I've had a conversation with the very Irish mother of Tomas. It went like this…..

'Alex, things have been difficult for some time; ever since Peter left. I have three children to look after. Thank goodness the school gave us a scholarship for Tomas. God knows how I would have coped without that. This weekend is totally impossible. Brian said you might be able to keep him? I know it's a long weekend but it would be incredibly helpful if you could? I also need to ask you if there's been any trouble with the other boys? They've probably worked out that Tomas a bit different. Especially at that age. Boys do. Has Tomas been behaving himself? I do hope so. Any special friends yet? Or enemies? You would say wouldn't you?'

'Yes of course I would Sara. Anything you need to know I would tell you, or rather Brian would. I'm just his assistant. I can't make the decisions.'

'But you go to your girlfriend's place usually don't you? I'm so sorry to put this on you.'

'I do, most weekends, or she comes down here. She's off to see her ex in-laws this weekend so………'

'Brilliant. Tomas would love it. Believe me, we hear all about you. Alex says this, Alex says that. He's very fond of you. Did you know?'

'That's not something we dwell on really; what the boys think of us. We just do the job as best we can.'

'But kindness goes a long way with boys, especially a boy like Tomas. He needs a lot of TLC. I suppose boarding school isn't really the best place for him, but needs must I'm afraid. He and Peter were quite close, like you were with Peter. It's hit him hard. So will you then……have him this weekend? By the way, Peter sends his best to you.'

'Ok, thanks, and yes I will. Don't worry Sara. But I need to emphasize that it's just me here. All the others will have gone home. Brian isn't here either. And he doesn't know about any other arrangement.'

'That's fine Alex. There's one issue I need to raise with you. Tomas shouldn't be left on his own all night. He'd be terrified if he woke in the night and the whole place was deserted. He'd have kittens. He's in a room with the boy Matthew at the moment isn't he?'

'Yes. It's a small room with bunk beds in it. They get on well so we thought it best to put a twosome in that small room.'

'That's what I thought. Good idea. So can he come in with you? I don't mean your actual bed Alex. Unless of course you……..mattress on the floor or something. I can't bear to think of him all on his own miles away from anyone. That's cruel. Could he?'

'Well he can, but it's irregular. Teachers aren't supposed to sleep with the boys.' I joke.

'I don't care about irregular Alex. This is different. You're almost family as far as we're concerned. In fact you are family. You and Peter and all that. You're on your own in the place. Lock the door and do what you need to do. Look Alex, I'm not standing here worrying about bloody rules. I need to know that Tomas is with someone who cares for him. Three days is a long time for a boy to be on his own. From what Tomas has told us, you're important to him for very good reasons. Can I be very cheeky and ask you what you sleep on? Not a single bed I hope? You poor thing. What does your girlfriend do when she comes down?'

'Oh of course. Sorry. Really? Then could you have him in with you? It's just two nights.'

'Three actually. The boys come back on Monday evening. It's now Friday evening.'

'Ok, three. Is that a problem? Honestly Alex, who on earth is going to know, when push comes to shove? No one. Can I ask this of you? I would be incredibly grateful. Do you ever come up to the coast? You must come. Ask Tomas about it. It's lovely. Last time he was home he asked if you could come up with us sometime in the summer. He adores you. And sorry about that mention of Peter. It looks very like Tomas is going that way too.'

'A bit early to start making judgements isn't it Sara? Anyway if that's what you want, he can come in with me. As you say, it's our business really. Just on school property, that's all.'

'So it's fixed then? I'm sure he'll behave himself. You've got my number just in case. It's just a one-off Alex. Tomas is such an affectionate boy given the chance to show what he's really like. I know you are too. Give him a lovely long cuddle. He'll be fine.'

'Do I have your permission to take him somewhere in the car if need be. I thought the coast tomorrow. Good forecast and we'll need something to do. I'll be careful with the precious cargo.'

'Oh yes. The kids love it. They're always asking me if I'll give them a ride in it.'

'Yes, on the whole. It's quite fun. Just the twelve of them. All very different boys.'

'Yes, probably. The stack seems to gradually decrease as term goes by. I've no idea how we get through so much kit. The boys are very careless and we chuck out loads. Other than that, I don't think he needs anything. If you do, can you make sure it's all marked please. If not we have enough to last, between us, until the end of this term. Things might get a bit tight but that's fine.'

'Tight is good isn't it? That's what Peter used to say about school. Are we keeping up with fashion?'

Peter.

I didn't fancy tea that evening almost a year ago now. I could always get something from the kitchens later. What I did want was a pint of beer. I'm not as a rule much of a beer drinker as it bloats one. I like to keep a trim figure, usually suited, but most often without a tie. I nipped into the Duke's Head next door to Daltons House. I went up to the bar to order a pint, and a very attractive-looking fellow was already there with what looked like a gin and tonic. I ordered my pint of bitter, Harvey's, and then my neighbour at the bar chipped in…..

'Ok, thanks very much.' I say, parking myself next to my benefactor at the nearest table. It didn't take too much working out that I was being picked up, and I'm rather flattered at his interest. We get on well, seemed to have a few things in common, and he's handsome; a turn-on in fact. I take glances at his body, lower down, as he does mine. As the thoughts occur to me that this meeting of minds might go further, I find myself getting aroused, and I imagine it's showing. When I look at him, he is too. I have a shrewd suspicion of what is coming next. Memory tells me that I have only let this happen once before; honestly, and that worked out nicely enough.

We drove a short distance and pulled into a farm track well back from the road. He turns towards me and we kiss. It tastes good and I am quickly re-aroused, as he is too. I'm just hoping there isn't too much to wade through. I undo the necessary and I can see a large dark patch at the top of his underpants. It was obvious what it was. We exchange names, not before time. He's a very good-looking bloke, that's for sure, and I'm up for it. I carefully move the waistband out of the way to reveal the source of the wet patch. I gave him a gentle squeeze, and decide that I want what he has to offer. A couple of minutes later he stopped me, pushing my head away. I got the message. He's after something else; a bigger prize for the price of a pint. He gets out of the car, opens the passenger door for me, and takes me into the field just behind the hedge, plus a travel blanket he extracts from the boot. Ten minutes later, we have done the business, like two dogs on heat. I turn around, on my knees now to finish myself off onto the grass as he watches, fondling me nicely. It's all good, and I'm there inside one minute, and it's a good one. He rolls off the condom with an overflowing teat, and held his still hard penis in my direction, the shiny residue coating asking to be removed in the tradition way. I've learnt one thing already about Peter. One doesn't have a lot of choice. If he asks, you give. He's exciting and I like him. I'm more than happy to be submissive. I think this is going to work.

He dropped me off outside the door of the Duke's Head where his wife Sara happened to be standing, having just had her last Parent's Evening consultation at my school across the road. He was supposed to meeting her in the pub at eight. That was it. Another of her husband's indiscretions discovered. The situation was very obvious to her. She saw me get out of his car. I'm sure we looked as guilty as hell.

Peter introduces me to his wife Sara who I already know to be Tomas's mum. She'd collected him enough times from Daltons House for the occasional boys' weekend exeats; Saturday afternoons at four sharp please. That gave our Housemaster Brian and his wife Anne Saturday nights to themselves and me a chance to get out of the place, or just enjoy having Daltons to myself in peace and quiet. I'm Brian's assistant at Daltons, doing most of the day-to-day duties which includes a host of tasks like sorting out the boys' clothing, shower and bath rotas, and seeing to all their minor ailments, sore bits and bottoms, bruises and abrasions, headaches, coughs and sneezes, bad dreams and so on. To be honest, I enjoy the life. You get to know the boys very well and they tell me everything. I am an essential part of their lives, in loco parentis indeed. If they have any sort of problem, social, or minor medical, they will come to me with it, often at bedtime when they're feeling a bit vulnerable.

'Alex, can you look at this please?' the boy asks, his pyjama bottoms already undone for me to inspect. They always think there's something wrong with it. This case, like almost all the others, just needs a little reassurance.

We are called by Christian names in the House. Much more personal and reassuring for the boys. There are no 'Sirs' or 'Mr and Mrs', just our names.

I had a look at David's 'problem'. I discuss with him what we can do to sort it out. He agrees. There's a high degree of intimacy involved. I have a suggestion as to what he should do to avoid the problem in the future. He nods his understanding. I tell him that I shall need to check his situation in a couple of days. Later, I shall add a note in the House day-book; record the date, time, and a note of advice given or action taken. It's important documentation of facts, which is ours, and for our use only, if ever needed in the future.

