When we returned I went to my room, thinking I'd have a shower. Although I'd only recently had a large tea, I was beginning to wonder when dinner was. I'd forgotten to ask my parents what time they'd be going down. I grabbed a book, and read for a while.
There was a bang as the door to the stairs closed, then the scampering of feet that I now knew. They paused outside my door, and I hoped he wasn't going to come in and annoy me. I really didn't want to get involved with a kid his age, even if he did have the most engaging smile I'd ever seen outside a crocodile. I kept quiet, and he carried on up the stairs. I heard the door of his room bang. Noisy little sod!
I nearly nodded off over the book, and then thought about my shower. I stripped off, tickled myself until it was stiff and measured my erection as I'd been doing about this time every day. But if there was much of an increase I couldn't tell. It always came to about the same figure — 3.25" - give or take. Sometimes it even seemed to have shrunk by an eighth of an inch and I would get really depressed. I wondered if I'd make medical history by being the only teenager who had reached nearly 3.5" and then gone backwards for the rest of his life, ending up as a woman. But I decided it'd be far too embarrassing to seek medical help if that happened. I'd just keep quiet and look for men to have sex with. I'd never really seen much future in the girls I'd met so far anyway; most of them hadn't got two brains to rub together — at least, if you tried to talk to them it seemed that way. It didn't help that my school was a boys only school so I hardly ever got to talk to the opposite sex. On the other hand some of the boys in the place were really quite good to look at. And in the gym I played this game trying to see who had the biggest bulge — or even any bulge — in his shorts. I didn't count. Yet.
I flung the ruler and notebook back in my suitcase and went over to the shower. I'd found out how it worked, so here goes…And a gasp and a curse as a heavy spray of freezing water hit me in the chest. I climbed out again, and juggled with the tap settings until the water felt warm to my hand. Then in again, only to discover that my rapidly cooled body now found it far hotter than my hand did. More juggling. More gasping as first too hot, then too cold water hit me. At last I'd got there and stood enjoying the unusual sensations on my body. It was odd how the nearer the spray came to my crotch, the harder everything became. I nearly got out again to get the ruler, but was enjoying it too much for that. I started fiddling with myself in the spray, and before long there was that feeling as my heart raced, my breathing struggled and my hips and back seemed intent on trying to form a right angles with each other, with the rest of me naturally trying to stop them. My eyes closed, and I sat down rather heavily in the bath, leaning up against its sloping back.
After recovering, I washed myself — after cursing myself for not checking for whiteness around the affected part before the water washed it away. None left now, that's for sure. Damn. Well, it might have started that time, who knows? I shut off the shower and climbed out, dried roughly, and then lay on the bed to air dry.
There was a knock on the door. My eyes flipped open and I noticed it had got darker. How long had I been there? I was also cold. No clothes!
"Wait a minute," I called, and found my way to the door where my dressing gown hung. With it safely round my shoulders I unlocked the door, expecting to find a parent.
It was James, the grin preceding him. "Your mum and Dad think you've missed dinner. They asked me to come and dig you out."
"Oh," I said, rather bemused, having just woken up. "Wassertime?"
"Half past seven."
"Oh, blimey. Can you tell them I'll be down in a minute, please?"
"Can I stay?"
"No. You won't be able to tell them if you do."
"Okay."
And he was gone. I wasn't sure I wanted him standing there while I put on underwear and everything, anyway. I got dressed and hurried after him. My parents were at a table near to the Evanses, and as I entered the room to the exasperated stare of my father I looked quickly over to James who gave me a look, as I thought, of compassion. I was given a swift and quiet lecture about meal times, and ate in silence.
Afterwards we gravitated together, he and I. We were the only kids in the hotel. I didn't want the company of a young kid all the holiday through, but at least he was pleasant. We played cards, and he was sent to bed at 9.00. I'd forgotten just how early kids have to go to bed. I was sent up at 10.30.
He knocked on my door at some ungodly hour of the morning, but I didn't answer. He had woken me up, and I was in no mood for sociability. I dozed on, but suddenly remembered the dinghy. I looked at the clock and thought that I'd better get going as soon as I could — I didn't want to annoy Dad when he was taking me out in her.
