Sanctus

by Rafael Henry

Chapter 12

Terry Goodwin, Tom's Assistant Housemaster, had every intention of kicking the seventeen year old boy out of his bed and packing him off to his own…….but sleep intervened. They'd had an interesting time considering it was the very first very private time together. The obvious error might have had something to do with not wanting to leave the warmth their bodies provided each other with, and the pleasure their emotional union gave them. Rather too full of misgiving at first, Terry thought he was going to have difficulty coming, due to those guilty feelings, so there were little lulls, a little discussion about whether they should be doing what they were attempting, and then agreed restarts, and then after a half hour or so, finally successful. His success was in large part due to an announcement from Tom that his own orgasm was not only on the cards, but imminent, and no hands involved. That sent Terry into overdrive. The thought of Tom coming as a result of his exertions thrilled him. When he looked down, he saw Tom's erection looked like it was at that explosive stage, livid and slightly upward curving, and twitching. Terry had been going at it for a good fifteen minutes trying hard to save himself. He wanted this to last, so as to maximise Tom's experience so he was counting sheep. He moved his body up and over Tom's head to gain even more purchase to get as far into the boy's body as was possible. To the hilt. He knew there was a chance of it happening for Tom. Goodness, quite possibly a rarity? Tom had had it happen once before after a prolonged coupling with Philip who possessed a short but nevertheless substantial penis, the perfect length he later realised, consulting his Advanced Biology textbook, to hit the spot perfectly. The boys were much younger then, unable to ejaculate fluid, but enjoyed getting their insides frantically rubbed with just the right length of penis until much pleasure resulted for the one doing the hard work. Usually. It just happened the one time for Tom who had no idea what caused the intense all-body sensation and made his penis to get spitty and kick off dramatically. Since then, despite best efforts, no repeats, at least not that way.

Quite out of the blue, Tom felt the feeling begin deep inside him and he knew exactly what was about to overtake his whole being. It was a sensation that crept up on him from some distance away, gradually getting nearer until it became a certainty. Last night, beginning well after lights out around a quarter to ten when Tom crept unnoticed, thank goodness, into Terry's room, it was all about words and sounds for the older man-boy Terry, and the delightful way Tom was wriggling on his body, this way and that, taking equal responsibility you might say, for their mutual pleasure. The way the boy began to move, the twisting, the hip movements, the whole erotic dance of joy whilst Terry pushed up in ever more robust thrusts.

Terry, on his back since they swapped around, had almost stopped his jerky upwards movements to counteract Tom's when Tom, insisting on facing him, made his surprise and breathless moaning announcement. Tom had taken charge. Terry watched the boy gyrating above him. He knew then that his own moment, or moments were well on their way too.

There were no more words from either of them, not until it was all over. Terry looks down at his stomach while Tom breathes a little slower now, his head back and a huge smile on his face. He's come all over Terry's stomach and chest, up in an impressive arc and then splashdown on bare skin. Bobbie Elmer had mentioned it in one of their random conversations. Tom had become adept at asking questions that he knew Bobbie would relish answering and excite him at the same time. It was a kind of conversational sex they indulged in, something that no school rule could really address. There were no rules about conversation, only deeds.

Tom thought he had felt Terry come too, more or less at the same time as he had. He looked down to see his own results, and what was still oozing out of him. He'd felt all Terry's contractions. He knew he had by the noises he made. There's no mistaking those 'this is getting so hot' moaning noises, and then the exultant 'I'm coming' sounds, and bingo, they've done it, and it was all against the rules too. Hugely. A secret between them for life. Something to savour and remember, and perhaps one day mention in passing to a future partner. Facing each other, naked of course, their joined skin felt minimally sticky, and after two or three tender kisses, they both fell asleep. Neither had wanted to de-couple, or to wipe off Terry's stomach. Oh how terribly yucky.

Tom knew he had all that Terry could muster, inside him. A fact that kept his sexy feelings going. What he hadn't bargained for was that what goes up must come down.

Terry woke Tom at a quarter past six the next morning, all his residual sticky gone somewhere. Tom had woken with an attention seeking erection he showed to Terry.

'Goodness. You can't walk down the corridor with that Tom.'

'Oh. What then?'