I've seen Peter twice since. Sara has been incredibly tolerant with her husband. Their marriage has been littered with infidelity by Peter, and far less so by Sara herself. In the end, Peter agreed to behave appallingly somewhere else. One Saturday evening, the boys' pick up time for the weekend exeat, I had a chance to talk to her properly. She was rightly concerned for Tomas, one of their three children in the middle as it were, and very much my problem too. Privately, our discussion was very personal and frank as I had had rather nice opportunistic sex with her husband, and more later. I'm not going to lie about anything. It was his fault if there was any blame to be apportioned. She agreed. Typical Peter. Then Sara has her own proposition. The house is available at times during the day, kids at school and all that. I told her I was bi-sexual, but tending to the male end of the spectrum.

'But they are the buds that will open and flower later. That makes them just as beautiful in my book.'

'Of course, but our little buds are far more knowing than their people realise; and far less innocent than they would have you believe Sara.'

'Well that depends on what mummy disapproves of. That I don't know. He masturbates like all the others do. Presumably he's allowed that pleasurable indulgence?'

'Occasionally they will have something a bit more advanced together. At that age they are smaller down there, obviously, and it's easy enough to achieve. They can slip up the stairs quietly into one of the rooms, and then it's knickers down and bingo, he's in. It can be all done and dusted in ten minutes when two boys are in the mood, which is most of the time. No one gets pregnant Sara. No coercion, no problem.'

'Yes. I see lots of things they are not aware of. I know how they think, what they think about, and what their bodies do. I clean up their messes, collect up dirty pants all the time, put up with their filthy habits, endure the smells they make, listen to awful jokes, smile as they ridicule teachers' habits, and encourage them not to behave like total savages. I put an arm around them when they cry, and sympathize when one of their pets dies, or worse. I answer all their questions, no matter what. Brian's two girls are grown up now and he doesn't want to know about all the practical details in a boy's life any more. He'll walk past a pair of underpants lying on the floor whereas I will pick them up. That's why he's got me. Boys are feeling themselves all the time. They walk around feeling themselves, and in lesson too. They worry about how their testicles feel. What's that knobbly bit? Why does it feel like that? Why does the skin on my willy look like that when I pull my foreskin back? Or, what happened to my foreskin? Where did it go.These are the questions boys need answers to. When will my sperm come? What will it be like? And when it does come, all of a sudden, they want to tell someone, celebrate the fact that are really growing up and ask questions about it and compare theirs with others. It goes through changes for a while and matures, and they want to know why. The first thing they do is to taste it. They are obsessed with the stuff. For some reason it fascinates them, and the feel of it in their fingers and in the little pools that land on other boy's tummies. After all it's the beginning of life isn't it? It was the beginning of their life. They have every reason to be interested. They are seeking love all the time and need constant reassurance, although they would dispute that. Brian isn't going to deal with all that stuff. Do you think he wants to put his finger up a boy's bottom, something you may well have to do from time to time. He's disinterested, which the boys recognize. It's a shame. He should have packed up this part of his job years ago. The rest of it he's very good at. I will try to provide what these wonderfully rewarding creatures need. Brian shouldn't even be near these boys. I suppose I shouldn't either. I feel far too close to them.'

'Thirty years ago he probably wanted the extra allowance and free accommodation for him and his pregnant wife. What with dirty nappies of her own, she was quite happy to pick up the boys' dirty knickers, and rub soothing balm into the boys' sore bottoms they couldn't be bothered to wash properly.'

'Yes, apparently so. They've no excuse, our lot. They didn't have showers in those days. A bath once a week. Now it's a bath once a week and a shower on Fridays. Progress eh?'

'Yes, there are other words for the job. Mummy and Daddy are not here Sara. Someone has to provide what they would have had at home.'

'Yes, there is a word for it. But don't worry about Tomas. He's no better or worse than the others Sara. He's lazy about washing, just like the others, and he's untidy. The other boys like him, albeit a little jealous of his sexy body and good looks. Brian and I discuss the social grouping, who goes in which room. I put Tomas in with Matthew. Matthew is at that stage a lot of boys go through, a little ahead of Tomas. He wants to show everyone what he's growing into, so he struts around the place, often stark naked, staring down at his long tool pointing the way ahead. He'll end up with six kids and three wives probably.'

'Correct. For Matthew it's a practice run. In a few years he'll be desperate to inseminate as many girls as will lie down and accept all he has to offer, which will be quite a few I'm sure. For Tomas it's a different agenda. His giving is for love.'

'Yes, Tomas, at least on the one occasion I witnessed. It looked like a failed attempt. It would have to be that way around. Matthew needs to give it. Tomas is happy to take it. I went into their room that night, both boys in bed. I go into all the rooms at lights out and afterward, just to check everybody is where they should be, or if they're not, why not. They had questions. Tomas had a small problem. I had to take him out of the room away from Matthew for a couple of minutes. There's a small room where we keep all the potions and lotions and general medical stuff, plasters and so on. I got him sorted. If it should happen again, he's prepared on both fronts.'

'Yes. Some situations demand appropriate actions. I suppose it must be rare to form a bond like Tomas and I have. Very special I think.'

'No of course not. There are certain things that have to be done. I've seen and felt everything about Tomas.'

'No, not at all. He's just pushing the boundaries, enjoying his body, and showing off a bit too. He's very naughty with me. Cheeky. Quite demanding.'

'Sounds like he has you where he wants you Alex. Too soft with him. You're obviously very fond of him.'

'Yes I am. He means more to me than the others, if I'm honest, and I'm very happy to help him through any difficulties he may have as we trundle along. It's interesting how he always reacts with me. I love him, and all the others of course. I don't discriminate. I don't see it as a weakness; maybe a curse.'

'Seriously Alex, would you consider coming up to the Cottage with us sometime; soonish? I'll tell you now that you will have to sleep with me.'

'Yes I would, and fine, I will, and I promise to do my best but I can't promise anything.'

I like Sara. She's funny, optimistic, realistic about Tomas and her situation, and thoroughly good company.

Anyway, I've got my orders for the weekend. Be nice to Tomas, but he's not going to have everything his way, if I can help it. If I can. I'm feeling quite sick at the prospect.

I had to put all the games kit away at the end of the afternoon. So much of the work is left to the young guys here, while the old buggers smoke their pipes in the staffroom and chat about when things were 'so much better' then . Consequently I'm fractionally late getting over to Daltons by the time I told Tomas I would be back in the House. As I cross the road I can see the figure in white in the window looking out. It's Tomas. He knows we will be on our own this weekend, thanks to my generosity. I could have spent the time with my girl friend Amelia. I lied to Sara about her trip to Harrogate. I've made the decision to be with Tomas, for better or for worse, and despite my knowing that it's going to be difficult for a number of reasons. I just have to be strong about this. I'm dealing with a boy who expects his own way with everything, including me. I'm dealing with my own weak flesh too, and my desires as a bisexual man who enjoys the company of boys. It's going to be difficult.

When Tomas sees me enter the Social Room with its sofa and three easy chairs placed around the edges, he turns towards me, hands behind his back, leaning against the window sill. The light from the window creates a bright white outline around him, emphasizing his figure. With the light through his hair, he presents the image that I'm expecting. Fresh from the games field, hot, sweaty and clothes streaked from yellow sand; the long jump pit to blame in all probability. High jump maybe. He has the height for it, and the legs.

There's no sign of anyone else in the building. They've all gone by this time. The front door is locked now.

I walk towards him, and when I reach him, he looks up into my face, his five feet against my six. I place my hands on his shoulders as he looks up into my face, mouth open, unsmiling, unknowing of what the next few minutes will mean for him. Arrangements will be made, plans unveiled perhaps, hopes dashed, hopes raised, expectations confirmed even, things agreed upon.

He nods, there's almost a smile. He's anxious. I can see that. But I want to get on with things. I see no point in waiting for waiting's sake.

'You smell like a polecat Tomas. I thought tomorrow we might head for the coast. What do you think about that?'

'Good. We need to put you in the wash Tomas, and all this stuff.' I say, indicating with my hand on his white woollen jumper. Tomas takes a step forward. I put my hands on his shoulders and he takes another tiny step further so we are almost touching. I know exactly what's in his mind right now. He's very anxious. Should I?

Yes, now is the right moment. Instinctively I reach out and wrap my arms around his back and pull him towards me.

I can feel his arms around me too, tight, fighting away his anxiety, hot breath on my chest, my mouth over his head, his fine hair moves in the warm air, heat scented vapour rises from bodies.

How many times have I seen a boy undress in front of me. Many times. It's not real until the final act, not until then do you see all of the boy. One is never quite sure until the final unveiling, but it never disappoints. The nude boy is something special, something so natural as to be miraculous. I see them on their own and in groups, and I marvel at the beauty those forms present.

