I was so excited that I'd taught him to swim so easily. He was excited, too. I led us out of the water, and it wasn't until I turned round to make sure he was following me that I remembered we were both naked. I rushed up the beach to his towel and wrapped it round me. He laughed when he saw.
"Why're you doing that? It's only me!"
"It just feels…wrong."
"You keep saying that. It doesn't to me, it's nice and free. And you don't mind me being naked and I don't mind you being naked. So that's enough."
I could see his point. The towel stayed firmly round me.
He dropped down next to me, lying on his back in the sun, shielding his eyes.
"Are we going to eat?" I asked.
"Hmmm, yes! What is there?" He sat up.
As we ate, and I kept my eyes sweeping over his thin little body and its accoutrements (I thought of the word at the time, and was proud of it), I slowly came round to the idea that perhaps it was all right not to hide myself away. Here. Just here. Nowhere else. The shower in my hotel room didn't count. As it was the towel was damp from being wrapped round me, and was hot and uncomfortable anyway. In an unsought fit of abandon I unwrapped it, laid it on the sand and lay back down on it, forgetting it was his. It was still uncomfortable so I moved to one side — his side — and lay just on the sand. I expected some comment.
"That's better," he said.
We rested afterwards, for about half an hour. It was very hot and we were both drowsy. Eventually I thought of sunburn, and told him either to turn over or we could go back into the sea. Immediately he jumped up.
I had to start him off again by supporting his body with my hand, but strangely I didn't mind that. As he did more and more starts he was managing increasingly on his own, and was soon managing to swim a reasonable distance unaided. I had to be careful not to let him get out of his depth, because I remembered getting into a panic once myself when something went wrong and I couldn't touch bottom. I gave him strict orders about that, but showed him what to do if he was in a panic.
"Look. If you fill your lungs with air…" we both did, "…and then just let your body lie on the water, arms and legs apart, you'll float." I suited the action to the word and he nearly drowned laughing. I stood up indignantly.
"Your willy sticks up like a periscope!" he laughed.
"Huh. Well, it's time for you to play submarines, then. I'll support your weight to start with."
It took a few goes, but he got it. In fact he very quickly found he could stay afloat as long as me. I warned him not to do it too long, or the current might wash him away. But he was right about one thing.
It did look like a periscope.
I found I liked watching him play submarines.
The drawback with leaving your watch safely on land is that you don't know the time. We were once again soaking up the sun when I realised that I had no idea at all how the day was going. We hadn't checked on the boat since we anchored her, and I was so absorbed with having someone else to play alongside, someone who enjoyed my company and treated me as an equal despite being so much younger, that thoughts of anything else had been driven from my mind.
"Bloody Hell." In the '60's that was fairly strong, especially if you were 14 and had an Edwardian upbringing.
"What's up?"
"I think it's getting late, but I don't know the time. If we're late…"
"What?"
"Well, they won't let us sail together again, that's certain."
"Had we better start back?"
"Yes, we jolly well had." I'd caught some of the Edwardian exclamations from Dad as well.
"I dare you to cross the island with no clothes."
"What?"
"Well, we're wet now, we want to be dry, and we will be by the time we get to the boat."
It was certainly common sense. But it had taken me an hour or more to get comfortable with the idea of exposing everything I'd got (Everything! Me! I must be mad!) for an entire afternoon. It had taken me another 30 minutes to stop myself raising my head every few moments to check there was no one else around. I did actually feel at ease now, though, but the idea of walking through the woods to the side of the island that faced the village was daunting. It was a long way off being out of the question, though, and was a bit of a dare. And he was right, we would be dry by the time we got there.
Once again feeling exposed, I gathered up my clothes, as did he, and I walked smartly to the wood's cover. He followed more casually. We made good progress, and once the open northern shore was in sight I stopped to get dressed, although I didn't put on my underpants. My body was still salt-sticky. I was glad he did the same.
It felt very odd to be covered again.
When we got within sight of the village church and its clock we saw that we were actually a bit early. It was only 5.00. As I'd insisted on doing all the boat handling on the way back I decided to give him some more practice, and then we berthed in the usual place and climbed the iron ladder up to the quay. Hard ground underfoot was also strange. We climbed the hill, feeling tireder and tireder as we went, reported in to my parents who were sitting at the bar and told them we were going to shower. At least, I did: I assumed he was going to do the same.
