself back to reality. Ashton and Martin had been so intent on what they were doing they hadn't noticed him standing there, but they'd soon spot him if he remained where he was. He hurried along to the toilets, locking himself into one of the stalls. He sat down, his shorts and briefs around his ankles. once again wondering what it would be like to be fucked by a penis as large as Ashton's. Painful certainly, but it would be wonderfully exciting. He didn't know exactly when it would happen, just that one day soon he was going to find out.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Patrick carefully recounted the events of Sunday morning while Brian listened. He hadn't mentioned it to his mates in the dorm. For one thing it would have been embarrassing for Deon, and of all of them, Deon was the one that he felt closest to. Another consideration was that Lee, although a good friend, was not to be trusted with such sensitive information; he'd already been in trouble with Jeremy for telling people things that he should not have even known about. So Patrick had kept it to himself until the Monday evening.

"Typical," Brian commented as Patrick concluded his account. "Sometimes you'd think he had no brains at all. Leave it to me; I'll deal with it."

"How?" Patrick asked nervously.

"I'll let Jeremy know," Brian said. "He's in charge; he'll sort it out. Don't worry, your name won't be mentioned; Ashton's not going to find out who saw him."

"Thanks," Patrick said, smiling. "I was sure you'd know what to do."

"That's what the rules are there for," Brian said, smiling back, "to make sure stuff like that doesn't happen."

Patrick nodded. As usual Brian was absolutely correct. It had seemed strange at first, having rules, albeit unwritten ones, for who could go with whom, when and where, but in situations like this it certainly made sense.

"Brian," Patrick asked. "Would you like to come and stay with us for a few days during the Easter holiday?"

"I'd love to," Brian said, smiling indulgently, "but I don't think it would be a very good idea. I'm two years older than you, more actually. Your dad's going to think it's pretty odd; he's bound to. And my parents would want to know why I was going to stay with a boy two years younger than me. I wish we could stay together like that, but it's just not on; I'm sorry."

"Oh, it'll be okay," Patrick said reassuringly. "Dad knows I'm, you know, gay, homosexual. He knows about us too; he's okay about it. He said he wants to meet you."

"You told him about us?" Brian asked, alarm bells ringing in his head.

He listened carefully as Patrick explained what had happened when he'd returned home for the Christmas holiday.

"So why does he want to meet me?" Brian asked warily.

"I've done really well since I've been at Hartswood, much better than I would have done if I'd stayed at the junior school where I was before. He knows how important it's been for me to have friend like you, to help me settle in and look after me. He wants to say thank you."

"So what made him twig you were gay?" Brian temporised, still finding it hard to take in what Patrick was telling him.

"When we came to visit the school, after we'd talked to Mr. Halford for a bit he got this boy called Russell to show us around. Dad saw the way I was looking at him. I think I must have been staring at him with my mouth open or something."

"Well, I'm not surprised you were gawping at Russell," Brian said gently. "He was great; everybody liked him." He paused for a moment. "It doesn't solve the problem though; my mum and dad will ask all sorts of awkward questions."

"Dad'll fix it up," Patrick told him. "If you give me your telephone number, he'll call your parents and ask them. He won't even mention that we're not in the same year. Dad's a sales director; he's great at talking to people. Please, Brian."

Brian swallowed hard. He was still somewhat apprehensive; this could go badly wrong, but he couldn't say no, he just couldn't.

"Okay," he said, smiling. "I'll write it down for you."

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Patrick made his way to his evening rehearsal. For once he wasn't looking forward to it. He'd listened to the records of the two jazz pieces that Leo wanted to play at the summer concert. He knew what they ought to sound like, but he didn't have a clue what he was supposed to play. Leo had worked out his part simply by listening to the record, but he couldn't do that, the music was too strange, too difficult. He entered the practice room, smiling nervously.

As promised, Ashton was there too; he'd be playing double bass, a very important element, especially of the first piece they were going to play. It was so odd, Patrick reflected; apart from the physical resemblance Deon and Ashton seemed to have nothing in common at all. Not only did Deon lack any aptitude for sports, he showed no interest in music either. For his part, Ashton didn't share his younger brother's passion for science. Unless you saw them together you'd never think they were brothers.

To his surprise, Leo handed him some music, hand-written on manuscript paper.

"Those are your parts," he said casually.

"Did you do these?" Patrick enquired.

"Good god, no!" Leo responded, grinning broadly. "Mr. Burman did them; he transcribed them from the records. Pretty impressive considering he's not really into this stuff."

"Pretty impressive?" Patrick thought to himself; he was awestruck. He couldn't imagine how anyone could write down the piano part for this strange, discordant music simply by listening to it; it had to be terribly difficult. Mr. Burman was even better than he'd thought.

They began with the tune 'So What?' by the trumpeter Miles Davis. They were playing the notes, but the music wasn't flowing at all; it felt awkward and uncomfortable, like a new pair of shoes that hadn't been broken in. It didn't sound anything like the record.

"Not bad," Leo commented as they finished, "but it'll need a lot of work."

"On that opening riff you've got to put the accents in," he said to Ashton, "get some feel into it.

Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da."

Ashton played it through a couple of times.

"Much better!" Leo said, smiling.

"Just relax," he said, turning to Patrick. "The piano's not going to bite you! And listen to Ash; we don't have a drummer so he's keeping time for us. Remember this is jazz; the timing's everything; it's got to swing."

They played through it again. The piano part wasn't difficult; in fact Patrick didn't have that much to do. So he concentrated on listening to Ashton's bass line and fitting his part to it. This time it started to come together; even better, he was really getting to enjoy it. After Leo's solo they reprised the introduction and stopped.

"That was more like it," Leo said, "it actually sounded like jazz! Don't worry about the ending; we'll sort that out later."

"That was fun!" Patrick commented.

The second tune was 'Round Midnight', a slow, haunting ballad by the pianist Thelonius Monk. Patrick had been captivated the very first time he'd heard it. He checked through his part. It contained some of the strangest, most complicated chords he'd ever seen. He swallowed hard; unlike 'So What?' this was going to be difficult. They played it through. It was a faltering performance with Patrick making lots of mistakes.

"We'll leave it for now," Leo said. "Try practising it with the record on, get the feel of it; you'll be fine once you've learned it. Professional session players can just pick up a part like that and play it perfectly first time, you know, sight reading it. That's how good they are."

Ashton packed the double bass away while Leo and Patrick worked on the trumpet sonata they'd be playing. Patrick left the rehearsal feeling strangely excited. He enjoyed playing the classical stuff, he always had, but working on these jazz pieces had opened up a whole new world. The music was fresh and exciting; he wanted to play stuff like that. It clearly wouldn't be easy; session players must be very good to sight read it. He'd have to work very hard if he was going to be able to do that.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

It was all arranged, just like Patrick had said. In one way Brian was looking forward to it immensely. Now that he had completed his Common Entrance exams he had time to relax, and the prospect of spending some time with Patrick was very appealing. But there were still two problems to be overcome. Patrick would be with his dad when they collected him from their house on the outskirts of Dorking. Would his parents really not notice how young the boy was?

They might not, he reasoned; Patrick was tall for his age so they might actually get away with it. And then there was Patrick's dad; Suppose the man didn't like him? Patrick had assured him that everything would be fine, but he couldn't be certain. And would they really be allowed to do stuff together when Patrick's dad was around? They hadn't even discussed it.

He checked his watch; it was twenty past eleven; they'd be here at any moment. His heart was pounding. And then he saw it, the burgundy coloured Jaguar gliding along the road and coming to a halt outside their house. He watched as Patrick and his dad got out and headed up the drive. The man was tall and on the slim side of average; Brian guessed him to be in his mid-thirties. He was very good looking and immaculately dressed, though not in a formal way, as though he was visiting a country club or something. His parents would like that.

He crept out into the hallway as his mum opened the door.

"Hi, I'm Tom Naylor," the man said, beaming, "and this is Patrick; pleased to meet you!"

"Oh, come in," Brian's mum responded. "My husband's in the back lounge room; he'd like to meet you."

They moved towards the back of the house.

"You must be Brian," Tom said, putting his hand out. "Great to meet you!"

Brian accepted the handshake, which was firm without being aggressive. He and Patrick followed the adults into the small back lounge room where Brian's father was reading the Sunday Telegraph. The man got out of his chair as they entered. Brian's heart was in his mouth; this would be the hard part. His dad usually questioned everything, but on this occasion he asked no questions at all, not one; Brian could hardly believe it. Tom's easy, relaxed manner worked like magic; the three adults chatted like old friends for a few minutes then Tom and the two boys were on their way. There had been no fuss, no questions, nothing; Brian was most impressed.

Half an hour later the Jaguar was pulling onto the drive of the house in Guildford. As they got out of the car Brian looked it over. It was about the same size as their house in Dorking, but much more modern. While its big windows would make it lighter, it seemed to lack some of the character that their house had. It was nice though, very nice. Tom opened the front door and they made their way inside.

"Patrick, take Brian upstairs," he said quietly. "Show him where everything is. We'll be off out to lunch in half an hour."

The two boys made their way to the upper floor. Patrick led the way to a large, airy room at the back of the house. Twin beds were positioned in opposite corners.

"This is my room," Patrick said casually. He flopped down on the bed nearer to the window. "This is my bed, that one will be yours," he continued, gesturing towards the bed in the far corner. "I'm not sure how much you'll use it though."

"Really?" Brian asked, rolling his eyes. "I thought, you know, we'd have to..."

"Sleep in separate rooms?" Patrick said, grinning. "Dad wouldn't have invited you if he was going to make us do that."

"So he really doesn't mind?" Brian queried, still finding it difficult to believe.

"He says it's part of who I am," Patrick said, "and he's right; I didn't choose to be attracted to older boys. He's happy that I've found an older friend that's looked after me and helped me settle in. He knows we have sex, but that's because I want to do it as much as you do, so he's okay with it.

"He says he would have been worried if younger boys got, you know, passed around among the older ones, but he sort of knew Hartswood wouldn't be like that. Don't know how; I guess he just sensed it."

"Does he know, you know, er..."

"What we do?" Patrick asked, helping Brian out. "Dunno, really, we haven't talked about it. But don't worry; he won't walk in on us; he always knocks before he comes in."

They headed back downstairs. Brian smiled to himself. The next few days were going to be pretty special.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

"Well Brian," Tom said. "I hope you're first day with us hasn't been too boring."

"Not at all," Brian replied, smiling.

"Patrick did his piano practice this morning," Tom continued. "I've no idea why he decided to do more while you were here. You were very patient, sitting there listening to him."

"Actually that was my idea," Brian said quietly. "I don't really get the chance at school. Patrick always comes to watch when I'm playing rugby; the only time I've heard him play was at the Christmas concert. It was great; the jazz stuff he's doing with Leo's fantastic.

"Very good," Tom said, smiling warmly. "You've just confirmed what I already thought. It's been very hard for Patrick since his mum died," he continued quietly, "and he's never been to boarding school before which just made things even harder.

"Settling in was never going to be easy; finding a friend to help and look after him was very important. I'm pleased to say he made an excellent choice. I always knew that he could do better than he had at the local junior school, but I'd never dreamed he'd do as well as he has, and your help and friendship has been a big part of that. So I want to thank you for being such a good friend when it was needed."

"Thanks," Brian mumbled, blushing with embarrassment.

"Right, it's ten to ten" Tom said. "I'm off to bed. Unfortunately I do have to go into work tomorrow, so I'll have to leave you to Patrick's tender mercies. I'm sure he'll keep you entertained."

"You will be off Tuesday and Wednesday though, won't you dad?" Patrick asked. "You promised."

"Yeah," Tom confirmed. "If something does come in I'll tell them I have a prior engagement; if it can't wait, someone else will have to handle it."

"Thanks dad!" Patrick said, grinning.

"Okay, don't stay up too late," Tom concluded, rising from his chair.

He headed up to his room. Brian's heart was pounding. He was going to have a whole day with Patrick with his dad not around; he could hardly wait. But was he getting ahead of himself, he wondered. Patrick seemed in no hurry to go to bed; what was going to happen when they did?

Patrick checked the time, stood up, stretched and yawned.

"Time for bed," he said, smiling at Brian.

Brian followed him upstairs. They took turns to use the bathroom. There wasn't a hint of anything; for Brian the tension was almost unbearable. Finally they were done. Patrick closed the bedroom door then stood in front of Brian, wrapping his arms around the older boy's back.

"I guess you've been waiting for this," he said quietly. "I know I have."

"Are you sure this is okay?" Brian asked nervously.

"Yeah, of course!" Patrick reassured him. "Dad will be fast asleep by now; that's why I waited. He can sleep through just about anything. You should hear the alarm clock he's got! You will tomorrow; it'd waken the dead!"

"Cool!" Brian breathed, relaxing into Patrick's embrace. "You're right; I have been waiting for this."

Their mouths met in a sensuous kiss, their tongues gently caressing each other. Brian was in ecstasy; it didn't seem possible that they could be doing this with Patrick's dad sleeping only a few feet away. After a minute their lips parted. Patrick led Brian over to his bed. Shoes and socks were quickly discarded. Wordlessly they began to undress each other. In a matter of seconds they were down to their underpants. Both of them were fully aroused.

Patrick sat on the bed, pulling Brian's white briefs gently downwards, over his hips and smooth, strong thighs. Brian wiggled his hips, causing them to fall to the floor. Patrick leant forward moistening his lips. He slid them over his older friend's penis, pushing slowly forwards until it was fully in his mouth. He paused for a moment before letting his lips slide slowly back, working his tongue all over it, until only the head was left inside. He pushed right back down again.

Brian moaned with pleasure, ruffling Patrick's thick ash-blond hair, revelling in the sensations that this amazing boy was giving him. To think that the next day they'd be able to do this whenever they wanted was even better than he'd dared to hope for. He was beginning to get close.

"Patrick, you'd better stop," he said quietly.

Patrick let him go. He looked up, licking his lips and grinning. Brian gently pulled him to his feet then knelt on the floor, quickly skinning Patrick's briefs down the boy's slim, coltish legs. Patrick kicked them off. Without a word they got on the bed, lying face-to-face, arms wrapped round each other, their penises grinding together.

"Your dad is so cool," Brian observed. "I wish my dad was like that."

"So what's your dad like?" Patrick asked innocently.

"I don't have much to do with him except when I bring my school report home," Brian said sadly. "He'll say, lets' see how you measure up then he'll just pull it to pieces.

"He never looks at the good bits, how many 'A' grades for effort I got or anything like that, it's all, well that isn't very good, and you've got plenty of room for improvement there and so on. I hate it; by the time he's finished I feel completely useless. It's like he wouldn't be satisfied no matter how well I did."

Patrick couldn't understand it. Brian worked hard; he was as conscientious as anyone, so why did his dad treat him like that? It didn't make sense. Then another thought struck him.

"That's why you show off, isn't it?" he suggested.

Brian paused, looking directly into Patrick's eyes. "Yeah," he said finally. "I've never really thought about it before, but I'm sure you're right. Well, it's something to do with it anyway."

True to form, Brian was playing it down; his father's attitude towards him was everything to do with it. They snuggled closer. He felt so relaxed here, not like he was being marked on everything he did. That's how it was at school, and for him home was no different. Patrick was so lucky, he reflected.

"Well, he's wrong," Patrick said definitively, meeting Brian's gaze. "You do work hard, you do try your best and you will do well; I don't care what your dad says."

Their mouths met in another passionate kiss. Brian couldn't imagine anything more perfect, snuggled up on a nice comfortable bed with the one person in the whole world who always made him feel good. Better still, there was no need to rush; they could stay here as long as they liked. He ran has hand down Patrick's back and over his firm, silky-smooth bottom, reminding himself how lucky he'd been, meeting the boy the way he had. Patrick was beautiful, sexy and totally loyal; nobody could have suited him better.

