Dad lost his job, and we moved. I should have been unsettled, but as
a ten year old boy I simply saw it as an adventure. I'd never had much
of an attachment to the place where I'd spent the first decade of my
life, other than the fact that the woods were good to explore. And the
new place was right on the edge of the Ashdown Forest, so who was I to
argue? The house was smaller, but older, and as a boy who lived his
life as one long fantasy, I was spellbound by the twisting little
corridors in the upper story of the building. It was apparently nearly
two hundred years old, and the original cottage had been extended into
what was quite a large house. Yes, I know I said it was smaller than
our old place, but that was a bit of a mansion!
I didn't realise at the time that dad hadn't moved us for monetary reasons - he had plenty of savings when he'd been made redundant, and the pay-off was significant - rather he wanted to get away from his old life. He and my mum had decided that the pressure of his accountancy job in London was far too much, and at the age of 41 he'd gone into semi-retirement. We could comfortably live off the returns from several smart investments, and just to keep the money coming in he would do consultancy work from home. All this meant that my home environment was relaxed and unstressed.
My father was around for me whenever I needed him, rather than leaving the house in the morning before I got up and returning after my bed-time, and we started to really bond. I loved football, and he made sure I was in the local boys team, made sure I went to every practice, and I can honestly not remember him ever missing a single game I played in. He would even join in and help the coaches out from time to time, and though I thought it might be embarrassing, all the kids I played with actually looked up to him, especially since he would give friends of mine a lift home in his black BMW. I knew some of them were only really friendly to me because of that, but I didn't mind - I'd always been a bit of a loner, because I would spend all my time daydreaming, and it was nice to finally interact with someone my own age.
But one of the friends was a true friend. Mike was my friend before he knew my dad had a BMW. He was my friend before my parents arrived at the house the day we moved in. He was my friend almost before I knew his name. I probably ought to explain this - on the day we were moving in to the new house, my parents allowed me to ride in the removals truck with the men who had come to empty our house of the remainder of its belongings. Most of our stuff had gone on ahead of us, but there was still the bare basics left which needed a medium size van to move. The same men who had spent weeks clearing our clutter into a series of trucks (I never knew it was possible to have that much stuff in a house!) came with a van and started loading the beds and the rest of our clothing and cooking utensils.
I had become a firm favourite of theirs - it was the summer holidays and I'd spent my days helping them move pretty much anything I could carry. I obviously couldn't be a huge help to them, but I was later told that my enthusiasm had brightened up their work, so I was welcomed around them. How things change, eh - I was recently moving into the house I am currently decorating (with Mike, but let's not get ahead of ourselves here), and the removals men did anything they could to stop us helping them out. Apparently we were in the way...
But getting back to the story, I was allowed to ride up front in the van with the men, since they'd come to see me as another member of their team. I'm sure my mum tried to persuade them that I would only get in their way, but she was reassured that I really was welcome there. Anyway, to cut a long story a little shorter, we arrived at the new house before my parents came in their car, having been delayed with a flat tyre. I was helped down out of the cab and was sitting on the grass in front of my new home when I saw a boy my age wandering over. It was a small village, and I was wondering whether there would actually be any kids about, considering I’d only seen old people so far. But here was someone almost straight away who was potential friend material.
He wore a similar sort of clothes to me - he even wore a black L.A. Raiders t-shirt, of which I owned about five. The Raiders t-shirts were a strange phenomenon - most boys in England had never heard of the NFL, and yet there were shirts everywhere for a team we knew nothing about. A Raiders t-shirt was part of my uniform, along with navy or black tracksuit bottoms and a pair of beaten-up old Clark's trainers, the scruffier the better. And it looked like this boy had the same dress code. I lost myself thinking about whether he even wore the same sort of y-fronts I did, and then shook myself out of my reverie, wondering to myself why I would consider something so strange.
Physically, we weren't that different either - his hair was lighter than mine, although it looked like that was due to the sun more than anything else. His eyes, I noticed as he approached, were deep hazel, not that far different to my own. Once again shaking myself out of staring at this boy (and silently wondering why he fascinated me so), I stood to greet him.
'Hi.' Not the most original greeting, I'll admit. He did slightly better.
'Hi, I'm Mike. I live over there,' he said, pointing to a small cottage situated well back from the road in amongst the trees. I had thought the place derelict, although I managed to avoid saying so.
'Are you moving in here?'
'Yeah. I'm Tom, by the way.'
'Cool,' he said, with a grin. I couldn't figure out why he thought it was so cool, and he offered no explanation. 'I've got to go,' he continued, 'my mum wants me back to help her around the house.'
'Ok. See you later.' I really wasn't doing so great here. For some reason, I couldn't quite think straight.
'That would be cool,' he said, another grin flashing across his cute face.
Cute face? Where did that come from? But then he was gone again, and I didn't have the chance to contemplate his looks further. Then thoughts of Mike were gone from my mind, as my parents turned up and started rushing around ordering the removal men, who as far as I could see were doing a perfectly good job on their own. It wasn't long, however, before Mike was firmly back in the forefront of my thoughts, as he came bounding through my bedroom door.
I was in the middle of drying off after a shower later that afternoon, towelling my front with my back turned to the door. I spun round to see a shocked look on his face, which was quickly replaced by both a blush and a grin, before he stepped out of my room and pulled the door shut behind him. Then I was left to contemplate why I had a really hard willy.
When I came out of my room he was stood in the hallway, surrounded by the packing crates which littered pretty much all of the house.
'Sorry 'bout that.' Another grin.
'That's ok. We're both boys, right?' I really hoped I sounded a lot more confident saying that than I actually felt.
'Yeah. Want me to show you around the village?'
With that we were off. Somewhere between stepping out of my room and reaching my front door, we knew we were going to be the best of friends. Shouting a response to my mum's usual warnings about not going too far, I wandered out to discover my new world. Talking to Mike was easy. He had exactly the right mix of enthusiastic chatter and the ability to listen. Before we'd walked once around the village, I knew that he lived alone with his mum, that he'd never known his dad, and that an older brother was off at university, just like mine. He didn't seem bothered that his father was gone before he was born, and my attempts to tell him how sorry I was for him were waved off. He'd already decided, at the age of ten and three quarters - two months older than myself to the day - that since he never knew what he was missing, there was nothing to miss. I wasn't so sure, but I also wasn't about to get into a philosophical argument about it. We were ten.
There wasn't a lot to the village itself, beyond a pub and an all purpose grocers/bakery/butchers. Most of the houses were scattered about at the edges of nearby farmland, or actually in Ashdown Forest itself. The place seemed ancient to my eyes, but all the more wondrous for that. I stopped listening to Mike talking about some random piece of history to slip into a daydream about he and myself being guardians of the village in olden times. I don't know what made me think about that, but as ever the fantasy was a deeply involved affair.
It was too in depth, though, for suddenly I realised that I was walking alone, and Mike was stood still some way behind me, waiting for an answer to a question I'd missed entirely. He was grinning. Again.
'Sorry,' I said. 'I drifted away there. What did you say?'
He just shook his head and told me it didn't matter, he'd ask again some time. No amount of probing on my part could worm the information out of him, and eventually he just told me to drop the situation, in rather a sharp tone of voice. Immediately he apologised for snapping at me, but still wouldn't tell me what he'd asked. I felt really bad for almost messing up our friendship on the very first day, but I wasn’t to stay feeling that way for long, and soon we were laughing and playing on the grass outside his house. We both loved football (soccer for those across the pond), and had great fun kicking a ball backwards and forwards. Those of you obsessed with the game will understand how much fun this simple activity can be, and it was getting dark before we realised it.
It suddenly occurred to me that my mum hadn't come out to look for me, and then I found out why - just then, the front door to my new house opened and a woman stepped out, still chatting to my mum as she left.
'That's my mum,' said Mike.
'Looks like my mum and her will be friends then.'
'I hope so,' said Mike.
Once again there was a smile there, though this time tinged with a slightly wistful set to his eyes. I didn't understand why he had to hope - after all, it mattered that we were friends, not our mums. My dad had also come out of the house, and called me over, telling me that I ought to get in and have a bath before I went to bed. Turning to Mike, I rolled my eyes skyward, a gesture which brought forward a riot of giggling. God, I loved that sound, I thought. What?! I did go and have a bath, though - my dad was a loving father, and really relaxed now that he was no longer working in London, but it didn't pay to rebel, especially since he had promised me a new bike for my birthday, and that was only five months away. Time is different when you're ten... and seven months!
That's virtually what we became, you know. The summer days together
made sure of that. Our parents' friendship also helped more than a
little. Just like Mike became my new best friend, his mother became my
mum's new partner in gossip. Mike's mum, Sarah, had to work to support
the pair of them, and was effusively grateful when my mother offered to
look after her son during the day for the duration of the holidays. It
took the financial burden of finding activities for Mike off Sarah's
shoulders, and she became a lot less stressed knowing that her son was
in good hands.
Mike and I loved it - we were absolutely inseparable. At some point during the holidays another bed appeared in my room - my parents reasoned that since he spent so many nights on my fold-out sofa, rather than making the hundred metre journey home, that he might as well have his own proper place to sleep. I wasn't about to complain, because it meant more time spent with Mike. He even had a drawer of clothes in my dresser and his own toothbrush in the bathroom. It might seem a little strange that we became so close so quickly, but there really was the sense there that we should always have known each other. And besides, we had very little else to do with our time during the holidays, so spending time together was only natural.
Riding was a joint passion of ours. Both of us had mountain bikes (though mine was already battered and needed replacing soon. I've already said that, haven't I?), and Mike delighted in showing me all the cool trails which led into the forest. We weren't really allowed to go too far into the trees, but we always did, returning with the last of the sun's rays to be told off, though not too harshly, for being out all day and being sent to take a shower.
It was after a particularly long day's riding that the events which led to a subtle shift in our friendship happened. We were going to go out for a meal in the evening, my family treating Sarah and her new boyfriend to a meal, which of course meant Mike and I had to be smartly attired for the occasion. We spent the majority of the day out on our bikes, investigating a nearby nature reserve. This was another joint passion, and we ate lunch in the hide watching a kingfisher get his own food from a nearby stream. We were so engrossed, in fact, that we didn't realise the time, and when Mike finally looked at his watch, we realised that it would be a rush to get home and get ready in time to go out.