He followed me to my room as if it was his right. I was strangely excited. He just seemed to assume that we were 'together' somehow. He went straight to the bed — my bed! — and flopped down on it, closing his eyes.
"Come on. You can't go to sleep. We've got to shower and get down to bed…I mean dinner."
"Too tired."
"Come on!" What do I have to do, shower him?
He stayed motionless.
"Do you want to go sailing tomorrow?"
"Don't care."
"Look, if you don't get downstairs on time they'll come up here and find you. And…they'll find you naked." Why did I think of that?
"What?" He sat up.
"They'll find you naked because I'll strip you and hide your clothes."
"You wouldn't dare…"
He never really finished the sentence. And yes, I did. He was so tired he hardly resisted. I almost carried him naked over to the shower and dumped him in there. About to turn on the water I realised that I was still in shoes, T-shirt, shorts and underwear, so I hastily stripped off, this time with no thought or embarrassment at all.
I got it wrong. It was freezing on our still-hot bodies. I shouted and he just burst into tears. I pushed him out of the way of the spray and held him there, still in tears, while I carefully adjusted the taps until the temperature was better.
"I'm sorry."
"Let me go."
"Look, you've got to shower. It's all right now."
"'S not."
"It is. Try it, put your hand in."
Cautiously he did so, then stepped into the water without a further comment. He reached without enthusiasm for the soap and just rubbed it on his chest, but didn't seem very anxious to do anything else. As he was emotional already I felt I couldn't hurry him up as I would normally, so I wondered if I do something that I really wanted to do but just didn't really dare…
"If you're tired, d'you want me to wash you?"
Without hesitation he nodded.
I don't know if you've ever showered another human body which attracts you. Did you feel, as I did then, that you hardly dared touch, even though you'd been told you could? I stood behind him for ages, soap in hand, water dripping into my eyes, indecisive. Eventually he looked round to me.
"Please?"
Doing his back was a treat, his muscles hardly formed but still present, the skin both soft and yet firm. No…not the bottom…His legs the same, and he lifted his feet one at a time, only jerking away once as I washed the sensitive soles. Still kneeling behind, I washed up his calves and thighs…and once again stopped. I went round the front and soaped the chest, under the arms and neck, and then wondered about the belly. Tentatively I put a soapy palm against it and washed…then round the sides, to the back…and realised that I was actually feeling the top of his cleft. No, that would never do. So I stopped.
"You'd better do the rest." I was almost gruff about it. I didn't want him to think it had affected me. Strangely I wasn't physically affected in the usual way.
But I was trembling like a badly set sail.
I watched as he soaped his hands and rubbed it around his front and back, and wished I'd had the courage to do it for him. It was over in a second or two. If only he wasn't so tired and we'd had more time…
He rinsed off, slightly more awake by now, and climbed out to dry himself. His turn to use my towel! Damn, I'd forgotten. But I didn't send him upstairs to get his own, I didn't have the heart.
But now I had to shower, and quickly. No time to do what my body was starting to press me to do. Firstly he was standing there and secondly we had to get downstairs. I was soon after the towel, but found he was just slowly dabbing himself with it, still wet.
"Come on, you. You'll be here for ages. Let me."
This time it was a command rather than a request. He just looked at me and handed over the towel. I smiled at him, and got a smile back. Thank goodness. I stood in front of him and told him to put his hands against my shoulders. The towel went round his back and I pulled it briskly to and fro.
"Owwoowwoooww…" He moaned as the towel scrubbed his back, his bottom, the back of his legs and, once I had knelt again, behind his calves. I looked back up at him and caught, once my eyes had struggled round his midriff area, the start of a grin on his face. Swiftly I went round his back and dried his front in the same way. I made sure I released some tension on the towel as it passed over the sensitive bits…
"Thanks," he said when I'd finished. "S'pose I'd better go and get dressed."
"Yes. And quickly, too. No going to sleep up there or I'll take you down to dinner naked." I swear he was going to say 'you wouldn't dare', but he thought better of it and rushed upstairs. Did I have time for one? With all that nakedness and touching I needed to more than I'd ever done before. But no…later. He'd not be visiting me tonight if he was that tired.