Their lips parted. Brian twisted around, his mouth enveloping Patrick's stiff penis. Patrick responded without a second thought, pulling the older boy towards him into a classic sixty-nine. They sucked each other hungrily. They might have taken each other all the way to orgasm, but as ever Patrick wanted to go that extra step, cocking up his right leg and guiding Brian's hand onto his bottom.

Brian was eager to oblige, quickly locating his young friend's anus. Patrick passed him a jar of Vaseline. It wasn't as good as the KY they usually used, but it would do for now. Brian smeared some onto his fingers then gently pushed the middle one right into Patrick's rectum.

Patrick sighed deeply. It had been three days since they'd been together at school; he'd been longing to have Brian inside him again. The finger moved in and out, stimulating his prostate. His penis twitched violently, jamming itself against the roof of Brian's mouth. Brian's index finger joined its neighbour, the two digits twisting around deep inside him. Wonderful as it was, it was merely the introduction; Patrick knew that what was to follow would be infinitely better.

The fingers slid out. Patrick grabbed one of his pillows, placing it in the middle of the bed. He rolled over onto his tummy, his legs spread, the pillow beneath his hips. He'd often dreamed about being fucked in this position, but it would have been far too uncomfortable in any of the places they used when they were at school.

Brian knelt between Patrick's legs, smearing a little Vaseline over his penis. He carefully lowered himself, guiding it onto its target. Patrick reached back, holding his buttocks apart, his anus opening up invitingly. Brian made contact and pushed. After a moment's resistance, the ring of muscle relaxed and the head of his penis entered his young friend's bottom.

"Oh, yeah!" Patrick breathed.

Brian pushed again, forcing his penis in deeper, driving it over the boy's prostate.

"Ohhh!" Patrick gasped, almost giddy from the pleasurable sensations coursing through him.

Brian eased himself down, his heart pounding strongly against Patrick's spine, his face almost buried in the boy's freshly washed hair. He held the boy by the shoulders and slowly raised his hips, his penis sliding out until only the head remained inside. He paused for an instant before pushing back in again. Patrick emitted a quiet moan, urging him to continue.

Brian repeated the action over and over, determined to make it last in a way that they never could when they were at school, but gradually, inevitably, sheer animal lust got the better of him, the pace and intensity of his thrusts increasing until he was fucking his young friend as hard as he could go.

Patrick whimpered quietly, Brian's warm breath filling his nostrils; he was almost delirious with pleasure. The ferocity of Brian's pounding increased still further, forcing his hard little spike to rub against the pillow. It was over in seconds. He shuddered violently, his sphincter muscle clamping tight around Brian's invading penis. A moment later his boyhood jerked wildly against the pillow in the most powerful orgasm he had yet experienced.

"Ohhh!" Brian groaned into Patrick's ear. "Oh fuck! I'm gonna cum!!"

He thrust right in, holding on as best he could as his semen spurted over and over into Patrick's rectum, leaving him completely drained. He was so light-headed he scarcely knew where he was. Gradually his breathing began its return to normal. It had been an almost magical experience. Sex with Patrick was always wonderful, but the intensity of this coupling had surpassed even his expectations. He carefully withdrew, flopping down on his side.

"That was fantastic!" his young friend whispered, turning to face him. "You came loads!"

Patrick retrieved his discarded underpants and slipped them on.

"Aren't you going to the bathroom?" Brian asked.

"No," Patrick responded, grinning mischievously. "I like having your spunk inside me! It's okay, I'll change them in the morning."

He snuggled closer, resting his head on Brian's chest as sleep overcame him. Brian wrapped his arm around the lad's shoulder. He hadn't given much thought to where he was going to sleep, but it seemed that the decision had been made for him. And tomorrow they would have the whole day to themselves; what a prospect that was! He turned off the bedside light; a minute later he was fast asleep.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Tom parked the Jaguar as the stewards instructed. He checked around, the car park was already full and more cars were being lined up along the edge of the playing field. At least forty cars already, with more driving in; for a school of only one hundred and fifty boys it was an impressive turn-out. He made his way inside, following the direction signs to the concert.

Outside the main hall, Brian was waiting for him.

"Hello Brian!" Tom said warmly, "Great to see you again!"

"Good to see you, too," Brian responded. "I hope you don't mind, but I've arranged for us to sit together."

"Not at all!" Tom said, smiling. "That's excellent! With Patrick being new, I don't really know anyone else here."

They took their seats three rows back. Tom checked the time; quarter past seven, the concert would begin in fifteen minutes.

"So I guess you must have had your Common Entrance results by now," Tom said.

"Yes," Brian confirmed. "I'm going to Radley College; it's where my dad went."

"Patrick says you're dad's pretty hard on you," Tom said gently.

"Yeah," Brian admitted. "But he's been a lot nicer to me since I got in. I guess it's because he knows that he hasn't wasted his money sending me here."

Tom nodded but said nothing; it wasn't his place to get involved. He looked around. People were still bustling about. One particular boy caught his eye. It wasn't the lad's appearance that drew his attention, it was his manner. While the other boys had a somewhat deferential demeanour, this boy displayed an almost brash self confidence that surprised him.

"Who's that?" he whispered to Brian.

"Toby Redman," Brian told him. "His dad's a heart surgeon."

"Sir David Redman," Tom suggested, "the heart transplant pioneer?"

"That's the one," Brian said, grinning. "Toby and his dad hate each other. Toby wants to be a film director. He films all sorts of stuff, you know, like sports day. Last year he used to film some of the rugby matches, but he couldn't this year 'cause he was in the team."

"A friend of yours?" Tom enquired.

"Not really," Brian said. "He's in Lower Fourth for one thing, so I don't really have much to do with him."

"And?"

"I don't like him much," Brian admitted. "He's okay; he's just so sure of himself. He's hard as nails too; I wouldn't pick an argument with him."

Tom studied the lad who was just taking his seat on the other side of the hall. Sure of himself, he thought; the boy was certainly that.

The concert began with the junior wind band. Tom was impressed immediately. He was no musician, but he had a good enough ear. The boys playing were first and second years, none of them more than ten years old, but they were superbly drilled. The pieces they were playing were not complicated, but they played them immaculately.

Mr. Burman, the music master, obviously knew his job. He hadn't attempted anything too ambitious, just got these youngest boys to do simple things well; that was the way to build confidence. He was clearly every bit as good as Patrick had said.

After three pieces, the wind band took their bow and left the stage to a generous round of applause. Tom checked his programme. Two solo performances were to follow, guitarist Julian Lees would be first and Patrick would follow. Julian took up his position then introduced himself and the piece that he was about to play. That was another thing that Tom found impressive; the boys introduced the music themselves; as yet Mr. Burman hadn't said a word.

The performance followed the formula established by the wind band; the piece was not too difficult, or at least it didn't sound as though it was, but Julian played it beautifully. At the end the audience applauded warmly. Julian smiled, bowed and moved away.

Now it was Patrick's turn. Tom's heart was in his mouth. This was what he'd come for; even so he was very nervous. By nature Patrick was shy. He was a good musician, but how would he cope, all on his own in front of such a large audience? Patrick walked across and stood in front of the piano.

"Good evening," he said, smiling at the audience. "My name is Patrick Naylor and I'm in third year. The piece that I have chosen to play for you this evening is a piano arrangement of Alla Marcia from the Karelia Suite by Sibelius."

He sat down to play. His choice of music had been problematic. In principle, Mr. Burman disliked piano arrangements of orchestral music. He had favoured one of the Chopin waltzes that Patrick played so beautifully, and Chopin's music fit so wonderfully under the hands; playing it was almost effortless. The Sibelius on the other hand was much more difficult, involving a number of big spans that Patrick could barely make.

But Patrick had insisted. He enjoyed playing the Chopin, but for a performance it just wasn't right. All his friends would be there; they'd applaud politely of course, but they wouldn't get it, not really. Alla Marcia, with its lively, joyful tune, was perfect; that would really get them going!

He took several deep breaths to make sure he was properly settled then set right to it. It was a triumph from the moment he started. The previous performances had been competent and well-drilled; Tom hadn't expected anything more, but the passion, the energy, the sheer joy in Patrick's playing were completely infectious; he'd captivated the whole audience. Tom could hardly believe it. This was Patrick, his son, and he was playing wonderfully; Catherine would have been so proud of him.

Patrick's performance ended to rapturous applause. Tom was overwhelmed; it was one of the proudest moments of his life.

"He was fantastic!" Brian commented, beaming up at him.

"I hardly know what to say," Tom responded. "I know he practises hard, but he got up there and just came alive. He's usually so shy; I didn't know he had it in him."

"You must be very proud," Brian continued.

"Absolutely," Tom confirmed. "But you should be too; you've played your part."

The first half ended with two pieces from the string quartet. They played very well, but after Patrick's performance, it was something of an anti-climax. It was time for the interval. Tom and Brian stayed where they were, chatting quietly. Patrick was still backstage, preparing for the second half. This was not the time to disturb him.

The second half was divided into two; three pieces from the senior wind band, followed by three pieces featuring trumpet soloist Leo Johnston. Patrick had told Tom how good Leo was; he was looking forward eagerly to hearing them play together.

The second half began. Tom knew straight away that the level had gone up quite considerably; the performance by the wind band was sharper, livelier and more polished than most of what had preceded it. In the first half, Patrick had been the only one to play with that sort of authority. This was good stuff and the audience responded accordingly. After their third piece the wind band left the stage to enthusiastic and well deserved applause.

Moments later Patrick appeared alongside a tall, good looking boy with messy, straw-coloured hair. Patrick took his seat at the piano. The other boy moved to the front, trumpet in hand.

"Good evening," he said, exuding an air of quiet authority. "My name is Leo Johnston and I'm in Upper Fourth. I and my accompanist Patrick, whom you heard earlier, have been given the privilege of closing this concert. The first piece that we have chosen to play for you is the first movement of the trumpet sonata number three by George Frederick Handel."

They began to play. Tom was delighted. Leo played with poise and flair; he made the trumpet sound beautiful. Behind him Patrick was doing his job superbly, always there, but never intrusive. This was in a completely different league from everything else he'd heard during the evening; even Patrick's piano solo didn't compare. The piece ended to the warmest applause yet.

"Thank you," Leo said once the clapping had died down. "For our second piece we're joined by Ashton Hayes on bass. This is a tune by the jazz trumpeter Miles Davis, called 'So What?'."

The tall, rather gaunt looking boy who had played cello in the string quartet walked onto the stage and picked up the double bass. The three boys settled themselves. Ashton opened up on the bass, which took Tom completely by surprise. The bass riff was repeated over and over with Leo and Patrick playing chords in between.

Finally, they broke into Leo's solo, accompanied mainly by Ashton's walking bass. It seemed that Patrick didn't have much to play, but what he did play was absolutely crucial and once again he was right on it. This was certainly jazz; Tom found himself tapping his foot without even thinking about it, and as for Leo, the boy was a wonderful player, Tom thought; it was no wonder that Patrick had spoken so highly of him.

Finally the bass riff returned and the tune ended. The whole audience was blown away; the applause lasted for well over a minute. Eventually silence returned.

"Thank you very much," Leo said graciously. "For our final piece we've chosen another jazz tune. This one is a ballad by the pianist Thelonius Monk; it's called 'Round Midnight'."

After a short piano introduction the tune began. Tom thought the slow, haunting melody was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever heard; the entire audience seemed to be spellbound. He recalled hearing Patrick practising it during the Easter holidays, but never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined with all three of them playing it would sound like this. Leo was the star, but Ashton and Patrick were there supporting him and doing it beautifully. Patrick would never have had an opportunity like this if he's stayed at Woodthorn Junior.

After Leo's improvised solo, they reprised the main theme and the tune ended to even more rapturous applause. As it died down Leo stepped forward again.

"Thank you," he said, smiling. "May I ask you to show your appreciation for our musical director, Mr. Burman, without whom tonight's concert would not have been possible."

Mr. Burman made his way onto the stage to acknowledge the applause. It was more than well deserved, Tom thought. Although he'd stayed in the background at the concert itself, he'd been with the one who'd trained the musicians and put it altogether. The standard they'd achieved was remarkable for such as small school.

"For those of you who have travelled here tonight," Leo concluded, "may I thank you for your support and wish you a safe journey home. That is now the end of proceedings, so goodnight and thank you for being here."

As people began to make their way out, Tom stayed where he was. It was a Saturday evening and he was in no hurry. In any case he'd have to congratulate Patrick; he couldn't leave without doing that. He'd introduce himself to Mr. Burman as well if the man wasn't too busy. He'd been enormously impressed and it wasn't just the music. The boys at Hartswood learned to do things with poise and style; that was impressive.

He said goodnight to Brian, who had to head off to bed. A couple of minutes later Patrick appeared. Tom immediately stood up and walked over to him, putting his arm around his son's shoulder. Patrick's eyes were sparkling; Tom had never seen him so happy.

"You were fantastic tonight," Tom said, giving Patrick's shoulder a squeeze. "Your mum would have been so proud of you."

Patrick looked down and bit his lip; there really wasn't anything he could say.

"Is Mr. Burman around?" Tom asked.

"He's over there," Patrick said, pointing towards the stage where Mr. Burman was supervising the removal of the music stands.

The two of them made their way across.

"Mr. Burman? Tom Naylor, Patrick's dad," Tom said, his arm still around Patrick's shoulder. "I just want to think you for all the help you've given him; he's come on leaps and bounds since he's been here."

"Mr. Naylor!" Mr Burman responded warmly. "I'm so pleased you could come. Patrick is a pleasure to work with. He's a great asset to the school and we're very pleased to have him."

"Well, thank you very much," Tom said, wondering why the teachers at Woodthorn had never praised the boy like that. "Did you hear that?" he said, looking down at Patrick, a broad smile on his face. "That's you he's talking about."

After a few more pleasantries it was time for Tom to leave. As he drove home he felt happier than he had for the past year. Catherine was dead, but her spirit lived on.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Patrick waited with his friends and a few other boys for the school minibus to return. It would be carrying the cricket team, who had spent the afternoon playing what was always their last match of the season, the annual fixture against Whitestone Hall, Hartswood's biggest rivals. He wished that they could have gone to watch, as they had for the final of the Prep Schools' Cup, but this was only a friendly match, however keen the rivalry.

Finally the bus turned in through the school gate and headed towards them. The team began to disembark; they all looked pretty solemn. They must have lost, Patrick concluded, and probably hadn't played very well.

"How did you get on?" someone shouted.

"We won, just about," an anonymous team member replied curtly.

This was very odd, Patrick thought, they certainly didn't look like they'd won. He spotted Brian.

"How many did you score?" he asked excitedly.

"Zero, zilch, a duck," Brian replied despondently. "I played like an idiot. I let the team down and I let myself down."

Patrick was alarmed; he'd never heard Brian talk like that, not once. Mr. Halford came across and put his hands on Brian's shoulders, telling him not to be too hard on himself, but Brian was obviously upset. Mr. Halford moved away, going to speak to Toby Redman.

"D'you mind if we forget about this evening?" Brian asked. "I really don't feel like - - -, you know."

"Can't we just sit and chat for a bit?" Patrick responded. "We don't have to do anything if you don't want to. Please, Brian."

Brian paused for what seemed like an eternity.

"Yeah, okay," he conceded, shrugging his shoulders.

Brian collected his bag from the back off the bus then he and Jonathan walked together towards the senior dorms. Patrick turned back to his friends, keen to find out what had happened that afternoon. Lee was in tears.

"Giles got hit on the head," he sobbed. "His dad had to take him to hospital."