Frantically pedalling all the way home, we burst through the door to be greeted by my father, dressed very smartly in one of his old work suits.
'There you are boys! Where on Earth have you been?'
'Sorry, dad. We were both out at Lockwood Park, and there was this really cool kingfisher, and we didn't realise the time, and then we came back here as fast as we could. Sorry!'
I was speaking double-time, as I tended to do when nervous that my father might be angry with me. But there was no time for telling us off, fortunately.
'Just get up into the shower. And take one together, we're in too much of a hurry.'
Dad must have noted the shocked looks on our faces, and the fact that we were stood stock still, because he came over to us and gently put each hand on a shoulder, turning us around and directing us up the stairs.
'You're both boys,' he said. 'There's nothing new down there.'
Mike and I both blushed crimson, but weren’t about to argue with my dad, and made our way upstairs to the bathroom as slowly as we could get away with. It was the walk of condemned men. Yes, I’d seen Mike's willy before, but only the briefest of glimpses when we were changing in the morning. I'd never actually seen him naked before, and nor he me, if you don't count the first day we met. We'd certainly never showered together before, and when it came to the threshold of the bathroom door, we both paused, looking at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move.
And then he did it - Mike grinned, his trademark facial expression, and stepped through the doorway.
'Come on then, you wimp!' he said, starting to strip there and then.
Partly because his taunt was a direct challenge, and partly because I didn't want my mum to come along the corridor and see him getting undressed, I stepped quickly through the door and did the same. I tried not to look at his body as the dusty clothes came off, but for some reason it was hard to resist. I knew that he was the same as all the other boys I'd seen in the showers at school, and there really was nothing exceptional about his body when you looked at it objectively. But I was far from being objective at this point.
I was drawn to the tan-line created by the football shorts we both wore as our only item of clothing on warmer summer days. And I was drawn below that line, to where his little penis bounced on top of a very tight scrotum. Like me, he was completely bare down there, which was to be expected (as I had discovered in the book about sex my parents had seen fit to give me recently), and a long foreskin puckered over his head. Suddenly, I noticed that he was watching me watching him, and when I looked up to his face I saw a slight smirk there.
And then I realised the reason for the smirk - my willy was pointing straight at the ceiling, stiff as a board and throbbing. I cringed inside, worried that he would think I was queer (a word learned from the playground) for getting hard watching him. But my fears were unfounded.
'Nice stiffie!' he said, the grin having turned devilish.
'I.. I'm sorry,' I said, my face turned downwards, ashamed to look at him anymore.
'Don't worry about it. Happens to me all the time.'
With that, he stepped into the shower. I was left there wondering at how calmly he was taking the fact that his best friend had just got hard watching him undress, and also wondering what I was doing reacting that way. I knew I didn't like girls, but my dad always said that I wasn't old enough to like girls yet anyway, and I should just enjoy being a boy for the moment, without bothering about girls. I agreed to that one wholeheartedly at the time, and found myself doing the same here. As quickly as it had arrived, though, my tumescence was gone, and I stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain closed behind me.
It was a little cramped in there, and I got plenty of chances to see Mike's body. We even washed each other’s backs, but fortunately my willy behaved itself, and before long we were out of under the water and drying ourselves off. It was Mike's turn to get stiff as he towelled down his front, and when he saw that I noticed, he just shrugged with a strange smile on his face and continued drying his legs.
Before we left the bathroom, his erection had subsided, just like mine had, and we both wrapped our towels round ourselves for the short trip to our room. Even then, it was our room. That night, we lay in bed chatting about the meal, both far too excited about his mum's new boyfriend to sleep. He seemed like a really nice guy, and worked in the same office as Mike's mum. But there was only so much we could talk about the evening before we ran out of things to say, and the conversation lapsed into silence. Mike seemed thoughtful, and I was about to ask him if he felt alright when he just spoke, all in a rush.
'Why did your thing get hard earlier? I didn't mind, it's just mine gets hard all the time and I wonder why, and then when I looked at you after the shower it got hard, and I didn't mean to freak you out, and I'm sorry.'
All of this came out in one breath, ad Mike was left gasping for air. I knew some of the answers, at least the mechanical reason why it got hard, but I couldn't tell him why I got hard looking at him. Then it clicked in my mind exactly what he had just said - he'd admitted his got hard because he looked at mine after the shower, and not simply because of the friction of his towelling. For some reason, I decided to be a lot braver than I felt.
'I know why it happens. My dad got me a book,' I said lording my superior knowledge.
'Can you show me?'
There was an excited tremor to his voice, and I felt butterflies in my stomach as I got out of bed to retrieve the sacred tome. Much to my embarrassment, I found yet another stiffie tenting out the crotch of my y-fronts. Mike giggled nervously, and then pulled back the sheet covering him to reveal that he, too, was hard.
As I got the book and sat down on the bed, my heart really started racing. I went straight to the page full of cartoons that explained how an erection happened, and some of the reasons why. Of course, top of the list was attraction to someone and consequent arousal. I knew the question was coming, but that didn't make it any easier to answer.
'Is that why you got stiff looking at me?' asked Mike.
I couldn’t think what to say. I felt my cheeks flush hotly, and looked down at the bed between my legs. Between my legs where, even now, my willy was betraying my excitement.
'Promise you won't hate me?' I said at last.
'Cross my heart and hope to die,' he replied.
'Well, I was looking at you, and that got me stiff. I’m sorry, Mike. I understand if you don't want to be my friend any more. I'll leave so you can get dressed and go home.'
I was utterly despondent, and got up to leave. I hadn't intended to tell Mike what I had only just realised myself - that I got an erection because I found him attractive - but he asked me directly, and I was always afraid to lie to him. I was just taking a step away from his bed when a hot little hand grabbed mine and turned me around. In a flash he was up on his feet, and had leant forward and hugged me. It started off the chaste hug of brothers, but as our arms went around one another’s shoulders, we came closer and closer until it was a full body experience.
I didn't even consider that he might come into contact with my willy until his jabbed me in the lower abdomen. We both stopped, but only for a moment before we realised it wasn't all that bad, and just pressed into each other. He whispered right into my ear.
'I don't mind. That's why mine got hard. That's why it's hard now.'
We separated, and I just stared into his eyes, mere inches from my own. There was no mockery there. What he had said was totally sincere. That feeling was backed up by the small kiss he gave me, right on the lips. Then he just sat down on the bed and leant back on his hands. The look in his eyes was devilish, the tent in his pants more than obvious given his posture.
'Want to sleep here tonight?' he asked, his shaky voice betraying the calm look that he was attempting to pull off.
'Of course I'm going to sleep here, this is my room.'
He just gave me one of those withering looks he gave when I said something really stupid. When it suddenly occurred to me what he was really asking, my heart leapt into my throat. Of course I would sleep in his bed with him! He lay down, and held the sheet up for me while I climbed in with him. Then we were once again entwined, limbs all over the place as we found a comfortable sleeping position. I wasn't in the least bit disappointed to find that the only way we would get to sleep left his erection poking into my hip, not far from my own.
Waking up was a wonderful experience. There was a warm weight to my
right, with bits of it extended over my own body. I turned my head and
looked straight into the face of my best friend in the whole world. I
looked at his features, and for the first time really admitted to
myself that instead of liking girls, I fancied Mike. I never had
feelings for any other boy, but this was somehow different. I felt
I also felt his morning stiffie poking into the top of my leg. Not really sure why I was doing so, I reached down between us and grabbed it. That bought Mike right into the present from whatever dream he was having. His eyes popped wide open before he realised who had grabbed him and grinned. Turning onto his back, he stretched languidly, reaching down and pushing down the front of his y-fronts when he was done.
'Mm, nice,' he said sleepily, closing his eyes.
The hem of his underpants was hooked under his scrotum, his exposed willy a clear sign that he didn't mind if I continued. I didn’t know how far advanced he was, but I knew all about wanking and how good it could feel, and so I started on him, rubbing his foreskin up and down with my thumb and two fingers. It was a good thing I was left-handed, as my right arm still lay beneath him on the bed. He was really getting into it, and before long was actually panting. I never made much noise myself, but his fast breathing was turning me on like nothing I’d ever felt.
I went to work quite hard on his shaft, and soon he was arching his back, legs squirming and toes curling as he got the feeling. I'd only had it a few times myself, but I could tell by the way he acted that he'd had it. His eyes were scrunched up tight, and his mouth was open, though no sound came out. Eventually, he subsided, and rolled into me, his pants still down at the front, and his dick as stiff as ever. I had an itch on my nose, and naturally brought my free left hand up to deal with it. As I did so, I caught the fragrance of Mike's willy and balls on my hand, and it nearly sent me over the edge. I loved the smell, and it turned me on so much I just had to have a wank there and then.
Reaching down, I pushed off my y-fronts, arching my back and lifting my hips to get them out of the way. Then I started to go to work. I'd only been going for a few seconds when I felt a hand push mine out of the way and fingers grab my willy. I'd thought Mike was asleep, but clearly he wasn't.
'Mine!' he said in a possessive, if sleepy, voice.
Then he started to wank me, and the feelings came stronger than I’d ever felt them before. I was amazing. There was a tingling running up and down my willy, following the path of his hand, and I could feel sweat forming all over my body. It was so intense, much more so than when I did it for myself. Only a couple of minutes had passed when the feeling became almost unbearable, and then release came in a flood which threatened to knock me right out of bed. I gasped, my muscles twitching, my breath ragged. Mike kept going until the last tremors had passed, and then removed his hand. I looked up at his face, and saw his gorgeous eyes staring back at me, a smile playing across his face.
'Morning,' he said.
Somehow, that seemed to sum things up nicely. I smiled right back at him, before leaning into his open arms for another embrace, and another kiss.
Saturday nights were barbeque nights in the summer at our house. As
long as it wasn't raining, my dad would haul a bag of charcoal out to
the brick structure at the end of the garden and dump the majority of
it in, along with half a box of firelighters. Then it was only a matter
of chucking half a dozen matches at it until the fire caught, and
waiting an hour or so for the fire to burn down so that we could get
within a mile of it. I think my dad was a bit of a pyromaniac...