He was vary quiet at the table, and kept getting asked if he was all right. Once it was over he just dumped himself in an armchair and curled up. His father beckoned to me.
"What have you done to him? He's never been this quiet!"
I reddened, then realised what he meant.
"Oh. We spent all day sailing and then I taught him to swim, and then we sunbathed, then I was letting him sail the boat."
He stared at me. "You…taught him to swim? But how…what…I…Doreen!" this last was almost a shout. Several people turned their heads sharply and one man spluttered his coffee onto the saucer, I was intrigued to notice.
She came over, almost at a run.
"Martin, tell Doreen what you've just told me, will you?"
"Er…well…yes…But what have I done wrong, please?"
"Wrong? You've done nothing wrong. We've been trying to get him to learn properly for ages. He's always said he hated getting his face wet."
"What?" said his wife, "you don't mean he's been teaching him to swim?"
"Well, Martin?"
"Er…well…yes. I mean, it was so hot, and he should be able to if he's on the water, and it was a safe beach, so …well, yes."
"But that's marvellous! Thank you so much. How many lessons do you think he'll need when we get home?"
"Well none, really. I mean he was swimming on his own this afternoon."
"What?"
"Well, we started off the way I was taught, you know, getting your face wet and that, and then I held him up while he did the movements, them he swam off my hand."
He just looked at me. Then I got his hand. To shake. And a slap on the back that made me lurch.
"Martin, you're a marvel. Thank you. Can we come and see him swim, please? Tomorrow?"
I thought hard. We'd better take some trunks …"Yes, I…er…yes. We could go to the island, I suppose, and swim there. Why don't we all go? Could you and Mum and Dad hire a motor boat, or Dad could hire a sailing dinghy? And we could meet up there."
Doreen — what a name! — looked a bit doubtful, but he was all for it. And so, over the head of their by now sleeping son the adults plotted. I said that it would be best if they gave us some practice time in the morning, and they said they'd bring a picnic lunch over, enough for six.
So that was our day planned.
They noticed that James was out of it by now, and his father lifted him gently and carried him off. He woke up just as the man turned his back, looked startled, realised what was happening and smiled lazily at me, then closed his eyes again.
I didn't stay long myself. I found that I was getting increasingly impatient with their small talk. It seemed so small that I just couldn't see it. I excused myself, and amidst a chorus of 'good night's and 'thanks for what you did today', all of which rang round the quiet hotel lounge and embarrassed me, I went to bed. My brain wasn't really with it — probably too much food, or the hotel was too hot.
I slowly climbed the stairs in our tower to my room. I paused outside my bedroom door and listened. Could he be there? No. I went in and checked, half expecting to find only half a bed available. I was really disappointed when he wasn't. Should I go up to his room? No. He'd be asleep. Pointless.
So I climbed quietly up the stairs and listened outside his door.
Softly: "James?" No answer.
I slowly turned the handle and gently pushed. It opened. In the dim light I could see the bed was immediately above mine. Silently I crossed to his sleeping form and stood there, looking, wondering at my daring, heart thumping against discovery.
Even to my inexperienced eyes he looked like an angel asleep. The smooth forehead, the untroubled expression, and familiar features. Familiar! I'd only known him just over two days! And he had slept with me for three hours this morning! What was I doing?
Common sense was tearing me away, lest he wake or his parents come to check on him. The touch that this little angel who I loved was giving my heart just by being there was the stronger, and kept me watching.
Love.
Love?
Was that it?
No, of course not. I was a boy. I didn't love other boys. I found their bodies fascinating, and his too, and he'd become a good friend very quickly and I wanted to be with him, and I wanted to keep him as a friend after the holiday…But I would soon get to grips with girls. Literally, I hoped. The sooner the better. It was just a question of finding one who attracted me. No, if I loved him, it was as the son I'd one day have. Nothing else.
I resisted the temptation to stroke his hair, or to get really close to him as I had been in bed this morning, turned, and tore myself from the room.
In bed I was conscious that he was immediately above me. I tried projecting what I regarded as my spirit upwards, to be with him, to watch over him, like a father should.
When I woke, someone was hammering at the door. I didn't remember going to sleep, or having my usual nightly fiddle, or measuring, or inspecting to see if there was any flour paste coming from me. I was totally awake, and it was light.