Patrick was more alarmed than ever. Lee was one of the bubbliest, cheekiest kids he'd ever met; he'd never expected to see him like this. It seemed that his attachment to Giles was a lot more serious than he'd led them to believe. They retreated into the main building and back to the safety of Eagle Dorm. Lee flopped disconsolately onto his bed. Patrick sat down next to him, his arm around his friend's shoulder.

"I'm sure he'll be all right," he said quietly. "Giles is pretty tough. I guess we'll just have to be patient."

Out of nowhere, Mr. Halford appeared, crouching down by Lee's bed.

"Lee, would you like to come to my office?" he asked gently. "I'm going to telephone the hospital to find out how Giles is. Would you like to come with me?"

Lee nodded, brushing a tear away. The two of them disappeared along the corridor. Patrick hardly knew what to think. Mr. Halford obviously knew that Lee was Giles' friend. Did that mean that he knew about him and Brian too? He must do, Patrick concluded, but as long as they kept it quiet, he just ignored it, like it wasn't happening. It was hard to believe, but it was the only thing that made sense.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Over supper, stories of what had taken place at the cricket match were beginning to circulate. It seemed that Toby Redman was the hero of the hour. He'd saved the day. He'd had some help; Jonathan was mentioned, Ashton too, and Justin, which was odd because he wasn't even supposed to have been in the team, but it was Toby who had led the way. It all seemed rather confusing. Patrick decided not to take too much notice of what was being said; he'd get the proper story from Brian.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Patrick waited on the main dorm corridor, trying not to be too conspicuous. Brian appeared, checked around then headed up to the attic. After a few seconds Patrick followed, making sure that nobody was watching. Brian was sitting with his back against the wall. He still looked very upset. Patrick flopped down next to him.

"So what happened?" he asked.

"You must have heard the stories," Brian said defensively.

"They were just bits and pieces," Patrick said. "I want to hear it from you."

"When we got there we went to look at the pitch," Brian said quietly. "It was terrible! It hadn't been watered for ages; it was bone-hard and all cracked. I've never seen anything like it. Anyway they won the toss and asked us to bat first. We'd heard about this really quick bowler they've got, Moseley his name is; I was a bit nervous before I went out.

"He was opening the bowling and I was taking the first ball; I always do. It was quick, straight and on a good length. I tried to play forward to it, but it bounced so much I missed it completely; it nearly cut me in half. I just went to pieces. I was so scared I was going to get hit I just never got in line. I lasted four balls, then I edged one behind and that was that. It was my last match here and I played like an idiot."

"So what happened afterwards?" Patrick asked.

"Giles was in next," Brian continued. "He was batting beautifully. He didn't seem in any trouble; Jonathan didn't either. You could see Moseley was starting to get frustrated. Then he gave Giles a bouncer, really banged it in. Giles is a good player but he's a bit awkward; he just couldn't get out of the way. It hit him by his left ear. He collapsed; didn't know where he was. It was horrible."

Brian continued to recount the events of the afternoon, about Toby's amazing innings and the rest of his exploits, and how they'd eventually won thanks to Justin's unbelievable catch.

"After the match," he concluded, "Moseley wanted to shake Toby's hand. Toby gave him a right mouthful; didn't swear at him or anything, just told him what he thought about the way he'd bowled and stomped off into the changing room."

Patrick was puzzled. Brian had batted poorly, but he wasn't the only one. He couldn't understand why he was so upset.

"When we were coming home in the minibus," Brian said, "I said I thought Toby had been very rude talking to Moseley like that. It was stupid; it was almost like it wasn't me that was saying it. Anyway, Mr Halford said I was wrong. I tried arguing, but everything I said just made it worse. In the end he pretty well told me to shut up. I made a complete dickhead of myself."

"So why did you say it?" Patrick asked.

"I was jealous, I guess." Brian admitted, not even looking at Patrick. "I'm as good a player as Toby is, I'm just not as brave. He's so confident, so sure of himself. He wasn't worried about getting hit; he got hit once and he didn't even flinch. He wasn't going to let Moseley get the better of him."

So that was it, Patrick reasoned; it made sense now.

"You'll always be a hero as far as I'm concerned," Patrick said, holding Brian's hand.

"So why's that?" Brian questioned. "You've just seen what I'm really like."

"Remember just after I met you?" Patrick retorted. "I suddenly started feeling homesick and pining for my mum. Who was there for me then? You were. You even stood up to Jeremy and got him to let us have more time together, remember? If you hadn't been there for me I don't know how I'd have got through it."

"Yeah," Brian said, looking uncomfortable, "but I didn't really do anything."

"Yes you did," Patrick insisted. "When it really mattered, you were there. D'you think Toby would have done that? D'you think he'd have been as patient with me as you were?"

Brian shrugged.

"Well, I don't think he would," Patrick continued. "I like Toby; he's all right, but he's always doing this or involved in that, and he can be pretty scary if you do something he doesn't like. He wouldn't have helped me like you did."

Brian squeezed Patrick's hand, giving the younger boy a wry grin.

"And there's something else," Patrick went on. "You messed up today, coming back in the minibus; you admitted it. Well, everybody messes up sometimes, but some people just shrug it off like it doesn't matter, but you didn't; you were angry with yourself. So you're going to remember that and you won't do it again. You don't have to be jealous of Toby; you're every bit as good as he is, just different, that's all. And I like you just the way you are."

"Man, you are the best," Brian said, shaking his head.

He turned towards Patrick, smiling, the first time he'd smiled since the end of the match. Patrick snuggled closer, reaching up to pull Brian towards him, their mouths meeting in a passionate, sensuous kiss. He ran his hand up the older boy's thigh and onto his crotch, bringing him to a full erection in a matter of seconds. He undid the top of Brian's shorts, pulling down the zip then pushing both shorts and briefs over his friend's hips.

They'd spent so long talking that they didn't have much time left before they'd have to return to their dorms, but it would be long enough, Patrick figured.

"Now just relax," he said, giving Brian his most mischievous grin. "I'm going to make you feel really good,"

He settled his head on Brian's tummy, taking the boy's penis fully into his mouth. He began to suck, using his fingers to fondle his friend's testicles and the sensitive area behind them. Brian did as he was asked, leaning back against the wall, once more totally at peace. He stroked Patrick's hair. Patrick didn't often suck him to orgasm, which was strange, Brian reflected, as he did it so wonderfully well; the sensations he was giving him were quite exquisite.

"Uhhhh!" Brian groaned, "I'm gonna cum!"

Patrick redoubled his efforts, sucking and licking as though his life depended on it. Brian's boyhood jerked violently, his thick, creamy semen spurting into Patrick's mouth. Patrick sucked and swallowed until Brian had no more left to give, running his tongue over the head of the older boy's penis to make sure he hadn't missed a single drop. He carefully pulled away. He looked up at Brian, licking his lips and grinning.

"Better now?" he enquired.

"Much better thanks," Brian confirmed, smiling warmly. "Man, I'm going to miss you so much when I leave this place,"

A moment later their lips locked together in another passionate kiss.

Part Four

Patrick and Brian had sex three more times before term finally ended, each occasion etched firmly in Patrick's memory. Then they said goodbye, knowing that their paths would probably never cross again. It would have been easy enough for Patrick to invite Brian to stay with them during the summer holiday, but they knew they shouldn't do that. Brian needed to make a clean break to prepare himself for the challenge of starting at public school; hanging onto old friendships would simply make things more difficult.

So Patrick spent some time with his mum's parents in High Wycombe, then he and Tom enjoyed two wonderful weeks in southern Spain, basking in the sunshine, taking in the culture, and getting to know each other better than they ever had. On several occasions they ran together in the early morning, Patrick taking great delight in the fact that Tom, though an excellent all round sportsman, found it hard to keep up with him. For his part, Tom was more than impressed by how fit and strong his son was becoming.

Back home in Guildford with Tom back at work, Patrick was at something of a loose end. He worked conscientiously at both piano and guitar. He went out running occasionally, as Mr. Thompson had suggested they should. He visited the local record shops, seeking out discs by the jazz musicians whose work he'd discovered through spending time with Leo: Miles Davis, Thelonius Monk, and the brilliant young pianist Keith Jarrett among them.

He also spent time with his old friends from primary school. That proved difficult. It wasn't that they didn't want to see him, but they had grown so far apart since he'd started at Hartswood that they didn't understand each other in the way that they previously had. They were all 'big boys' now, about to start at the local high school, a passport to the world of adolescence; they considered themselves very grown-up and sophisticated. They thought that the fact that Patrick had to wear shorts when he was at school to be very strange; as far as they were concerned, only little boys wore shorts.

To Patrick, the situation was almost the exact opposite of the way his friends saw it; they seemed positively clueless. None of them knew anything much about sex. A couple of them expressed an interest in girls, but in a way that made their lack of experience perfectly obvious; it was very clear that none of them had ever actually done anything.

They seemed to have little idea what 'doing things' entailed; they didn't even seem interested. And none of them had experienced a relationship such as he and Brian had enjoyed, or understood what it meant to care about someone like that. In the face of such ignorance and indifference, it was simply not something he could discuss with them.

And so his frustration grew. He wanted desperately to share his thoughts, desires and feelings with someone who would understand, but there was nobody he could talk to. It wasn't only that, of course. He didn't just miss Brian, he missed the physical intimacy. Even while he and Brian had been together he'd continued to have casual sex with the boys in his dorm, Deon especially. And now that he was spending so much time on his own, the lack of such intimate contact was becoming difficult to bear.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Patrick wandered aimlessly through the recently constructed shopping centre. It was a hot day and he was bored. Feeling the need to relieve himself he headed for the toilets, situated at the back of the development, a few yards from the main shopping parade. He went inside, finding the place deserted. As he stood at the urinal he became aware of the writing on the walls; it was all about sex. His task completed, his penis had become almost painfully hard. Without any conscious thought, he went into one of the stalls, bolted the door and sat down, his jeans and underpants around his ankles.

There was even more writing in here, messages for guys to meet each other, even some with telephone numbers. There were pictures too, quite poorly drawn in the main, some of penises, others depicting acts of sucking and fucking. There was even a story written by a man who claimed to be having sex with his twelve year old stepson.

Patrick had never seen anything like it. He became aware of something else too; there were two holes, a very small one in the door, just above the bolt, which enabled him to look along the length of the steel urinal, and a larger one in the side wall which would give him a clear view of anyone sitting on the toilet next door.

He knew that he ought to leave; waiting around in a place like this was potentially dangerous, he reasoned, and in any case boys like him didn't look for sex in public toilets, did they? But he was mesmerised, quite unable to move. At that moment someone else entered and made their way into the adjacent stall, bolting the door behind them. A few seconds later an eye appeared by the hole in the side wall.

Patrick was alarmed, his heart pounding. He quickly covered up; pulling down his tee-shirt to cover his privates. The eye retreated. Very gingerly, Patrick moved his head towards the hole and looked through. He worst fears were confirmed; the occupant of the adjacent stall was at least middle aged and considerably overweight. He grabbed some toilet paper from the holder and stuffed it into the hole.

For a couple of minutes there was a stalemate. Patrick stayed where he was; so did the man in the stall next to him. Someone else entered. It seemed that whoever it was had walked across to the urinal. Patrick stood up, leaning forwards to put his eye to the hole in the door.

A dark haired boy whom he judged to be in his early teens was standing at the urinal, his uncut penis clearly visible. It appeared to be quite large, though just how large was difficult to tell. Patrick sat down again, afraid that the boy might see him. He was more frustrated and excited than ever; if only the man next door would leave, he thought. A moment later his prayers were answered; the toilet flushed, the bolt was drawn back and the man made his way out.

After what seemed like an eternity, Patrick heard the stall door close again followed by the unmistakeable sound of the bolt sliding into place. The problem was that he didn't know who had gone in there; was it the boy he'd seen at the urinal or somebody else? He could have simply removed the paper that was blocking the hole in the dividing wall, but for a first move it seemed too risky.

Instead, he bent down as low as he could, keeping his head as far away from the dividing wall as possible. Whoever was next door was wearing jeans and trainers, much the same as he was, so they probably weren't that old. The boy at the urinal had been wearing jeans, but he hadn't noticed what shoes he had on.

Patrick took a deep breath and moved the paper slightly, enabling him to get a partial view of whoever was next door. He could see a pair of thighs, fairly slim and completely smooth. It was definitely a boy; there was no doubt about it. Taking his courage in both hands he dislodged the paper, causing it to fall to the floor. He leaned forward so his eyes were in line with the hole, though still a couple of feet away.

It was enough for him to see that it was the boy that he'd seen earlier; he could tell by the red tee-shirt the lad was wearing. He moved closer to the hole to get a better view. He caught his breath. The boy was fondling his penis which was fully erect, a little longer than Brian's but much thicker, maybe even thicker than Ashton's; it was an absolute beauty. The boy himself wasn't bad either, Patrick concluded; not stunning like Brian or Russell, but nice looking all the same.

As he watched the boy passed a pencil and paper through the hole. Patrick nervously unrolled the paper. It bore two questions: 'How old?' and 'Likes?" He scribbled '11' then considered for a moment. Not wanting to give too much away he wrote 'sex', adding the question 'You?' underneath. He rolled it around the pencil and returned it. A few seconds later it came back. He unrolled it again, studying it carefully. In answer to his questions the boy had written '14' and 'same' then added the instruction 'stand up'.

Patrick glanced to his left. The boy's eye was right by the hole. Patrick swallowed hard and did as he'd been asked, lifting his tee-shirt to give the boy a clear view of his hard penis. After ten seconds or so he sat down again. The boy gestured to him to return the paper and pencil. He passed them back.

Almost immediately the paper was returned, but this time without the pencil. Patrick looked at it. It gave him another instruction: 'Meet me outside'. He looked across again. The boy nodded at him and smiled. Patrick nodded back. The boy stood up, flushed the toilet and left.

Patrick's heart was pounding. He desperately wanted to meet this boy; he simply didn't know if it was safe. The lad was older and bigger than he was; he looked much stronger too. Going with him for sex was a huge risk; anything might happen. But it was a risk he was going to have to take. It was four weeks since he'd last been with Brian and this was the first opportunity he'd had; he wasn't going to turn it down. He pulled up his jeans, flushed the toilet and followed the boy outside.

He spotted the lad about twenty yards away, pretending to look into a shop window. He strolled across and stood next to him, trying to stop his heart leaping out of his chest.

"Hi," the boy said. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Patrick replied nervously.

"You're tall, aren't you?" the lad commented. "Are you really only eleven?"

"Yeah," Patrick responded. "That's what everyone says."

"Nice little cock though," the boy whispered. "What's your name?"

In one way Patrick didn't care to be reminded that his penis was still quite small; on the other hand the older boys seemed to like it that way, Brian always had.

"Patrick," he answered, smiling.

"I'm Gary," the boy told him. "You got anywhere to go?"

"Sort of," Patrick said, shuffling about uncomfortably. "I guess we could go to mine; it's not far, ten minutes on the bus. Dad's at work; he won't be home till six. And there are some woods just over the back; I guess we could go there too."

"What about your mum?" Gary asked.

"She got killed in a car smash," Patrick said quietly, looking at his feet.

"Sorry, man!" Gary responded, sounding very embarrassed. "I didn't mean... you know."

"It's okay," Patrick said, giving the boy a slight smile. "You didn't know."

They headed off towards the bus stop.

"So have you done this before?" Gary asked quietly.

"Well sort of," Patrick said guardedly, "but not here, not like this. What about you?"

"Not really," Gary responded. "I've been in there a few times, but mostly it's just old geezers. I did meet one guy; he was seventeen I think. We went in the park, behind the groundsman's hut; wanked each other off. That was it."

"I go to boarding school," Patrick confided. "I mess about with some of the boys in my dorm. I've got an older friend that I go with too. Well, I did have; he left at the end of last term."

"So old was he, then?" Gary enquired.