As if he didn't know. As young boys they had felated each other regularly, if you were lucky enough to be admitted to that particular club, but reaching a climax was rare. It was more like a naughty game rather than a proper sexual thing between them. Most boys in time quietly turned their backs and tried not to remember those events, but for a few, the memories lingered on accompanied by hopes of more sweet penises to feel between their lips and be teased by a lively tongue tip. The opportunities came if they were lucky. Philip and Roland always made good partners in crime. This bright morning, it was a no-brainer for Terry to round off the occasion as he leaned into Tom, his head settling on his lower tummy, poised, and one hand fondling between Tom's buttocks and tight balls. Mornings were always good for Tom, and with the memories of the previous night to inspire him, his sexual works were fully recharged and all ready for Terry. It was a lesson in how to please a partner this way. Everything in play, hands, a probing finger, mouth, lips and a playful tongue running up and down Tom's manly length. This was everything a boy could wish for. This was an exercise that wasn't going to take long. Tom helped by masturbating rapidly from the start before asking Terry to take over. Of course the result was a foregone conclusion even before he had started, and Tom's departure for his own bed wasn't delayed long. Terry got everything he wanted, and plenty of it. This treat he'd been waiting for. No clean up required. No standing there looking for a hanky, exuding a long clear length of sticky. No big wet patch in his underpants. For him it was all worth the risks involved, but he had chosen wisely in Tom. Risk free. And the memories would linger for years, if not for ever. To know this boy, inside and out, to consume this forbidden fruit, was a prize indeed. He rather wished he could record the occasion for posterity. And then he thought for a few moments and realised that he could have done. Perhaps next time, if there was one. Yes, definitely next time, if Tom would allow it. Imagine that.

He watched as Tom left him, naked bar his dressing gown drawn tight at the front and turning for a last smile and a flicker of fingers. Tom was still all-of-a tingle as he walked the short distance to his room knowing that the ever faithful Robin De'Ath could be waiting patiently for him in his bed.

Now Tom speaks………..

I had a free lesson period between a double of Ancient History and a scheduled discussion hour on some of the more obscure issues raised in the Scottish play, one of our set books. I had a sensation in my bottom that was concerning me, so I nipped up to our House bathroom to investigate the source. This involves whipping the underpants off and giving then the once over. I'd heard from Robbie that one can leak a little, or a lot of seminal fluid after sex with someone who has a generous supply to hand out. I'd forgotten that Mark Wallis had been confined to his bed with suspected something or other. I was just inspecting what should be pristine snow white briefs over one of the basins when Mark appeared. I'm sans trousers and pants, and quite turned on by the possibility of Terry's presence in my knickers.

'What the hell are you up to Tom?'

'Oh fuck. Where did you come from? And nothing. I'm up to nothing as it happens.'

'Bollocks. You had an accident or something?'

'Possibly. Just looking.'

'Anything there old boy? Let me see.' He says, peering over the basin.

'No. I just thought there might be.'

'Right I get it. Put a cork in it next time. Who was it?'

There wasn't anything to see. All lovely and snowy white. I can't bear the thought of anything other than that. Some of the boys are so lazy. It doesn't seem to bother them. Roland was wonderfully clean, as was Philip. They knew what they had to do if they wanted any of that caper. On occasions I did it for them, watching their erectile tissue fill up as I made sure of their cleanliness. A rather pleasant game we played.

It isn't all about sex, at least not for me. This morning I'd had the last of a fabulous time with Terry Goodwin, not ten minutes ago. I'd given everything I had. For my long-haired beauty, Robin De'Ath, it is sex alright. Poor lad, he's got to that age when it's all so immediate and exciting, and as he told me, he finds older boys particularly attractive. They often do just as I did, or still do. Like Terry. No, for me this is all about beauty, this boy, waiting for me and hoping and willing to provide whatever I desire from him. As much as he can give me and I could have had more of him no doubt. Anything. But I have nothing left. But it does leave me in a nice place to deal with Robin; my heart ruling my head, at least at the moment. But that was ten minutes ago. In another ten I could feel quite differently.