The wooing process. That tantalizing process. As a very young teen, I've been the subject of this process a number of times I'm happy to say, and never shunned approaches from nice handsome clean-living boys, preferably older than me. I know I was highly sexed from an early age, and the boys above me sensed that I was fair game. It might start with just finger ends touching my shoulder to see if I reacted. I might turn and give the boy in question a smile. Then it would be a hand on the shoulder and perhaps a little way down the back. Another smile to my new potential partner. I could always tell a boy I was keen. There are ways to do this. Things got more serious when the hand came to rest on one buttock. Always just one; to start with. If that elicited a smile, he knew things were likely to progress. There are boys who don't want it, at all, and boys who would quite like it with someone they really fancy, and boys who just want it. I have an idea which category I fell into.

The boy might suggest a location, safe from prying eyes and in a reasonably comfortable space. Once there, the hand is knocking at the front door, and quickly inside, hot skin on hot skin. He'll want you to go first. That's quick. A little dribble perhaps, if I hadn't done it already this morning. Then it's him. It'll help him if I let him hold me while I work my magic. I'm better at this than he thought. He can't hold back much longer and he's ill-prepared. Oh dear. All his fault of course. All I have to do is walk off, still hard and tingling with excitement and with a memory to store away for bedtime moments. As for him, that's his problem. Anyway nobody is going to notice it; and if they do, that's boys for you. That's what they do.

Clothes were very important, although most of it was decided by the school. But there was some choice, namely how well your shorts, or later, your trousers fitted.

'No I won't mum. Can I have these……..and these.' The boy says showing her exactly the personal items he wants.

Brief and well-fitting is the word, or alternatively; tight. Tight enough to show off your bottom to best effect, plus what goes between the bottom and your short trousers, or longs. Whichever, the same rule applies. Small boys were sporting ridiculously brief grey shorts, underpants almost visible beneath, which is why the modern boy's version was changed so that was no longer possible. Boys denied the latest fashion were rolling down the waistband to create a more desirable effect. I'm told that American manufacturers never changed, sticking rigidly to the more conservative designs. Not so in Europe thank goodness. I'm sure we English boys were being sexualized, what with our long bare legs and tiny shorts that never hid what we wore underneath. A boy's bottom was where you looked first. Face next, and then for any interesting evidence at the front. By the age of fourteen, our preferences changed. The front became more of an issue than the back. By fourteen, most of us had grown considerably larger, and with a more relaxed fit, what you had could be made more obvious if things were not so restricted but allowed to flop or push forward a bit. There were ways of presenting the evidence that one had gone through the sound barrier of puberty. Certain boys, we thought, had an advantage. The penile dome of a circumcised boy had a way of making its presence felt as it pushed forward in the hope of being noticed.

Then the Speedo was upon us. Invented in 1914, it hit us like nothing else. I've seen boys in the pool changing room strip off, tiny penis a-pokin, and holding this new little navy-blue gem wide open in their hands ready to step into, gradually become aroused as they contemplate their appearance in these skimpy little pieces of boy attire. By the time they've pulled them up, they had to negotiate a hard length of boyhood, neatly arrange to best effect. It was a common sight to see boys with erections around the outdoor pool, often the younger boys. Upwards and onwards!

And so back to Tomas, who in every respect ticked all the afore mentioned boxes. Tomas has always known how to present himself, no doubt pestering Mummy for undersized clothing until he was given it. Right now he looks as alluring as a boy could look, his genitalia modelled in perfect relief, albeit a tad immature. As lovely as he looks in his tight little white cotton games shorts and perfect length white tee shirt, all that has to come off, and soon. I want him, first nude and comfortable to be around the House like that, and then washed within an inch of his life. I'll give him the choice; bath tub or shower. I don't mind hot and sweaty; I've got used to that in this place. But pristine clean is good too, when they can park their bottoms on a clean linen sheet and leave no trace after them. Without supervision, and inspection if I don't believe them, they can be that bad. Any mother will know frustrated at her son's idleness. In this place I am their mother and father. Mother hen. Before I saw and heard the new fun activity with my own eyes and ears, I had to look at Tomas one evening at bedtime. Matthew was in the bathroom at that moment. I told Tomas I needed to take a look as he was preoccupied with his bottom more than he should be, and there had to be some irritant at work there. Or something. He readily agreed, undid his pyjama bottoms and bent over practically double and in a jiffy, I'd seen enough. Matthew came in just as I was tying up the string that held up Tomas's pj's. He saw, worked out what I had just looked at, and looked pink and hunted. It certainly didn't stop them. Matthew was sporting the beginnings of pubic hair. That indicates another skill he's no doubt acquired. I need to keep watch on them.

Tomas opted for the bath tub. The boys like to be talked to while they lie back in the warm water, and it's a good moment to catch them in that relaxed state rather than chasing them around the place trying to pin them down on some issue or other. Tomas has done what I had asked of him; put everything he stood up in, in the washing machine in our kitchen cum living room, complete with old leather sofa and a couple of chairs. It's a multi-purpose room where I can meet Brian and Anne, talk about things, make tea and so on. While he waits for me run a bath for him, Tomas stretches out on the sofa, head at the far end, knees raised provocatively. My clothes are going in the machine too. The boys have seen me nude before, if they were quick and caught a glimpse of me changing on the grassy area around the outdoor swimming pool. I'm not sure if Tomas ever has, but he's going to now.

I'm nothing special down there, but I doubt if Tomas has seen the like. I've managed to keep total control, but as I glance at the stretched-out figure, wide eyed and open mouthed at this moment, I'm going to have to count to ten a few times. I grab the towel by the washing machine and tie it around me. So that problem's sorted, more or less.

Sitting on the edge of the bath tub, I've decided that Tomas can, if he will, enlighten me concerning his friendship with his room-mate Matthew.

'Yes.' He says, nodding whilst very gently flipping his flaccid penis this way and that.

'No I don't think so. But I'm interested Tomas. I would quite like to know. Would you like to talk about it for a while? You could start at the beginning? You don't have to if you would prefer not?'

I thought he might go for it. Most boys like to tell a story if the idea is put to them the right way. One can usually coax a tale out of a boy. Tomas looked at me for a few seconds as he considered my request. That naughty smile gradually filled his face, and with a few more willy flips, I knew I was about to get the full uncensored version of events. All I had to do was to listen, and enjoy.

There's nothing like a graphic description to get the juices flowing. I'm surprised Tomas was so forthcoming, but he was clearly enjoying his blow by blow account of his 'giving in' to Matthew's insistent charms. It all starts with some idle bedtime chatter, gradually working its way around to the boys' current state of mind. They are in their own bunk beds, and hands have slipped down for a little pre-sleep self-touching. I put the room light out fifteen minutes ago.

I think we are all agreed that the real thing will always top the imagination. They are in bunk beds due to the small size of the room Brian and I agreed they should share. Down the ladder comes Tomas to join Matt in the lower bunk bed. The convenient arrangement works from the off it seems. They suit each other as I thought they would. Initial attraction turns into genuine fondness. They've taken the first step. Nothing unusual about that. Most of the boys have done that at one time or another. But these two boys want more. That works well too, and now there's just one more mountain to climb, if they dare. So the boys hatch their plan, and I think Tomas should stop at this point.

'Maybe. Now get washed Tomas. Thoroughly please? And you know what I mean by that.'

He does a decent job, no stone unturned, no little crease or crevice escapes the soapy flannel, or fingers, so as a witness, I can approve. He's ready for the towel I'm holding ready for him as he steps out of the bath tub. Tomas's description of his playfulness with Matthew has affected me somewhat, but I have the towel tightly wrapped around me, but Tomas's excitement is in full view, and about to be gently wrapped up in a bath towel. Prizing boys out of bed in the mornings means it's not the first time I'm treated to this view of a beautiful formed boy.

I took Tomas over to the kitchens to get something to eat. When we got back to the House, the 'phone was ringing in Brian's study. It was Tomas's mother, Sara.

'No, not yet. I thought he might just go to his own bed to sleep. If he cuts up a bit rough about that idea, I'll do what you suggested. He'll have to come in with me. There's no spare mattress to put him on. It's the easiest way.'

'And what I'd prefer if you don't mind. Is that going to be difficult for you Alex?'

'Quite possibly Sara. I'll put him as far away from me as possible, but we all move about in the night. We could end up in each other's arms by the morning. I'd rather not lose my job Sara.'

'Don't worry about that Alex. That's not going to happen. Not in any event. Where is he now?'

'Just out of the bath tub. Nice and clean after a sweaty games afternoon. It's quite warm here. I'm just about to find him some clean kit to wear; if there is any. We've usually run out of everything by Friday night.'

'Ok, I'll get him. He's probably in the bedroom now. And you might as well give him the good news if you want?'