"Martin! Martin!"
"Hallo? Come in."
It was Dad. He came in. "Martin, it's nine o'clock. What on earth's the matter with you?"
I looked at my watch. He wasn't wrong.
"You're usually good at getting up. Well, at waking up. And here it would be nice if we could all have breakfast at the same time.
"I'm sorry, Dad. I just slept right through. I only woke when you knocked."
He looked a bit less annoyed. "You must have been very tired."
"I s'pose we spent a long time in the water yesterday, and I'm not used to the fresh air after so much school."
"Hmmm. Well, we've got them to keep some breakfast for you, but an apology to them won't come amiss. And before you do anything, go and wake that young friend of yours, will you, and drag him down to his parents. He was well away last night, so I suppose you're as bad as each other."
He ruffled my hair and smiled. Funny, I didn't mind him doing that.
I pulled myself from the bed and threw on a pair of underpants. The door downstairs closed, so I knew he'd gone. I was at James' room in a moment. Knocking. Nothing. Knocking. Opening. And he was still asleep. Once again I just watched him, and felt the same as the previous night. So innocent. I smiled, and knelt by his head.
"James?"
He was there, instantly. A look of fear for an instant, it seemed, and then recognition and relief and The Grin. I felt warm inside. He was a nice kid.
"Breakfast," I said.
"When?"
"Twenty minutes ago."
"You could have brought mine up."
I stared at him. "James, it may surprise you to know that I don't usually go to eat dressed like this."
"Just as well if they're serving sausages."
I just looked at him.
"Can I use your bog?"
"S'pose."
The bedclothes were thrown off. He wasn't wearing anything.
"Thought you wore pyjamas?"
"You don't."
He had worn them before he had met me, and learnt that I didn't. I felt quite proud.
It was a strange, almost triumphant, feeling, following him down the stairs and into my bedroom, with myself wearing underpants and him completely naked. It was even more so when he came out of the toilet, still bare of clothes, as I was by then fully dressed.
I had to be. I needed to hide my triumph lest he saw and made even more rude comments.
When we arrived in the dining room we found our usual tables had been cleared. Looking round we noticed a small table, set just for two, in the alcove overlooking the bay, and moved uncertainly to it. Two of the hotel's friendly staff appeared as if from nowhere…
"Gentlemen! How nice! Please sit at our best table…Cereal? Coffee? Tea? Fruit juice? No, no…we shall wait on you this morning…completely. Bacon? How would you like your eggs done?…" And so it went on. They may have been trying to embarrass us for being late, but by the huge grins on their faces I think they were enjoying themselves too. James entered into the spirit of the thing immediately and asked for all sorts of things that he knew he'd never get, and I found myself at ease soon after. Before long we were all laughing and joking about it, and we were being treated like kings, spoilt rotten, and loving it. They played by the rules, though, and gave us a really good, big, cooked breakfast.
When we had finished we thought it only right to pile all the crockery up and take it through to the kitchen to say our thank yous, and got a rapturous welcome from the cook and his staff.
"But you'll forgive me if we don't offer to do the same every morning, lads, won't you?"
"We'll be on time tomorrow, promise," said James solemnly.
It was very late when we arrived at the boat, and almost eleven when we had dragged her up the sand of the island.
"Well?" said James.
"What?"
"Do we do what we did yesterday?
"What? Walk through the woods naked?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"You wouldn't dare."
"I know you would."
"Well, there's no one here."
"There's no reason to."
"No. But it's fun."
"I've got my bathing things."
"So've I. So what?"
"Well you can."
"Oh, come on."
"The parents'll be here in a minute."
"So what?"
"I don't let mine see me naked!"
"Why not?"
"I just don't."
"Mine do me. I see them, too. We all wear nothing when we get up."
That explained a lot. My parents never did — at least, not in front of me. A corner of my brain was wondering why the difference.
"Come on. I dared you."
"I know, but…"
"Come on!"
Why did I give in to him? It was going to be more awkward to carry our clothes than to wear them, particularly as we were already carrying bathers wrapped in towels. But for him, self-consciously, I stripped off. But I made sure he was ahead of me.