When I walked through the door Robin is waiting, sitting up across the bed with his back against the wall, dressing gown still on, but undone and open at the front, his knees raised up and wide apart. He's presenting his bottom to me. That's why he's sitting like that, so he knows I can see his cleanliness. I stop close to the edge of the bed and we look at each other. His face is giving nothing away, but his pose certainly is. He's showing me his body which is telling me he's ready to play. There's no fat on the boy, slim legs, rather large feet, and from what I've seen of all the other boys in this place, a perfectly average penis, albeit with a nice plump crown contained within a stretched prepuce, the whole ensemble lying to one side of his contracted darker and textured scrotum. Standing over him he invites me to touch, so I do. The skin is unbelievably soft as I stroke it, and move with my finger tips the beautiful little organ this way and that, watched by the amused Robin De'Ath. It quickly grows with my stimulation. I love those big white teeth, and those eyes. So pretty.

'Where've you been Tom? Why weren't you here?' The boys asks quietly, as I kneel by the bed before this marvellous apparition. Robin looks down and moves his body forwards a few inches emphasizing his pose, as if inviting a more detailed visual examination.

'I woke up very early Robin. I went for a toddle about for a while.'

I'm not sure if he believed me.

'I'm sending you back to your room now Robin. I'm afraid this is the last morning. I'm sorry.'

Reluctantly he went. I didn't think he would but he did. With the door closed I can lie back and cast my mind over recent events and indulge myself in a little fantasy. What might have been with Robin, but couldn't.

'Have you done it yet?' Asks Robin.

'Yes. I take it you haven't?'

'So you won't then?'

'No. I can't Robin. Not now.'

I certainly could. All that stuff with Terry was twenty minutes ago now. But I need an escape route.

'But I'm not stopping you Robin.'

'Will you help me then?'

'Of course.'

He puts his fingers to his mouth, fills the impromptu vessel he formed with an amount of saliva, looks down, raises his hips just enough to allow good access and anoints himself, I have to say, very efficiently. He's done this before. Open mouthed he looks hard at me. Ok, I understand what my role is to be.

I help him off with his gown and kiss him lightly on the mouth and lay him down. His penis has swelled nicely, the shining deep red saliva coated meatus now clearly visible. Although there's no noticeable pubic hair present, he's well into puberty. I've not asked him to do what he's about to do. Granted, I'm a not very innocent bystander who is about to witness something very nice, and facilitate to a degree, one of those perfect performances some boys love to give by masturbating to an audience, thrilled with their new-found ability and show what their body can do now.

The boy gathers another crop of saliva and anoints himself in that other place that boys do. It's all in there, mixed now with a little of my own. As the naked boy, fully erect, pins his friend down at the shoulders says…….resistance is futile. Of course there is resistance as I gently push at the metaphorical door, but with a little pressure, the door opens and I slip through and into the darkness. I feel a little further and find what I'm seeking. That's far enough.

Robin has my head in his hands. I can smell him now, the distinct perfume of a warm naked boy, and the stronger perfume of a boy's sexual parts, alluringly smooth and spotless, excited and expectant. I've given and received enough times to know precisely how this works. Savour this Robin. Three fingers and a thumb to things going. The subtle stimulation of uncovered nerve endings.

My tongue strokes the warm smooth skin of Robins stomach, back and forth it goes, and then much lower, just for a taste of the forbidden fruit, and then back to tongue tickle the navel. And then the sounds begin. Such a sweet voice, soft and furry edged. The little moans and groans, repeated over and over again. Quicker now, the sounds coming quicker now. The open door is sucking me in. And now the rapidly repeated intakes of breath tell me his world is on fire now.

Stick to your task Tom and savour the sweet, warm milky dew. The fragrance in my throat and mouth. The milky puddle, until it's gone.

His breathing is quiet now, as he giggles at the sensations he has received at my hands. He's a sweet boy in every way.

I'm amazed at my powers of recovery. A reprise, longer in time but often better in quality with Robin in my head and in my heart.

I found him in the Reading Room, sitting awkwardly in one of the easy chairs. When he sees me, he turns away. Such was his disappointment at my summary rejection of him earlier I suppose. It wasn't my fault. A new rule passed and an old tradition binned, presumably for ever. Quite right too. No boy should be ordered to rouse an older person from sleep like that. Boys wake up with sex bubbling away inside them. And then along comes a pretty one clad in not much under his dressing gown that comes undone before your very eyes, and with his hands on you. What's a chap to do? I ask you.

But I've had an idea. I have a feeling about Edward Barfoot. Actually quite a strong feeling if I'm honest. He could be perfect for Robin De'Ath.