"Thirteen," Patrick informed him. "He starts at public school in September."

They boarded the bus. There was no more conversation; the other passengers were too close. Gary's brain was spinning. He'd known he was attracted to boys of his own age and younger for several months, but had had no opportunity to do anything about it. He was popular enough at school, a member of the soccer team in the winter and the athletics team in the summer.

He had a circle of friends that he spent time with. They fell into two camps, those who showed not the least interest in sex, and those who clearly were interested but had their attention firmly directed towards girls. Revealing his desires in that company would have seen him labelled as a queer and a pervert; he simply couldn't do it. As a result, he'd begun spending increasing amounts of time on his own.

He'd begun visiting various men's rooms around the town some two months previously, but apart from the encounter with the seventeen year old he hadn't met anyone he would have considered going with, and even that had fallen well short of what he was really looking for.

But today his patience had been rewarded. Not only had he met a boy who was younger than him, the boy in question was as close to perfect as he could have imagined, even cuter than the young soccer players at the school he attended. Even better, Patrick went to a posh boarding school and obviously had far more experience of sex with other boys than he did. It was almost too good to be true.

They got off the bus a short distance from Patrick's house. As arranged, they didn't walk together, Gary following Patrick at a distance of some twenty yards. Patrick reached the corner of Westfield Crescent. He turned into it and walked the remaining hundred yards to his house, letting himself in though the front door. He kicked off his trainers and hurried up to his room, closing the curtains before pulling off his jeans and slipping on a pair of brief denim shorts.

Gary waited on the corner for just over a minute, his heart pounding, his throat as dry as stone. He took in his surroundings. It was nice round here, he reflected, posh even, a world away from the council estate where he lived. He checked his watch then followed where Patrick had gone, quickly locating number 22. There was nobody about. He walked up the drive and rang the bell. He was greeted a moment later by a smiling Patrick. He stepped inside.

"Come on," Patrick said brightly.

He followed the lad upstairs, his eyes feasting on Patrick's cute little bottom, and long, slender legs. Patrick led the way to his bedroom.

"Nice place, man!" Gary commented, looking around, the room seeming so spacious and airy compared with the one that he had to share with his eight year old brother.

"Yeah, it's okay," Patrick confirmed, turning to face his new friend, his arms slipping around the older boy's waist. "Just relax," he continued. "I'm not going to bite."

He slid his hands under Gary's tee-shirt, his fingers gently massaging the boy's back. Gary kicked off his shoes. Without saying a word they began to undress each other until they were down to their briefs, Patrick's white, Gary's pale blue.

"Time these came off," Patrick announced, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of Gary's underpants. He pulled them down, his eyes widening as he got a close-up view of the older boy's penis, fully five inches long and the thickest he'd ever seen.

"You've got a big one, haven't you?" Patrick commented.

Gary nodded, looking embarrassed. He hadn't been an early starter, but a few months previously puberty had hit him like a runaway train. While most of his school friends seemed to be developing quite gradually, in short order he had gone from being rather on the small side to one of the largest. He was only grateful that he had not started getting erections in the changing room; that would certainly have given the game away.

"My turn now," he croaked, still sounding very nervous.

He returned the favour, skinning Patrick's white briefs over his hips and down his legs. He exhaled sharply, hardly able to believe what he'd just done. After all the months of dreaming and hoping, he was finally doing it, and doing it with one of the cutest, sexiest boys he'd ever seen. They sat on the bed, eyeing each other warily.

"So when were you fourteen?" Patrick asked.

"A couple of weeks ago," Gary said.

"I was eleven back in April, Patrick informed him, "just after Easter."

He reached across, taking hold of Gary's penis, so thick that even with his long fingers he could barely close his hand round it. Was he really going to be able to take one as big as this, he wondered. Martin seemed to take Ashton's without any problem, so he guessed it had to be possible. Gary moaned with pleasure, the touch of Patrick's fingers giving him sensations he had never thought possible, so much better than when the young guy had masturbated him in the park.

He ran his fingers over Patrick's boyhood, satin-smooth to the touch, but steel-hard beneath and throbbing with the boy's heartbeat. Patrick lay back on the bed, pulling Gary towards him, his mouth moving towards his new friend's lips. Gary could hardly believe it; Patrick was going to kiss him. Boys didn't kiss, did they?

A moment later he had his answer; Patrick's lips were locked with his own, the younger boy's tongue pushing insistently into his mouth, the scent of hot, sexy boy flooding his nostrils like some magical sex-drug, making his penis harder than ever.

He responded instinctively, thrusting his tongue into Patrick's mouth. Never in his wildest imaginings had he dreamed of kissing a boy, but this was wild, sexy, wonderful! When his friends Stephen and Andrew had talked about kissing girls he'd thought it all rather silly, but he understood now. It wasn't silly at all; it was fantastic. Their lips parted.

"Was that good?" Patrick whispered.

"Yeah," Gary breathed, now feeling much more relaxed. "So d'you do that at school then?"

"Not with the boys in my dorm," Patrick said in a matter of fact tone. "Brian and I used to kiss a lot though."

"Brian," Gary questioned, "That was the older boy you went with?"

"Yeah," Patrick confirmed, grinning mischievously.

Patrick was used to the older boy taking the lead; at school that was what was supposed to happen, but Gary was too inexperienced. Patrick didn't mind; it was fun being in charge for once. He scooted down the bed, resting his head on Gary's stomach. He held Gary's penis around the base, running his tongue up and down the shaft. Gary gasped audibly. The touch of Patrick's fingers had been fantastic; his tongue was taking things to a completely new level.

Patrick licked his lips, surveying the prize in front of him. This was a real challenge, so much thicker than any of the others he'd sucked; he'd have to be very careful. He opened his mouth wide, sucking in the head and on down for another two inches. It was as far as he could go. He began sucking with an easy, well-practised rhythm.

Gary moaned in delight. Having a cute pre-pubescent boy sucking his penis had been an enduring fantasy these past few months; now this beautiful, sexy boy was doing it for him and it was far better than his fantasies had ever been, far better than he'd ever dreamed possible. He'd ejaculate in Patrick's mouth if he kept going for much longer. Patrick was far too smart to let that happen, gently pulling away when he sensed that Gary's orgasm was getting close. They'd barely started; he wanted things to carry on for much longer. He had other ideas in any case.

"Oh, man!" Gary gasped, still breathing hard. "That was way out!"

"Do you want to suck mine?" Patrick responded, giving Gary another mischievous grin.

Gary was very nervous, but there was no question that he wanted to do it. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd masturbated while imagining himself doing exactly that. He positioned himself much as Patrick had done, took a deep breath and set to his task. Patrick's penis was quite slim and barely three and a half inches long; sucking it right to the base was easy.

In no time he was sucking the lad like he'd been doing it for years, his tongue flicking out to slash at Patrick's balls. Patrick took Gary's hand, pushing it between his legs, guiding the older boy's finger onto his anus. Gary tickled it eagerly, but made no attempt to enter.

"You'd better stop now," Patrick groaned, the onset of a dry orgasm just seconds away.

Gary let him go.

Patrick swallowed hard. "D'you want to bum me?" he asked.

"You mean fuck you up the bum?" Gary answered, not daring to believe that was what Patrick meant.

"Yeah," Patrick acknowledged.

"Have you taken it before?" Gary enquired.

"Brian used to bum me all the time," Patrick said nonchalantly.

"Did he have a big cock?" Gary questioned.

"Not as big as yours," Patrick replied, grinning again. "You'll need to take it slow," he continued, handing Gary a jar of Vaseline. "I haven't done it since school finished."

He got up onto all fours.

"Put plenty on your fingers," he instructed. Then push your middle finger right up me, nice and slow, okay?"

Gary did as he was asked, burying his finger in Patrick's rectum.

"Now push it in and out," Patrick told him.

Gary complied, remembering not to go too fast.

"Okay, now push your index finger in sort of behind it," Patrick said, "Just be careful."

Very gingerly Gary pushed his index finger in behind the middle one, taking it as slow as he could. Finally, he had both fingers right inside.

"That's good!" Patrick cooed. "Now twist them round; just keep it nice and slow."

Once more Gary followed the instruction to the letter, gently opening Patrick's sphincter.

Patrick considered for a moment. With Brian, this preparation had been more than adequate, but Gary was so much bigger, it might not work.

"Okay," he said firmly. "Put your third finger in."

In his fantasies Gary had never envisaged this sort of preparation, but he could understand the reason for it; Patrick was so tight that he wouldn't be able to penetrate him otherwise. He inserted his third finger, pushing it forward to sit alongside the others.

"Oww! Patrick groaned.

"You all right?" Gary asked.

"Yeah," Patrick confirmed, still wincing slightly. "Not your fault, I've never taken three fingers before. I'll be okay in a minute."

They held perfectly still, Patrick pushing out against the fingers until his muscles relaxed to accommodate them.

"Now twist them round again," he said quietly.

Gary followed this final instruction as carefully as all the others, his fingers slowly loosening Patrick's anus.

"Okay," Patrick said. "You can take them out now."

The fingers gently withdrew; the moment of truth had arrived. Patrick had given some thought to the position that they should adopt. His favoured position when Brian fucked him had been down on all fours, but that would never work; he wouldn't be able to hold himself steady enough.

He could have tried lying on his back with his legs raised, holding his knees close to his shoulders. That might have worked, but on the few occasions that Brian had done him like that he'd found the position uncomfortable. Lying on his tummy was another possibility, but he was unable to fully relax his sphincter muscles in that position.

In any event it would give Gary too much control. It might be excruciatingly painful; if Gary was unwilling to stop, he would have the older, heavier boy on top of him and be completely unable to prevent him continuing.

That left only one option, the position that they'd used when he met Brian and Jonathan down in the maths store. He got off the bed, picked up one of his pillows and placed it on the desk where he used to do his homework. He bent down over it, resting his chest on the pillow, his feet about shoulder-width apart.

For Gary it was as though all his Christmases had come at once. Beautiful, sexy Patrick was about to let him to fulfil what he'd thought of as his wildest, most perverted fantasy. And it wasn't just a case of the kid merely allowing it to happen; he actually wanted it.

He smeared some Vaseline over his penis then moved in behind the boy, guiding it onto its target. He pushed, but to no avail. After a few seconds his boyhood slipped off Patrick's anus, sliding harmlessly between the boy's legs. He tried again, Patrick pushing out as hard as he could, trying to relax his sphincter muscle.

Suddenly the ring of muscle relented, allowing Gary to penetrate him. Despite his experience, the violence of the intrusion shocked him. He cried out in pain, beads of perspiration breaking out on his forehead.

"Shall I take it out?" Gary asked.

"No," Patrick whimpered. "Just hold still for a moment; it'll be okay soon."

Gary remained perfectly still, the head of his penis lodged in Patrick's rectum. Very slowly Patrick's anus relaxed, the pain beginning to dissipate.

"You can push it in now," he whispered.

Gary pushed forwards, holding Patrick around the thighs, his penis sliding deeper into his young friend's bottom. It encountered something hard.

"Oh yeah!" Patrick gasped, his boyhood twitching uncontrollably.

Seconds later Gary was fully inside him, the two boys' bodies pressed tight together. Gary breathed in deeply, savouring the velvety warmth of Patrick's tight little tunnel. Even his wildest fantasies had not done justice to how good it felt.

"Okay; do it, man!" Patrick said, a note of quiet urgency in his voice. "Bum me!"

Gary pulled back a little tentatively, paused for a second then thrust back in again.

"Go on!" Patrick ordered. "Do it!"

Gary followed this instruction as he had all the others, thrusting his penis relentlessly into Patrick's bottom, back, in, back, in; the younger boy's moans and whimpers spurring him on to greater and greater efforts. Patrick was almost delirious, the intensity of both the pain and the pleasure far greater than anything he'd previously experienced.

"Play with my cock!" he moaned.

Gary grasped the boy's throbbing spike, fondling it eagerly. Patrick shuddered from head to toe, the muscle spasms sweeping over him like a tidal wave.

"Ohhhhh!" he groaned, his anus clamping tight around Gary's invading penis, his boyhood jerking wildly between the older boy's fingers.

Gary pressed on, fucking his new friend with all the force he could muster, his orgasm hurtling towards him.

"Oh, fuck!" he gasped, the whole room seeming to shake as though hit by a major earth tremor. A kaleidoscope of colour exploded before his eyes. "Oh! Ohhh!! Nnnnnnggg!!

Semen barrelled through his penis, spurting repeatedly into Patrick's rectum as though it was never going to stop. It was the most wonderful experience he'd ever had. Suddenly it was over; everything was quiet again. Gary breathed in hard, so starved of oxygen he was barely conscious of what had just happened. Slowly his senses returned.

There he was, in Patrick's bedroom, his penis still buried in the boy's bottom. It hadn't been a dream; he'd actually done it.

He withdrew very gingerly, his softening penis sliding noiselessly from Patrick's anus. It was so sensitive that he couldn't bear to touch it. He sank back onto Patrick's bed, totally spent. It had been the defining moment of his life; fucking kids like Patrick was what he was born for; he just hoped that the boy would want him back.

Patrick stood up slowly. His anus was sore, worse even than when Jon and Brian had deflowered him in the maths store. He was very messy too; Gary had ejaculated far more than Brian did, the older boy's semen seeping out and trickling down his legs. He didn't care. He'd wanted to find out what it would be like to be fucked by a really big penis and now he knew; it was the most exciting, mind-blowing experience possible. He was already looking forward to the next time.

Part Five

Patrick and Gary met frequently for the remainder of the school holiday. They always had sex; that was the whole point. To an extent they enjoyed each other's company and their sexual exploits were never less than exhilarating, but they weren't really friends; they had too little in common. And they certainly weren't boyfriends; there simply wasn't the commitment to each other that Patrick and Brian had enjoyed. Their meetings served a purpose and that was as far as it went.

Back at school, Patrick was in the throes of settling in again. Now in Lower Fourth, Eagle Dorm, where he and his friends had been housed the previous year, had been swapped for Priestley, on the ground floor of the new accommodation block. He was pleased that there had been no changes of teacher; he was still under the care of all the masters with whom he'd prospered so well the year before. There was no Brian, of course. That was a big loss, but Brian had moved on, there was no use in dwelling on it; it was part of boarding school life.

He wondered if he'd find an older friend this year. Now that he was 'soiled goods', to use Brian's expression, would any of the stars of this year's Upper Fourth want him? The only comfort was that Lee and Deon were in the same position.

By contrast, Simon was still proudly going with Pascal Donnelly, known to everyone as Paz, the Irish boy who had started at the school the same day that Patrick had. Securing Paz as his older friend had proved to be quite a coup; the Irish lad had grown considerably in the last few months and now ranked in prestige alongside the likes of Toby Redman and Robert Shearsby.

Patrick was somewhat surprised to find that Leo's prediction about the way that Mr. Burman would behave towards him was borne out within the first week. The music master was even more attentive than he had been the year before, and at his very first piano lesson, the man invited him to attend a concert with him at the Royal Albert Hall. This would, of course, involve him spending the night at Mr. Burman's London flat, as the concert finished too late for them to get back to school at an acceptable hour.

Patrick sadly but firmly declined. He would have loved to attend the concert; he wouldn't even have minded staying in London overnight, but that was not the whole story and he knew it. Of course, Mr. Burman wouldn't have forced him to have sex, but the situation was more complicated than that. Leo's relationship with Mr. Burman had been an open secret. By accepting the invitation he would be inheriting Leo's mantle of 'Mr. Burman's boy'. Everybody would think he was having sex with the man whether he was or not.

Without an older friend on the horizon, even the prospect of having sex with his music teacher was not that unappealing. But he was not going to do it. Leo's parents couldn't have cared less. They sent him to boarding school to get him out of the way. They were so busy that they never even attended concerts to hear him perform. So he'd turned to Mr. Burman for support.