There were no parents anywhere to be found. The first few people were drifting down to breakfast, but not mine. Nor him, nor his parents. I was wondering whether it would be a good idea to wake them up when he came flying down the stairs and barged straight into me as I stood at the door.
"Sorry."
I just looked at him, straight faced. The headlight smile faded as if its battery was running down.
"I said I was sorry."
"Humph."
"What's the matter?"
"I was woken up too early."
"Oh. Sorry. I thought you'd be awake. I wanted the toilet."
"Oh."
"What're you doing today?"
"Sailing."
"Sailing? What, a boat?"
I wondered what else he imagined I'd be sailing, but just nodded.
"Can I come?"
Did I really want his company? Not to start with, that was certain.
"I'm going out with my father to start with, then I need some practice on my own. Then I'll see." Now when Dad said "I'll see", it meant no. When Mum said "I'll see", it usually meant yes. I wasn't sure what I meant by it. But I would see. It seemed to pacify him, though. His eyes lit up.
As good as Dad's word, my parents and I went to the boatyard again after breakfast and were introduced to my boat. I couldn't wait to sail her: she was the best thing that was going to happen to me for ages. In fact I think if it was a choice between sailing on my own for two weeks and waiting another six months for my penis to grow, I'd still have gone for the boat.
Dad and I found our way round her, then rowed out a bit and hoisted sail, all under the critical eye of the boatyard foreman. When he saw we really did know what we were doing he visibly relaxed and went back to work.
We sailed for about an hour. Dad, I could see, was really enjoying himself and relaxing, and I hoped he wasn't going to change his mind about letting me go out alone. Eventually he said regretfully: "I suppose we'd better head back and I'll pacify your mother. She's on her own, poor thing. But do you know…" He paused and looked down. It looked almost as if he was going to say something which embarrassed him.
He looked up again, and held my eyes. "Of all the things I looked forward to when you were born, sailing with my son as an equal partner in the boat was one of the greatest hopes I had. Take me out again?"
I was speechless. I just nodded. We each looked in opposite directions, suddenly embarrassed. I sailed on, back to the boatyard, and as skilfully as I knew how, manoeuvred the dinghy in so he could disembark. He crouched on the steps, hanging on to the gunwale. Once again his eyes bored into mine.
"Have fun, Martin. And don't do anything to get drowned — I want to go sailing with you again, remember?"
And with that he was off. I set sail again, and bore away from the yard with a warm glow around me.
I didn't go far away, just enough to say that I'd gone out of sight of the village. For some reason apart from hunger I wanted to be back in time for lunch. Something to do with my father…
It was a quiet meal. Afterwards I was about to go back to the boat when I saw James kicking a ball around on the back lawn. I was still full of goodwill to all, so I waited until it reached the corner of the building where I was, appeared suddenly and kicked it back to him. The grin unzipped, and I found myself smiling back at him, so infectious it was. He gave a "yeah!" of joy, and we kicked the ball to or at each other for the next ten minutes. Then he rushed over to the hotel's apology for a children's playground and sat on one of the swings.
Why did I have to go and join him?
For ages, it seemed, we swung and twisted and jumped and got higher and laughed. And all the thoughts about the school camp I was missing were wiped out. Then I looked at my watch.
"I'm wasting sailing time, James. I'll have to go. See you tonight."
Abruptly the grin zipped up again. I felt almost lost without it.
"M-Martin…" I waited. "Martin…can I come with you? Please?"
I looked at the pleading in his face. Something touched me inside. He was so young, and had the eyes of a half frightened young animal caught in the stare of a human for the first time. Why did I suddenly say "Yes, I suppose so, if your parents agree."?
He let off what I can only describe as a whoop, and rushed indoors at an incredible speed. Five minutes later I was wondering if he'd forgotten me and was almost on the point of going when he reappeared with his parents and my mother. I heard a last "PLEASE, Mum," as they came into the garden.
She came over to me, smiling, and I could see where James got his mouth from. "I'm told you're a safe sailor."
I was expected to say something.
"Yes, I certainly try to be. Dad seems to think I am."