'Isn't there anybody you could play with Robin? Surely there must be someone your age you like?'

He just stares at me blankly.

'I tell you what, I go to a couple of evening activities. Why don't you come along with me? Anyone can go. You could come with me and I'll introduce you. It's fun once you get the hang of it. You'll enjoy it. Everybody does. Just give it a try?'

'What is it?'

I told him what I had in mind for him. There are a good number of boys his age who are members, and younger too. Terry recruits the boys as soon as they enter the school. That's how I first knew Mr Goodwin. Even if Robin isn't much good at it, at least he'll look good. He's a head turner if ever there was one. My bet is that Ned Barfoot's eyes will light up when he sees him.

'You'll make a friend Rob. You're bound to.'

'How often is it?'

'Four times a week. A quarter past four, for about forty-five minutes. Ned comes. Edward Barfoot. You must know him.'

'Does he?'

'Yes. You like him don't you?'

Robin smiles and nods his head. I thought so. Who wouldn't.

Two weeks later.

'You seem to be getting on well at Song Club Robin.'

'Yeah.'

'And Ned?'

'Yes, he's ok I suppose.' He says, trying not to look interested.

In other words Ned is more than just ok. He's the perfect match for Ned.

'Come on then, you seem to be getting on well with him. All smiles and giggles eh?'

'Yes he's nice.'

'Something to do then? Be friends?'

'Yeah. We are.'

'Already?'

'Yes.' He says moving his legs further apart and showing me the entire length of his left leg. He's been borrowing from the dorm cupboard pile again. I recognize those. If I could get into them, I would. The sexy little minx in his mini drawers. The boys cast an eye along the shelves and help themselves to whatever takes their fancy. They probably don't even look properly and just grab the first thing that comes to hand. I wouldn't. I'd pick and choose. As one does.

'It's the holidays in a six weeks, my last in this place Robin. Will you and Ned be seeing each other in the hols do you think? Get him to invite you to his.'

'He said he might invite me to stay at his. He lives fairly close to us. He's got to ask first.'

'Oh. excellent. That's a bit of luck then.'

Three weeks later.

It's Sunday morning at Ned's home in Bournemouth. His mum and dad are in bed, sitting up with their mugs of early morning tea.

'There's nothing like it in the morning is there.' Harry says. Looking out of their bedroom window.

Elenor looks at Harry thinking he wants sex. She's ok when they get to bed as a rule, but the 'first thing in the morning' stuff is definitely not her cup of tea. The tea is the thing, not sex. She prefers the mug she's holding, not the thing Harry is sporting right now. He's making no attempt to hide it under the sheet. He's very prettily endowed and quite big with it, and immensely proud of it. He always thought he'd make a tribe of babies but Elenor had trouble with Edward, or Ned as he's generally known as, and baulked at even a second child. Since then she's rather regretted her decision as Ned has developed into a generally very calm, bright and very loving little boy. Physically very attractive he's surprising small for his age apart from a certain genetic inheritance from his father.

'Have you noticed anything about Ned recently?' Asks Elly, as Harry calls her.

'No. Should I?'

'I mean his body. Have you noticed?'

'Do you mean his…….'

'Yes.' Elenor answers swiftly without leaving Harry time to mention that part of Ned's anatomy.

'Is that normal do you suppose. Peter's isn't anywhere near.'

Peter being Ned's friend who often went with them on a Sunday for a day on Sandbanks beach.

'You can't do anything about genetics darling. It doesn't mean he's advanced in any other way.'

'What do you mean by that?'

'He certainly hasn't started yet.'

'Started what?'

'For heaven's sake Elly. What do boys start getting around Ned's age?'

'He gets erections ok. They look normal enough.'

'How would you know. Oh yes of course. Bathtime.'

'He loves his rub down afterwards. What do you think of that circumcision business Harry? Are you glad we didn't have Ned done? I think it's barbaric.'

'Robin has. I saw them in the hall last night going off together to the bathroom. Stark naked they were, all of a giggle, like two excited girls.'

'I've noticed they seem quite lovey dovey. Do you think that they're……..doing anything together?'

'Hard to tell isn't it. Anyway that's their business. None of ours. Best not to think about it. Can we think about something else please?' Harry asks in that silly voice Elenor recognizes as a polite request for at least an assist while he masturbates. Not that much to ask for surely? A quick assist while she reads.