The worst part about barbeques was the waiting, which was quickly followed by the best bit - the eating. Anyway, these events became a regular opportunity for Mike's mum to come over and gossip with mine, and of course Mike and I would have spent the day together somewhere in the woods. We would stand around cooking meat all evening, my dad the master of the barbeque, warding everyone off with sharp snaps of his tongs. Mike and I would always test his reflexes, attacking from both sides at once, but dad was too quick, and would often nip one of us before we could get out of reach. The game always led to our mutual dissolution into fits of giggles, and eventually we had to be ordered to calm down before we were sent to my room. Of course, that wouldn't have been much of a problem, considering how generally horny we were, but we didn't think it best to push my dad too far.
It was at one of these weekly events that my dad decided to spring a huge surprise, albeit a nice one, on us all. My parents had been talking about going on holiday, and Sarah had suggested that we try Crete for a couple of weeks. She'd been once when she was younger, and loved the atmosphere. Mum and dad were really interested in the idea, and got her to tell everything she knew, and before long it was pretty much decided that we were going to Crete. They were talking about the practicalities of having a ten year old with them when dad just came out with it.
'Does Mike have all the clothes he'll need when he comes with us, Sarah?'
Mike's mum's eyes went wide, and she nearly choked on the burger she was eating.
'I'm sorry, what was that?'
'Well, I kind of assumed that Mike would come with us. We could hardly leave him behind, could we?'
'Can I really go, mum?' asked Mike, an excited look in his eyes. He really looked gorgeous when he was like that, I decided.
'I'm sorry, Mike, but you know I can't afford it,' she said, bringing instant disappointment to her son's face, and mine.
'Oh, I wasn't expecting you to pay, Sarah,' said my dad. 'We were going to get a family package anyway, and they charge you a surplus if you don't have four people. In a way you'd be doing us a favour.'
'I'm still not sure, Martin. What about David?'
David was my older brother, and I knew he would rather spend the summer with his university friends. Dad also knew he wouldn't want to come with us, and after a little more persuasion, not a little of it from Mike and myself, Sarah finally agreed to let her son come with us. This immediately caused significant excitement for us boys, and we started racing around the garden, generally making ten-year-old boy noises at high volume. My dad eventually forced us to a halt by taking out the garden hose and soaking us both thoroughly. That led to shivering in the cooling evening air, and we were sent up to take a shower and get ready for bed.
In all the excitement, we'd not noticed the time, and it was nearly ten o'clock. As usual, we spent the night together after a long hot shower, our arms and legs entwined like an eight-limbed, two headed boy-octopus.
The next day, I was working on one of my model airplanes at the table in my room when my dad came in to say hello, and chat about this and that. Mike had gone home to help his mum with a big tidy-up of their garden, and I was instructed to allow them to spend some time together without me around. I didn't understand at the time, although I can see now that I was being a little selfish and keeping Mike to myself. What can I say - I loved him. Anyway, my dad didn't want to say anything in particular - I think he just wanted to remind me he was about the house. Just as he was leaving, having decided to mow the back lawn, I decided to thank him for letting Mike come with us. He was halfway out the door, and turned back to me with a strange smile on his face.
'That's alright, Tom,' he said. 'We could hardly separate you from your boyfriend for two weeks, could we?'
I was speechless, my eyes wide and the colour draining from my face. My dad just smirked and closed the door behind him as he left. I couldn't move for a few seconds, the only motion my heart thumping rapidly in my chest. My dad knew, and that probably meant my mum knew too. Surely they should be angry with me, and stop me seeing Mike. My world was falling down around me, and in an attempt to save what I could, I went in search of my father, just as soon as my legs would hold me. I found him tinkering with the engine of his sit-on mower. I'm not entirely sure he knew what he was doing, exactly, but that was the furthest thing from my mind just then.
'Um, Mike and me, we aren't.. I mean we don't...er..' I really couldn't think of anything to say that would convince my dad that things weren't all that bad.
'Tom, it's ok. Really, it is. Your mum and I don't mind what you and Mike get up to, as long as you're happy. And you keep it private...'
I blushed heavily. My dad clearly knew for certain that there was something going on. I couldn't avoid the issue any longer.
'How did you find out?'
'I think the real giveaway was when your mum walked into your room a couple of weeks ago and found you two in bed, and your pants on the floor. She put one and one together, and came up with a couple.' He laughed at his pun, though I was in no mood for humour.
'You've known for that long?'
'And you still want Mike to come on holiday with us?'
'Of course. You'd be useless without him around.'
'Does his mum know?'
'Yes, she does. Your mum was meant to wait a bit, but she couldn't hold back and went straight to see Sarah.'
'Is she angry?'
'I don't know,' dad answered. 'Why don't you ask him,' he said, pointing past me to where the side path emerged into the garden. Stood there, looking rather nervous and uncertain, was Mike.
My boyfriend. I walked over to him, and when he saw I was smiling, he started to grin too.
'You ok?' he asked.
'Yeah. My mum just told me she knows about us.'
'Mine does too, and my dad.'
'Are they ok with it?'
'Yeah, they still want you to come on holiday with us. What about your mum, what did she say?'
'I don't really know. She just hugged me lots, and then told me to come over here to see you. She called you my boyfriend.'
'That's what my dad called you.'
'Is that what we are, then?' Mike asked.
'Yeah, I s'pose so, if that's what you want.'
'Yeah, that would be cool.'
And that was about as far as the conversation went. We really didn't know what to say to each other. Now officially a couple, we wandered up to my room and just sat around listening to the radio for a while. We didn't dare get up to any sex games, for the fear of being discovered in the middle of something was far too great.
The next week or so was like a rollercoaster, my emotions soaring
up, dropping down and then rising once more. I'll explain... Now that
it was out in the open, my dad would tease me about having a boyfriend,
just the same way he teased my brother when he'd fallen for a girl at
around the same age. But he was really great about it, and to our
intense embarrassment, turned up one morning before we were out of bed
to put a lock on my bedroom door. He left quickly so we could throw
some clothes on, and then got down to work. We were eating breakfast in
the kitchen when he came down, having finished quite quickly.
'Right, boys, the lock's sorted. Here,' he said, handing us a little plastic bag with two keys in it. 'There's one each for you there, and no spare, so for goodness' sake don't go and lose them when the door's locked.'
'Does that mean you and mum won't come into my room anymore?'
'Not unless you invite us, or the door's open. It's time you had proper privacy. I'm not sure we'll be wheeling in a double bed quite yet, but you're growing up, and you need independence.'
'What about cleaning?'
'Well, that's the trade-off - if you want the lock, you have to keep the place tidy.'
He smiled and ruffled my hair as he got up from the table, and went to talk to my mum in the garden. Mike and I were just about to go and play around with the lock when my mum came in, fishing something out of her pocket as she came.
'Your father told me he's finished putting the lock on the door. Just be responsible, boys, ok? You know where the vacuum cleaner is - use it. And Mike, before you ask, your mum knows. In fact, she gave me these to give you.'
She handed over a small velvet pouch, which I immediately opened and upended. Into my palm fell two silver chains. Neither Mike nor I got the idea at first, and our quizzical looks led my mum to explain.
'For the keys, boys, so you can keep them round your necks.'
Mike and I just looked at each other, then in unison said 'cool'. We thanked my mum, who made us promise to thank Sarah as well, and then raced upstairs to investigate my father's handiwork.
The good mood only lasted until that evening, though. As was becoming quite a common occurrence, Mike's mum came over to have dinner with us. She'd become a fixture since the relationship with her new boyfriend had broken down. This evening, though, she was being a little quieter than she normally was, and after a while, my mum couldn't stand it any longer and asked what was wrong.
'I've got some bad news, I'm afraid. I went to the Post office today about applying for a passport for Mike, and there's a backlog at the office. They won't be able to issue a passport for six weeks.'
We were going on holiday in two weeks, almost to the day. Even at ten we knew that mike wouldn't be able to travel with us if he didn't have a passport. Mike couldn't bear to sit at the table when he heard the news, and ran from the room, heading for my bedroom. His mum got up to go after him, but when she saw me doing the same indicated that perhaps I should go. When I got up there, Mike was lying face down on my bed, sobs racking his body. I closed the door behind me, clicking the new lock shut with my key before replacing it around my neck.
Walking over to my bed, I sat down beside Mike and put my arm on his shoulder. He shrugged it off, but I could tell the effort was half-hearted, and replaced my hand. This time, he was content for it to be there. After a while, the crying subsided, and Mike rolled onto his side away from me. His eyes were rimmed with red, and the his tears had formed a large wet patch on my pillow.
'Sorry,' he said, his voice still shaky. 'I so wanted to go on holiday with you.'
'I wanted you to come, too. I don't want to go if you're not coming.'
'You mean that?'
'Yeah,' I said, leaning forward to take him into a hug. We lay there for some time, and must have dozed off, for the next thing I knew my mum was knocking on the door, asking if she could come in.
'Hang on a minute,' I called back, realising that the door was still locked. I fished out my key and unlocked it, then opened my door to a face filled with concern.
'Is Mike ok?' she asked, barely louder than a whisper.
'He's upset about not going. I don't want to go if he's going to be this upset.'
'Well,' my mum said, 'it might not be so bad after all. Why don't you take a minute to get Mike composed, and then come downstairs.'
'Ok, if you want.'
I wasn't entirely convinced that my mother was sane - how could it not be so bad, we were going to be separated for two weeks?! I woke Mike, whose eyes were still red, and took him to the bathroom to get his faced cleaned of the tears streaks and the snot which threatened to bubble out of his cute little nose at any point. I had to admit to myself that there were occasions, rare though they were, that Mike looked less than angelic, and this was one of those times. But we managed between us to get him looking respectable and wandered unsteadily downstairs to the living room.
My mum and dad and Sarah were all sat around, looking a little more cheerful than had been the case when we'd left the dinner table.