"But I'm sure you don't really want to be followed around by a nine year old all day."
So that's how old he was. "I don't mind, Mrs Evans, really."
The grin was slowly unzipping again. I wondered if I could play with it.
"But…" I started. It zipped up a little. "It might be a good idea if he had a life jacket." It zipped a bit further shut.
"Oh…yes. I see what you mean. It's a sensible idea. Are they expensive?"
I hadn't the faintest idea. "Yes", I said, and watched the mouth zip up almost completely. "But the boatyard hires them out, I think."
The zipper reversed, slowly, and I thought I'd have another go. "There's another important thing…" Yes! It zipped up a bit. "He'll have to change into older clothes in case he gets wet."
This time the zip threatened to meet at the back again.
"All right," she said. There was another yell as he flung his arms round her and rushed off to the outside entrance to our tower to reach his room and get changed.
I knew what was coming once he had disappeared.
"You will be careful with him, Martin, won't you? Don't forget he's only young, and Mrs Evans wants him back in one piece. Don't take any chances, or show off, and think about safety all the time."
"Yes mother."
"And if you think he's getting cold, you must come back straight away. I'm sure it's cold on the water. You'd best make sure he's got something warm to wear, Mrs Evans."
How could I point out to my mother in front of someone else that it was early afternoon and about 80o in the shade?
"Yes mother."
"I'm sure he'll be fine, Mrs Finch. I've noticed your son and he strikes me as a very sensible fellow. I'm sure they'll both be careful."
She smiled at me, and I smiled politely back, suddenly wishing that I'd not agreed to have the kid along. But then 'the kid' was haring back toward us, clad in a pair of white shorts, a T-shirt and a pair of canvas shoes.
"James, you'll be cold," said his mother.
"Not in a life jacket, Mum."
"Do get a coat, dear."
"Oh Mum, I'm boiling already. I suppose we've got to be back by dinner?"
"You certainly have. You will be back by seven, won't you, Martin?"
"Yes, Mrs Evans, I promise we will."
"Can we go, Martin?"
He sounded as if he was taking over.
"In a minute. Anything else, Mother?"
"No darling, just be careful, and enjoy yourselves."
There was another excited whoop from the kid, and I followed him to the garden's bottom gate which led down toward the village. I felt like a father as we walked along, trying to keep up with him. He got the message eventually, slowed down but started talking, non-stop.
"It's the first time I've been in a sailing boat. What's it like? How's it work? What d'you do if there's no wind? I put on as little as possible in case I get wet, so it doesn't matter. Have you got underwear on?"
"What?!"
"I haven't. I didn't' want it to get wet, so I didn't wear any. That's all right, isn't it?"
"For goodness sake, stop talking so loud. Better still stop talking. Let's just get sailing."
I carried on walking, James at my side like an anxious dog, and we reached the Hard where I'd moored the dinghy before lunch. I climbed straight down into her, but he stood on the edge of the Hard just looking down into the boat. I wondered why he wasn't following, and was about to say something impatient when I saw the look of silent, rapturous wonder on his face. I made my voice gentler.
"Come on, then. She doesn't bite. Step carefully onto that seat here — that's a thwart — and then sit on it."
Carefully — to my relief — he did as I said. When he had sat down I thought I'd better tell him a few things. His face was very serious, and the wondering look was still there too. It was like talking to a puppy who had just found something new that he didn't understand.
I told him about keeping the boat upright, that sometimes the boom would go over and he must make sure his head was out of the way, and that if we did capsize he must cling onto the boat at all times. Then I remembered.
"Damn."
"What's the matter?"
"The life jacket. We'll sail round to the boatyard to get one."
He stayed in the centre of the dinghy while I climbed round him, hoisting the sails, and his eyes never left me. They just got bigger. At last she was rigged, and we slipped back with the wind and tide until we were clear, then I swung the tiller and pulled in the sheets. The sails filled and we were off.
He gasped.
I looked at his face. Can you visualise that look of sheer joy that kids can give? The lips part, the eyes widen and sparkle, the body's held tense…and then he looked at me and the widest, most warming smile I'd seen yet on his mobile face was there for my sole benefit. He said nothing, but I could tell that this was one of the experiences of his life that he'd never forget, even if sailing became his living.