That wasn't the position that he was in. While his mum was alive, his dad had stayed pretty much in the background, but since her death he had done everything he could to make sure that Patrick was settled and happy. Patrick wasn't at boarding school because his dad wanted to get rid of him; he was there because there was no other choice His dad had shown remarkable understanding in accepting his sexuality; he had even welcomed Brian into their home.

Patrick knew how lucky he was. But having sex with one of the teachers was a different matter entirely; his dad would never be able to accept that. He would feel badly let down. He would remove Patrick from Hartswood and send him somewhere else. Patrick felt a strong sense of duty; his mum's death had been a massive loss for both him and his dad. After all the understanding his dad had shown, letting him down was simply unthinkable.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

The cross-country team had their first training session on the Thursday of the first week. Mr. Thompson was hoping to recruit a few more boys in the weeks ahead, but the core group that he'd established the year before was still together.

For their first run they set off quite steadily as they often did. However, when Mr. Thompson allowed them to open up and run as fast as they wanted, Patrick got an unwelcome surprise. Martin Greenhall simply ran away from him; he seemed to be running well enough but he wasn't able to keep up. It had never happened before and it worried him. The only consolation was that Jamie Barnett couldn't keep up with Martin either.

After the run and a set of eight sprints they headed back to the changing room. Patrick went across to Mr. Thompson.

"Sir," he said. "I seemed to be struggling a bit today. I couldn't keep up with Martin at all; I always have before. D'you think something's wrong?"

"Oh, you mustn't worry about that," Mr. Thompson said, smiling warmly. "Martin's been out training four times a week all through the summer holiday. He'd have done more than that if I'd let him. And he's a year older than you, remember. He's getting pretty strong now; I wouldn't be surprised to see him up with Craig before long."

"Thanks sir," Patrick said, suddenly feeling much better again.

"There's another thing too," Mr. Thompson said quietly. "Martin isn't like you; outside class running is the only thing he takes part in. He hasn't got all the other commitments that you have. It's much easier for him to fit the training in."

It all made perfect sense; Patrick guessed that he'd just have to be patient. He certainly wasn't going to give up; he'd be letting Mr. Thompson down and his dad would be very disappointed. And maybe in a year's time he'd be running as well as Martin was.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

They were into the second week of term. Patrick had not acquired an older friend, neither had Deon. Lee had though. Lee, definitely the most athletic of the group, had been selected for the school rugby team. He'd be playing hooker, quite the most dangerous position on the pitch, a smaller boy supported and surrounded by bigger ones in the middle of what amounted to a human battering ram.

To play in that position you needed to be strong but fairly compact, as brave as a lion, as tough as old boots and slightly mad. Lee qualified on all fronts. He'd become the younger friend of one of his team mates, Adam Hayward, who played alongside him in the front row of the pack.

It seemed an odd choice. Giles had been elegant and cultured; Adam was neither. He was one of the toughest boys in the school, not much over five feet tall but very powerfully built, and one of the few that could be as aggressive as Toby Redman. He wasn't ugly, but he certainly wouldn't have been classed as good looking, though Patrick had noted when seeing him in the showers that he did have an impressively large penis. But Lee liked him and that was all that mattered.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Patrick made his way towards the main door onto the playground. He was feeling more nervous than he had in a long time. Something very odd had occurred. The previous day Toby had asked to meet him after supper outside the art room. When he'd got there Toby had taken him into the trunk store for which he had mysteriously acquired a key, and asked him if he would be interested in becoming the younger friend of Justin Armstrong, known as Tigger, another rugby team member and one of Toby's closest associates, the story being that Justin was too shy to have approached Patrick himself.

Patrick didn't really know Justin, but he did know that he was the best student in Upper Fourth and one of the group that would be entered for the Public Schools' Scholarship examinations. Everyone seemed to speak well of him too. That was perfectly good enough; he'd accepted without giving it a second thought.

When he told them about it later that evening, his friends in Priestley dorm were much amused by what had happened, but they gave wholehearted approval to his decision to accept Justin's offer. The consensus was that Justin might not he the best looking boy in Upper Fourth, but his looks were perfectly okay and he was really nice; Patrick should consider himself very lucky to have landed him.

As he approached the door, Toby and Justin were waiting. They were chatting and joking, or at least that's what it looked like. As he got closer, Toby gave Justin a playful punch on the arm and sauntered off. Justin gave Patrick a nervous grin and turned, heading towards the sports pavilion. Patrick waited for a moment then followed at a discreet distance.

He found Justin in their appointed hiding place. The older boy's lack of experience was readily apparent; he looked as nervous as a kitten. Patrick smiled at him, drawing him into a hug, his arms his hands running down the boy's back and over his bottom. He wanted to kiss him, but Justin was several inches taller than he was. That, Patrick decided, would have to wait.

He released his older friend, grinned and pulled off his polo shirt before helping Justin to remove his. Justin grinned back. He wasn't classically good looking in the way that Brian had been, but with his short fair hair, slightly uneven teeth and a light dusting of freckles over his nose, in his own way he was very cute, and he had a wonderfully engaging smile. He had a nice body too, Patrick observed, lean and athletic.

He held the boy again, running his hand over the front of Justin's shorts and stroking his penis. Up to that point, Justin's nervousness had prevented him from becoming aroused, but Patrick's attentions soon remedied that. The older boy's penis certainly wasn't small, Patrick was pleased to note.

He stepped back a fraction, opening the clip at the top of Justin's shorts and pulled down the zip. They fell to the ground. Justin kicked off his shoes and stepped out of them. Now it was his turn. He was so nervous, his hand seemed to be composed entirely of thumbs, but after a few seconds he achieved his objective, Patrick's shorts falling around his ankles, the boy's small penis making an inviting bulge in his white briefs.

Patrick reached forward, pulling down Justin's underpants. At five inches Justin's penis was longer than Brian's, the shiny purple head completely exposed. It was thicker than Brian's too, though nowhere like as far around as Gary's. Above it, a few sandy coloured hairs were beginning to appear. Large, low-hanging balls completed the picture, hinting at the large amount of semen that the boy could produce.

"Beautiful cock!" Patrick breathed, his eyes widening.

He knelt down, taking it into his mouth. He sucked it steadily, going further down each time, working his tongue all over it. Justin leant back against the pavilion wall, trying to steady himself. He ruffled the younger lad's hair, emitting quiet moans of pleasure as Patrick transported him to a world he hadn't even dreamed of. Sensing the imminence of Justin's orgasm, Patrick pulled away. He looked up, grinning mischievously.

"Man!" Justin gasped. "That was something else!"

Patrick got to his feet. They stood facing each other. Very gently, Justin lowered Patrick's briefs. He caught his breath; up close, the boy was even more beautiful than he'd thought. Patrick ran his hands down the back of Justin's thighs. Their penises touched, sending shockwaves of pleasure through Justin's body.

"Do you want to bum me?" Patrick whispered.

"Is that okay?" Justin asked nervously.

"Yeah!" Patrick responded, smiling warmly. "I like having it up the bum! You don't mind that I've taken it before, do you?"

"No, but you're mine now, aren't you?" Justin said.

"Yeah!" Patrick confirmed. "Of course I am!"

He retrieved the KY from the pocket of his shorts, guessing that as it was Justin's first time he probably wouldn't have any. He handed it over and got down on all fours. This would be his third time in less than twenty four hours. Toby had bummed him the previous evening, after their little chat, but that was their secret and had to remain that way.

Then at half past five that morning Deon had crawled into his bed. Though still the smallest boy in the dorm, Deon was actually the oldest, having reached the age of twelve a few days previously. His penis was noticeably larger than it had been the previous year and he could now ejaculate, not in any great quantity, but ejaculate he certainly did.

Although Deon still enjoyed the bottom role, their morning activities always ended the same way. Patrick would lie on his tummy, the pillow under his hips, while Deon lay on top and fucked him.

Justin squeezed some KY onto his fingers and worked it carefully into Patrick's bottom. He'd known for some time that such things went on; Toby and Robert had been with younger friends for the past year, but he hadn't been interested back then. But since Easter he had grown prodigiously, and like so many boys of his age, sex had become a constant preoccupation.

Frequent masturbation had provided some relief, but knew that having a younger boy to provide for his sexual needs would be so much better. As an established member of the school rugby team he was entitled to have a younger friend, but there was a problem. Although easy going and confident around people he knew well, he was otherwise rather shy, and in this context the problem had been particularly acute.

He considered himself an ugly duckling, and found it hard to believe that any of the younger boys that he was attracted to would want an older friend like him.

The reality was somewhat different. Although he didn't have Robert's chiselled good looks or Toby's somewhat raffish 'bad boy' appearance, he was by no means ugly, his recently acquired height and strong, athletic physique more than compensating for any deficiencies in the facial department.

Moreover, once the ice had been broken, his warm, generous nature came shining through. And shine through it had, so here he was, about to fulfil his wildest fantasy with one of the most beautiful boys in the entire school.

He removed his fingers from Patrick's rectum, squeezed out a little more KY and smeared it over his penis. He crawled in close, guiding it onto Patrick's sphincter. He pushed hard. Patrick relaxed, allowing Justin to penetrate him. He gasped almost inaudibly, the sharp, stabbing pain reminding him that Justin's penis was considerably larger than either Toby's or Deon's.

Moments later the pain was forgotten, overtaken by the unbelievable tingling sensation of the older boy thrusting over his prostate, to be followed by that wonderful full feeling as Justin drove his penis fully home, his tummy pressed tight against Patrick's bottom.

After the briefest of pauses, Justin's instincts took over, first pulling well back then thrusting right in again. He was consumed by lust, fucking the boy like only a good athlete could, spurred on by Patrick's exquisite beauty, spurred on too by the boy's quiet moans and whimpers.

"Play with my cock!" Patrick pleaded.

Justin responded eagerly, running his fingers over Patrick's hard little prong. It was all it took. Patrick bucked wildly, moaning out loud as his boyhood came to life in Justin's hand. Justin's orgasm followed within seconds, the muscle spasms surging through him. His penis jerked violently, volleys of semen flooding into Patrick's bottom in the longest, most powerful ejaculation of his young life.

He bent forward, his heart pounding against Patrick's spine. He felt dizzy, physically drained but on the biggest emotional high he had ever known. Nothing could have prepared him for the intensity of being so intimately connected to another boy, or the truly mind-blowing sensation of pumping his semen into the lad's rectum. Patrick was so perfect; with him by his side he could move mountains. His breathing slowly returned to normal. He carefully withdrew. Patrick turned to face him.

"Are you okay?" Justin asked gently.

"Yeah!" Patrick responded, his blue eyes sparkling. "That was fantastic!"

He threw his arms around Justin's neck, pulling his older friend into a sensuous, passionate kiss.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Half term had come and gone. Since he'd met Justin, Patrick's life had seemed almost ideal. It was strange, he reflected; Brian and Justin were so different and yet he loved them both. While Brian had been sensitive and vulnerable, a vulnerability he liked to hide beneath an overly brash exterior, Justin was easy going, seeming to take life in his stride.

He smiled almost all the time; he laughed a great deal too, always seeing the humour in any situation. And, of course, he made Patrick laugh. A natural raconteur, his humorous accounts of things that happened around the school kept Patrick endlessly amused. Simply being with him was fun; having sex was the icing on the cake.

The problem with Mr. Burman had resolved itself too, though in a most surprising way; the music master had taken up with Peter Cranham, one of Patrick's contemporaries. This was odd for the reason that Peter wasn't a musician; he didn't play an instrument and couldn't sing a note.

How they had hooked up together Patrick couldn't imagine, but Peter was now busily engaged in starting a music appreciation society and seemed to have appointed himself as Mr. Burman's personal assistant. Patrick wasn't in the least sorry about it. Although Mr. Burman taught him as well as he ever had, he'd ceased fussing over him. Things had returned to the way they were when Leo was at the school.

Of course, Peter now got the invitations to the concerts that Patrick would have dearly loved to attend, but he considered this a small price to pay.

And to complete the picture, Deon had acquired an older friend, Teddy Larsen, who had joined the school a few weeks earlier in Upper Fourth. Blond, somewhat skinny and generally considered an odd-ball, Teddy was even more obsessed with science and computers than Deon. The two had become pretty well inseparable; when they weren't having sex they would spend hours discussing the most obscure topics. Patrick couldn't make head nor tail of any of it.

Patrick headed down to the sports pavilion for their Sunday morning training run. Despite his misgivings earlier in the term, his running was going surprisingly well. Before half term they had taken part in a trophy race involving schools from all over South East England.

With Craig winning the race, Martin fourth, Jamie fourteenth, himself seventeenth, and John Mitchell and Mark Anderson both making the top fifty, they had finished third out of nearly twenty schools, a more than respectable performance.

Then just the previous day they had run in the annual Ashdown Relays, a type of race that they'd never experienced before. With Patrick running first, followed by Martin, Jamie and Craig, they had secured second place, with Craig putting in a characteristic sprint finish to snatch the silver medals in the last fifty yards.

Considering their lack of experience, their second team had performed well too, narrowly missing out on the 'B' team prize. But for Patrick, the best part of all was that his dad had been there to support them. That had made the day very special indeed.

Throughout their training run the spirit was extremely high. On such a pleasant November morning, running confidently through the woods and the fields was a joy; it didn't seem like work at all. After running for twenty five minutes they returned to the pavilion and headed for the showers. Feeling refreshed, Patrick wandered back into the changing room and began to get dressed.

"I'm going to Mr. Thompson's flat afterwards," Martin said quietly. "They're showing yesterday's international cross-country races on the telly; we're going to watch them. You can come with me if you want."

"Thanks," Patrick responded.

He didn't give the matter much thought; on Sundays he always had plenty of time, and this seemed as good a way of filling an hour as any. Mr. Thompson occupied a flat in the gatehouse at the bottom of the drive. He'd been aware that Martin went round there sometimes but hadn't thought much about that either.

It was like Mr. Thompson had told him; Martin wasn't an outstanding student and running seemed to be his only interest, his one chance to shine. He was something of a loner too, so it really wasn't surprising that he spent time with the cross-country master. They strolled the short distance to the gatehouse, climbed the stairs and rang the bell.

"Hi lads," Mr. Thompson said, smiling warmly. "Come in; the races will be on in five minutes."

He fixed them both a drink of orange squash. The three of them settled themselves on the sofa, Martin in the middle with Patrick and Mr. Thompson on either side. The women's race was shown first. Patrick sat watching intently, with Mr. Thompson contributing a few words to explain who the leading runners were. The race reached its climax, victory going to a Kenyan athlete, with British runners in second and third.

As the remaining runners trailed home, Patrick became aware that Martin was feeling his right leg. He was about the push the hand away, concerned that Mr. Thompson might see what was happening, but before he could do so, Martin moved his hand directly onto his crotch. Instinctively, Patrick glanced to his right.

He was horrified. Martin's shorts and underpants were around his knees, he was fully erect and Mr. Thompson was stroking his thighs. Mr. Thompson, though still fully dressed, was sporting a large erection which made a very obvious bulge in the tennis shorts he was wearing.

He couldn't take it in. He'd known that Martin liked sex from seeing him with Ashton a few months earlier, but he'd no idea that this was why he visited Mr. Thompson's flat so frequently. It had never occurred to him that Mr. Thompson might have the same sort of interests that Mr. Burman did; it just didn't seem possible. And what were they going to do? He panicked.

"Stop it!" he snapped, his voice almost choking.

"Martin, pull your shorts up," Mr. Thompson said, his voice exuding an air of quiet authority.

Martin complied without uttering a word. Moments later they were watching the start of the men's race as though nothing had happened.