After stroking Elly's arm a few times, she agrees. Thinking back she knows it's been several days since. He'll be busting.

'Was that ok for you darling?' Elenor asks quietly, not meaning her words, as she continues to fondle her husband's balls. At least she's escaped the worst this time. In fact she's not fallen for that old trick for ages. She wasn't expecting it when he came in her mouth, all warm, sweet and disgusting. How could he not have warned her? Such is her naïveté.

She'd lifted up his pyjama top half way up his chest when she thought Harry was about to splash, but as it turned out, not far enough out of the firing line. She hated it when he did that. More washing, although he said it would dry out ok and not to bother. Just like school eh? Dried out patches on jumpers were not uncommon.

'Yes thanks. A bit quick but I was desperate. Again tomorrow perhaps? Finish the job off properly…….with you hopefully?'

'We'll see. I think I might be coming on though.'

'Really?'

'Umm. How many tissues?' She asks, leaning over her side of the bed so she can reach the box on the bedside cabinet.

'A couple please. No, make that three.'

'More than ever these days it would appear?'

'Oh, don't you like it?' He asks with a wry smile.

'You know I don't. And by the way, I found something a bit damp under Ned's pillow yesterday morning when I was collecting up the boys' dirty clothes.'

'What?'

'A pair of his pants.'

'Ned's…..or the other boy? Under his pillow? Damp?'

'Yes. The same as that stuff.'

'Maybe he wee'd himself?'

'I should know the difference between wee and that stuff you boys produce by the bucket load by now Harry. Not unless he wore his pants back to front. You can smell it you know. It's a very distinctive aroma. Don't forget I've had to deal with a lot of it over the years, what with all your demands. You never did answer that question. Did you ever…..you know……. do things with boys?'

Hmm. Good question Elly.

Harry is still dealing with the mess he's made whilst thinking about Elenor's last question. He's shot fairly randomly, and it takes time if you're as thorough as Elly insists he is. She doesn't want 'that stuff' on her 'just on' sheets. She won't do it for him. Why should she? It's a mess of his making, not hers, but mind you it's easier than dealing with the mess he occasionally puts inside her to deal with; and less hassle too so she mustn't moan too loudly. What goes in has to come out in time. But exactly how did that get into Ned's pants? That's an interesting question.

Harry casually drops the three impregnated Kleenex tissues onto the floor his side of the bed. There's actually a tiny bump sound as the weight of the little bundle hits the tastefully painted wooden floorboards. That makes him think of his son Ned. Perhaps he can produce now? How exciting. If not, it has to be his friend Robin. He certainly can. He's seen him naked, and the rest of it. Harry didn't look away when he saw the boy, sideview. There's always something rather interesting about a boy all sticky up and out like that, even if women have always been your thing, mainly. When one side hangs lower than the other, that's the sign in boys. When they're smaller, bunched up and both sides even and level, then they can't. The boy had been lying on his tummy for awhile. Harry had been watching him. Nice bottom, rounded and perky. Nice swimming kit too, quite brief but not too, if you know what I'm saying? Just right. The boys had been lying next to each other, but no touching that Harry had noticed. A bit of giggling now and then accompanied with some movement of hips. So when Robin stood up wanting another dip in the sea, he'd managed to stimulate himself interestingly, and not noticed; or more likely, not cared.

The boys sleep in separate beds of course, in the two divans in Ned's room. But it wouldn't be much trouble for one to slip beside the other in the same bed. When Harry thought about his son being that intimate with a boy like Robin, it stirred him rather. Harry was pleased to have Robin about the place for a couple of weeks at least. He likes him in every way.

'Well? Are you going to answer my question Harry? You've never really said.'

'Oh when we were about twelve maybe. You grow out of all that stuff when girls come in to play. Just a bit of playfulness really. Quite harmless.'

Harry hasn't forgotten those little romances. Even the occasional chance meeting with a nice-looking older boy who might be pining for attention. He knew when the question was imminent because the boy had given him the look a few times recently.

'Do you want to go for walk somewhere?' That was all it took. Then, lying down together in the grass on the perimeter of the games field things got interesting. They compared the subtle variations of human anatomy, how it reacted to the human touch, and the delights of a pre-teen orgasm for him and the tiny little bit of sticky they produced at the end of it. All he had to do to please his friend was to lie back and be undone at the front, and let the boy do what he wanted with him. He remembered kissing one boy and how it excited him. They had talked about 'doing it differently'. Oh yes, it was quite possible because their bits were quite small compared to an adult and it wouldn't hurt at all. It would just slip in and it would happen quite naturally. A bit of spit maybe?