'Boys,' my dad started,' there may be a way around this after all. I have a friend, from university, who now works in the Home Office. That's where they deal with this sort of thing. I put together some shares for him a while ago, and he owes me a favour. I've told your mum, Mike, that I will talk to Nathan in the morning, and see if there's anything that can be done. I'm not making any promises, but Nathan holds quite a lot of influence, so there's a chance we might be able to get the application processed more quickly.'
All the time my dad was talking, both Mike and I were getting more excited. When he was finished, we both simultaneously rushed over to give my dad a hug.
'Hang on, hang on!' he said from somewhere under two ten-year-old bundles of excitement. 'Nothing's certain yet. I will try as hard as I can though, ok?'
We both nodded, but carried on hugging him. It was a thin ray of hope, but it was a ray nonetheless, and something for us to hold onto.
The next day was a nervous time. Dad had already left to go to the city before we stumbled out of bed, having decided to go to see Nathan in person, so they could also discuss some business while he was there. Mike and I sat around in our shorts and nothing else, the oppressive heat of an English summer day (as I recall, one of only two real summer days we had that year!) making any sort of activity more effort than it was worth. We were full of nervous excitement, but there was nothing we could do to release it. Or so we thought.
Two boys, excited and with nothing to occupy themselves, tend to increase exponentially in horniness levels, and when my mum suggested that we have a cold shower to cool ourselves down, both our minds jumped to exactly the same page of the sex education book we read so often. Our minds weren't the only things jumping, though - both our little willies came straight to attention as soon as the suggestion was made, and we had to struggle to get past my mum without her seeing the tents in our nylon footie shorts.
Once in the shower, we were insatiable. The kisses came hot and fast, and the new technique of frenching we'd learned from watching television late one night was serving us well. We'd actually managed to get a bit of soap on each others' bodies before we started to mess around, and that helped our slim tummies to slide past each other as we ground our crotches together. The feeling was intense, though one we'd had before. In fact, it was one of our favourite ways to get off together.
Oral sex was still distant on the horizon, something talked about in hushed whispers on the playground, but well beyond our scope of knowledge. Anal sex wouldn't occur to our young minds until they were prompted some time later, but I'm getting ahead of myself here. So we just ground against each other, the stimulation not quite enough to cause the orgasms we experienced while in bed with each other, but still nice enough that we continued for some time. It was good to have something to take our minds off what might or might not be happening in London.
After messing around for a while in my room after our shower, both finally achieving the orgasms we craved with a spot of mutual wanking, we walked downstairs to find my father just coming in through the door. His face was grave, and he almost couldn't look at us. After saying hello to my mum, he came to talk to us. When he knelt down, I knew something was wrong, and my stomach dropped.
'Boys, I've got some bad news,' he started. I just knew it! I thought to myself. 'I'm afraid it will take Nathan a week to get the passport sorted.'
Being so nervous, we were listening more to the tone of my father's voice than what he was actually saying. Our heads went down. And then it twigged, at the same time for both of us. Mike and I looked into each other’s eyes, silently communicating the thoughts - we weren't meant to be going on holiday for another week and a half! Looking at my dad, it became obvious that he was trying to stifle a laugh.
'Got you!' he said, no longer able to hold himself back.
'Dad!' I cried, and then jumped him, toppling him backwards from his kneeling position on the floor.
Mike soon joined in, and we tried as hard as we could to pin my dad down and mercilessly tickle him for what he'd put us though. Eventually it was my mum who stopped the attack, by shouting that dinner was ready. Mike and I, who'd forgone lunch in favour of other pursuits, suddenly realised we were both ravenous, and ran into the dining room.
Mike's passport came only a matter of days later, personally
couriered by my father's friend Nathaniel, who had accepted a dinner
invitation. He was a stylish man, rolling up in a BMW several years
newer than my father's, and was the sort of man that ten year old boys
idolised. Mike certainly found the man intriguing, and my father
noticed my jealous stares as Mike doted over him.
'It's ok, Tom. Nathaniel prefers his men a little bit older.'
I stared at my father in shock.
'Yeah, he came out at university. Used to have a bit of a crush on me, or so it was said. He never said anything to me about it though. I guess that's why I can accept you and Mike.'
'But we're not gays, dad!'
'Are you sure about that, Tom?' he asked, with a big smirk before he left me standing there with a shocked expression on my face.
I hadn't really thought about it before, but I suddenly realised that the way I felt about Mike made me gay. A poof, a queer. All those nasty words the other boys used at school to be horrible to people. Lying in bed that night, I asked Mike what he thought about us being gay.
'Dunno,' he said. 'Never thought about it, really. What d'you think?'
And that was about the extent of our conversation on the matter, before we slipped into the nightly role of wanking each other. We'd still not needed to progress any further than this mutual masturbation, although quite often I would look very closely at Mike's willy as I did him. I loved to watch the skin rolling back behind the head and then over again, and checked very closely each time for any signs of hair, or for emission at orgasm. Neither was present, though, and his own studies of my own body came to the same conclusion. It was to be expected, though, as the book repeatedly told us. Still, that was no consolation - the first of us to shoot real sperms would be the hero...
We were flying out on a Friday afternoon, getting into the airport in Crete late in the evening, which meant that we would hopefully be ready to get up early and appreciate the island in the morning. Neither Mike nor I had flown before, my dad never having the time off work to take us abroad, and Mike's mum never having been able to afford a proper holiday for herself and her two sons. Thus, we were overly excited the whole time, running around the airport and stopping only to stare in awe as the huge lumps of metal somehow got into the air.
We held hands, squeezing hard every time a plane left the tarmac, convinced that soon one of them wouldn't make it. But every one of them did, and soon my dad was dragging us away from the windows to stand in the long and boring queue for the check-in. Heathrow airport was a huge adventure for us kids, and though mum and dad tried to act annoyed with our continual playing up, I think that deep down they were happy to see us having so much fun. Taking off in the plane was like the biggest rollercoaster in the world.
Mike and I sat hand in hand, eyes wide in shock as the huge acceleration hit us, forcing us bodily back into our seats. He was a little more scared of it than I was, coming close to breaking a few of my fingers he squeezed so hard. It surprised me that he felt this way - after all, he was always the one who had the guts when it came to new trails on the bikes, and was always the one to go through with a dare. But here he was grabbing hold of me for support. It got worse when the plane left the ground, and that huge lurch that happens as the wings take the weight off the wheels had Mike grabbing my whole arm, leaning in strongly and hugging it as hard as he could. It made me feel warm inside that when he was scared he depended so strongly on me.
About half way through the flight, with Mike and I bundled underneath blankets and trying to sleep (it was rather late after all, and we'd had an exciting day), he leaned over and whispered in my ear.
'I've got a really big stiffie on,' he said, before hiding a fit of giggles in his blanket.
There was enough cover under the blankets, and it was dark enough in the cabin, that I could reach my hand across and grasp his hard dick through his pants and tracksuit bottoms. I moved my arm up a bit, and worked my way under the waistbands of both items of clothing, coming into contact almost immediately with his hot willy. It was as hard as I could remember it ever being, and though I didn't realise at the time, the natural frequencies of vibrations in the airplane were the root cause.
Of course, it didn't get any softer as I played with it. Mike just lay his head back and closed his eyes, teeth clamped down on his blanket in an effort not to make any noise. I made it a slow, tortuous wank, since there was little else to do with our time. Ever so gently, I pulled the skin backwards and forwards, feeling the hot spongy heat of his head when the skin was retracted. Mike was trying to stay still, held in place to a certain extent by the seatbelt he'd never removed. That had moved up around his stomach - it was never particularly tight in the first place, and his squirming around pushed him further and further down in his seat.
About fifteen minutes later, my arm was getting very tired, and since I couldn't swap to the other hand, I decided to speed things up a bit. A few sharp jerks was all it took in Mike's excited state to bring him to a shuddering dry orgasm. Almost immediately he fell into a deep slumber, leaving me with a really hard dick and nothing I could do apart from sort it out for myself. As I said, it was really dark in the cabin, and I managed to make my way to the back of the plane and the sanctuary of the toilets without my stiffie being obvious to the other passengers.
I locked myself in the toilets and looked around me. Most of the passengers were asleep, so I had the opportunity to take my time. There were mirrors on two of the walls, and I decided to watch myself wank, something which I had never done before. Dropping my pants, and then deciding to take them off entirely, I climbed onto the lid of the toilet so that my dick came into view, and worked a bit of soap out of the dispenser to use. It was a method I used every so often when I wanted to pull my skin back as I wanked, and I did so now, pumping away into a ring formed of my forefinger and thumb.
I watched with some excitement as the little head of my dick poked out on each downstroke, only to disappear again each time I pulled my fist back up. For some reason, despite the situation, I was slightly numb, and it took me a while to get the feeling, but when I did it was a real knee shaker, and I almost fell off my precarious position on the toilet.
The benefit of the soap, of course, was that I could clean my hands when I was done. Working my way back to my seat, slightly unsteady on the rocking motion of the plane, I seated myself next to my boyfriend and fell asleep leaning my head on his shoulder.
Crete was amazing. There was no other word for it. Both Mike and I loved the fantasies I would create at home, our imaginary world making up for the lack of activity on a fairly regular basis. And the ancient Greek architecture naturally lent itself to some fantastic stories. We were the men of legend, jumping from stone to stone in mock sword-fights, or wrestling on the stage of an amphitheatre. And the ruins were not the only great thing - the beaches weren't bad either. Mike and I were not naturally ones for sitting around bathing, but when my mum and dad were asleep in the sun we needed to find something to do with our time. So we rated boys.
I'm serious! We sat there looking at all the boys our age, giving them a mark out of ten in several categories, from hair and eyes to the amount of bulge they showed. Most, unfortunately, showed nothing at all, hiding everything behind big baggy trunks. Some, though, wore Speedos like Mike and I (I never properly thanked Susan for buying those for us both. I guess she really cared, given how hot Mike looked in his), and those were the ones who inevitably scored the highest marks. It was hard to stay soft talking about boys like this, and when I suddenly got stiff, so did Mike. Both our faces reddened, and we quickly had to shift onto our stomachs to hide the fact we were aroused.