There was nothing on Tomas's shelf in the large airing cupboard where we keep the boys' clothes, so I raided another pile, picking out something eminently suitable for Tomas to parade in. Some mothers have great taste whilst others have yet to understand what their sons look good in. Simon's mum has very good taste. It will be a nice tight fit on Tomas. Those, and a loose fitting tee shirt, courtesy of the delightful Louis Harper, will make up the perfect set for the perfect boy.

It's rather odd seeing a nude model talking on the telephone. That's what Tomas looks like; a model standing in classic pose, as if called suddenly away from the job to answer an urgent call. I teach Classical Studies, with more than a passing interest in the History of Art. Rodin kept models just to hang around his studio all day, doing nothing in particular. Then he would watch them, waiting for one to assume some relaxed position doing something quite ordinary, and then draw them. Nudity is something our boys live with all the time. They are completely relaxed about it; so long as it all happens upstairs, and not downstairs where visitors or caretaking staff can randomly walk in unannounced and get a pleasant surprise.

Sara tells Tomas he's allowed a nice big bed to sleep in tonight. His head turns towards me with a certain expression on his pretty face, wet mid-brown hair swept back over his ears. It's a mixture of surprise and delight. The little toe rag has got his own way again.

Tomas wants to try the bed out, just to make sure it's going to suit him. I send him upstairs while I busy myself in the kitchen for a few moments. When I get up there, he's lying on the bed, the left hand side close to edge, one knee raised, and with his back to me. Ah, the classic reclining nude indeed. I can't imagine that Tomas hasn't thought this through. It's a pose. He's not asleep. This is entirely for my benefit. He knows people look at him, just as I am now, standing here admiring the beauty in front of me. He'll want a reaction no doubt, so if I stand here long enough, eventually he'll lose patience; and move. I have fresh kit for him in my hand, but I'd prefer him to stay just as he is, just as Rodin would I'm sure, if the little toe rag doesn't mind.

I'm sitting on the side of my bed, Tomas lying on his side, his back towards me, face turned away, eyes closed. I wondering what I should do next. The bedroom is oppressively warm so he's perfectly comfortable the way he is right now. He moves slightly, the right knee raised a little further. He knows I'm here. I look at the pearly white skin; that's the part of his body that has not been darkened by the summer sunlight. Such erotic forms, demanding the human touch. Dare I?

There's touching, and touching is there not? There's the kind that imparts comfort, calm and reassurance; and there's the kind that is meant to stimulate, the kind where all Sexual Reaction begins. Erotic touching. I'm well aware of it, and the various erogenous zones the human body has provided for our pleasure. I've found those enough times hoping for that reaction, and hoping it will be done to me in return. Then, when all the doubts and fears have gone from our minds, and lust has taken over completely, we prepare to make love. What glorious preparation while I wait patiently for Peter. I will do my best to please my lover, and afterwards he will please me the way I want him to, if my need is still there. What fulfilment awaits us.

The boy's hair, long and fine as my fingers run through it. No, Tomas is not sleeping. The hidden face turns slightly; enough to tell me. Is there a faint smile there? Perhaps there is. My hand on his shoulder, not so light as to tickle and annoy. Then slowly down the slender arm. Now gently on his side coming to rest on the boy's hip. A little more movement here; just enough. Tomas slowly turns; just enough to give me sight. There's a slight change.

And now he turns again to face me. He smiles, hands behind his head, left knee raised high. He turns towards me, mouth open, smile drained away. I look again. The change is quite noticeable now. He offers his hand to me and I take it. He wonders what to do now.

'Louis won't mind.' I say as I place the articles next to his face, soft textures against soft skin.

'Alright, but you'll need this. It'll be cooler later.' I insist, offering the white tee shirt.

Tomas smiles, getting his own way again, and turning onto his back, both knees raised and wide apart, his face buried in the soft white fabric. Naughty boy. I look again. Transformation complete.

When I became a man I put away childish things. My love is unselfish, at least it should be. His remains a selfish boyish love. Tomas sees no reason why he can't have what he wants, now. I know I can't.

I move my hand along his shoulder, warm to my touch, reassuring I hope, and then along his arm once more, and finally to his hand which moves into mine. I grip it quite hard. I'm surprised at his response; so physical. I watch as his body's pulse moves him. How sensitive it all is, mind connected to body as selfish desire rises in expectation. Him and me too. I feel a rush of emotion, tears almost, as I look at Tomas now, gripping his right hand. Selfish desire in both of us, ready indeed to spill over into reality. His left hand moves as he touches himself, fingers at work, first kneeding, and then pulling back and exposing. He's looking straight into my eyes, unblinking, mouth open, expressionless. Unselfish love meets selfish desire. I know I have to meet this challenge, but this is no easy task. I breathe deeply; and think of all the life-changing consequences that might follow this little adventure. Unselfish love must not weaken, must not degenerate into selfishness; real love tarnished; debased. Fake.

There was nothing on TV as usual. We used Brian and Anne's sitting room. A glance tells me that Tomas is tired now, slumped into the sofa next to me……against me, head pressing into my shoulder, arm across tummy. He doesn't object. Usually the boys do complain when told on a Friday night, a night of extra privileges, to get to their beds; later than all the other days.

There's a good two feet between us when I put my book down, press the switch on my bedside light and the room becomes dark. Tomas has been asleep for an hour now, uncovered and his back to me, foetal. I have noticed boys often sleep like this, sleep overtaking them, intended pleasure not taken, swept away, desire faded now, only to return in the morning even stronger.

He may have sensed my presence because he stirs; and turns onto his back, arms up high now beside his head. It would be so easy. I doubt if he would even wake. I gently raise the duvet to cover this wonderful example of boyhood. Sweet dreams Tomas. Suffering is the price we pay for love. But suffer we must. There is another way for me, so with a suitable distance between our two bodies so as to minimise the chances of disturbing Tomas with my movements, I take it. The end comes quickly enough, with lightning speed in fact, and then afterwards, so does the sweet balm of sleep.

And in the morning.

Tomas wakes shortly after I do. He's clamped onto me like a limpet; his arm around my shoulder and one leg over my thigh. When I prise him off me, he's rampant. No surprise there. How many times have seen the boys like this as they leave their beds in the morning, their minds and bodies unexpectedly roused from half-sleep. They are hardly aware, but I am. At some point in the night, the distance I deliberately put between us, has closed completely. I've no idea at what point in the night the gap has closed. On his back now, separated from me, he looks into my face. What a pretty face it is too; light brown hair, the suspicion of a natural parting, brown eyes and eye lashes my sister would die for. His hand immediately goes down to what is at this moment occupying his mind. I'm sure its demands were not met last night, and no Matthew to see to his little problem. I have my own problems too Tomas, but we can't solve them together. I'll tell him that if there's anything he needs, or wants to do, then he can do it right here and now.

His response is the climb onto me once more, and once more I manage to detach myself. At least I managed to get something on him last night, little Louis's attractive contribution, so he did not sleep naked. Nor did I.

When I leave the bed for the bathroom, Tomas is watching me. By the time I get back, hopefully he'll be calm and collected. Fifteen minutes later I'm done in the shower, my mind re-focussed. At the bedroom door I hesitate, and peek through the narrow gap I've left. I can see Tomas's chest rise and fall, his eyes and mouth wide open, his breathing faster than normal. Looking lower, it's all too obvious. Good lad. For me, the immediate danger has passed. I get into the bed and work my way across to Tomas. He's still very warm and in that state of semi-shock at the intensity of it all as he looks to inspect. I'm interested too. I'm interested in what all our boys can or cannot achieve. For Tomas, things are beginning to move. All the signs are there.

'Look Alex.' Tomas says, showing me the still excited source of his achievement. He's clearly some way behind his friend Matthew. How do I know? Boys are naturally untidy; and forgetful.

We are in safer waters now, Tomas and I; our immediate difficulties sorted. So what of the day to come? Where is Matthew? Not here, but I know his home is close by. He doesn't need to live here with us, distance wise, but his people have decided that his prospects would be best served this way, and their own prospects as well. A rather selfish view in my opinion, but that's what some parents want. They want their kids out of the way during term time, an expensive luxury very few can contemplate. Matthew has no siblings. He may be at a loose end at this moment. Worth a try.

Of course you can Tomas. I'm intrigued by their relationship of which I have more than an inkling. Both boys appear to want the same thing. They said in a recent staff meeting that we should be 'facilitators'. Ok, so let's facilitate.

Tomas's conversation with Matthew was brief, prior to handing me the 'phone so I could confirm arrangements with Matthew's mother. We will pick him up from his home in two hours from now. Tomas is understandably excited and so am I. It'll be lovely to have the two boys together, all to myself for two whole days; and nights. Woe is me.