'Do you want to Harry? I do'. The boy said, so they did and it worked for Harry's friend, at least he said it did. Harry didn't want to do the other boy that way. He wanted the boy to do it the way Harry wanted him to. The boy thought about it for a minute or two, and then did it that way. In a French lesson with a master who had scant discipline over the class, someone had shouted out 'What's the French for sixty-nine Sir?' The class roared with laughter; all except Harry. He just turned towards the window and remembered. The boy asked him if he could come in his mouth, and he did quite quickly as it happened, tasting decidedly strange. Harry felt very guilty about the whole event. There's a first time for everything, and for Harry, it hadn't come soon enough.

'So you did then?' Elenor persists.

'Oh just once or twice maybe.' He lied.

Thinking about Elenor's question had stirred him again. She never asked him what he was thinking about, or visualizing when he produced the goods she hated the look of, the feel of, and more than anything, the taste of. But if the truth were told, the answer on this occasion, would be in the form of a boy on a beach who had entreated him to be naughty. He'd seen him on the beach in Taormina several summers ago, that lovely horseshoe shaped beach. He'd smiled at the boy, all tanned, dark haired and pretty, who then followed him back to the big striped beach tent they had hired. Elenor was in the town with the baby. Ok, it cost him a few lira but he'd pleased Harry alright, and no messing about afterwards. Everything gone down the hatch, so to speak. He played with boy while he did it. The boy got hard quickly which was a bonus for Harry. It proved he was interesting. He was quite lovely. Something well worth thinking back to, as Elenor did her bit for him. If only she had known what was in her husband's head that made him come so heavily.

But facts are facts. Harry was sixteen when Freddie put his penis in his bottom, and to put it crudely, shagged him senseless. It was another two years, and a couple of similar encounters, before he got his chance with a girl. That didn't end well.

'Are you queer or something Harry?' The girl asks, nicely, as she pulls up her flowery patterned panties, unsatisfied.

Quite right Harry, you're not. Not really. But you have to be in the right mood for girls. That was his excuse. But boys, certain ones of course, always put Harry in the right mood. Funny that.

One or two of the boys at school, his dormitory mates, called Edward Barfoot 'sexy knickers' for good reason. They are very sexy. Not that they were unseemly tight like some boys wore trying to show themselves to best advantage and failing, but his boy form seemed to nestle in there so beautifully, unrestricted and fulsome, having, due to size of the thing, to lie to one side, quietly snoozing. Or alternatively, when he yanked them up whilst dressing, the thing stuck out alarmingly. He hadn't yet mastered the gentle art of thrice daily self-abuse so his morning wood persisted sometimes well into the breakfast meal. Standing in the queue to be served his scrambled egg, and unrestricted, it was noticed!

'See that boy over there Tom?' His friend says, nudging him. 'He's got the mummy and daddy of all hard-ons, unless I'm very much mistaken. That's not bad on a little chap like that.' He wasn't mistaken.

Ned's mother's suspicions were quite correct. It had happened that very morning. The two boys had discussed all the further options for pleasure seeking they could think of, the last of which seemed the most exciting and also the most dangerous in terms of their morality, or immorality.

'You could keep your pants on Ned. I'll do it with your pants on.'

They granted each other a little time for cuddling, some pretend kissing which quickly turned into proper kissing, and then they prepared themselves as they had previously discussed.