"Wow."
And that was all he said on the entire journey to the boatyard. I was sailing with as much technical skill as I could muster, firstly to impress him, and secondly because I was very aware that he had no life jacket, and I'd promised. We reached the yard safely, moored, and went ashore. Finding a small jacket was not a problem, although I got another lecture, this time from the yard owner. When he had spoken at length about safety to us both he drew me aside.
"Since you were last here there's been a club who've bought one of the bigger islands in the outer ring. It's the one with the tall trees on it. It doesn't look as if there's anybody on it, but there are. They're round the other side. It's a nudist club, so be careful."
I was silent on the way back to the boat. James said nothing, too, but he was busy looking inquisitively at what the workmen were doing. I was wrestling with the concept of a nudist club. For some reason my underwear seemed to be getting tighter again.
We set off again after we had wrestled with the fixings of the life jacket. It wasn't the simple thing that I had expected. Straps seemed to go everywhere. James couldn't sort it out at all. I had to figure it out, then pass straps round his back to tie at his side…I found myself close to him, and got a funny tingling feeling, being so close. Then there were the two wider straps that seemed to go under his legs. I told him so.
"Can you do them for me, please?"
I took a deep breath and carefully, to avoid touching where I shouldn't, pushed them through and out the other side. The buckles for them hung over his bottom. Fixing them without touching was impossible. I threw caution to the wind and fixed them against the soft flesh.
I felt shaky, and had to take a couple of deep breaths before we took off again. I'd got one of those annoying erections that seemed to be happening to me a lot lately, and hoped he wouldn't notice. But then perhaps if I kept getting them it'd make the thing grow.
We sailed out of the village's waterfront and over the half mile or so to the inner circle, as it were, of islands. James's eyes were everywhere: watching the receding coastline and the advancing islands, watching what I was doing, looking wherever my eyes went…I decided to head for one of the nearest, smallest islands and land. But to do that I had to gybe.
"James, when I call gybe-o, you must get your head down. The boom will swing over quite fast to the other side of the boat. OK?"
He nodded, the eyes fixed on me wide open.
"Gybe-o." I hauled in the sheet, eased over the tiller: the wind caught the sail and flipped it over, I let out the sheet and adjusted the course, breathing a sigh of relief that he'd done exactly what I told him.
"Right now, you see that other rope, the one going to the jib?"
"What's a jib?"
"The sail in front. Untie it from that cleat — that's the metal thing it's tied to — and let it out slowly until the sail's on the same side of the boat as the mainsail.
Slowly, almost trembling with the excitement of actually helping to sail, he did so. The wind nearly pulled the foresheet from his hand, but he controlled it, and when he'd let it out enough I told him: "that'll do. Belay." He looked at me as if it was a foreign language. "Tie it up again."
"How?"
"Put it round this end of the cleat, cross it over itself, then wedge it under the opposite end of the cleat."
He figured it out and did it, giving me his searchlight grin when it was done.
"Right, now go to the other side, untie that, and pull in just enough to stop it flapping around."
There was no problem with that, either. He sat back and looked at me like a puppy waiting for orders.
"That's it for the moment. We'll reach land with the sails as they are. But when I tell you, you'll need to untie them both, then get that other rope — the one on the left of the mast — and untie that. That lowers the jib, so it might be a bit heavy. OK? But not till I tell you."
He nodded eagerly and the grin widened. I began to like him.
We weren't too far from the island now, and I thought the best way of approaching it would be to swing right round into the wind, which was almost at right angles to the shore, and row in. The tide was coming in, so we'd be sheltered from what little current there was by the island. At the right time I swung right round so we almost faced the way we had come.
"Let go the foresheets!"
I busied myself with the mainsail and soon had the boom threatening to descend on his head. "Get out of its way, James, to the left…no, to the left! OK, now you can lower the jib. It'll come down the wire right at the front of the dinghy."
It wasn't the best stowing of sail that I'd ever done, but it was certainly quicker with two people, even if one of them didn't know what he was doing.
"Leave it clipped to the wire, and get between the mast and it. I've got to get the oars out and row to shore."