But none of the boys measured up to my boyfriend, and I told him so, which elicited a bright blush and some sort of mumbling about how I was being soppy. My dad, the hero that he was, had got Mike and I our own room with only a double bed, which occasioned a few odd looks from the hotel receptionist. We didn't care though, since it meant that within the room we never had to wear a thing if we didn't want. We would shower at night and lie on the bed watching cable television, slowly fondling each others' hard dicks. Just the thrill of getting away with what we were doing was enough to keep us hot.
The third night of our television watching was the revelation of our young lives. Somehow, we found our way onto the pay-per-view channel, which seemed to be having problems. There was porn playing without us having to pay for it! Both Mike and I knew about porn - it was talked about at school - but we'd never seen even the softest material in our lives. Enraptured by what was happening on the screen, we concentrated on our own willies, ignoring each other, other than making sure one side of our bodies was in contact with the other person. The normal, straight stuff was ok, since we could watch the men's dicks as they received everything that was coming to them, but it was the gay porno which came on later which really got us hot.
We stopped wanking entirely, frozen by shock at the sight of two men going at it. Things we had never conceived were played out on the screen in front of us. And most amazing of all were the scenes of sucking and anal sex. Eventually the channel sorted itself out, but not before Mike and I had seen enough to get us well on the road to a fully sexual relationship. We just lay there for a while, occasionally looking at each other and grinning, before Mike broke the silence.
'Want to try some of that stuff?' he asked.
'Yeah, cool! Which stuff?'
'Let's start with the mouth stuff. I don't want your willy in my bottom.'
'Nor me,' I said, hoping that I sounded convincing - truthfully, it looked like the man was really enjoying himself as the huge man's stiffie rammed into him again and again. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad, although I kept that thought to myself. 'Ok,' I continued, 'want me to do you first?'
'Ok,' said Mike, a huge grin splitting his face. He lay back on the bed and arched his back, pushing his now very hard and pulsing willy into the air. I kissed him fully on the lips for a minute or so, which was something we had always started our sexual play with. It was like we were reassuring each other that we felt the way we did (and still do...).
Then I started to work my way down his body, kissing him all over like I'd seen the man do it in the film. I finally got to his dick, and with a lack of grace typical among those who have not had much training, I engulfed the whole three inch protuberance in one go. The foreskin hanging over the end tickled the back of my mouth a bit, and so I rolled it back with my lips. This action bought a gasp from Mike, whose hands were gripping the bed sheets. There was a gorgeous look of concentration on his face, his brows knitted the way they always were when we would pay video games at his house.
His willy was so smooth, the soft skin sliding easily around the hard heat within. It even tasted nice - I loved the smell of his dick on my fingers, and the taste was equally good if not better. It was like licking my own finger, but with an added musty smell that I could only describe as 'Mike'. Being careful with my teeth, as I knew I would want Mike to be, I started working up and down on his dick. I knew to suck hard, since I'd seen the man's cheeks sucked in as he worked on his friend's dick, and my actions seemed to be the right ones, as Mike once again gasped, and started to actually pant when I got a rhythm going. I think I was loving it as much as he was, especially as I got to look up and see the ecstasy etched on his face.
Before long, and a lot quicker than it usually came when we were wanking each other, Mike orgasmed, a sort of keening noise issuing from his throat as he did so. When he finally came back to earth, he was totally pumped up.
'That was so cool! I have to do that to you! What was it like doing it?'
'It was cool, of course. I was doing it on you.'
At that, he blushed, but still moved forward to kiss me. When he was satisfied with the kissing, he pushed me by the shoulders onto my back.
'Your turn!' he said, a wicked grin on his face. I really had to remember to thank my dad again for taking us to Crete...
A small, shaking, sobbing bundle. Soaking my shoulder, then my
chest, then my stomach. And then my other shoulder. My own tears added
into the mix couldn't help, but I was only crying because he was. He
had a good reason, my excuse was simply that I loved him. Of course, I
didn't realise that at the time. Well, not in so many words. But then I
was a few days into my eleventh year on this planet, and you don't
understand these things at that age. Like I said, he had the reason to
The suddenness of it all was the reason the tears had not come earlier. Mike had been, still was, in shock, and there was nothing which I could do about it. Not for lack of trying, but I wasn't able to help. I cried my own tears of frustration. All I wanted to do was wrap him up and take him away from the pain, but I was unable to do so. And so, while he remained resolute, and would not (or rather could not...) cry, I bawled like a baby.
He didn't know, because I never did it around him, and that meant spending less time together. I couldn't let him see me crying. I couldn't let him down like that. He needed me to be strong, and while on the surface it looked like he was coping, I knew that inside he had died with his mother. The tumour had been diagnosed the previous summer, while Mike and I were on holiday in Crete. Sarah hadn't wanted to tell Mike, but it was obvious that something was wrong with the frequent headaches and time off work.
It was only two days after he had found out, when hope was still alive that it might be operable, that Mike's mum didn't wake up. It was a school morning, and he had spent the night at his house. In fact, he had not left the place since his mother had admitted she was ill, and I had been called home by my parents to leave them to be together. I'd not understood, of course, but then I was going through a very selfish, possessive phase with Mike, and almost couldn't bear to share him with his own mother.
My father had sat me down and explained, and though I pretended to understand and accept the need to allow them to be together, it didn't stop the anger at our separation that I felt inside. I woke suddenly that morning, from a grim dream. Sitting bolt upright with a sharp intake of breath, I knew something was wrong. The sun didn't seem to be up, but looking at my bedside table told me that it certainly should have been. The reason was an early autumn fog, rolling heavily from between the trunks of the nearby woods and covering everything in its path with a sticky, freezing dew.
As I came properly awake, I realised why I had woken - Mike needed me. Shoving a pair of tracksuit bottoms on over the shorts I wore to bed and finding a hoodie from the 'almost clean' pile on the floor, I stumbled from my room, still barefoot, and downstairs. In the kitchen, my mum was already up having an early breakfast. She never did sleep well. I passed her without a word, and she just watched me leave.
I'm not sure where she thought I was going - I never asked her afterwards - but she let me go without saying a thing. Crossing the street, I tried the back door of Mike's house, and as expected found it unlocked. It was amazing that even as late as the early 90s it was possible to be that lax about security, but the nature of our insular little community allowed it. I went straight to Mike's room, but he wasn't there. The kitchen I had passed through was empty also, and the bathroom door was open with the lights off. And then I realised the only place I'd not checked was Sarah's room.
My heart dropped. I don't know why, and I don't think it will ever be explained, but somehow I knew in my heart what I was going to find when I walked into the large bedroom. Mike was knelt by the bed, staring at the lifeless form of his mother. Her eyes were closed, and she would have looked almost peaceful in her sleep were it not for the fact her skin was grey and her lips blue.
I'd never before seen a corpse, but instinctively knew that this was my first experience. I couldn't talk. I knelt by Mike, tried to put my arms around him, but he didn't respond. He too was cold, sat there in only a pair of shorts. Normally I would have found this attractive, but now it only bought pain. He wasn't shivering, though he certainly should have been. He was hardly breathing, in fact, and was stone cold. Quickly I went to his room and grabbed one of his own hoodies. Absently, I noticed that it was the one my parents had bought him as a present from me. It was my favourite piece of his clothing, mostly because it was so oversized that it dwarfed him, which made him look all the cuter. But I didn't stop to think how well he would be dressed.
Hurrying back to his mother's room, pulled one limp arm up into the air and threaded it into its sleeve. Then the other, and finally I was dragging the neck over Mike's head. I have no idea how long it took, but by the time I was finished, my mother was standing in the doorway. As I turned to face her, I saw the retreating form of my father, clearly heading to phone for the ambulance that would come several hours too late for Mike's mum. My own mother had tears rolling down her cheeks, and just sagged against the doorframe as if she were suddenly exhausted. I suppose she must have realised where I was going, and that it was important, so she followed. Distantly, I could hear my father speaking urgently to the 999 operator.
Mike was glued to the floor, unresponsive. He didn't move when the paramedics arrived, he didn't move when I tried to get him to come to the hospital, and he hung like a rag doll when my father lifted him from the floor in his strong arms. He didn't speak all the way to the hospital, he didn't even move his head. His eyes remained unfocussed, and he leant on me. By the time of the funeral a week later, Mike was close to joining his mother. He lay in a hospital bed, a drip the only thing that kept him alive.
He'd not eaten a single thing since the day he'd found Sarah, and after four days had been rushed to hospital, having simply fallen off his chair sideways one morning. He didn't even put his arms out to stop himself, and I went pale at the sound of his head hitting the floor. He was unconscious for two days, of which I spent all but three hours at his bedside. My parents understood that I needed to be there as me as he needed me there, but when Mike had regained consciousness, there was still nothing there in his eyes. He remained unfocussed, uncaring of the sharp intrusion into his slender, blemish-free arm that the drip caused.
I tried to speak to him, but couldn't hold a one-way conversation for long, so I stopped. I, too, took up staring for a hobby, though I had more focus in my glare. My attention was entirely devoted to my boyfriend, who I don't think even realised that I was there. But I wouldn't leave. Even when my parents dragged me, exhausted, from his room a week later, I protested. It was a weak argument, since I was weak myself, but I had to make a stand.
Around the fourth time I attempted to escape my house and get the bus to Mike's hospital, my parents relented, agreeing to take me back as long as I got a good night's sleep. And so I ended up banging on their door at seven the next morning, frantically trying to get my parents to drive me to the hospital. My dad, bleary-eyed hero that he was, stumbled from the shower five minutes later and into clothes I virtually threw at him, and we were off. As soon as I reached the hospital, the matron of the night shift tried to stop me seeing Mike, but I was past her in a flash and into his room. The day matron, just coming on to her shift, restrained her colleague and explained the situation, and I was left to sit with my boyfriend until he woke.
I must have failed to have the sleep I promised to take, because I had drifted off when Mike woke. The first I knew was a gentle squeeze of my hand, which I had wrapped around his as I sat in the chair that almost had an imprint of my bottom on it from the time I had spent there. I opened my eyes slowly, forgetting for a second where I was and looking instead into the eyes of my love. I'd never before, and never since, had the level of joy sweep through me as I did when I realised that the life was back in Mike's eyes. He was home.