Ned was on all-fours, waiting, whilst Robin was on his knees between Ned's legs and fiddling with him. Ned's penis, about as hard as it ever got, and as long too, had been released up and over the waistband of his pants, open to the air, and available to either his own hand or preferably Robin's. Robin looks at his aiming point, the part he's going to rub himself against, covered at this moment by the thin pale blue fabric that by now had narrowed and almost embedded itself into the narrow but deep little valley between Ned's buttocks. He holds his penis right there and gently pushes it into the narrow gap, as he works his body a little closer so he can get more purchase on his partner's body, Ned's hands steadying himself against the wall above the bed head. With two fingers Robin eases the fabric to one side. What he sees he touches just for a moment. Ned responds by pushing his bottom further up and out towards Robin, inviting more of the same. They had discussed the plan in some detail. In the perfect position now for sex, Robin begins his quest for pleasure afforded him by his beautiful boyfriend. The gentle, and then towards the finale, the not-so-gentle rubbing goes on. The boy's skin, deep in, the puckered centre of his pleasure, and the surrounding pale blue of the material absorbs all the product of Robin's prolonged and intense orgasm that was all too quick in coming. He releases his grip on Ned's hardness and places it on his own, to leave just his left hand holding the other boy's hip. As the last moments pass, his skin presses into Ned as Ned pushes back. The boys last gesture of complete acceptance.

His pants, the back part, contained most of it. Ned inspects the damage for more than a few seconds, impressed. Weird stuff indeed.

'Where can I hide them?' Asks Ned, on his side now facing Robin.

'Under your pillow?' Suggests Robin. 'Here, I'll do it.'

He folds up the small garment, the darker hue hidden within the lighter, the wet within the dry, and then places the neat little folded parcel carefully out of sight; until its discovery by his mother later that morning.

Harry asked Elenor if the washing machine had been put on early this morning. It hadn't. With Elenor in the bathroom, Harry went to look in the pile of clothes on the utility room floor. It took him just a few seconds to find what he was looking for. She was quite correct. It's that unmistakeable aroma that excited him. What if the experiences his son was currently having was something he will be reluctant to give up in the years to come? He himself had the occasional dalliance right up to his engagement to Elenor in his late twenties, and once after that. If not more than once.

Harry went back to bed to lie on his side. He'd masturbated already that morning but he found himself aroused again and began to play with himself. Given time and Elenor's help again, he thought he could come a second time. This time he knew exactly what his train of thought would be.

'Again?'

'Please. I'm not quite done yet. Must be my time of the month. Please Elly?'

Elenor looks at Harry's eyes, that pleading look he gives her on such occasions. He's been good to her over the years. Another five minutes of her time? Not long in the scheme of things really. She's a good wife to him and a good mother to Ned. In bed next to Harry again, she asks……

'What do you want me to do?'

He whispers a few words into her ear.

'Ok. I rather like doing that. It gives me a sense of power over you.' She says with a smile. He said it was all about the thousands of nerve ending centred in and around that area.

'We wouldn't have been given them if they weren't intended to be played with Elly.' Harry says in that silly pleading tone that he uses when he wants something slightly out of the ordinary. A woggling inside his bottom. If she can keep going long enough, he'll experience something nicely alternative.

Harry leans to his left so he can reach the bedside cabinet drawer, opens it and extracts what they need. Two things. Elenor knows exactly what to do, and how to do it the way Harry wants it done. She's never actually asked him the question, or would ever ask him anything about such a personal issue. Why he likes it. The first time he asked her she though it a queer thing to want, but in time she found it pleased her too, so it was win win.

Everybody is entitled to a few little secrets within a relatively happy marriage. Ned was everything to both of them. He made love to her more or less whenever she felt the need and asked him, and on the face of it, successfully, almost every time. Well, usually. If he wasn't about during the day she might drift off to the bedroom and make herself come in her private fantasy world which often focused on a girl, but a romantic fantasy with lots of kissing rather than a deeply sexual one, but with the desired result of course. Her orgasms were stronger, solo, as were his. This lead both of them, separately, to conclude that nobody is entirely straight or gay.

The boys, upstairs, are preparing for an afternoon on Sandbanks beach.

'What do think of these Robin?' He asks, holding up another pair of swimming briefs.

'Nice, but I prefer the other ones. They're just too……..well you know.'

'Too sexy?'

'Yes. I don't want you running off with some randy teenager when I'm not looking.'

'These are too loose aren't they?'

'No, not at all. They show you off nicely.'

And how.

'Better colour too. I like emerald green. It's suits your colouring. You don't want everything too tight Ned. With you, looser is better. But that's just me I suppose. That thing of yours needs room to rest and relax. It doesn't like being all squashed up like it usually is. I'm really proud of you Ned. You're so sweet.'

The boy smiles back at the person who is at this moment, his best friend. His best friend ever.

There's a reason why Harry has a fondness for Sandbanks beach. Fond memories. This was the place where he fell in love; the first time.