As soon as the race was over, Patrick made his excuses and left, leaving Martin behind. There had been no explanation, no apology, not a word. He was distraught. Why hadn't Martin warned him, he wondered? It was the sheer unexpectedness of it that had distressed him, but had he over-reacted? Mr. Thompson was the best teacher he had ever had; he of all people would surely not have turned into a sex-crazed monster, and after all nothing had actually happened, so why had he acted like a big baby?

It was all very upsetting. He couldn't tell his dorm mates; Lee just couldn't be trusted not to repeat it. That left Justin, and he wouldn't be seeing him until the late afternoon. Until then he would just have to bottle it up and get on with his day as best he could.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

As soon as Patrick arrived in the attic, Justin knew something was wrong. He sat with his arm around Patrick's shoulder as his young friend recounted the events that occurred at Mr. Thompson's flat. For once Justin wasn't smiling.

"And Martin never said anything to you about what was going to happen?" he asked gently.

"No, nothing," Patrick confirmed.

"He's an imbecile," Justin said. "And I don't imagine Mr. Thompson was too pleased. I'd no idea he and Martin were having sex; I don't think anyone did."

"You don't think I'm being a baby, do you?" Patrick asked.

"No, I don't," Justin replied firmly. "They're lucky you didn't freak out completely, go and tell Mr. Halford or something. I know Mr. Halford's not here on a Sunday but you know what I mean." He paused for a second. "You don't want to get Mr. Thompson in trouble, do you?"

"No," Patrick said, shaking his head. "Mr. Thompson's great. And he stopped it as soon as I said."

Justin took a deep breath. "I'm going to have to tell Toby," he said. "He'll know what to do. Is that okay?"

Patrick nodded. "So what's going to happen?"

"Not sure exactly," Justin said. "But the main thing is you're not in any trouble, and as long as we can keep it quiet, Mr Thompson won't be either. Rob will have to sort Martin out; he's in charge. The main thing is to make sure he doesn't do anything like that again. Is that all right?"

"Thanks," Patrick said, giving Justin a weak smile.

Justin gave his younger friend a delicate, soothing kiss. Patrick relaxed immediately; thanks to Justin he felt so much better. It was going to be okay.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

The four boys assembled in the practice room for their first rehearsal. It had been a little over two weeks since Paul had given Patrick the album featuring the solo he wished to sing at the Christmas concert, Carole King's 'You Got a Friend'. A good, though not outstanding student, Paul Barnes was the school's best chorister.

He had a beautiful, as yet unbroken singing voice, clear and strong. He had asked Mr. Burman if he could perform the song at the forthcoming concert. Mr. Burman had given his permission, but left Paul to organise his own rehearsals, promising to include the song in the concert programme if, and only if, the performance was good enough.

Patrick fell in love with the song the very first time he heard it, the haunting, soulful melody, the wonderfully evocative lyrics and beautiful piano accompaniment. He could have asked for Mr. Burman's assistance in transcribing the piano part, but it was a measure of the progress he'd made that he didn't need to.

Harmonically, it was more straightforward than 'Round Midnight' so beginning with the basic chord structure then adding the various embellishments, he had gradually pieced it together, sketching it down on manuscript paper. The task completed, he'd practised it until he could play it perfectly.

And now they were ready. Paul would sing the verses solo, joined for the chorus by fellow choristers Mark Anderson and Dominic Lees. Patrick played through the introduction and Paul began to sing. He was singing the words and the tune, Patrick noted, but the timing was all wrong, making his performance sound wooden and lifeless.

They came to the chorus. Mark and Dominic were nervous and hesitant; they weren't used to singing without a conductor and their part written out in front of them.

Patrick quickly realised that although it was Paul's solo, he was the one who would have to take charge. He was the musician, and after all the work he'd put in, he knew the song better than any of them. He'd seen Mr. Burman in operation too, so he knew what to do. Over the next half an hour, they took the song to pieces, working on it line by line. At first, Paul was reluctant to do as Patrick asked.

"If I sing it like that," he protested, ""I'll have to breathe in the middle of the phrase."

Patrick was not to be swayed. "This isn't classical music," he countered. "Breathe where you need to."

Paul shrugged and complied. Finally they set to work to the chorus. On the verses, where Paul was singing solo, there was some room for flexibility in the timing. Here there was none; all three boys had to sing it exactly the same way. It took several attempts before they mastered it. Finally, Patrick was happy; all they had to do now was remember it.

"Okay," he said, "let's take it from the top."

As they began, Justin slipped into the practice room, something he often did, sitting inconspicuously in the corner furthest from the piano. This was not merely a gesture of support for Patrick; it was useful for him too. For all that he seemed to take things in his stride, he was under considerable pressure. He had set his heart on going to Sherborne School, not too far from where they lived, but the fees were very high.

His father's position as a senior Anglican cleric meant that they lived very comfortably but were certainly not rich. Unless he won a scholarship it was doubtful if his parents would be able to send him there. He was working extremely hard to make sure that he didn't miss out.

It didn't much matter what Patrick was playing; sitting here like this, quite often with his eyes closed, just losing himself in the music, had proved to be the perfect way for him to relax. But this evening was something special; he was spellbound. The boys came to the final chorus.

Just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I'll come running
To see you again

Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I'll be there, yes I will
You got a friend.

As they finished, Justin wiped away a tear, reckoning that it was probably the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. But it wasn't just the singing; it was the words. That was exactly how he felt about Patrick.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

They practised the song several more times, but finally the day of judgement was upon them. The concert was two weeks away and the programme had to be finalised. Mr. Burman bustled into the practice room and sat down.

"Right, gentlemen," he said in his usual authoritative manner. "Let's hear what you have for me."

The boys settled themselves. Patrick played confidently through the introduction and they were away. Mr. Burman was most impressed. Usually when the boys were left to their own devices, their performance fell well short of what he was looking for, but this was exceptional; they had passed the test with flying colours. As the performance ended he stood up and walked over to them

"Well done!" he said, smiling warmly. "That was excellent. I'll be very happy to include that in the concert; I'd like you to close the first half."

"It's Patrick you should be congratulating," Paul said modestly. "He knocked us into shape; we couldn't have done it without him. I didn't even realise I wasn't singing it right."

"He drilled us with a pitchfork, sir," Mark added. "He was even tougher than you are!"

"Hmmm," Mr. Burman said, nodding sagely, a note of mock seriousness in his voice. "So that's who's been teaching you to breathe in the middle of phrases."

"Patrick said this wasn't classical music," Paul explained.

"And he was quite right, wasn't he?" the man responded, his eyes twinkling.

Inwardly, Mr. Burman was glowing. He might have declined to become 'his boy' in the way that Leo had been, but Patrick was still very much his protégé. He had invested a great deal of time and effort in the boy's musical education and the lad was doing him proud.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

The Christmas concert was a triumph and Paul Barnes was its star performer. By tradition, while the summer concert was a showcase for the school's instrumental music, the Christmas concert was largely vocal, concluding with a selection of Christmas carols.

So Patrick played one piano solo, an Arabesque by Debussy; the rest of his evening was taken up with his duties as accompanist. But it was his role in 'You got a Friend' that gave him the greatest satisfaction. Not only had he worked out his piano part completely unaided, he'd honed the boys' performance from very rough beginnings up to the level that Mr. Burman demanded.

Over the next term Patrick's career at Hartswood continued on its course. Academically, he remained one of the stars, vying with Deon for top spot in almost every subject, he would certainly be put forward for a scholarship when the time came.

He passed Grade 7 piano with distinction and would attempt grade 8 in the autumn. And he continued to run well, not a star performer, but a very useful member of the team, his collection of team medals having grown to four, including bronze at the annual prep schools championships where he had produced his best ever performance.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

It was the Easter holiday. Justin had spent three wonderful days at Patrick's house, including the younger boy's twelfth birthday, but Justin had returned home and his dad was back at work, leaving Patrick at something of a loose end. He was puzzled; he'd expected Gary to call, but he hadn't. He picked up the phone and dialled. The call was picked up promptly; he was pleased to hear Gary's voice at the other end.

"Hi Gary!" he said brightly. "It's Patrick. How are you doing?"

"Yeah, pretty good!"

"Fancy coming round?" Patrick enquired.

"Sorry, Patrick," Gary said, clearly squirming. Er, look, the thing is I've met this boy, goes to my school. He's just thirteen, name's Stephen, really sexy. He has the house to himself all day. Er, well..."

"I think you like him a lot," Patrick said, helping him out.

"Yeah," Gary agreed. "Yeah, I do."

"Well, look after him," Patrick said, smiling. "You could both come round one day if you want. Just give us a call if you fancy it."

"I'd love to," Gary said, sounding very uneasy again, "but Stephen's very shy, you know. I'll have to see."

After a few closing pleasantries the conversation was over. Patrick flopped down on the sofa. They wouldn't come; he could tell. It was disappointing, but he wasn't going to get worked up about it; Gary was only doing what he'd have done. So that was it, there'd be no more sex till he got back to school.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

The holidays over, Patrick threw himself back into his life at Hartswood. He was busier than ever. Even though the cross-country team didn't race in the summer they continued to train; he had end of year examinations to negotiate and the summer concert to prepare for. But the best part of all was that he had Justin. They had grown very close over their time together. Justin always made him feel special in a way that not even Brian had managed.

He followed his older friend up to the attic. They were going to have sex, but that was no longer an end in itself; it was a way of expressing their feelings for each other, taking the experience to a far higher level.

Today would be even more special than usual. Justin had received the letter he'd been waiting for. All his hard work had been rewarded; he'd won a scholarship to Sherborne. So this was an occasion for joy and congratulations. It was though tinged with sadness, the arrival of the letter reminding them both that in just a few short weeks Justin would move on exactly as Brian had done.

He flopped down next to Justin, who was already seated on the attic floor, and smiled up at him. They kissed passionately. Before meeting Patrick, Justin had never considered kissing a boy, but Patrick was so affectionate and the sensations so exquisite that it had become an essential part of their sexual foreplay.

Though Justin was totally uncertain of his longer-term sexual preferences, as far as Patrick was concerned, he was hopelessly and completely in love; in his eyes no younger friend could have been more perfect.

Slowly and sensuously they undressed each other until, apart from their socks, they were both completely and gloriously naked, Justin's penis, now at least half an inch longer and somewhat thicker than it had been at their first meeting, the pubic hair now filled out into a small but respectable crop. More kissing followed, the two of them stretched out on the attic floor. Their lips parted.

Patrick grinned mischievously before twisting himself right round, sucking eagerly on his older friend's boyhood. Justin pulled him in close, completing the inevitable sixty-nine. As he sucked, he squeezed KY onto his fingers. Slipping his hand between Patrick's legs, he inserted first one, then two fingers into his young friend's bottom. They were both close to orgasm; it was time.

They moved apart, Justin resuming his previous position, sitting in a slightly slumped position, knees a little apart, his shoulders resting on the attic wall. Patrick crouched over him, his back to the older boy, slowly lowering himself onto Justin's penis, pushing further and further down until he was fully impaled. He melted into his friend's arms, pulling his knees up so that his feet rested flat on the floor.

Justin sighed contentedly. They had discovered it almost by accident a few weeks earlier, but this had become his favourite position, burying his nose in Patrick's hair, licking the boy's ears, tweaking his nipples, fondling his genitals while all the time thrusting his penis into the lad's bottom.

It was Patrick's favourite too; he loved the closeness of it, Justin's arms gently holding him, the boy's masculine aroma filling his nostrils.

As usual, Patrick's orgasm was first to strike. He shuddered from head to toe, but there was something different, the tingling in his penis far more intense than it had ever been. Totally without warning, three watery jets spurted forth, arcing through the air before landing as pearlescent drops on his tummy.

"Oh, man!" Justin gasped. "Oh yeah! You've done it!"

He was totally enraptured, increasing the pace of his thrusts without even thinking about it. His own orgasm followed within seconds, copious amounts of thick, creamy fluid filling Patrick's bottom. For fully two minutes they remained where they were, both completely at peace and deliriously happy. It had been perfect. Finally Patrick eased himself off Justin's softening penis. He turned to face him.

"I love you!" he whispered, before engaging his friend in another wonderful, passionate kiss.

Part Six

The summer holidays arrived all too soon. Justin and Patrick said their goodbyes in the only way they knew how, repeating their previous exploits up in the attic. And that was that. Patrick was collected by Grandad Munro and taken to High Wycombe, where he spent his time pottering around trying to keep himself busy. Then he was off to Italy with his dad for another two weeks of sheer joy, the bond between father and son growing stronger by the day.

Alone in his bed, Tom Naylor couldn't stop himself speculating what it might be like to have Patrick snuggled up next to him. The lad was as beautiful a specimen of boyhood as you could ever see, his mother's beauty shining from every pore. It was hardly surprising that older boys were attracted to him; men too, he'd noticed some of the looks Patrick got when they were on the beach, especially when the boy was dressed only in his skimpy red Speedo.

He longed to have his son there with him, to hug and caress him, to tell him how much he loved him. He concluded sadly that it wouldn't be a good idea. He couldn't be sure how Patrick would react; things might get out of hand and that would ruin everything.

Finally they were back at home, and despite his best efforts, Patrick once again found himself with time on his hands. He considered revisiting the toilets by the shopping centre but rejected the idea; that sort of casual sex just wasn't what he wanted. Until he returned to school, solitary masturbation would have to suffice.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Finally, Patrick was back at Hartswood, and feeling Justin's loss even more keenly than he had Brian's. This time there was no prospect of a solution; he was in Upper Fourth, the oldest boys in the school. There were no older friends to be had, and sex with a younger boy simply didn't interest him.

Of his friends in Priestley dorm, Lee, who had grown considerably over the past few months, had made the transition from 'younger friend' to 'older friend' without so much as batting an eyelid, having hooked himself up with a very cute third year boy, while Simon seemed to be in very much the same position that Patrick was.

That left Deon. Deon would have loved to find a younger friend, but being small and with only average looks his chances of finding one were poor. But sex with Patrick and Simon was an acceptable substitute, so that's how it was, with Deon dividing his time between the two of them.

It fell a long way short of what Patrick wanted. In class Deon was his closest rival and a boy that in some ways he greatly admired, but over the past year they'd grown apart. Deon's passion for science had turned into a full-blown obsession; it seemed he could no longer talk about anything else.

Worse still, his performance had become mechanical. He wouldn't kiss or give any other show of affection, which Patrick found intensely irritating. It was as though the Deon he'd met when he first arrived at the school no longer existed.

So three times a week he would lie there to be routinely fucked, which was pleasurable enough, but a million miles from the intensity of the love-making that he and Justin had enjoyed. It was all very unsatisfactory, but there was nothing he could do.

Patrick's participation in the cross-country team also proved a disappointment. On his return to school he had assumed the he and Jamie would continue to vie for the top position. It was not to be. Jamie, though nearly a year younger, was precociously developed, his voice already starting to break and a few dark hairs making an appearance above his penis.

Patrick couldn't get anywhere near him. Worse still, he had also been overtaken by John Mitchell, whom he had previously beaten quite comfortably in every single race. It was a bitter pill to swallow. After training he went to see Mr. Thompson.

"Sir," he said, "I don't think I'm running very well. I expected to have trouble keeping up with Jamie; he's always been good, but now I've got John in front of me as well, and I've always beaten him quite easily before. What's going wrong sir?"

"Absolutely nothing as far as I can see," Mr. Thompson said gently. "You're running as well as I expected you to. Jamie you know about; John is just Martin all over again. He's pretty average in class as I'm sure you know, and didn't show much promise as a runner to begin with, but fair play to the lad, he stuck at it.

"Suddenly he started to get stronger; you can see how much bigger he's got. So the training began to work, he got the bit between his teeth and now there's no stopping him. I'm actually having to limit the amount of running he does so he doesn't get injured.

"You can't train like they do; you've got too much else on. What is it, grade 8 piano in November, a big commitment at the Christmas concert after that and Public Schools' Scholarship exams next term, right?"

"Sir," Patrick acknowledged.

"You can't be a star at everything!" Mr. Thompson continued, smiling warmly. "But you're still a very valuable member of the team. And what makes you especially valuable is your temperament, the bigger the occasion the better you run, you proved that last season. Every team needs runners that can do that." He paused for a couple of seconds, allowing time for his words to sink in.

"You're not thinking of giving up, are you?" he asked finally.

"No sir," Patrick said, feeling rather embarrassed at having made such a fuss.

"Great!" Mr. Thompson said, still smiling. "Just keep training like you are doing, and get stuck into the races like you always have. I'll be more than happy with that."

"Thanks sir," Patrick said.

He strolled back to Priestley dorm feeling suitably chastened. He was being stupid, wanting to be the star at everything he did; nobody could do that. He should have been pleased that Jamie and John were running so well; with himself and a few of the other boys to back them up, the team would have another good season.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

It was late September, Patrick made his way along to his weekly piano lesson. His grade 8 examination was just a few weeks away. Mr. Burman was in an especially good mood and the lesson went to perfection; everything was on course. Finally the lesson concluded.

"Patrick," Mr. Burman said quietly. "I have something to ask you. In just over two weeks time Keith Jarrett is giving a concert at the Queen Elizabeth Hall. I have managed to acquire three tickets. Knowing how much you admire his playing, I wondered if you might like to go.

"Let me say that the man is a classically trained virtuoso and I'm greatly looking forward to seeing him myself. And let me reassure you, Peter will be there as well, so as far as you're concerned absolutely nothing will happen."

Patrick hesitated for the briefest of moments. The opportunity to see his hero playing live was simply too good to miss, and in any case, he no longer cared that much what his friends thought, or even what they said.

"Thanks, sir!" he replied, smiling. "I'd love to go."

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Mr. Burman arrived at his London flat in the company of two smiling, happy boys. Once inside, he showed the lads to the guest room, then when they'd settled in, he and Peter disappeared into the master bedroom, leaving Patrick in the lounge room watching the television. After some minutes Patrick headed to the bathroom.

He passed Mr. Burman's room. By the sounds they were making it appeared that Peter and Mr. Burman were having a very good time indeed. There was a passion and intensity there that reminded him of the times that he and Justin had spent together. He became fully erect just thinking about it.

The concert was nothing short of stupendous. Jarrett's incredible technique, his wonderful sense of rhythm and the lyricism of his improvisations were all simply breathtaking. Patrick left the hall feeling as though he was walking on air. They returned by taxi to Mr. Burman's flat.

Patrick went to the guest room and immediately began to prepare for bed. He was surprised to find Peter joining him, but it was of little concern. Maybe Peter and Mr. Burman didn't actually sleep together, he reasoned. Ablutions performed, he got into bed. A couple of minutes later he was even more surprised to find Peter sliding in next to him.

"I thought you'd be sleeping with Mr. Burman," he said.

"Oh, I will be later," Peter replied casually. "I just thought you might like a bit of company. You don't mind, do you?"

"No, of course not," Patrick said, grinning. "If I was back at school I'd probably be in bed with Deon."

"And I'd probably be in bed with Alex," Peter said brightly. "Bloody good concert, wasn't it?"

"Fantastic," Patrick readily agreed. "I knew he was good from listening to the records, but he's so much better live."

They snuggled up close, carefully removing each other's underpants. Moments later they were kissing passionately. Patrick reached down. Peter had turned thirteen a couple of weeks earlier, his medium-thick four and a half inch penis adorned by a little crop of dark pubic hair. Patrick fondled it eagerly. He wanted it; he wanted it all. Peter returned the favour; the touch of his fingers making Patrick tingle all over.

"Nice!" Peter whispered. "Can you cum?"

"Yeah," Patrick confirmed. "You do this much better than Deon does."

"Really?" Peter asked. "So what does he do then?"

"We just mess about for a bit then he bums me," Patrick said. "He won't kiss or anything."

"That's not much good," Peter said dismissively. "I can't say I'm surprised; he's weird. Nice dick though. I'm lucky; Alex is okay, but it is strange in a way. You know Alex is going with Ian, the kid in Lower Fourth that Toby used to go with, well Alex is bumming him now. And I'm with Mr. Burman, and he's bumming me. So what d'you think we get up to when we're in bed together?"

"Dunno," Patrick said, smiling. "You'll have to tell me."

"He always wants me to bum him," Peter declared, "the exact opposite of what you'd probably think. I love it; it means I get the best of both worlds."

"Cool!" Patrick breathed, somewhat taken aback by Peter's openness.

They kissed again then Peter snaked around, taking them into a wonderfully stimulating sixty nine. Patrick was in ecstasy, moaning almost inaudibly as he sucked on Peter's boyhood; reflecting that he hadn't had sex as good as this since Justin's departure. They moved apart.

"Get on all fours," Peter whispered.

Patrick readily complied. Peter moved around behind, bending low, swiping his tongue over Patrick's anus. Patrick gasped with delight, overwhelmed by this new and pleasurable sensation. Peter swiped again then darted his tongue right onto Patrick's rosebud. Patrick gurgled, his pleasure sensors on overload. Peter continued eagerly, his tongue swiping and probing.

Finally he pushed as hard as he could, his lips locked to Patrick's bottom, his thrusting tongue forcing its way right inside. Patrick was almost delirious, the pleasure beyond his wildest imaginings.

After a few seconds, Peter carefully withdrew, his tongue quickly replaced by a well-lubed finger pushed into Patrick's warm, tight tunnel. He worked it in and out then inserted a second finger, gently twisting the two fingers around to loosen the ring of muscle. There was no more to be done. He allowed his fingers to be slowly expelled.

"Come on man! Bum me!" Patrick moaned. "Do it man!"

"Lie on your tummy," Peter whispered. "Put the pillow under your hips."

While Patrick got into position, Peter smeared lubricant over his penis. He looked down at the inviting sight that confronted him.

"You've got a beautiful bum!" he commented.

He gently lowered himself, guiding his boyhood onto Patrick's waiting entrance. With one hard thrust he penetrated him. Patrick emitted a sigh of satisfaction; being lovingly and eagerly fucked was for him the best feeling possible.

Peter settled himself onto Patrick's back, his nose buried in the boy's thick blond hair.

"Is that good?" he breathed.

"Yeah!" Patrick readily confirmed.

"So what d'you want now?"

"Bum me!"

Peter set to work, fucking the boy with long, powerful thrusts. He held Patrick's upper arms, nuzzled his neck, licked his ears, all the things that Deon never did. Patrick was almost delirious with pleasure, moaning incoherently; he'd almost forgotten how good this could be, the passion and intensity of Peter's lovemaking everything he could have wanted.

He tried to remain relaxed, but Peter's thrusts were making him rub against the pillow. The result was inevitable. He shuddered uncontrollably; little jets of fluid squirted onto the pillow leaving his tummy wet and sticky.

"You've cum!" Peter declared in obvious excitement. "You've spunked on the pillow! Oh yes! Yes! Yes! Ohhhhhhh!!!"

His penis swelled and pulsed, several wads of warm, gooey semen spurting into Patrick's bottom. He lay perfectly still for around half a minute then carefully withdrew. He gave Patrick an affectionate peck on the cheek.

"Bye," he whispered. "Sleep well; I'll see you in the morning."

A moment later he was gone.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Peter headed for the master bedroom glowing with satisfaction. His first time with Patrick had gone far better than he'd dared to hope. They'd never been friends; Patrick had always seemed wary of him, but tonight had been nothing short of sensational. Patrick was so affectionate, so tactile, responding so positively to every stimulus that he'd been given, his reaction to having a tongue up his bottom quite electrifying.

Sex with Alex was always good, but it didn't come close to this latest experience. Before long, he and Patrick would do that again. He slipped into bed alongside his mentor.

"So how was that?" Mr. Burman enquired. "Did you have a nice time?"

"Very nice, thank you," Peter responded. "Patrick's so affectionate and..."

"And you like affection, don't you Peter?" Mr. Burman interrupted, wrapping his arm around the boy's shoulder, his tongue prodding at Peter's ear."

"Oh yes, sir!" Peter agreed eagerly.

"Sorry," Mr. Burman said, "I interrupted you. You said Patrick is so affectionate and..."

"And he's got a beautiful bum, sir!" Peter breathed. "Well actually, he's pretty beautiful all over."

"He is, isn't he?" Mr. Burman cooed. "And did you put your penis into his beautiful little bottom?"

"Yes sir!"

"And?" Mr. Burman enquired.

"He loved it!" Peter responded with obvious enthusiasm. "He couldn't get enough of it; he spunked while I was bumming him!"

"You're a very lucky boy, aren't you Peter?" Mr. Burman teased.

"Yes sir," Peter readily agreed.

"So what d'you want now?" the man enquired.

"I want your cock up my bum, sir!" Peter informed him.

"And that you shall have," Mr. Burman whispered.

Peter lay on his left side while Mr. Burman, lying spooned up behind him, expertly conducted the necessary preparations. Finally the man's fingers slowly withdrew. Peter cocked up his right leg. A moment later the head of the man's thick seven-inch penis was pressed against his sphincter. With one thrust Mr. Burman penetrated him. Peter gasped; despite nearly a year as Mr. Burman's boy, taking so large a penis was still a momentary shock.

He relaxed almost immediately, Mr. Burman pushing deeper and deeper until the lad was completely impaled. This would be extra special, he reflected; with Peter having ejaculated only a few minutes earlier there was no possibility of over-stimulating the boy; he could fuck him as hard and as long as he liked, and so he did, remorselessly thrusting his penis deep into Peter's rectum.

On it went, Peter moaning deliriously, lost in a heady mixture of pain and pleasure, five minutes turning into ten and ten into twelve.

It was time to end it. Mr. Burman increased his thrusting, fucking the boy harder and faster. In less than a minute his shuddering climax overtook him, volley after volley of thick, creamy semen flooding into Peter's bottom, the perfect end to a quite extraordinary day. He nuzzled Peter's neck.

"Goodnight, dear boy," he whispered.

Within seconds, both he and Peter were sound asleep, the man's penis still embedded in the boy's bottom.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

The following morning Patrick slept in later than usual. By the time he emerged from the guest room Peter and Mr. Burman were already fully dressed, Peter sitting on the sofa reading the paper while Mr. Burman bustled about.

"Come on, sleepy head!" Mr Burman admonished. "I need to get you boys back to school."

They sat down to breakfast.

"What will you tell your friends when you get back?" Mr. Burman enquired. "They will ask, you know."

"I'll tell them that absolutely nothing happened between you and me." Patrick said confidently. "I will also tell them that Peter and I slept in the guest room, me in one bed, Peter in the other and that I wouldn't know if anything happened after I went to sleep, and I wouldn't tell them if I did."

"Excellent," Mr. Burman said approvingly. "He should join your father in the diplomatic service, shouldn't he Peter?"

Peter giggled.

"The diplomatic service is a ready-made home for accomplished liars," Mr. Burman added, by way of explanation.

When they got back to school, Patrick went straight to his dorm. He was not surprised to find Lee and Simon waiting for him.

"Tell us what happened then," Lee said eagerly.

"What d'you mean, what happened?" Patrick asked.

"You know, Burman," Lee said. "Did he try to have sex with you?"

"Definitely not," Patrick said calmly.

"But he must have been having sex with Peter," Lee insisted. "Come on, tell us man!"

Patrick took a deep breath. "I'll tell you what happened," he said calmly. "Peter and I were sleeping in the guest room. There are twin beds in there; Peter was in one, I was in the other. It was late when we got back from the concert. We were both tired; we went straight to bed. I went out like a light. If anything happened while I was asleep I wouldn't know about it, and to be honest, I wouldn't tell you if I did."

"So Peter was still in the other bed when you woke up in the morning?" Lee queried.

"No," Patrick responded calmly. "I didn't wake up till quarter to eight. Peter was already up and dressed by that time."

Over the next fifteen minutes Lee and Simon prodded and poked, but Patrick was not to me moved, stonewalling perfectly. Eventually they gave up. It was a small victory, Patrick noted, but in time it could prove an important one.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

In the weeks that followed, Peter and Patrick got to know each other a great deal better. They both spent a considerable amount of time in the music area, but previously they had scarcely acknowledged each other. Now the ice had been broken, they began to talk, and soon became friends.

Peter, without even a hint of embarrassment, told Patrick exactly how and why he had become Mr. Burman's boy. The 'how', involving the scheming Toby Redman, was a quite remarkable story, but Patrick knew it was true; Toby did have a key to the trunk store, just as Peter had said.

The 'why' was simply sad; Peter was an accident, an unwanted child. Patrick had never been unwanted; he couldn't even imagine what it must feel like. In that respect Peter was in much the same position that Leo had been; his parents didn't care either.

Patrick was very grateful that he hadn't had to go through that. His dad was his most dedicated supporter; whenever he was performing in something important, concert or cross-country race, his dad made every effort to be there. He was also grateful for Peter's honesty; it all made sense now.

And even though Peter wasn't a musician, he was a keen supporter and took an active interest Patrick's progress in much the same way that Justin had done, Their friendship was sealed when Peter acquired a key to the music store room, which allowed them the privacy to engage in some of the intimate activities they had enjoyed at Mr. Burman's flat.

Shortly after half term Patrick attended two more concerts with Peter and Mr. Burman, the pattern of events that had taken place on the occasion of the Keith Jarrett concert being repeated each time. After the first of these, he was questioned again when he returned to school, though less vigorously than after his initial outing. He stonewalled again. Lee and Simon gave up after barely five minutes. After the second one they didn't even bother. The stage, Patrick decided, was now set.

Since his first visit to the London flat, his feelings towards Mr. Burman had changed quite considerably. While he wouldn't have dreamed of usurping Peter's position, he had developed a fascination with the idea of having sex with the man, even if only occasionally. He even had a recurring fantasy of having sex with both Peter and Mr. Burman.

He felt certain that Mr. Burman still wanted to have sex with him, and for him to do so would be a small show of appreciation for the help the man had given him. So as long as Peter was in agreement, the next London concert would provide the perfect opportunity.

The benefit of the present situation was that he wouldn't be letting his dad down, because his dad would never, ever know. None of the people actually present would ever breathe a word of it; it simply wasn't in there interests to do so, and his stonewalling tactics following the earlier concerts had shunted the school's potential rumour-mongers neatly into a siding; they no longer even questioned him.

He found Peter down in the music area, preparing material for the next music appreciation society meeting. Very nervously he sketched out his idea. Peter agreed without hesitation; having sex with Patrick and Mr. Burman at the same time was simply too good an opportunity to miss.

And it would be their secret, the three of them, and they'd all make sure it stayed that way. They weren't going to warn Mr. Burman in advance though; that, they determined, would spoil the fun. This was to be Mr. Burman's Christmas Surprise.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

It was early December when the trio set off to London for the final concert of the term, a performance of Handel's Messiah at the Royal Albert Hall. Initially, there was no hint that anything would be any different from their previous visits, and Mr. Burman was not going to do anything to change things. He was already very happy. The blossoming friendship between his two charges was quite unexpected, and had brought considerable benefits to both of them.

Early in the term, Patrick had seemed lost, clearly missing the love and affection that the delightful Justin Armstrong had given him. Justin, he reflected, though no musician, was one of the nicest, most generous spirited boys you could ever meet, a boy you simply couldn't help but like; he didn't have an unpleasant bone in his entire body.

Rugby player, cricketer and an outstanding student, he was a credit to the school, his parents and himself; he'd been perfect for Patrick. But now Patrick had Peter, and all was well again. Peter, meanwhile, had a new spring in his step, a greater purpose in life, applying himself to his studies even more conscientiously. It could hardly have worked out better, musician and music lover in perfect unison.

They arrived at the flat. Everything proceeded as usual. They attended the concert, going on to a nearby restaurant for dinner. The two boys gave no hint that anything out of the ordinary was going to happen. They returned to the flat.

Mr. Burman bustled into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Returning to the lounge room, he was surprised to find the two boys ensconced on the sofa, kissing passionately. It was a delightful sight; he couldn't take his eyes off them. Of course, he told himself, that was undoubtedly as much as he'd get to see; even so, it was an image that would remain with him for a very long time.

The boys' lips parted. Peter turned and smiled at him then both boys got up, walking arm in arm towards the door.

"Come on, sir!" Peter said, gesturing for the man to follow them.

Mr. Burman obeyed, following behind as though on an invisible piece of string. But they didn't go into the guest room; they went into the master bedroom, his room! He followed them in. He found them undressing each other. He was incredulous.

These two delightful boys were here in his room, carrying on without a hint of embarrassment as though he wasn't even there! This was quite extraordinary! Watching two beautiful young boys having sex had been one of his abiding fantasises, but it had been many years since it had last been realised.

But it was being realised now, right here in his bedroom, the two lads now dressed only in their white underpants. A moment later those were gone too. It was a dream come true, two gorgeous boys, in all their naked glory, right here in his bedroom. They got onto the bed, lying back and smiling at him. They looked so happy.

"D'you like it, sir?" Peter asked.

"I like it very much, thank you," he responded.

"Of course, nothing has actually happened," Patrick said, grinning mischievously, "Just like nothing ever does happen when I come here. The boys at school have got so bored with hearing me say it they don't even ask me any more."

Mr. Burman was astounded. He'd known from quite early on that Patrick was very bright; to find that the boy could also be extremely devious when the situation warranted it was a total surprise. These two delightful little monkeys must have been planning this for weeks, he surmised.

He could hardly wait to find out what else they had in store for him. And, of course, the boy was quite right. Word of whatever went on would never go outside the door; not even his colleagues Jim Cooper and Mike Thompson would get to hear of it.

On the bed the two boys were kissing passionately, their hands roaming everywhere. It was, Mr. Burman considered, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He began to undress, clothes seeming so completely inappropriate when confronted with such a scene. He stripped to his jockey shorts.

In front of him, the passionate kissing had been transformed into an equally enthusiastic sixty-nine. He was well aware of Peter's oral talents, but it seemed that Patrick's were equally well-developed. He hadn't seen anything like this since he'd been at school himself.

He was slightly puzzled though; if Peter intended to fuck his friend, why wasn't he beginning the preparation now? But obvious as it seemed to him, Peter made no move. After a further couple of minutes the boys separated. Patrick got onto all fours, knees well forward, head and shoulders down on the mattress.

Mr. Burman pulled off his shorts, watching eagerly as Peter moved around, kneeling behind Patrick, the tube KY in hand, but to his surprise Peter simply sat back on his heels, dumping the tube on the bed. He simply couldn't understand what the boy was doing.

Peter flexed his jaw muscles, licked his lips and leaned forwards. Mr. Burman's jaw dropped. Surely, he thought, he wasn't going to...? But he was, his tongue lapping eagerly at Patrick's anus. Mr. Burman thought he might faint. He'd heard of it, he might even have read about it, but he'd never seen it; he'd certainly never done it, never even contemplated doing it.

But Peter Cranham, the thirteen year old son of a senior British diplomat, was doing it to one of his school fellows right here in his bedroom! It was quite incredible, and if that wasn't enough, Patrick's reaction was even more astonishing; the boy was moaning and gurgling, practically begging for more.

Patrick emitted a louder moan. Mr. Burman blinked, convinced that his eyes must have deceived him, but a second inspection confirmed what he'd already seen, Peter had pushed his tongue right into Patrick's bottom. Mr. Burman had never been totally sure that such as thing was even possible, but it clearly was; the evidence was there in front of him. A few seconds later Peter withdrew his tongue and swung his body back to the upright position. Giving Mr. Burman a cheeky grin, he calmly squeezed lubricant onto his fingers.

His preparations completed, he got up on his knees, shuffling in close, his penis aimed directly at Patrick's sphincter. Had they been on their own, this wasn't a position they would have chosen, but for these purposes it was ideal. For one thing it would allow Mr. Burman an excellent view, but even more important, as long as neither of them touched the boy's penis, it was unlikely that Patrick would ejaculate. He penetrated the boy immediately, his penis spearing into Patrick's bottom. A few moments later he was eagerly fucking him.

Mr. Burman was mesmerised. Never in his wildest dreams could he have envisaged that these boys would provide him with such a show. It had been more than twenty years since he'd seen two boys having anal sex, and that had been a seventeen year old with an admittedly rather cute fourteen year old; it didn't compare with what he was seeing here.

Everything about it was exquisite, right down to Patrick's quiet moans and whimpers, a clear indication of how much the boy loved what Peter was doing. They could not have given him a greater privilege.

Peter's breathing became ragged and uneven, his body covered in a sheen of perspiration. He thrust in one final time.

"Nng!" he gasped. "Nnng! Nnng!! Aaaaarrrggghhh!!!!"

His penis jerked into action, several jets of semen spurting deep into Patrick's rectum. He held his position for several seconds then slowly withdrew, sinking back onto his heels. Patrick stayed exactly where he was. Mr. Burman too remained motionless, sitting transfixed by the side of the bed. It had been the most beautiful, remarkable thing he'd ever seen. Finally Peter spoke.

"Okay Patrick," he said quietly. "Are you ready to have your bum stretched?"

"Yes," Patrick answered.

"And is that what you want?"

"Yes."

Mr. Burman heard the words perfectly, but his brain couldn't process them. Peter slipped off the bed and stood next to him, his hand on his mentor's shoulder.

"They you are, sir," he said warmly. "He's all yours."

The man looked up at him disbelievingly.

"It's okay," Peter confirmed brightly. "People do change their minds, you know. It's your Christmas surprise."

The realisation dawned, not like Christmas, but the brightest of summer days. Patrick, beautiful Patrick, whom he had desired for so long, the wonderful young musician that he had given up hope of ever connecting with physically, had finally changed his mind. He climbed onto the bed.

It appeared that the boy was expecting to be fucked right there, but that would never do; it was too crude, too impersonal. Patrick deserved far better than that. He lay down, rolling onto his side to face the boy.

"Lie down," he said softly.

Patrick flopped down next to him. He wrapped his arms around the lad's back, the touch of his skin a total delight.

"You've made me wait a long time for this," he said gently.

"Sorry, sir," Patrick responded. "I guess I just didn't feel right about it before."

"Don't be sorry," Mr. Burman said soothingly, licking Patrick's nose. "If you had accepted my first invitation I would never have met Peter and both he and I would have missed out on a great deal. So what about now?"

"I'm ready now, sir," Patrick confirmed.

Mr. Burman drew the boy into a long, passionate kiss. Patrick had been concerned about this part; would the man be all scratchy? What would he smell like? His fears were overcome in an instant; Mr. Burman's face wasn't scratchy at all, and his aroma was similar to Justin's but richer and stronger. He melted into the man's arms, eagerly returning his affection.

Mr. Burman was transported to heaven; Patrick kissed beautifully, exquisitely, with style, grace and enthusiasm, the same way that he did everything, his individuality shining through in every nuance. It could not have been better.

They pulled apart, smiling at each other. Mr Burman rolled Patrick onto his back, licking his way down the boy's slender body until he arrived at his ultimate prize. He slid his lips over Patrick's slim four inch penis, pushing his way slowly down until he had it completely in his mouth. He sucked it lovingly, the taste and texture of it total perfection, his fingers gently caressing the boy's testicles and massaging his perineum.

Patrick moaned with pleasure, writhing involuntarily, his teacher's ministrations driving him almost insane. Even Justin hadn't stimulated him the way Mr. Burman was doing.

It was time for the favour to be returned. Patrick settled his head on Mr. Burman's tummy, holding the base of the man's thick seven inch penis. He licked the large shiny head then opened his mouth, sliding his lips right over it, steadily working his way down until he'd gone as far as he could. He began to suck, quite slowly at first but gradually building up to a strong, steady rhythm, his tongue being used to maximum effect.

Mr. Burman almost exploded. No boy had ever sucked him like this, the flicks of Patrick's tongue over the head and into the opening sending bolts of electricity right through him.

"Patrick! Patrick! He gasped. "Ooh! You'd... you'd better stop!"

Patrick let him go and flopped down alongside him, a broad grin on his face.

"Was that okay sir?" he enquired.

"That was more than okay!" Mr. Burman confirmed, still gasping for breath.

"Justin used to love being sucked like that," Patrick informed him.

"I bet he did!" Mr. Burman said. "But didn't he cum?"

"He did sometimes," Patrick said casually, "but I usually managed to stop in time. I didn't mind; I loved having his spunk in my mouth. So what d'you want now, sir?"

"Get on all fours," Mr. Burman whispered.

Patrick readily complied. Mr. Burman moved around behind, exactly where Peter had been, Peter, still delightfully naked, now occupying the same vantage point that he had enjoyed. He swallowed hard. He'd never even dreamed of doing this, but watching Peter and seeing Patrick's reaction had changed everything, and the boys had both taken a bath before they went to the concert so there was no excuse.

He leant forward, swiping his tongue over Patrick's anus, the boy emitting a quiet moan. He savoured it, running his tongue across his top teeth; it tasted of Patrick. He did it again. It was definitely Patrick, but more; it was Patrick's inner being, the boy's innermost core. He dived right in, pressing his tongue against the boy's sphincter. It yielded. He pushed inside.

"Ohh, sir!" Patrick gasped, quite unprepared for this latest delight.

Mr. Burman encountered Peter's semen, warm and tangy on his tongue. He pushed in deeper. He found more, licking it eagerly, driving Patrick into near-delirium. He finally withdrew; there was only one thing left. He applied lubricant to both Patrick and himself then pulled a pillow into the middle of the bed, covering it with an old towel.

"Lie down," he said quietly.

Patrick flopped onto his tummy; somehow he'd expected it to be like this. Very gently, Mr. Burman got down on top of him, the man's penis prodding at his sphincter. There was an explosion of pain. Patrick cried out, quite unable to stop himself. Mr. Burman held his position, Very slowly Patrick relaxed. Mr. Burman pushed further in, encountering the boy's prostate.

"Ohhhh!!" Patrick moaned.

Mr. Burman continued to push until he was fully inside, his tummy pressed tight against Patrick's bottom.

"Is that all right?" he enquired gently.

"Yes sir," Patrick confirmed.

"So are you ready?"

"Yes, please sir," Patrick said. "I want you to bum me."

Mr. Burman carefully lowered himself, resting on his forearms so that Patrick would not have to take his full weight. He set to the task, a joy he thought he'd never have, fucking one of the most beautiful, sexy boys he'd ever encountered. He's have loved to make it last, but that would leave the boy far too sore. One day Patrick might be ready for one of his fifteen minute specials, but now was not the time.

In any case, he was in such a state of excitement that he wasn't sure he could have managed it. He fucked eagerly, burying his face is boy's hair, nuzzling his neck, licking his left ear; it was all quite wonderful.

Patrick was in total ecstasy; although still quite painful, the sheer passion and intensity of the fucking that Mr. Burman was giving him far exceeded any of his previous experiences. This was what he'd expected it to be like; this was why he was here, and it had not disappointed. His body was gripped by wild convulsions, his fingers clawing at the mattress.

"Oh!" he gasped. "Oh sir!!"

His penis sprang into life, volleys of watery fluid squirting onto the towel. Mr. Burman was overwhelmed. One final thrust and his orgasm was upon him, his penis pumping semen over and over into Patrick's bottom.

It was finally over. It had been the most extraordinary hour of Mr. Burman's entire life; he could scarcely believe it had all happened. If he had to select an hour of his life to live a second time, it would have to be this one. He carefully withdrew. Peter was still sitting where he'd been before.

"I think you enjoyed that, sir," he said brightly.

Mr. Burman didn't respond; he couldn't think of anything to say, except that as an understatement Peter's last comment would take quite some beating. Very gingerly, Patrick got onto his knees, semen seeping from his anus and trickling down his legs.

"I need the bathroom," he said quietly.

He got off the bed and made his way out, walking somewhat awkwardly.

"Go and make sure he's okay," Mr. Burman whispered.

Peter grinned and nodded, gathering up Patrick's clothes and taking them to the guest room. He tapped on the bathroom door.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm a bit sore," Patrick answered. "Well, a lot sore actually, but it's no problem; I'll be fine in the morning."

"Great," Peter said brightly. "I've taken your clothes and left them on your bed."

He returned to Mr. Burman's room to convey the good news.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Somewhat reluctantly, Patrick opened an eye. Peter was kneeling by the bed, smiling at him.

"What's the time?" Patrick asked suspiciously.

"Twenty past seven," Peter informed him. "The Lord and Master would like to know how you're feeling this morning."

"Tell the Lord and Master that I am a little sore," Patrick instructed in a mock serious tone, "but otherwise fit and well." He paused for a second.

"Man, that was the best fuck ever!" he added quietly, talking normally again. "I'll be ready for a repeat performance any time he wants. Well, not right now, but you know what I mean. Anyway, I'm okay; a bit sore but I'll still be able to go running when we get back."

"I thought you were enjoying it!" Peter said, giggling. "Are you doing much over the Christmas hols?"

"Not that much," Patrick said stretching. "I'll be spending a few days with the grandparents till dad finishes work, then they'll come to us for Christmas day. Boxing Day we go to see my other gran, that's my dad's mum. I'll have some work to do, of course. That's about it."

"Don't you like your other gran much?" Peter asked, picking up the irritation in Patrick's voice.

"No, she's an old bat!" Patrick confirmed. "Dad left home as soon as he finished university just to get away from her. She's always nagging him to do this or do that or he ought to make me get my hair cut or something; she never does anything but criticise. Anyway, we go along and behave ourselves for a few hours. Why are you asking?"

"You could come and stay with us for a couple of days if you want," Peter said. "We live by Clapham Common; it's not far, just the other side of the river; we drive right past it. Then we could come here if you want. I quite often do that in the holidays."

"Won't you have to ask?" Patrick enquired.

"Not really," Peter said casually, "just tell them you're coming. Mum and dad will be home this Christmas; the house will be pretty much like a railway station anyway, people coming and going; one more or less won't make much difference. And I've got a put-me-up in my room so nobody will think anything of it, not that you'll have to use it, of course. We've even got a piano you can practise on."

"Sounds great," Patrick said. "I'll ask dad; it should be okay."

"You live in Guildford, don't you?" Peter said. "Just get a train to Clapham Junction; I'll meet you there."

"Cool," Patrick said, smiling.

"Well, I'll let you make the announcement on that one," Peter said, grinning mischievously, "let the Lord and Master know about the little bonus he'll be getting. Anyway, must be getting along!"

He stood up and left the room.

0 o 0 o 0 o 0

Breakfast was a joyful affair, everyone in excellent spirits. It was time to leave.

"These are the concerts we'll be going to next term," Peter commented, indicating a 1974 calendar, the relevant dates marked in red.

"I'm very much looking forward to that one," Mr. Burman added, pointing to the first of them, "welcoming you boys here again."

"Oh, I think you'll be seeing us before that," Patrick said casually, giving his teacher a big smile. "I'll be staying at Peter's house for a couple of days over the Christmas hols; we thought we might come and see you then."

Mr. Burman straightened his bow tie, smiling contentedly. His Christmas surprise was to be followed by a New Year bonus. How could life possibly be any sweeter?