Matthew's house is about twenty minutes away by car, my precious British Racing Green MGB roadster. There will be plenty of room for Matthew in the front seat beside me, with Tomas's smaller body sitting slightly sideways behind him on the rather hard bench affair with next to no leg room. With a half hour ride to the sea, he'll survive ok.

I had to wait outside for Matt and Tomas to emerge from the house, a nice Edwardian job with a big front garden. The boys were in a jolly mood, as I expected them to be, Matt in front of Tomas and looking dressed to kill in his usual very brief fashionable shorts, white of course, to match Tomas's getup. White for purity; of course.

He carried nothing with him bar a pair of swimming pants he twirled around as if he had just completed a strip tease show, which then spun out of his hand and landed in a flower bed. Bending down to retrieve, I was relieved to notice there was the usual under his shorts. Just as well. I've already mentioned that Matt is a little ahead of the game when compared to Tomas. At this age, these boys come on with lightning speed it seems. Maybe he's just made that way.

Friendships.

They come in various forms as we all know. A bond between people, fragile in the case of young people that I deal with on a day-to-day basis, sometimes ending in nasty conflicts, but most include a little passion along the way, and by that I don't necessarily mean sex. Shared interests, sometimes quite obscure things like astronomy or something non-cerebral like cross-country running. Actually, cross-country running might be very cerebral once dedicated to all that pain. In my experience, such as it is after a shortish time in this game, it's relatively rare for a friendship between two boys to develop into a full-on sexual thing. When it does, it's impossible for those boys to hide it. Nothing really gets under the radar here at Daltons House. It can't. The place is too small. The floorboards creak, as do the beds when the boys pleasure themselves soon after their light goes out at night, and again when they wake; if they've been lucky enough to wake up before my rounds start at seven fifteen that is.

Some boys are just non-sexual, and they have their friendships like all the others and are perfectly happy. They may well marry a nice girl, in the end, and indulge in the necessary in order to fulfil their parents' desire for grandchildren; a means to an end. Other boys want sex. Whether they actually need it to keep them happy is debatable I suppose. The desire is deeply rooted in their personalities, and friendships are sought with others who give off a certain vapour, a feral sexual odour, and certain vibes that they recognize in themselves as a deep desire to touch flesh and to touch other boys where they enjoy touching themselves. They are often physically attractive individuals, who attract others who like how they look. Or they are very good at something so another boy will admire his achievements and want to be friends. All sorts of reasons, none of which need to be analysed by those concerned, weighed up, or rationalized. Bonds just occur, and when those bonds form between two boys who are physically attracted to each other, there will inevitably be an SR; a sexual reaction. Some sort of excuse will be conjured up by one party so that initial physical contact is made. Play fighting probably, which might go too far and there's upset. A standoff, followed by apologies. Tempers lost and crying even. But this just confirms the boys' intensions and heightens their desire for each other. They play fight again, but this time that initial violence calms as they lie on the floor, hot and breathless, still holding, their heads now filled with crazy burning ideas. The grip of hands is relaxed, but the touching goes on. It's a different kind of touching now. It's nurturing, enquiring, wondering, whilst their bodies begin to give away their secrets, their secret desires, the things they must keep away from all those others that won't understand; would not approve.

Two boys together, touching, as their bodies divulge their secret. There's no stopping it once the process begins. They look at each other, recognize each other's longings, excitement rises and the touching becomes yet more intense. Once those barriers are down, a whole new world can take shape in their minds. But discretion and caution is required, and they can make mistakes; give themselves away in silly ways that people like me will recognize. Tomas and Matthew have left their trail of evidence; both boys missing from view at odd times, those glances, the whispers and giggles. There's no doubt.

I think that's fine. Brian has no idea because he's distant from such things, so he agrees that we can put them together to share one room. Give them some privacy, I'm thinking, and let nature take its course. What; in bunk beds you say? Yes, tricky. One evening I was curious so I ventured along the corridor, very quietly I might add, to Tomas and Matthew's room. I suspected and I wanted to know if I was correct in my assessment as to how far they have gone in their relationship. The doors to all the boys' rooms are never completely closed. It's the rule. At night no doors are closed. Tomas is in the lower bunk with a hand on Matthew's bare back, who is kneeling beside him. They haven't seen me. Tomas is turned away from me, and Matthew is far too busy to notice my almost invisible presence. I'm right of course. Transfixed as I shamefully am, I can't resist waiting for an outcome. When it comes, it's gentle and sensitive, and so very tidy, ending with a meeting of mouths and a long embrace. What I have seen is love-making in the truest sense. My goodness me.

Our day out at the seaside was wonderful, and included everything one might expect from a day spent in such a glorious environment, and all completely free of any expense. That's what I love about these places that offer the opportunity to exercise in so many ways, to play with imagination and creativity, and to consolidate friendships; and for the likes of people like me, so much more. After five hours in the sun and sea, the boys are tired. I've seen them both as I like to see them, and they have seen each other as they want, cool and wrapped in a travel rug after a picnic, swimming briefs drying and draped over spikes of marram grass, as they want to. But certain behaviour in public places, certain expressions of feelings shall we say, are not acceptable in public places, even when partially hidden amongst sand dunes. I had to tell the boys to behave themselves, and they did, by and large. But they are excited to be together, relatively unrestricted by this open and free environment, and any clothing bar some sporty swim wear; but not all the time. There are moments of stunning nudity. Jock Sturgess, eat your heart out! They have run in and out of the waves several times, chased each other relentlessly, dug holes on their knees with their arms down deep holes, infiltrated a nearby family activity, eaten apples, drunk two large bottles of water, avoided ice cream, and now they are ready for home, or what we have to call home; Daltons House. In the car they asked me where they would be sleeping tonight.

Matthew stated how unfair it was that Tomas was allowed in 'the big bed' last night. Would they be banished to their bunk beds tonight?

No. If anyone would be banished from that haven of warm and comfort, it had better be me. The boys' beds are reasonably wide and comfortable, so they tell me. I could cope with that. Not that I want to.

I parked the 'B' in its usual place; in the timber garage that was probably built in the fifties, next the wall of the Games Room, and showing signs of wear now, the roof sagging slightly. At least it kept the weather off my flame orange pride and joy, but not the occasional seagull droppings as the rickety building has no doors. Oh well, you can't have everything. But I do have Tomas and Matthew.

Perhaps I didn't explain to them properly. I would shower first, and then they would. Their surprise to find me still under the shower when they arrived, towels around shoulders, was unconvincing. Too late. I Had not intended for them to see me nude, and like this. They were literally open mouthed as they stared at me. Under the cascade of comforting water, I had been reflecting on our day in the fresh air, the freedom of it all, the talks we had had lying in the dunes, the smiles, the beauty of it all, and affection deeply felt. There's no point turning away now.

I look down to see the last of the shampoo running down my body to disappear into the mysteries of our plumbing. I watch as the boys hang up towels and wait, posed it seemed to me, like two Spartan boys holding their spears, open mouthed and staring. It's done now. No going back on this one.

In the shower I had been thinking about the boys, as you do, and the arrangements for sleeping tonight. I should make them go to their bunks, but they had been very persuasive about this issue and I had tacitly relented on my initial decision. The idea of being together in a double bed had excited them, neither of them ever having slept in one before, or so they said. The idea of the three of us together all night had got to me somewhat, hence my embarrassment when the boys arrived unannounced. I just carried on as if nothing had happened, which is all I could do really. Just pretend everything is normal, which it isn't. Far from it.

I left the shower running for them to use as I dried myself, watching them rinse off any residual sand which has a tendency to get into all the nooks and crannies. One grain of sand in the most sensitive of places is a problem best avoided.

We watched television for a couple of hours in Brian's sitting room until the clock had ticked its way past nine o'clock. As usual it was all rubbish. Then Tomas has a question I was expecting but not wanting just yet.

The light had faded significantly by the time the boys had completed their pre-bed rituals. All the boys have reading books they can use in the time after getting into their beds and before their light is put out. They looked as if butter wouldn't melt as they sat up in my king-sized bed with their books; a picture of innocence indeed with their hair neatly arranged and pleasantly smelling bodies for once. I need to 'phone Tomas's mother now. She asked for a report on the day.

'Yes. You can either mingle if you want to, or be nicely exclusive. We did both. They're in bed reading right now. All showered and smelling like adverts for Pears soap.'

'I wondered about that. I thought I might try one of the boy's beds in the room nearest mine.'

'That's ridiculous Alex. Sleep in your own bed. Besides they need supervision. Heaven knows what they'll get up to.'

'So, do I stop them or let them get on with it?' I said jokingly, wondering what Sara's reaction would be to that question.

'Well, if they know you're there, they won't. By the way, Peter wants to come back. He stayed here last night. He talked about you. He was very upfront about the situation. He's missing Tomas. We slept together.'