Once my bottom was out of any possible viewing from the empty bay behind us I felt happier, and began once more to enjoy the breeze against me. The fact that I wasn't alone, playing dares with myself, but was with a real live boy who was affecting me more and more as the days went on, was one of the reasons I felt totally at ease within a few minutes. It also helped that he was ahead of me on our walk, and I was following the babyish cheeks of his bottom through the trees. I was getting this odd electrical tingling in my chest.
When we reached the south of the island he just flung down his clothes and towel and dived straight into the water. I was certainly not going to stay out on my own, exposed to all the world.
He swam. I helped. He spluttered. I encouraged. And eventually, WE swam.
And eventually, there was a chugging, and a motor boat appeared round the edge of the island, containing four people. Parents. I panicked immediately. I was naked in the water with a nine year old and his and my parents had come and must now discover everything. My voice was very shrilly childish as I answered their greeting.
Calm returned enough for me to suggest that they moor on the northern, sheltered side of the island and walk through the wood to join us. I think I mentioned something about tide and wind and not wanting the boat to be dragged away. At last the motor pulled them away from us, giving us the chance to get ashore and get into our swimming trunks.
"Phew!" I said, once our midriffs were hidden. "That was a bit close."
"What d'you mean?"
"Them coming so soon. Are they early?"
"Dunno. You don't like being nude, do you?"
A long pause followed that.
"Yeees, I think so, but not in front of parents."
"Why?"
"I don't know. I suppose ever since Mum stopped bathing me and let me do it myself I've not wanted either of them to see…you know."
"No?"
I couldn't go on. I knew what I meant and couldn't tell him.
"So you don't like it?" he persisted.
"It's OK with you, when there's no one else around or looking."
"Oh, that's all right then."
And then we were interrupted by Their appearance, laden with food and drink.
"You were skinny dipping just now, weren't you?"
"Er…what?"
"Skinny dipping. You know, swimming without wearing trunks."
So there was a name for it, was there? "No. Why, should we have been?"
"Well," said my father, "I wouldn't blame you if you were. It's a super place for it with no one around. You're young, it doesn't matter, so I should if I were you. It's a lovely, free feeling."
He hadn't, had he?
"Have you been, er…skinny dipping, Dad?"
"In the Navy, yes. We all did. But then you come home and get old and respectable, and…well, it never really crops up.
The subject changed to food, fortunately. They spread a really good meal on the sand for us all, and James and I made pigs of ourselves, forgetting the embargo on swimming after a meal. Eventually I had finished, and as I was in trunks and not allowed in the sea I excused myself on the grounds that I needed to find a bush.
"Just thinking the same," said my father. "I'll find one nearby."
We walked off. Once we were out of hearing range he cleared his throat in that way he had of announcing that he was going to say something slightly embarrassing.
"You know, Martin, there's not many things you'll do throughout your childhood and adolescence that I haven't done. Very few indeed. In fact as I've been in the Forces I think it's likely I'll have done more than you by the time you're my age. So when something you believe is wrong or that you're nervous about comes up, there's only one way to find out if it is wrong, and that's by asking. Now, I'm a man like you'll be soon, and I know things that women don't about my own body, and therefore about yours too. So there's no need to tell me a lie when I ask you about something like swimming naked, although I can't blame you, I suppose, as the question was asked in public and you didn't know if it was OK or not."
He paused for breath.
"Usually, if something feels right, it is right. If you're not sure, ask me. I promise I won't bite your head off if it's wrong, but I'll tell you whether it is, and why. And skinny dipping, if you can do it in private like this, is absolutely fine. In fact I'm jealous."
This was another long speech, the second this holiday. I wondered if he thought I was growing up.
"Yes, Dad." Then as I thought that that was a pretty short answer when he'd gone to so much trouble: "It's nice, isn't it?"
"Mmm. One day I might…but then, your mother wouldn't understand, and you probably wouldn't want me to."
Every now and again a parent says something that makes you feel sorry for them. I felt sorry for him. It was a risky thing we'd be doing, and the more so, for some reason I didn't understand, for him. But if we did, James couldn't come with us, could he? I didn't ask the question.
"We will, if you like, Dad, but I'd better finish teaching James to swim first."