He did. I did. We landed.
"Can you find the anchor?"
"Yes. I've been kneeling on it. It hurt."
"Take it and chuck it onto the sand, then jump ashore and go up the beach with it."
He got the first bit right, but then a wave came just as he was doing the second bit. He got his feet wet, jumped back onto the beach, tripped over the anchor rope and fell on his back into the receding wave. I climbed into the front of the boat, got calmly out, grabbed the anchor and planted it about 10ft up the beach as he got to his feet.
"I'm wet," he said.
"Yes. Don't get back into the boat yet or you'll get it all over the sails."
Ignoring him, I pulled the dinghy up the sand as well as I could, got back in and tidied up. When I got out and looked at him he was hopping from one foot to the other.
"I need a pee. How do I get out of this life jacket?"
"Oh, come on." I crossed to him and released the straps over his bottom and untied those round his waist. He shrugged off the dripping article.
"Where shall I go?"
"Bloody hell, there's bushes all round you. Choose one and pee into it."
"Can I do that?"
"Yes! Where else d'you think you're going to go?"
He went over to the bushes and behind one, out of sight. Well, I needed a pee, too. I went to the same bush and found him climbing out of his shorts. The T-shirt clung to his bottom, and being thin it might as well not have been there.
"What are you doing?"
"Trousers are wet. I can't pee in them." He lifted up the hem of the T-shirt and stood pointing himself at the bushes. Well, I'm curious about how other people are built, so I looked.
It was longer than I remember mine being at nine, not that I could be certain what age I was when I started thinking about it. I went and stood by the side of him, unzipped my trousers and pointed parallel to him, looking sideways all the time.
When we had done, he bent to pick up his shorts, exposing more of his childish bottom to me. I thought it was rather sweet, in a way.
"How do I dry them?"
"Squeeze them out."
"What, like mum does with the washing?"
"Yes. And…" My brain raced, a rarity for me. "…do the same with your T-shirt and shoes."
He trusted me absolutely, that kid. He plonked himself down on the sand, the T-shirt riding up above danger level, and propped one leg on the other to take off his shoes. I needn't have bothered to look at him when he was relieving himself. Everything he was currently equipped with was visible. He stood up again and struggled out of the reluctant shirt, and stood there, a naked savage, looking at me.
I didn't know which way to look. Well, I did, but hell — I'd known him less than two days. No matter how much I looked away I had to keep swinging my eyes back to him. Inadequately he pressed the shorts between his hands, and a little water dribbled out between them and fell on his middle, making him jump.
"Oh, come on; give them to me or we'll be here all day." I grabbed the still warm, wet shorts from him and wrung them out. Next the T-shirt. The shoes he'd already emptied on the beach. Now what? How do I prolong this? I couldn't really, without it being obvious to him.
"I'll hang the T-shirt on the branches. By the time we've gone round the island it'll be dry. You'd better put the shorts back on"
"What if someone takes it?"
"Nobody comes here, it's too small."
We wandered round the island. On the south side the sun was really hot, and he flopped down on the sand, in the sun.
"This is fun. Come and sunbathe too."
Well, I suppose I could. I took off my shirt and shoes and lay back on the beach.
"Aren't you going to get your legs brown?"
I looked at him. "What, take my trousers off?"
"Yes"
"OK"
So I did, and lay beside him on the warm sand, dressed in only my Y-fronts. It certainly was nice to get the sun and breeze to my legs, but I wished the bit of me that I hoped would grow hadn't chosen that moment to do so. I closed my eyes, hoping it'd go away.
There was a sound beside me. I looked up. He was sitting up, looking at the outer ring of islands.
"Is that someone over there?"
"Where?" I said, propping myself up on my elbows.
"There — look, on that island there."
I followed his outstretched finger but could see nothing.
"Try getting up, see if you can see them then."
Well, I got up and walked down to the water's edge to see better. He followed me and stood in front of me as I shaded my eyes and squinted. But I could see nothing.
For the next quarter of an hour we just sunbathed. I kept looking over at him, liking him more and more as I did so. Eventually we got hot.
"Can you swim?" he asked.