'Let's say it was a nice try. It ended up with me having to do everything. You really must come over soon. I think I might have to find a boyfriend at this rate. Anyway, I said he could come back. Nice for Tomas. What are you doing tomorrow?'

Nine thirty.

I'd hate to upset Sara by leaving the boys to their own devices tonight. So, no choice. I'll have to grin and bear it, or should I say, bare it? Sorry about that. Actually it's not a particularly amusing situation.

When I go into my darkened room, I pick up the discarded clothing and fold it neatly. The boys appear to be asleep and are very much together. I know that boys are very good at pretending to be asleep, but I'm sure they are, Tomas, open mouthed and a little dribbly, certainly is very asleep. Matthew is 'spooned' into his friend with a hand on his tummy, the other hand elsewhere and not visible. The sheet over them covers their legs and middles partially, and as my curiosity gets the better of me, I can with minimal disturbance have a little look. But that slight movement of the sheet is enough to cause a stir in Tomas, who turns over to face Matthew, big sigh, putting his hands against the boy's chest, his knees bent now forcing a gap between the two bodies, and giving me further opportunity to look for any evidence of activity. There's none. It's all peachy pale flesh amidships, no pinkness back or front to suggest a coming together; in fact nothing untoward at all. My guess is that they were thinking about it as weariness got the better of them. They have been good, due no doubt to all that sea air. Then I get a surprise. Matthew's eyes flicker and open. He's awake. And that's not all.

He was a couple of minutes in the lavatory just across the narrow passageway outside my room. I had undressed, bar my briefs and tee shirt, and lay on the bed with a wide gap to accommodate Matthew between me and Tomas. But Matthew doesn't fill the gap, but climbs in behind me.

Easier said than done, given Matthew's unwillingness to cooperate, leaving me to do all the work it seems, in my attempt to haul him over the top of me and into the vacant space beside the slumbering Tomas. The boy lies directly over my body, his legs either side of mine, the palms of my hands on his lower back, his hands gripping my shoulders like the proverbial limpet. Neither of us has the will or strength at this time of the evening to argue about this, so Matthew stays where he is for a minute or so, before I can find the right words.

Peter.

I've slept with Peter, Tomas's father, a couple of times. The way Matthew is right now, or was a few moments ago, is the way I would arrange myself with Peter prior to sex. It was the way he wanted me, and I liked it too. I could control how it all happened, and how quickly; or slowly. I could tease him this way, which heightened the whole occasion, so the ultimate cathartic conclusion was all the more powerful and enjoyable. Enjoyment is the key. Sex with Peter has to be thoroughly good fun to be worth the bother; and it is.

With Matthew back next to his friend, and me on my way downstairs cursing Sara for insisting that Tomas should share my bed, I'm minded to 'phone Peter to see what he's up to tonight. It's still only ten o'clock. I'm in serious need here. His 'phone rings seven times before the answerphone kicks in. I don't leave him a message. There's only one other solution to my difficulty that has so suddenly and so surprisingly arisen. At ten twenty I'm back in my room to find Matthew next to Tomas thank goodness, and asleep at last. Danger passed for me, but the memories will linger no doubt.

I'm looking at the two boys lying together, Matthew breathing evenly and softly into Tomas's neck, an arm around his tummy. Tomas, open mouthed, his head lying on the pillow and very asleep. Six or seven hours of quiet now, and then a new day will dawn. I know I'm not guilt free, and it's a haunting feeling I have as I look at my responsibilities, together and happy. Indeed I have much to occupy my mind in the next six hours, or fewer.

Should institutions that are in-loco parentis, that is to say, responsible for young people in place of their parents or other, or others that would normally look after them, allow those youngsters to engage in sexual activities together? Surely by putting several pre-pubescent and pubescent boys together at night, usually very close to one another, is providing opportunity? A few very wealthy institutions can afford to provide exclusive and private sleeping spaces; or even their own room. But the vast majority can't possible go to those lengths. The Beast rears it's mischievous head just as boys like Matthew and Tomas find themselves rubbing shoulders with each other in places like Daltons House, and many others across this land, and the globe. No wonder they want to experiment with the most powerful signals and feelings their bodies are chucking out, daring them each time to go further than the last time; and enjoying every minute; every second of it, actively seeking the opportunities and privacy that they need to express their feeling with another human who feels just like he does. Ok, sensible controls are necessary, and opportunities limited. You keep the boys busy for as much of the day as is practical, but there will always be times. You can talk to them about the dangers, the problems strong feelings can create, and how to deal with it all, if they can. You can set up a forum for group discussion where rational thoughts are aired and opinions sought. But you can't actually legislate against two boys who want a physical, and consequentially a sexual relationship together. Not completely.

But here I am watching Tomas and Matthew together, their mouths joined, their arms holding each other so hard together that it's impossible to imagine that this is not the expression of a deep affection for one another, not just pubescent lust.

I've been watching for some minutes now. Matthew has climbed onto Tomas, his legs either side of the smaller boy. The kissing carries on as Matthew's hands press down on Tomas's arms. Mouths part for moments before joining again. Hips are moving, like simulated coitus. I know that can't possible happen. That's impossible without………well, you will know. I certainly do, just as Peter and Sara know.

When I pull sharply on Matthew's shoulder, the reality of their waking reverie becomes a sudden stark awareness of what the boys are doing, or attempting to do. Matthew comes away from Tomas, and is lying on his back now, his brown eyes looking into mine. I doubt that they were even aware of my presence next to them in my bed. Tomas is on his side, looking too, his hand on Matt's tummy.

'Nothing.' They both answer in unison. The standard schoolboy answer. How many times have I heard that response when it's so obvious that they were doing something untoward.

I had years of having guilt instilled in me by my elders and betters. I was made to feel guilty about my feelings which I was beginning to have trouble keeping under control. Such was the strength of my attraction to other boys. What I was thinking and occasionally doing, was found out, as it was always going to be, sooner or later. Understanding and acceptance was what I craved for. There was nothing to forgive me for, not in my mind or my friend's. We had done nothing wrong. Matthew and Tomas have done nothing wrong either.

The boys can see I'm not cross with them. When Matthew had realised I was awake and very conscious of what he was doing, he reacted fast. There are even smiles now; and some awkward questions from Matt.

'I don't think so. Some people might think so, but I don't, so long as Tomas wants it too. When was your first kiss together; if I may ask?'

'I asked Tomas round to mine one weekend. Up in my bedroom. Do you kiss Amelia?' he asks, referring to my 'girlfriend' who comes down occasionally to Daltons.

That , was a shock. I know the boys talk, and that subject; which members of staff might be queer, is a constant subject for speculation amongst them, usually at bedtime. I don't, as far as I'm aware, come over as 'like that', but obviously there have been comments made and the possibility has been raised. How do I answer Matt's question?

'That's not a subject I need or want to get into Matthew. My personal life is my own business, not yours or any other boy here. But I don't mind you asking. It's a very fair question. I'm not, you may have noticed, asking you that question am I?'

'Yes of course. I'm like you. Just like you really. I have feelings just like yours, and we are not ashamed of them. And like you I want to show people that I can love, and that I love them. There are some nice ways of doing that, as long as they are not hurtful and that they are enjoyed by the people concerned. A man and a woman, a girl and a boy, two girls……'

'But we do know Alex. Grownups don't think we know anything but we do. We all do. We just haven't done it yet. I've seen them doing it. Two boys.'

Curiosity again. I just had to know how much they know and have experienced themselves. Storytelling is so erotic, at least I find it so. What I thought I had witnessed some weeks earlier had been an unsuccessful attempt it seems.

Tomas is restless as his head rests again Matthew's, his hand having dropped lower still.

There's a sheet and lightweight blanket over us. Of course I'm aroused by all this, shamefully. This is a situation I should never have found myself in, thanks to Sara, but I'm here now and there's no going back. The conversation is amusing us all right now, as Tomas appears to be playing with Matthew under the covers, his face pressed hard now into Matthew's neck. The boys are playing games for my benefit. That's fine.

Matthew smiles at my question, obviously distracted by Tomas's ministrations under the covers. I'm careful to leave just enough space between us so as not to touch; or be touched. So I ask again……

He looks back into my face. There's a laugh behind that expression of innocence. At this moment he is being satisfied, very slowly and rather nicely. Matthew can barely concentrate on his answer.

'That's easily solved Matt.' I say, looking into his face. Tomas hasn't stopped.

Well, that was a nice sight as Matt climbs over Tomas to get to my bedside cupboard drawer. Tomas turns over to see what's going on, moving closer to me. Tomas, small, yet distended and perfectly formed.