He laughed as he shook the drops from his willy. I did the same. We walked back in companionship, somehow closer than we had been during all the time he was working hard studying for his wretched exams.
It was a lazy afternoon. I think both James and I were still a bit short changed on sleep from the previous day, so we were both quite happy to lie side by side and sunbathe. He slept. I kept looking at him, fascinated once again at how vulnerable he looked.
At last we were allowed in the sea.
"Are you two going in in the nude again?" asked my mother.
"Certainly not!" I said before James had a chance to say anything.
"It doesn't matter to us, you know, does it Doreen?"
"No. If you want to, you just go ahead."
"Not likely," I said with feeling. "Not with you lot here."
"It's up to you, darling," said my mother. "I mean, it's not indecent for you, yet. After all, you haven't started puberty."
I stared at her, completely flabbergasted, speechless. A heavy weight sank to the bottom of my stomach, and my throat constricted. How could she say such a thing? And in front of strangers, too! I felt humiliated beyond words, although nobody sniggered or laughed or said anything or even looked at me and smiled. My father looked sharply at her and seemed about to say something, but didn't, and failed to meet my eyes when I looked at him for help.
"That's a horrible thing to say," I said at last, hotly. "I would never say anything like that to you!"
She just laughed, lightly, but had the grace to look embarrassed. At that moment I hated her — at least, not her, but the shadow she'd made to fall on my mood. I didn't want to get up or to co-operate in any way. James helped a bit with the clearing up, but I lay on the sand and sulked, fuelling my own fury. It faded a bit, eventually, but I was unhappy about talking to my Mother. At that moment she was beneath contempt.
"Now," said James' father. "How about this swimming, then?"
That was the reason they were all here, but at the time my wound was still smarting. I wanted to get back at her, but couldn't somehow with everybody around. I supposed I'd better make the best of it.
My mood had rather put away from my mind the feelings I had for James, but as he wandered around as if there was nothing amiss I lightened a bit. He was quite ready to exhibit his new skills, and so I rushed into the water after him, as quickly as I could lest any of them was busy looking at me to see if my mother was right.
He did well, I must say, and really impressed both sets of parents. He swam alone, he swam with me, and once, to see if he could still do it, I told him to turn onto his back and lie flat on the water. With his arms and legs forming a sort of cross, he floated.
"Well, I did it!" he said when he'd recovered, "but how's it work?"
"You've got enough air in you normally to make your body lighter than water. So you float," I said. "Simple."
He floated again, then a second and third time. In fact he floated for so long, his ears under water, that he didn't hear us shouting to him to come in. I had to go and get him.
They left eventually, having congratulated him for his swimming and me for my teaching. I made no sarky comments about not being into puberty but still being old enough to teach swimming, although I felt like it.
Once they had gone he turned to me, grinned that ear to ear grin, and said "we shan't need these any more, shall we?" And without hesitation he untied his trunks and pushed them down his legs.
My mood had reached equilibrium, more or less, although I was still a bit down. My mind couldn't decide whether to do things 'by the book', in other words stay covered, or whether to rebel against the adult world and join him. I still felt angry. "Fuck it," I said, but so that he couldn't hear, and violently tore off my trunks. I felt that if an army had marched round the corner at that moment I would brazen it out in the nude, just to show the adult world how horrible they'd been to me.
We swam some more.
When we got back to the hotel that evening I told him to go ahead and have a shower, and I'd join him later. He wasn't very happy about that, but walked on obediently. I had an assignment with my mother. I was determined to let her know how she'd hurt me and get an apology.
They were both in the room.
"Mother, You were horrible to me this afternoon."
She looked nonplussed. My father looked embarrassed.
"When you said what you did about me."
She still looked as though she hadn't an idea.
"When we were talking about swimming without trunks."
"What," she said at last, "When I told you it didn't matter as you've got nothing that'd cause embarrassment yet?"
"YES," I shouted, more to try and stop her saying any more than in anger. "That was horrible. And in front of other people, too."
"Well, you haven't, have you, darling? You will, and soon I should think. But you haven't entered puberty yet."
"HOW DO YOU KNOW?
"Well…you haven't…I'd know."
"How?"
"Well…er…there are signs."
"What?"
"Well…er…it's embarrassing."
"I KNOW IT IS," I shouted again, "and it's me it's happening to. