The Observer

by Rafael Henry

Chapter 8

There is no sound from Mathew's bedroom. The boys have used the family bathroom and the odour of toothpaste wafts down the hall to the sound of the loo flushing. Mathew has never wanted his bedroom door shut. Amy and I usually kept ours a little open, which was a throwback I suppose to when the children were small and we needed to hear them if they became disturbed. Likewise the children knew they were not to shut their doors completely. We always closed our door when we were contemplating sex. Many a time I've got out of bed fully erect to close the door quietly, and then return to the bed to find my ardour cooled, and an irritated Amy who had to endure the inevitable delay in proceedings. On the rare occasions when Amy orgasmed during sex, if I could go on that long, she was never quiet. You don't want children hearing that stuff going on, at least we didn't. I think children are horrified that their parents ever 'do it'. How do they think they got here then? I 'do it' regularly, but obviously not with Amy now. When she was around I also 'did it' on my own when she wasn't around, and sometimes with her assistance when she was. The thing about sex with a woman is that they can't control your imagination. During sex you are free to think about anything, or anyone you like. They will never know. Just as well in my case.

Lying down on my back right now, I'm wondering what's going on in Mathew's bed. I know semen doesn't come from our balls, and that it's stored in the abdomen until the next lot is required, but right now as I gently squeeze them, they feel full to overflowing. I know Jane, if she were here right now, would empty me very efficiently whilst I entertained certain thoughts. There's an irony there surely?

Mathew's bed is plenty wide enough for two medium sized bodies, but they will inevitably be lying close to each other at the very least. As a boy at home in Wiltshire, I had a number of friends come and stay. One or two I knew would not be interested in having some boy play, but the others would because we had already had mild forms of sex at school. It always took the form of mutual masturbation before sleep, and then again in the morning. That was the pattern at school too. It always amused me to speculate in morning assembly, how many of the four hundred boys present had orgasmed that morning before they heaved themselves out of bed and reconciled themselves to yet another dull day, and the prospect of many more just like it to follow. I reckoned about two thirds, but I never conducted a survey. I doubt if I was far out. On one occasion I tried to calculate the volume of seminal fluid they would have produced if you put the whole lot together in a giant test tube. Taking a rough average, and discounting notable exceptions, nothing from the first year boys…… something from the second years interestingly……a fair amount from the third year boys……and so on upwards until a positive deluge from the sixth formers. And how many loo rolls would be needed? One could go on. As I mentioned, Mathew isn't the tidiest person in the world. Disposing of soggy loo roll isn't his first priority in the morning, and its presence under the pillow or in the bed gets easily overlooked. I don't mind at all. I doubt if he even notices that I've cleared up after him. I'll leave you to attempt a calculation on the other matter, but to save you the bother, I reckon it's about one litre. Sorry to get a bit personal here, but I'm a healthy 'producer' making an average of ten millilitres each time….a couple of medicine spoonfulls……which is reasonably serious loo roll usage. I don't find the stuff in any way off-putting or unattractive….quite the opposite actually. I was definitely the dorm champion in that regard. I'd rather like to think that Mathew will follow suit, and all the signs thus far are quite encouraging.

Still no noises from next door. Mathew's bed is not exactly creaky, but on occasions it has given matters away rather. Whether it's a slightly loose floorboard, or the actual bed, I'm not sure…….the bed I think. Anyway, to our slight embarrassment, and mild amusement, a few squeaks have told Amy and I that Mathew is at the very least….. awake , bless him. We had something similar in our last place. It was a tiny two up and two down terraced house in a cheaper part of Rye, with a thin dividing wall between our house and next door. It must have been the adjoining room in the house which was occupied by a charming 'butter wouldn't melt' little blond boy about nine or ten I should think. We had, as terraced houses do, a perfect view of their garden, and in the summer this little chap amused himself in the blow-up plastic circular pool, naked as nature intended. His mother sent him out in his underpants, which he immediately discarded as soon as her back was turned. He'd often have his mates round in hot weather, attracted by the pool no doubt. I remember one occasion, the two boys had been lying on a towel or something, and blond junior gets up with a lovely little erect penis, and proceeds to waggle it about, no doubt to impress his friend. The friend, also naked with no hard-on and who is not that interested, agrees to give the little monster protruding proudly from his friend's abdomen, a vigorous feel before they both opt for another frolic in the pool. I thought it a charming little interlude. Anyway, whatever was going on in his bedroom, we could always hear through the wall. Soon after seven thirty it would start, probably just after mum had woken him up. He had fifteen minutes in bed before he had to be up. Better get on with it then. It would start slowly, and gradually reach maximum pace before a gradual slow down, and then silence. Amy and I thought we might offer to buy the boy a new bed. Amy made the tea every morning. Junior next door was in full swing. Arriving back in our room……

'Has he finished yet?'

'No. Still going.'

We'd drink our tea accompanied by the rhythmic sounds of Junior's bedsprings. Soon it would slow down, and then stop. The pleasures of the flesh eh? Amy smiles at me…….

'Do you think that'll be Mathew soon?'

'Probably' was my response.

And so it was. Mathew got going about a year later, aged ten. Bang on time. I was pleased as I wanted my son to be a sexual being…not some nerd who was above all that. I was about same age when I started…..maybe even younger. By the time I got to boarding school aged eleven and a half, I was well up for it, and thank goodness so were several other like-minded souls who loved being rubbed up just for the sheer pleasure of it. Small, large and rubbery, medium sized and very hard….I loved another boy's cock. Never mind toys at Christmas. A boy's own penis is the greatest gift, swiftly followed by someone else's. Happy days indeed.

Still no noises from Mathew's bedroom. I naively imagined that they would become instant lovers. It doesn't sound like it.

I leave it another half hour, lying in a state of fading expectation. I decide I need to see the boys who must be asleep by now. I get up quietly and move towards the door. The floorboards are tight in the hallway, so I can move silently. Mathew's door is open about six inches. I can see the boys' heads. They are indeed asleep, and both facing the door. I open it enough to go in. Mathew is tucked into James' back. The duvet doesn't cover their shoulders so I see that Mathew's right hand rests on James' tummy. I need to see more. I gently lift the duvet clear. Mathew's hand is about two inches above James' penis. The younger boy's penis and balls are visible, the skin tight around them, forced forwards by closed thighs. I lift the duvet lower still and see where his underpants are, if anywhere. They are not his of course.

They say that boys and healthy men become erect several times in the course of one night.

Mathew's breathing is quiet and even. I look at James' face, mouth slightly open. His eyes are expressionless but are now half open. He looks at me. I smile at him and he responds with one of his own. I gently replace their cover, and retreat.

I had gone into the room naked, not expecting to be seen. I left the room breathing faster and excited. I'm afraid James must have seen. I lay in bed hoping James would not appear at my door. Thank goodness he didn't.

I woke about six thirty. Within seconds of gaining consciousness, I begin to think about the night before. I stop breathing for a moment and listen. Nothing. I turn onto my side. Soon after there are sounds. I hear voices. I hear the sound of feet treading softly, and later, the loo flushes. For five minutes it's quiet again. More voices, and then silence. Then it starts. It's unmistakeable. I know the sounds exactly.

It lasts for ten minutes. I know because I looked at the clock. It's light outside, and the morning sun finds the narrow gap between the two curtains casting a slither of light onto my body. I am uncovered….undone by shame…..undone by lust……..bodily satisfied……guilt ridden…….and my skin covered in the sunlit slime of penitence.

I get the boys their breakfast. They are in their tee shirts and pants. I notice James has changed his. The boys want toast. I make an excuse and leave the room. I go into Mathew's bedroom and open the curtains. I pull back the duvet. I recognize James' rejected underwear in the middle of the bed. I pick up the small white garment, heavily perfumed. I smile and place the item where I found it, in a tight ball, and replace the duvet. It can't be James'. It's Mathew's semen. I go to the bathroom and before I wash my hands, I bring them to my face….finger ends to my nostrils. Perhaps the subsequent flow of water is a metaphor for forgiveness.

James returned home the next day. A few days later, I met him in Rye quite by chance. I took him to the small and rather claustrophobic café called The Apothecary. I had my usual latte, and he had a toasted teacake and a glass of water. He had stayed with Mathew just the one night. Mathew and I had put him on the bus to Winchelsea clutching his own clothes in a carrier bag, and wearing Mathew's, apart from that very fetching pair of shorts. James would look good in anything.

We sat at a small round table just to right of the door, so we had a good view of passers-by on the High Street. He looks good…same faded green cotton shorts that reveal a goodly amount of thigh when he sits, and very nicely fitting around the bottom when he stands. He has a different tee shirt on, which is a little on the small side for him, and open sandals, and a small silver chain around his wrist.

'Where did that come from James?' I ask, referring to the bracelet.

'Mathew gave it to me. I said I liked it so he said I could borrow it for a while.'

I remember him buying it on Crete. It's the first time I've seem James since his sleepover.

'So you two got on ok then….when you stayed over?'

'Uhuh.'

'Is that all I get……uhuh?'

'Yes. Why did you come in?'

'So you were awake then? '

'Just.'

'Enough to see me?'

'Yes. I knew it was you. I nearly came in with you. Would you have let me?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'You know why.'

'I wanted to say thank you…….for everything. For the day at the beach…..being kind to Mum……the new school……everything……and Mathew.'

'Mathew?'

'Yes. We're friends now. Can I come home with you now? Is Mathew there?'

'No, he's in Canterbury seeing some friends.'

'Oh. Can I still come?'

'Why James? There's nothing to do.'

'Yes there is. I wanted to say thank you.'

'You can say that here can't you?'

'No! You don't understand do you?'

'Don't I?'

'No…you don't.'

I didn't exactly agree, but when we left, James followed me. I couldn't turn him away. We walked up East Street, and through the churchyard into Watchbell Street. I opened the front door and James walks in. I close the door. As my eyes adjust to the lower light, I feel James tugging on my arm. I look down, and just as my head lowers, James holds my head and kisses me lightly just to the side of my mouth. He lets me go. I'm shocked. There are tears in his eyes.

Immediately the arousal process starts, and I feel myself breathless, and panicking.

I think it was just an aberration of the moment. James has had an emotional time of it lately, and everything suddenly boiled over. Something very similar happened to me as a sixth former at school. I made a mistake…..a bad one as it happened…..a complete error of judgement borne out of hearing joyful news. I was hugely embarrassed. It happens. I should have known better.

I took him upstairs. He wanted to spend some time looking at the view over the Rother. Low white clouds were forming up nicely over the Rye Harbour area. We stood there together. I had to do it. I put my arm on his back, gently moving up, and then down. If I had gone another two inches lower, it would have been a sexual gesture. I avoided it thank goodness, but only just.

That gesture had its effect on both of us. I know that I'm visibly aroused now, to some extent, and so is James. There's no doubt between us. We both know, and I know we can't. He looks and smiles…….

'Otta the Great.'

'And who are you then……James the Less?'

'No……not so much now.'

'Oh? Have you grown then?'

'I think so. Will you draw me please?'

I suppose this is a way round it. It's sex from a distance. Drawing an attractive body ten feet away from you….a beautiful body……that is a form of sex. I posed him standing. I watched him undress with his back to me. He wanted to surprise me. They looked like Mathew's underpants. He lays them very deliberately on top of his tee shirt, and as he bends his body, I observe the deep shadow between his buttocks. He turns round with a big smile on his face. He knows that I've seen. I can't help laughing. There's humour in this grand gesture. It's meant to be funny. James laughs.

'Well…….have I?'

'Yes, I think you have. How long can you stay like that then?'

'Until you make it go away?'

'Why don't you ask Mathew?'

'I already did.'

'And?'

'And…….it's none of your business.'

I laughed at his evasive answer.

'You are one cheeky monkey. That's what you are.'

'Do you like cheeky monkeys?'

'You know I do…….more than you can know James.'

'Really?'

'Yes, really .'

True to form, Mathew had not bothered that morning to pick up the discarded pair of pants that James had borrowed from his knicker drawer, which I found in the bed later, used in lieu of a hanky. How disgusting! I'm left wondering if James asked Mathew, or Mathew asked James. But these things tend to get resolved without resorting to conversation by two people having the same idea at the same time. I think the ice had been broken at the beach. I wanted him, rather mischievously, to know…..that I knew.

'By the way, I had to pick up a pair of underpants from the bed this morning. Do you know anything about that James?'

Naughty me. James' face acquires a pink flush, and there's just a hint of a smile.