I took to it like a duck to water, but that's just me. I have always been highly sexed, judging by some others that I knew who never bothered with any of it. But when an opportunity arose, so to speak, I was up for it. I know that quite a lot of queer boys don't like the idea of that kind of interaction, but I never had any doubts. The first time Gary, an unusual Christian name for an Etonian, and I tried it, up in his bedroom one afternoon and after a period of 'training', it went like clockwork. We had planned it and were properly prepared. Just one morning trip along to the supermarket and the self-checkout to avoid embarrassment, and that was it, plus a towel underneath me. Vital that.

I have rather regretted my invitation to Matthew to look in my bedside cabinet drawer. He wanted to know what everything was. If I haven't seen the mercurial Peter for a while, and felt in need, I had the wherewithal to take my own pleasure which I keep in that drawer; a handy [and expensive] little device that if one is patient, the results are well worth waiting for. After a brief inspection, I'm sure Matthew was none the wiser for his exploration of the contents of my private cabinet drawer. He turns towards his friend who is facing him, as I enjoy the boyish form of his shoulders and back, and just a glimpse of the shadowy recess that lies below. This situation I find wonderfully erotic, the evidence of which I'm careful to keep hidden from my friends lying beside me. And Matthew is looking increasingly interested in Tomas.

'Can Matthew cuddle me Alex?' Asks Tomas in that little pleading voice of his, as Matthew's hand encroaches, pushing up between the boy's arm and his chest.

'Yes of course Tomas.' I answer. 'He seems very fond of you. I think he's trying to tell you that.'

Boys act on instinct. Neatly constructed sentences that speak of love and affection for a partner is something unknown to boys. They act upon their feelings at any given moment. I don't doubt that these two have very strong feelings for each other, made all the stronger by this time of day, early morning, and their physical closeness.

Once awake, I can feel Peter's hand on my back gently stroking it, I know I am needed, and soon.

I think Matthew is very like Peter, just a younger version, and just as insistent; per sistent even. With his hand behind Tomas's head, he kisses nicely; nothing rough or too urgent. Tomas is completely compliant as he turns onto his back. I can see now how those kisses have inspired him, the little beauty, as Matthew's tongue teases the boy's skin, his friend's chest rising and falling, tummy drawn in as pleasure takes hold. Still lower the tongue travels, the white sheet pushed aside. Not far to go now.

I can barely believe what I'm seeing. A short examination follows as Matthew holds his subject, or object even, inspecting eyes as Tomas, hands behind his head, watches, open mouthed. And now that tongue again, how well it works as it travels and teases; up and over, in and around, as the cycle is repeated over and over. Now it's time. Another brief inspection before Tomas disappears into the darkness and that silky liquid warmth.

A few minutes ago I had gone to my private bathroom leaving the boys to themselves. This is what I'm seeing as I open the bedroom door. There's just enough light to see the boys. Downstairs I hear the telephone ring. It's Sara.

'Yes. I thought we might join the fish and chip brigade in Padstow. Get the ferry across to Rock and hike to Polzeath. Maybe even a speedboat trip.'

The conversation drifted, but after a good half hour I'd had enough and made my excuses to get off the 'phone.

The room was quiet, the two figures of Matthew and Tomas clearly visible, both lying on their tummies and a wide gap between them. That's odd.

When I woke in the morning Tomas was facing me, still very asleep. Matthew stirred, and left the bed for my bathroom looking like he has something on his mind. Tomas has salty marks on his face which worries me. I suspect a bit of trouble in the bedroom last night while I was talking to his mum downstairs.

I had woken around six thirty. Tomas is very close to me and there's the same wide gap between his back and Matthew's. I draw back the covers to take a look at Tomas, not just for my pleasure, but to check him for any adverse signs. Again there are none. He's just a beautiful sleeping boy with his knees slightly bent and his hands held together under his chin, mouth open, his breathing calm and even. I need a talk with him, privately. I run my finger tips along his eyebrow; and then down his nose very gently; and then around his soft cheek. His eyes flicker, and then slowly open. There's no expression on that face. He looks straight into my eyes, and I know there's been a problem. I would normally get a smile at this point but there's nothing. I'm considering getting him into my bathroom but I don't want to ask him to leave the bed so I'll do it in whispers to avoid any chance of waking Matthew. My first question is going to be pretty direct.

I've performed this procedure a few times. There is not a serious problem at all, but in five minutes, all will be cooler, easier, smoother and comfortable for Tomas. It's how Gary, my first, trained me .

Tomas is back facing me, foetal, hands tight under his chin as before. His eyes are shut as I gently push my fingers through his brown hair. He's perfectly calm. Job done I think, but Matthew needs sorting. I think the beach is the wrong place for the coming day. Padstow, a half hour drive from here, will be a good place to start today's adventure.

The boys' shower was a silent affair as the 'atmosphere' between them prevails, as it does throughout a simple breakfast over in Halls. We need a very physical project; a long hike. It's more obvious than ever that something has gone badly wrong.

My parents brought us here every summer……..Padstow, a sleepy little fishing town on the opposite side of the Camel Estuary to the village of Rock, connected by the motor ferry, Black Tor. Everyone loves the ten-minute ferry ride across the sometimes excitingly choppy waters of the dramatically tidal River Camel. At low tide, the mysterious Doom Bar is exposed, an expanse of pale brown sand that seemed to stretch for miles. We always stayed in the same place at the back of the town, Tregony House, a short walk from my father's boyhood schoolfriend who grew up in the big house at the top of the hill, whom, he informed us every year, he hadn't seen for many years. From there we spent our days on the idyllic beaches of Porthcothan and Treyarnon, playing on the black rocks and in the rockpools or the surf that rolls in all day, as dependable as the sunrise itself, our bodies gradually turning a pale golden brown. We were allowed to invite one friend each. Gary came. We shared a room at the top of the house with two single beds in it, but spent a good deal of time in just one of them. My enlightened parents knew, and never commented. We were in love, and aged fourteen we were incapable of hiding it. Every night, and in the mornings, we explored our thoughts, feelings and ambitions, and our bodies. A very pure celebration.

Being the smaller of the two, Tomas wedged himself in behind us in the confined space of my MGB Roadster, top down, and brilliant fun. With a forecast of eighty degrees today, the boys are as I like to see them best, minimally clothed in their standard white shorts normally seen on the games field. Even tee shirts have been abandoned for the car journey.

They were waiting for me by the car. I had insisted they wear their normal white socks and trainers, and have a tee shirt with them at least, even if they don't want to put them on. There was something else too.

Oh well. We are not mingling with people today so no matter. It's not an issue with 'little' Tomas, but Matthew? I'm looking at him standing there in his shorts. I wouldn't say it was obvious, but if you're looking, you would notice. But only if you're looking. I would always look, and notice, because it's a habit of mine. Oh well.

I parked in Dennis Road which is close enough to the busy harbour in Padstow. The boys are excited, although at least some of the atmosphere between them has faded I think. I will find out what's been going on.

In the stiff breeze from the north, we delight in the fine spray coming over the windward side of Black Tor, the name on the side of the flat-bottomed diesel- powered craft in yellow that plies between the two shores, a journey of around ten minutes. There must be fifty odd passengers on board, sitting close along the wooden benches, some with expectant dogs of all sizes knowing that the long-awaited walk will soon begin. With the tide half way down, there's plenty of sandy space to walk on after we all walk off the ferry on the Rock side of the estuary. It's a marvellous sight as we stop and admire the view northwards to Stepper on the left and Trebetherick on the right, with the open choppy sea in between, fluffy white clouds hurrying by. My plan is to walk the boys to surf and sands on Polzeath beach and ice creams, with a couple of landmarks to visit on the way. The first is Brae Hill, some twenty minutes away along the flat soft sand, dunes to our right, and the golf course behind. I'm excited, but still concerned as the boys are not interacting in the way I would have expected, leaving an awkward distance between them as we progress towards Brae. But I have a plan.

'What's that over there Alex?' Asks Matthew. Tomas stands too, waiting for my answer, an absent-minded hand at his front, tweaking, fiddling, like young boys do.

'It's a challenge Matt. It's called Brae Hill. It looks man-made but it's a natural feature. It's a neolithic burial site too, right at the top.'

I think Tomas sensed that I needed time with Matthew alone, because there was no urgency in the way he began the long climb up the trodden path up Brae Hill. He must have been half way to the summit when he turns round to look back down at us below him, and sits down in the grass watching us. I had had a good talk with Matthew explaining a few things to the boy lying in the grass beside me. There are some practical details he seems unaware of and the need to apologize to Tomas. He says nothing really, but listens, nods periodically, and realises that there is a way forward; a good way forward.

'After I sent you two to bed last night?' Yes. While I was talking to Sara on the 'phone.

'Tomas is upset by your unreasonable behaviour Matthew. Do you realize he really wants to please you? It's your responsibility Matt; if that's what you want? Is this the problem?'