Of course, that could not be the end of the story. Mike was far from
alright. He came to live with us, his mother having signed over his
guardianship to my parents as soon as she was diagnosed as potentially
terminal, a move with which his estranged father had agreed. He still
would not respond to others, and I had to be there to feed him, since
he refused to do it for himself. It wasn't a cry for attention, he
simply could not do anything for himself. I would sit in the bathtub
with him, washing him like a baby. I would dress him, and then leave
for the day to attend school, on my mother's insistence. I knew she was
only looking after me, ensuring that I didn't miss more than I had to,
and that I didn't mope around all day with Mike, but I resented what I
saw as her cold-heartedness. Mike needed me, and I could not be there
for him for up to eight hours a day.
It was about two months after Mike came home that the crying started. Not his crying, but mine. Mike was still immovable, his face blank every moment of the day, except for the odd occasion in his sleep when his brows would furrow, and then relax once more. But my emotions could not be held back, knowing that he felt so much pain that he simply could not express any of it. The trigger was his eleventh birthday, which fell two months to the day before my own. He sat in his bed, eyes seemingly uncaring, as my parents brought in all the presents they had got him for his birthday. It was all pretty standard stuff for an eleven year old boy - a new football, new boots and the strip of his favourite team, Spurs. All passed before his uncaring eyes. He thanked my parents, and I think they knew it was a genuine emotion, but he could feel nothing inside.
The final present was what, in truth, sent me over the edge. It was a letter from Sarah to her son, to be read on his eleventh birthday. Carefully, Mike slipped open the envelope and unfolded the single sheet of paper. He read it aloud, the most words he had spoken in nearly a quarter of a year. It was not a long note, but it had my parents crying by its end. Mike still has it somewhere, ten years on, but I don't think I will find it and repeat the words here. They were for Mike. At the time, though, he was unaffected, at least on the surface. Having come to the end of the letter, he carefully folded it up once more, returning it to its envelope and announced he was tired, before rolling away from us and curling up.
I couldn't stand it any longer. I burned inside with pain at seeing him like this, but refused to cry in front of him if he would not. And so I fled the room we shared, running out into the garden. I didn't stop when I reached the fence at the bottom. In one clear leap I scaled the inside before dropping down the other and into the forest beyond. I didn't stop running until I reached the hiding place that Mike and I had made our own over the last six months. It was an old place, no more than a few sheets of plywood erected into some form of shelter, and had clearly been the haunt of many boys before us. It was enough, though, to keep the cold drizzle off me, and as I sat hugging my knees, I started to cry.
I don't remember much after that. When I woke, I was in the guest bed, wrapped up in my mum's clean white sheets. Moments later she came in to see how I was doing, and smiled when she saw I was awake. I'd apparently been found curled up in the foetal position by a neighbour's dog when they were out walking in the forest. He'd carried me home, semi-conscious, and explained how I'd been found. All the neighbours knew what had happened, and how badly it had affected both Mike and I, and he was concerned for my welfare.
I was up and about a lot quicker than Mike had been. When I found him, he was lying on his bed, fully clothed, staring at the wall. As gently as I could manage, I slipped onto the bed behind him and shifted closer, draping an arm over him. He lifted himself slightly, so that my other arm could pass underneath. I hugged him fiercely, and his arms returned the strength, grasping mine with as strong a grip as he could muster. We fell asleep like that, me spooned into his back, and did not wake until the middle of the next day. If we knew the definition of love, we would have spoken the words.
Two months passed, but things were not getting any better. Christmas
had been ignored, on my request. I couldn't stand to celebrate when I
knew that Mike would not respond. Silently, he thanked me with a hug
when I told him we would not mark the occasion. My parents would not
let it pass entirely, though, appearing on Christmas morning with a
gift for each of us - one of those pendants split in half, one piece
for each of us, to add to the chain with our keys. Mike's eyes briefly
flashed gratitude to my parents before returning to their uncaring
natural state. I think my parents knew he appreciated the gift.
I had nothing for him, having thought that since we were not celebrating, gifts were unnecessary. When I tried to explain, pain flashed through Mike's eyes, and I thought I had really messed things up until he leaned forward and grabbed me into a rib-crushing bear hug, and whispered in my ear,
'You are my present.'
I had to force myself not to cry. My birthday approached, and I hoped that it would pass without mention. I had already asked my parents if they could pretend that I did not have a birthday, because I would not be able to enjoy it without Mike, and they had agreed. There was a strange look in my mother's eyes as she agreed, but I couldn't read it and thus forgot it almost immediately. And then the day was upon me. I woke alone in my own bed. Mike and I had taken to sleeping in separate beds, since he would have bad dreams and throw his arms around a lot. I didn't want to be hit, and he didn't want to hit me, and so we had silently agreed to the separation. But I was not alone for long.
As soon as I rolled over to look at my clock, another weight joined mine on the bed. Rolling back, thinking my mum had come in to wish me happy birthday, I instead came face to face with Mike. He leaned forward and kissed me, a strong kiss and our first in many months. I was shocked, but reciprocated when I remembered how. He broke the kiss first, and leaned back slightly.
'Didn't think I would forget your birthday, did you?' he said. And then, an even bigger shock, the corners of his mouth turned up into a tiny little smile. It didn't last for long, but it was there. I knew that simple display of emotion was a huge effort, and it struck me how much Mike was going through just to see me happy. And then all of the love I felt for him came up at once. It rose through my stomach, butterflies flapping up toward my throat, and through into my mouth.
I sobbed. I couldn't stop myself. Making my excuses, I tried to leave so that Mike wouldn't have to see me crying, but I couldn't move. Mike's hands were on my shoulders, holding me down on to the bed. When I stopped struggling, he pushed me down onto my back, and lay down on the bed beside me. I stopped trying to hold it in, and heaved huge sobs into his shoulder. My crying was Mike's trigger, just as his mum's letter had been mine. I felt his body shake, and then the tears came properly. He was silent, but the tears soaked me to the skin through the t-shirt I wore to bed.
When he had flooded one area, he moved on to the next, and then another, until my whole upper body was wet with his tears. Not that I cared. I was crying, too, to see his pain, and also a little out of relief. Finally he was able to let it out, and the months of saved up emotions all poured out in one go. I had no idea how long we were there, but eventually awoke to see my mother standing in the doorway. Her eyes were red, but if she had been crying she'd now stopped. She met my gaze for a moment, gave a brief smile and then turned and left. I heard her running a bath, and woke Mike to see if he wanted to bathe.
Utterly exhausted as he was, he could only nod, and supporting each other more than anything else, we stumbled to the bathroom. Once there, mum left us to give us a bit of privacy, shutting the door behind her. As I'd done innumerable times in the last few months, I started to take off Mike's bedclothes, and then my own. This time, however, a hand stopped me. Mike looked me right in the eyes, and said,
I couldn't exactly refuse, and stood there mutely as he lifted the now dry, but crusty, t-shirt over my head, and knelt down to remove my shorts. He herded me into the bath, joining me moments later. I felt like I couldn't move, now that Mike had found the ability to do so himself. He washed me slowly, lovingly. For once, I didn't become erect as he cleaned my most intimate areas. It was too important a moment to spoil with something that crude.
When he was done, he allowed me to return the favour, though my hands were shaking so much that I found it hard. Mike just sat there patiently with a hint of a smile on his lips, watching everything with the same eagle eyes he used to use when he watched me build model airplanes. Then it had disturbed me, but now it was a wonderful thing to see. It meant that he had purpose once more, and that filled me with a warm feeling. Unfortunately, it also filled my eyes with tears, and I cried as I washed him. Gently, with love, Mike wiped the tears from my cheeks, before giving me a light kiss on each closed eye.
My birthday was a watershed. Mike was coming back to me. Of course,
there was no instant cure, no overnight healing. Mike would still cry
on my shoulder every night, but at least he was crying. I was a part of
his life once more. I really knew he was back for good when his
horniness came back to him. We'd both been too caught up in the pain of
his mother's death to even think about fooling around for the previous
few months. But now all that pent up tension welled up to the surface,
and we became virtually unstoppable.
It was a good thing my dad had installed the lock on my door, because Mike and I were more often naked and hard in my room than clothed. Our passions renewed, we would spend hours kissing, lying naked on my bed and humping slowly against each other. More often than not, we would both climax just from the friction, but once in a while we would also exchange oral sex or get into the classic sixty-nine position and really go for it. We were crazed, and eventually had to agree to stop each other when our foreskins became red and sore from all the abuse.
Two days abstinence was all we could muster before we decided that we'd both healed sufficiently to go about causing ourselves further injury. It wasn't all sex, though - sometimes we had to go to school, too. It was great being in the last year of primary school before we moved on to secondary school. We were the big kids now, and I found out quite how popular Mike was. I would sit there and smile as friend after friend came up to attempt to involve Mike in their games. What was even better was that he would never accept without checking with me first.
I don't think anyone ever suspected how we felt about each other - at that age, you make jokes about 'gays' but few boys really know what they're talking about. And somehow, I never got jealous of all the attention, maybe because I realised that almost as soon as we were through the door into my house we would be in each other's arms. It was quite a small school, really, which was great because it meant that everyone of the same age had to be in the same class. I wasn't apart from Mike all day, and we were together all night.
I think you can see what's coming next, though - it's obvious for anyone who's been in a very close relationship. Both Mike and I could feel the tension building between us, until one day it all came to the surface and we ended up standing in the middle of the playground shouting at each other at the top of our lungs. Neither Mike nor I have any recollection of what the problem was (it was so obviously your fault though : ) - Mike), and the next thing we knew we were in front of the headmaster, who was looking at us rather strangely over the tops of steepled fingers.
'So. Thomas. Michael.'
That was all he said. He just sat there watching us, waiting. I know the tactic now - if you make people feel uncomfortable enough, they talk. And talk we did. We ended up in such a huge argument with each other that the headmaster had to shout to be heard. He separated us, seating Mike in the corner of his room, and me in his secretary’s office. And then he did the unthinkable - he called my dad.
Fifteen minutes were spent nervously staring about the office, trying not to make eye contact with Miss Abrahms, the headmaster's secretary. When my dad arrived, he looked sternly at me once, before being ushered into another room to talk with the headmaster. They were gone about ten minutes, during which time I tried as hard as I could to hear something, but to no avail. All I could hear was a mumbling, low talk.
My dad emerged looking only slightly less angry than he had before, although this time when he looked at me I noticed a little worry in his eyes too. He gathered Mike from the headmaster's office, and led him out to me. We were forced to shake hands, and apologise to each other, though I don't think either of us was really sorry at that point in time. My dad left, and Mike and I were told rather sharply to get back to the lessons that had started while we were being reprimanded.
The rest of the school day was hell. I kept feeling Mike's eyes watching me, but whenever I looked at him, he was staring out of the window. I nearly got caught a couple of times watching him, wishing I could say I was sorry, but knowing that I couldn't. I couldn't back down, no way. I couldn't give him the satisfaction of winning. And I hated the fact that all I wanted to do was crawl into his arms and kiss his soft lips. The school bus home was even worse. Mike was at the back of the bus surrounded by all his friends, laughing with them, and I was alone at the front, staring out of the window as the trees and grass flashed by.
I kept running through the fight in my head. Again and again I was shouting at Mike, telling him how much I hated him. I could feel my face redden, and tried as hard as I could to hold back from crying. It just about worked, though I had to pretend that I had something in my eye to wipe away a little moisture now and again. Not that anyone noticed - I realised that without Mike I was a bit of a nobody at the school, which just deepened my depression. I could hear his laughter from the back of the bus, and had no idea until much later quite how forced it was. At the time, it was killing me, and eventually I got off the bus a stop early and decided to walk the twenty minutes between the neighbouring village and my own.
I arrived at my house to find my dad seemingly casually tinkering with the lawnmower, which I didn't realise at the time was his way of worrying without seeming to do so. He tried to look laid back when I walked up to him.
'Decided to walk back, then?' he asked.
I didn't feel like saying anything more than that.
'Mike told me. He said you just got off the bus and walked away. You're still not talking, then?'
'Right, then you'll be glad to hear I've moved him out of your room into the guest room.'
I wasn't expecting that. I couldn't believe my dad would actually separate us just for fighting once. I think he could see the shock on my face, though.
'Hang on a second, don't get angry,' he said. 'It's just for the time being. You've spent all your time together as long as you've been friends. That's why you fought. Just take a little time off, ok?'
So we had time off. It was hell. A week later, we still weren't talking properly. The animosity wasn't open any more, but I could sense that he hated me almost as much as I still loved him. My dad decided that enough was enough after a fortnight of failure to make up, and sat us down one day to tell us that he was going to get the loft converted into a room so that Mike could permanently have his own place to live. I couldn't believe things had deteriorated to that level, but there was nothing I could do. I was still unwilling to back down, and Mike acted as if he didn't care what happened to our relationship. And so the room went in.
It was little over a month before half the loft had been converted into a spacious living space for Mike, with its own shower and toilet. I was furiously jealous, and decided to add the names of my parents to the list of people I lived with but refused to talk to. I was alone and isolated in the house. My dad did with Mike all the things we used to do together. He let him ride on the mower as it ran around the garden, he took him out fishing, and they even went out cycling together into the forest. I just shut myself off in my room, and spent a lot of time crying quietly.
It was about that time that I started to seriously begin to write about my emotions, and looking back on that work I really cannot believe an eleven year old could have such dark feelings. I cried when I read those words recently, as research for this story. Mike cried too. My moods became darker, my separation greater. I just about had a relationship with my mum, who tried to get me out of my room. But nothing worked until one Sunday in March.
I was sat on my bed drawing, another one of my pastimes, when a knock came at the door. I just grunted, and when no-one came in for a while, I thought that whoever it was had obviously not needed to see me that much. But after about thirty seconds, just when I was getting back into my picture, the door opened, and there stood Mike. His head was down, and I could see he was covered in splatters of paint. I knew he and my dad were going to be redecorating his new room today, and wondered what they could possibly want with me.
'We could really do some help, Tom.'
He had me. I was furious, because he knew that if anyone asked for help, I'd been brought up to never refuse. He knew that I couldn't say no, as much as I was loathe to assent. As slowly as I could manage, I lifted myself from the bed and walked toward the door. Mike would walk a little distance away from me, and then look back nervously, almost begging me to follow, the way a dog does when it has something really exciting to show you. I think I managed to make the trip from my room to his, all of ten metres and a flight of stairs away, last over five minutes.
When I finally rounded the corner into his room, my jaw nearly went through the floorboards. It was a typical boy's room, painted navy blue on three walls, and pine furniture everywhere. But it was the fourth wall that had grabbed my attention. I couldn't think of the right word to describe it, other than amazing.
The whole, entire wall was painted with a huge version of a photograph that I knew very well. It was the photo of Mike and me holding hands and smiling on our holiday in Crete. It was my favourite picture of us, and the one which adorned my bedside table in a simple wooden frame which only served to heighten the impact of the image. Only Mike and I knew how important that picture was.
I stood gaping, hardly hearing his explanation of how it was done, something to do with projectors and slides, then colouring in. Then I realised that Mike had gone silent, and that it was because he was waiting for me to answer a question.
'Sorry?' I said.
'I asked if you liked it.'
'I love it,' I said. 'I really love it.'
I still couldn't look at Mike, but had no choice as he came round to stand in front of me, raising his head to stare me directly in the eyes.
'Tom, I'm really sorry,' he said.
I could see concern etched on his face, as if I could possibly do anything other than accept his apology. I accepted, and gave my own, profusely and repeatedly. In the end, Mike had to shut me up by kissing me until I stopped mumbling, and melted into his arms. Together, we slumped onto his bed. It was a good thing Mike had shut the door behind us when we came in, otherwise my parents might have heard things they weren't comfortable hearing...
It was hot. Not hot outside, just warm, but the sun beating down on
the roof of our house turned Mike's room into something akin to an
oven. The mixture of stuffy heat and paint fumes from the redecorating
that had transformed the shell into a haven transported our eleven year
old minds somewhere else entirely. We weren't exactly tripping, but the
slightest movement required an effort of Herculean proportions, and we
lolled around like cats in the sun, stretching now and then.
It was the weekend after the resolution of our fight and we had very little to do. It was amazing how quickly things reverted to a normal state between us, as if nothing had ever happened. Well, nearly normal, at least. The relationship had crossed some sort of undefined barrier, and we both now accepted the need to be different people, to spend time alone. We hadn't gone back to sleeping in the same room, mostly from fear of a repeat of our fight, and we'd both started to learn the signs that lovers silently send to each other announcing when they need a bit of room. I could sense it so subtly in Mike that I would walk away and find something to do even before he realised that he was going to get bugged by my presence.
But it worked, in a strange kind of way, and for all the separation, we actually became closer. School changed somewhat, too. I spent a little time away from Mike, and was shocked to find that I did actually have some friends beyond those I attracted for being Mike's best friend (and boyfriend, but we weren't exactly shouting about that in the playground). Several girls seemed to find my company pleasant, and a couple of the less outgoing boys who might have got teased in larger company. Mike was always one of the louder kids when he was around his friends, which I realise now was a defence mechanism born out of extreme shyness. But I was quiet whether I was around Mike or around twenty class-mates, and I seemed to be a nucleus for those kids who didn't want to be loud and brash, the kind interested in nature, the artists.
So, my group of quiet friends and I would sit around in occasional conversation, avoiding the fights and the games, talking about things that would have caused names to be thrown at us were we in the company of the louder kids. The acceptance was like a blanket around me, and I almost felt at times that I could reveal my love for Mike and they might just be happy for me rather than treating me like a freak. Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself here. We were meant to be talking about a sunny spring day in rural England...
Mike rolled onto his side, facing me. He looked gorgeous, the sunlight falling over his delicate features, and I just stared at him.
‘Tom, did I ever tell you I love you?'
I didn't quite know what to say. I'd always been taught that love was a big thing, and I probably would not know it for a long time. I wasn't exactly sure at the time what love was, but at the same time I could sense that this might well be it.
‘No, you never said,' I replied. `You know I love you, right?'
‘Yeah, I knew,' he said with a slightly nervous smile.
‘Just wanted to make sure.'
With that, he shifted closer and draped an arm over my chest, his head resting on my shoulder. His nose nuzzled into my neck, and I could feel him planting lots of little kisses all over my neck and shoulder. We were both topless in the heat, and he continued to kiss me, working his way down to my nipples. He licked and sucked one and then the other, a practise we had only recently discovered could be incredibly pleasurable.
From that position, his hand crept down to the waistband of my shorts, thrown on in haste over my boxers after my morning shower. Slipping inside, his fingers curled around my now very hard shaft, squeezing and rolling it, feeling the head moving under my foreskin. I was powerless to do anything in return given my prone position and his weight upon me, so I just let Mike go to work. He was a master at this by now, and had me writhing and moaning within a couple of minutes, my hot three inches ending up in his equally warm mouth. We both enjoyed humping into each other's mouth, but this time Mike held me down as he sucked me, not allowing my instinctual movements.
He liked to be in control of our lovemaking, and I wasn't about to complain with the treatment I was receiving. I came very close several times, and each time Mike sensed it and backed off. I was in a complete frenzy when I noticed that Mike had stopped and moved on top of me, his shorts and boxers having disappeared somewhere along the way. He sat on my lower stomach, the head of my dick held against my stomach by the top of his ass crack. He just watched me for a second or two, before that slightly nervous demeanour came over him, the side of him that only showed itself around me.
`Tom, if I ask you a question, will you promise you won't get angry with me?'
`Depends on the question, I suppose,' I said, not wanting to make things too easy for him.
`Just promise, ok?'
`Alright, alright, I promise.'
I caved. He'd turned on the puppy-dog eyes, knowing full well I couldn't refuse a thing he asked me when he looked that damn cute.
`You really mean that, or are you just saying it?'
`I mean it! I promise, ok?'
He was quiet for a few seconds, looking around the room, at the furniture, at the huge picture of the pair of us which stared down from the far wall, at the door. Slowly, he got up and moved to the door, making absolutely sure that it was locked. I wondered to myself what had him so nervous, but I didn't get much of a chance to ponder as he turned back to me, this time smiling, a little more confident than he had been.
`You remember the film we saw in Crete?'
I knew exactly which film he was referring to -- the gay porno that we'd `accidentally' discovered was playing for free in the hotel system by mistake. I nodded.
`Well, remember the thing we said we wouldn't do?'
I knew the answer to this one, too. I nodded, more slowly this time. Mike's nervousness came back, at about the same time my heart started racing. He was talking about the scene where one of the guys in the film had fucked one of the others. It had been a massive turn-on at the time, but we both agreed that it had been a bit sick (how things change, eh? -- Mike). I knew what was coming, but I wanted Mike to say it. I wanted him to want it as much as I did. And so I let him ask.
`Want to try it?'
My fierce nodding was fast enough to make me bounce my head off the wall. It sounded a lot worse than it was, but within a heartbeat Mike was knelt on the bed, cradling my head in his arms, making sure I was alright. It always shocked me that the brash kid who ruled the school playground could show such caring for me when we were alone. I protested weakly that I was fine, but let him mother me for a few moments. We both needed it. Eventually, though, we could not put off what we had just decided.
`What way round do you want to do it then?' I asked.
`Um, I don't mind if you do me first,' Mike said in barely more than a whisper.
`Are you sure?' Mike just nodded.
We'd seen enough of the film's gory details to know that preparation was needed. Mike scrambled off me and went into his bathroom, returning with a nearly empty bottle of hand lotion and a towel. It was the moisturiser my mum used, and when I looked questioningly at Mike he explained,
`Your mum threw it out when it wasn't quite empty, and I thought it might be useful, so I took it.'
He looked nervous, as if he was worried he might have done something wrong, so I reassured him with a warm smile. I won't go into the really thorough details, other than to say it was every bit as painful as we suspected, and then some. But it felt nice to be that intimately connected, and so we persevered. Then it got really good. I mean, amazing. So we continued, and continued, both getting into it. I don't really know if we came at the same time or not, because I'm sure I orgasmed more than once, and they all melted into one long climax. Mike said afterwards that he had felt the same, and that it was nothing like wanking or sucking. He said it felt really weird to cum without touching your dick, or someone else touching it, and so I had to try it. Once we'd recovered, that was...
You might be wondering what there is possibly left to tell, and if
you are, I'd like to remind you of one little word -- puberty... We
didn't realise, of course, that our ridiculous horniness was not only
borne out of our love for each other, but also from new hormones
surging around our bodies. Though nothing showed externally, inside our
bodies things were getting very interesting.
Well, I say nothing showed externally -- that's only really true if you discount our perpetual boners. The school curriculum had just been changed in England to include sex education for children in our year, and so the school was forced to teach us. I don't know who was more embarrassed, the teachers or us kids. Of course, most of the boys made crude jokes to hide the fact that they really were interested in what was being said, and several had to be sent out of the room to calm down. The girls just tittered quietly behind their hands, and blushed furiously now and then.
Inevitably, after the class, talk among the boys in the playground turned to which girl they'd like `to sex'. We really struggled with the terminology for a while back then. I didn't really join I the conversation, because the only person I wanted to do all these things with was standing opposite me, and `she' was most definitely a HE. I knew -- I measured it every night. Mike, on the other hand, joined in gleefully, pointing out this girl and that, though I noticed that he tactfully avoided talking dirty about any of the girls I had made friends with.
I knew he was only upholding his image, and appreciated the subtle nod to the fact that he didn't want to hurt my feelings. But Mike still needed to make sure that night that everything was ok.
`You know I didn't mean what I said about the girls today, right?' he asked, that endearing nervousness edging into the tone.
`Yeah, I know. It's ok, Mike, I know you have to keep the image going. It's alright, 'cause I can always just think about what we get up to alone.'
At that he grinned broadly and leaned in for a brief, but passionate, kiss.
`Thanks for understanding, Tom.'
He was silent for a minute, but I could tell that he wanted to say more, so I stayed silent, giving him time to arrange his thoughts. Finally, he came out with it.
`When do you reckon we'll get hair and stuff, Tom?'
`Dunno. They said about eleven or twelve, didn't they? Well, we're already eleven, so it should be soon.'
`Could you check me, and I'll check you?'
`Sure,' I answered, never one to pass up an opportunity to look at Mike's equipment.
I had to bend his always rigid penis out of the way to look, and when I did, I was in for a real shock. There, nestling in the crevice formed at the junction of his dick and his body were two tiny, almost invisible hairs, just darker than the surrounding peach fuzz.
`Oh my God! You've got hairs!' I said, perhaps a little too loudly. But I was too carried away with excitement to care if my parents heard.
`Where? Where?' asked Mike, bending forward to look. `I can't see anything.'
`Hang on,' I said, `I'll get the camera.'
Mike's Polaroid camera was one of the best thing we owned (`we' -- I love using that word about me and Mike). My parents had given it to him for Christmas, and though I'm sure they suspected exactly what it was used for, they never said anything, and I don't think they ever found the pictures. We were good at hiding things back then. Anyway, I digress.
Grabbing the camera from under Mike's bed, I focussed and fired off a quick shot of his groin. It was an anxious few moments while the photograph developed, but when the colour had come through, there were two (count `em!) hairs clearly visible on the picture. We grinned and hugged each other, and then quickly wrote the details on the back of the picture, ringing the hairs for future reference.
Then it was my turn to be checked out. I was sorely disappointed to find that Mike found nothing but smooth skin down there, and demanded a second opinion. This seemed to upset Mike a little, and I finally managed to weed out the fact that he was a little upset I wanted someone else to look at me down there. I couldn't help but smile that he was so possessive of me. I loved it. And so I accepted his professional opinion that I was not yet a hairy person. We took a Polaroid for the records anyway, and then settled down for the night. Oh yeah, I should probably say that by now we had decided that we could just about survive sleeping in the same bed most nights, and since my dad had thoughtfully put a double bed in Mike's room, we took full advantage of the facilities.
I think my dad realised all along that I would be jealous of the
fact that Mike had a new room, despite the fact that I spent almost as
much time in it as in my own room. It wasn't long, therefore, before he
came to me with a proposition I could not refuse. We were sat around
the breakfast table on a wet spring morning during half term. Mike and
I had a week of sitting around doing nothing, the weather choosing this
week to turn bad. Typical.
Anyway, we were all hunched over mugs of our respective favourite hot beverages -- chocolate in the case of Mike and myself, and extremely strong, sugary black coffee for my dad -- when he suggested that since Mike had a new room to live in, perhaps I might like to do something similar. I'd always had my eyes on the guest bedroom -- I'd chosen wrong when we moved in, and had regretted it almost immediately, but my mum could not be talked into moving things around. But now, it seems, she had been persuaded that it might not be too bad after all, and had relented. I was to be allowed to move rooms if I wanted.
Mike and I were uncontrollable. We started planning right there and then, writing down more and more outrageous lists of things we wanted in my new room, only to have most of them vetoed by my dad. By the time we were done, there was a pretty clear pattern to the design -- it was going to be a games room. Of course, there would still be a bed, and all my stuff would go into the huge built-in wardrobe that ran along one wall, but there would also be a big sofa and the old TV which was sitting in the garage doing nothing for the time being, and a table I could build my models on.
I think my dad realised the significance of the design -- he knew that Mike and I spent most nights in Mike's bed, and whether or not he was entirely happy with the situation, he accepted our relationship. And so I was to get my new room.
The rest of the week was a lot more interesting than the first half had been. The rain relented, and there were even a couple of sunny days, but we were all too busy to notice. The move was a lot more hassle than any of us had suspected, especially since we had to move all the furniture out of my new room and repaint it before anything else could happen. And then we had to move all my stuff in, and find places for it all to go, fitting around the new table and new sofa my dad had bought. Fortunately we didn't have to fit the bed in too, since my dad had got me one of those fold out sofa-bed things. He really must have realised how little time I would spend sleeping in it.
Of course, it wasn't all fun -- my mum decided that it was the perfect opportunity to get the perfect guest room, and so we had to redecorate that to her specifications. I didn't mind one bit, to be truthful, since she had given me a new room, and enthusiastically set to painting and fixing picture hooks and all sorts of things that mums think are great.
We were done by Saturday morning, which was handy since my parents were going out on Saturday afternoon to a friend's party, and would be gone until Sunday evening. For some bizarre reason, they trusted us to look after the house while they were gone, without the supervision of a babysitter. My dad even gave me a huge wink as they left, which confused me for long enough for him to exit the house before I ran after him to protest at the cheekiness.
Mike and I cooked frozen pizzas for dinner (yeah, gourmet chefs at the age of eleven, who'd have thought it...), and sat in my room on the comfy sofa watching bad Saturday evening TV, curled up together under a blanket. It didn't take long for us to get distracted by our hormones, and I found Mile's hand slowly fiddling with my dick under the blanket. We weren't really going for it passionately -- it was more of a comfort thing, almost as if we were reassuring each other. But it was still fooling around, and sooner or later it was bound to happen -- I came. Big time.
We'd been spending so much time getting the new room finished that we'd been too tired in the evenings to mess around for a few days, and the tension had really built up. Mike quickly pulled his hand out with a disgusted look on his face.
`You pissed on my hand!'
I looked at his hand, and indeed it was slightly wet. Pulling back the sheet, I looked at my belly, and there was a single drop sitting there, along with a smear where the other had been wiped off by Mike's hand. Then I noticed the colour -- slightly milky. Mike and I both realised at the same time that it most certainly wasn't piss, and just looked at each other in shock.
`But you haven't even got hair yet!' he said, staring in wonder at the wetness on his hand. `It's not meant to happen that way round!'
This was definitely a Polaroid moment, and I sat there praying Mike would get back soon with the camera, before the little drop dried. Fortunately he did, and we took a picture of the momentous occasion, before wiping it off with a tissue and flushing the evidence. Of course, we had to check whether Mike had started too, but his orgasm remained dry, and his dick hard. We tried again...
I think I've said all that I wanted to say about our relationship,
the important things at least. I just wanted to say to anyone out there
going through the same process of really getting to know someone inside
out, whether you're young or old, never lose sight of the reasons you
fell in love with them in the first place. Sometimes we lose track, and
that shouldn't happen.