"'Course. I wouldn't go sailing if I couldn't." Then the point of the question hit me. "D'you mean you can't?"
"A bit."
"Why didn't you say?"
"Should I have?"
"Yes! If you can't swim, what happens if you fall in?"
"I did"
"No you didn't. I mean, fall in where it's deeper."
"Dunno."
"Well, apart from the jacket, you'd drown."
Silence.
"Can't we go swimming here? You could teach me."
I hesitated. I didn't mind teaching him, 'cos it'd probably mean holding him afloat, and that was a nice idea. But…
"I've got no swimming trunks or towel, and neither have you."
"Can't we manage without?"
"I don't want to get my pants wet, and your clothes are nearly dry."
"Do we have to wear anything?"
"Yes! Somebody might see us." I wasn't going to mention the fact that my body was doing some growing practice again.
"You said there's nobody here."
"There isn't. Apart from me."
"Oh," he said matter of factly. "That doesn't matter."
"What if it does to me?"
"Why should it?"
"Well…I'm older than you."
"So?"
"Well…it just does."
"Not to me."
"Well, you can go in if you want. But really we should be setting off back soon. We don't want to be late, otherwise they'll not let you out with me again."
"Oh! I'd forgotten that. All right. Do you want to start now?"
"I suppose we'd better." Odd. The idea of seeing him bathing naked, or lying next to me on the beach naked, was something that made my heartbeat speed up. I could really feel it kicking in as I thought about it. But the idea of taking my own clothes off in front of him was something that I shied away from. We crossed back over the island.
I felt his T-shirt and found it had dried well. "Are your shorts dry now?"
"What? Oh yes, I suppose so."
"Well are they?"
"Yes, probably."
I hardly liked to, but I crossed over to him and grabbed the cloth where his leg came out of it. It seemed dry, and the sensations as my hand brushed his thigh were surprising to me.
"OK. They seem all right. How about the shoes?"
He tried them, but they were still a bit soggy. We put them on the rear thwart in the sun to dry as we readied the dinghy for her return journey. The wind had shifted a bit, so I had to sail in a combination of long reaches and short tacks. Once again his eyes followed my every move. We were about half way back when he piped up again.
"Martin?"
"Yes?"
"Can I steer?"
I could think of no good reason why not.
"Come into the stern with me — no, on that side. Move slower. You make her more difficult to steer if you move so fast. It upsets the balance. Now then. The idea is to keep her in a straight line. At the moment I'm steering for that house there, with the sort of red roof. See it?"
He nodded.
"Then if the boat heads to the right of it, I push the tiller a little to the right. If it goes left, the tiller goes left. So if you want to steer right, the tiller goes to the left, and the other way round too. Got it?"
He looked a bit undecided, but nodded anyway.
"Put your hand on the tiller, I'll keep mine on it lower down as well to start with, and I'll talk you through it."
We were sailing straight, as I said. But it didn't take long for the waves to make her head swing.
"Look, the prow's gone to the left of that house. What do you do?"
"Put the tiller to the right." He started to do so. The prow moved even further to port. I pushed it back against his arm.
"No. Wrong. You wanted the prow to head further to the right, so the tiller goes to the…?"
"Left. Oh, I see. It's opposites."
"Yes. And when it's pointing directly ahead again the tiller goes central again."
"That's confusing."
"No it's not, it's habit. You do it without thinking."
We pulled and pushed that tiller, the two of us, until he got the hang of it. It didn't take long. On the short tacks I sent him to the middle thwart out of the way and to look after the jib sheets as I changed sides, but the rest of the time he was steering, and as we neared the village he was doing quite well.
"Can I take her in, Martin?"
"Not this time. There's too much that has to happen at once. But you can go up for'ard and get the painter ready, then when I say so, jump ashore with it. And no falling in this time!"
It was a copybook docking, and I must say that having someone else to avoid my usual ungainly scramble the length of the boat to take the painter ashore was a pleasant change.
We were in good time to get back to the hotel and change for dinner. I suggested that he should wash the salt off as I was going to.
"Oh good," he said, "I'll come and use your shower."