It's a risky strategy. I make a fist with my right hand, hands together now, and with my crooked index finger on my left hand, I slowly straighten it fully. Then I gently push the tip of my extended finger into my fist. It's too tight. I try to penetrate the fist but it doesn't work . I look at Matthew. Mouth open now, he nods. Now I know for certain.

There is my saliva on the tip of my finger now as I gently make circles around the centre of my fist, more saliva now, as I begin to focus on the very centre. There is resistance, but slowly the tip of my finger begins to disappear into my clenched fist. Slowly I withdraw it, then it disappears again, a little quicker this time, and again, and again I withdraw and then I succeed. The fist gradually relaxes and the motions become ever faster; and then gradually slow to a stop. I look back at Matthew. There's no mistaking this gesture of mine and by his expression of understanding, Matthew has got it. I suppose it might have worked for them, but it didn't. A nice idea but poor execution one might say. Now Matthew will have access to a far better alternative to what I have just shown him. Now there are two things he and Tomas need. I explain both to Matthew.

The first is a form of apology that will transform Tomas's state of mind from guilt and disappointment; that he couldn't grant Matthew the thing that both of them wanted. The second will have to wait until tonight, or perhaps earlier if the boys can't wait. In the meantime, Tomas will be back with us any moment now as the figure approaches.

'What were you doing; while I was away?' Enquires Tomas, in a suspicious tone of voice.

'Getting something sorted out Tomas. Matthew knows he's upset you, and why he has. I think he's been a bit unkind to you Tomas. I'm going for a stroll now for a few minutes.'

I left Matthew to his task. He knows what he has to do, and if he has any sense, he'll do it properly. Then, with any luck, all will be well. The boys watch me walk away from them. I walk off with no intention of looking back. I'm away for exactly ten minutes.

The little spats and misunderstandings boys have with their friends happen all the time, and usually they are easily overcome, forgiven, forgotten about within a short time thank goodness, or we would be spending all our time sorting it all out. I haven't walked fifty yards from my two love birds before I'm unable to resist looking round to see what's going on. Matthew has worked his way over to Tomas, both on their knees, and he has his arm around Tomas's shoulder. Tomas's head is bowed. Matthew is talking to him as Tomas nods his head. I've no idea what he's saying but I can guess. So sweet. Both boys look lovely, bare tops and legs. Short hair is not allowed, at least not in my book. Matthew runs his fingers through Tomas's hair as it flutters in the strong breeze, shiny, a little curly too. So cute. I walk a little further and turn again to watch for any progress. There it is. Two faces meeting, and what looks very like mouths touching. The boys are still facing each other, and on their knees still. It's so amusing how the thoughts of two boys so close together like they are right now transfer so quickly to other parts of their bodies, and with nothing to restrict their excitement under their shorts, it's all so obvious and beautiful. I can't take my eyes away from them as the two bodies close the gap between them, hands lowered now, one face buried in the other. Good; all this seems to be going in the right direction. I won't give them any more time now. Let the moment last until tonight, or earlier if we are back at Daltons in good time. We need to conquer Brea now, which will be hard work, and then down the far side to the tiny church half buried in the sand, S. Enodoc, before hiking the coast path round the headland to Polzeath, past pink thrift and other lovely flora, and to where sand and sea awaits us once more. Oh yes, all is indeed well now. We walk through the ancient lychgate. Tomas stops while Matthew wanders over to the large slate headstone to our right.

It's a particularly hot afternoon. With their tee shirts folded and neatly packed in the rucksack I'm carrying on my back, the boys' bare backs are gleaming with the heat as they disappear into the gloom of the tiny building. I have a small pilgrimage of my own as I read the inscription on the dark slate headstone.

I'm surprised how long the boys stay in the cool silence of the building. It must be quite a few degrees cooler in there than it is out here in the hot sun. Perhaps that's it. Twenty minutes now. How odd. Maybe they've met the Saint himself……. who lived with God on this unfriendly shore, who knew he made the Atlantic and the stones, and destined seamen here to end their lives, dashed on a rock, rolled over in the surf, and not one hair forgotten.

Reconciliation; or love re-kindled.

From the bench higher up in the churchyard I have a view of shadowed mass of Stepper Point, sun behind, grey green fields over, the waves breaking on the rocks below, and the intense blue of the sea as it surges with white tops into the River Camel estuary. There are some tiny figures on the beach below, playing. Blessed be Saint Enodoc, blessed be the wave, blessed be the springy turf, we pray, pray to thee. Ask for our children all the happy days you gave, to Peter, Matthew, Tomas; and me.

Matthew has his arm around Tomas's shoulder when, eventually, the boys emerge from the tiny church half buried in the sand. They pass the Celtic Cross, touch it as if to accept it's powers, and step into the light. A single bell sounds from the ghost of the wrecked ship, the Immacolata, stranded on the Doom Bar.

Epilogue

'I'm thinking of making some changes Alex.' Says Brian, the man, plus his wife Anne, in charge of Daltons House where I am his young and slightly tender 'assistante'. Last night was my one night off in the week and I was with Peter.

'I think you might do well with a little more time to yourself Alex. You've been looking a little tired of late. Young Ben Parsons is keen, so I'm told, and will certainly benefit from a new challenge. You could move to his flat? Lovely place over there. Time for a little reflection before going back into the fray one day. One shouldn't under estimate how much it takes out of a man, this job. The boys will miss you. Not a good idea to be around them for too long. Over familiarity and all that. Is that alright Alex?'

Not such a question as a statement of fact. I'm being moved out without any consultation or discussion or the opportunity to argue my case. I'm not tired; I'm not disenchanted in any way, in fact I'm energized by my contact outside the classroom with these lovely creatures; and I am shocked at this complete surprise sprung on me by Brian. I nod my head in agreement, but I can't find any words to express my shock and dismay; and annoyance. I am to leave Daltons at the end of this half term which is two weeks away, the place I have made my home for two years now. I'm devastated. Fucking Ben Parsons? What a drip. A wet of giant proportions; a fucking geography teacher for heavens sake, well known for his total inability to relate to any human being under the age of forty, let alone our lively lads at Daltons. Him instead of me? Oh, he'll be crowing in the staffroom soon. I can just hear him now.

Is that the best he can do? No I fucking don't. Arsehole. I don't need a rest, I need those boys of mine . And what am I going to get? A room in an old knackered house on the perimeter of the school grounds, sharing with three old fart teachers who have scant interest in anything other than their glass of claret, some tittle-tattle and a chuckle before ponsing up to High Table for their quite dreadful evening meal. What I don't know is the reason why all this has come about? How could there have been any negative evidence? Possibly I'm thought to be too close to the boys. Yes, that's it. Jealousy. Tomas and Matthew. I'm too close to them and it may have been noticed. They are too familiar. I wonder. Maybe Brian has installed a camera and microphone in my room? No, he'd never have the wit to do that; or the technical know-how.

It's all ridiculous, but I have to accept this situation and get on with it as if it's normal procedure. But I don't think it is. I shall keep my head down and just carry on my principal duties as a Classics teacher in my crusty old Department in the crustiest mice infested corner of the Upper School. I will no longer see either Tomas or Matthew in an official capacity from now on. One thing I must do is to let Sara know what's happened, and Peter of course, who I saw last night. Peter's moved back in with Sara. She was out with friends which left us a couple of hours in the spare bedroom. Not even Peter would have sex with his big boy slave; ie me, in the marital bed, for what that's worth. But there's no deceit. She knows perfectly well. I'll phone her tonight from a phone box in the village.

'Horrible; and very annoyed. My replacement is a complete…….well, he's colourless and unsuitable in my view. But there it is. No point in making a fuss. It would just look worse. In these places things happen and it's best to just carry on as normal and not invite questions or debates. It's not worth it. How are you doing with Peter?'

'Oh, just back to the old days. We made love that first night but I faked it, and I'm sure he did too. I would have known. After all, you do know when a man does, don't you? He sends his love by the way. Maybe he does better with you. You might get more out of him than I can. By the way, what are you doing next week? It's half term. Are you busy?'

'I'm sending Peter off to the cottage at Treyarnon for half term. I'm staying here with the girls. He'll have Tomas with him. Tomas will take a friend to play with. You can all spend a week playing in the rock pools together in your jolly jolly panters. Tomas is still very pally with that boy Matthew isn't he? Rather joined at the hip I think. They can have the smaller double. There's room for you of course darling. It'll be lovely, all you boys together, day…….and night. Can I tell Peter you'll come?'

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Tomas

by Rafael Henry

Peter.

And in the morning.

Friendships.

Nine thirty.

Peter.

Reconciliation; or love re-kindled.

Epilogue