I was so used to him by that stage that I couldn't see a reason why not. So I lay on the bed and watched surreptitiously as he came downstairs from his room with a towel and wash kit. He stood at the door to the shower and looked at me, the grin at full volume.
"Aren't you going to come and make sure I shower properly?"
Damn. Why did something feel as if it had just kicked me just under the heart? If this went on I'd have to see a doctor. "No, you can wash yourself, can't you? How old are you, anyway?"
"Nearly ten".
Nine! I'd forgotten just how young he actually was. You get so used to someone that you think they're your age, or nearer it than they actually are. But — hell, he was just a child.
"You don't really want me to shower you, do you?"
"Come and talk to me while I'm in there."
I really don't do as I'm told by every nine year old. But I crossed to the door as he went inside it and watched, totally surprised, as he stripped off his T-shirt again, then without a thought pulled off his shorts and stood in front of me, unashamed, without a stitch of clothing.
"How's it work?"
I crossed to the taps, having torn my eyes away from his thin pink body with the greatest difficulty. I was still amazed that he didn't seem to care less whether his bum was to me or his front. And to cap it all…
His was nearly as long as mine! How could he? He was only nine! I was four years older! True, I had bigger balls than him — he really didn't have any worth speaking of. But it just dangled and swung in front of him. Why? How long would it be when he was fourteen? How long did it get when he wanked? Then I remembered that he wouldn't know anything about that yet; probably wouldn't for another three or four years.
I recollected that I was meant to be sorting out the shower for him, something I found difficult as I would give myself away if I presented a view of the front of my shorts to him. I adjusted the mix of water, then pulled the curtain across half way, then directed the flow to the shower head. Gingerly he put his hand under the water, found it to his liking, and hopped into the bath.
"We don't have a shower at home."
"Nor do we."
"If you're going to wash me, won't you get wet?"
I couldn't. I really couldn't. There's no way I could take off my clothes at the moment, and I still cringed from exposing myself to him anyway.
"You wash yourself. I did, by the time I was ten."
"I'm not ten, I'm nine."
"Near as." With some relief I saw him pick up the soap. The message had got through.
All through his shower I stood in the doorway and watched, and we chatted about nothing very much. Conversation doesn't flow as easily as the water in a shower. It's difficult for the showerer to hear over the water, especially when he's got soap in his ears. And it's difficult for the watcher to talk when he's having to spend most of the time turning away from the showerer so the bulge in his trousers isn't obvious.
When he had finished I handed him his towel, imagining that he'd put it round himself straight away and then perhaps the cloth of my shorts could hang straight. But he didn't. He just towelled himself everywhere.
Now, when I towel myself briskly after a hot shower, one thing happens. It doesn't matter where I am, and that's why at school I'm glad we have no showers that we have to use after games. I wondered if it was going to happen to him.
Well, it did, but up to a point, if you'll pardon the expression. It grew a bit until it was the same length as mine, and it stuck out from him like a thin, round, pink spirit level.
I was going to have to see that doctor.
Eventually he declared himself dry, until I pointed out his hair was still wet. He vigorously towelled it dry. The spirit level, still doing its job, followed every oscillation of his body.
"Better?"
"Wonderful. I mean, yes: that'll do. You'd better go and change while I shower."
"Oh, I'll stay and talk to you."
Arghh.
"No. If you stand around you'll catch cold…" One of my mother's sayings saved the day. "You go and get dressed, and I'll see you downstairs. You can tell my parents I won't be long."
I will be long, I thought, just as soon as I can get these shorts and my pants off.
"Can't I come back when I'm dressed?"
"No. I'll be downstairs soon."
"All right."
And he was gone. He did have some sense of decency — he listened for signs of anyone on the stairs before darting, still naked, out of the door. The last I saw was a pair of boyish buttocks disappearing up the stairs.
I crossed to the door and locked it. My clothes were off in five seconds flat. I got into the shower — his shower — and turned the water on. In my hurry I forgot to adjust the temperature and got alternately freezing and scalded. Once it was comfortable I started the actions that a scant two minutes later had me gasping and jerking my muscles uncontrollably. It was the most satisfying one I'd ever had in my life.
I remembered to check. There was still no white stuff.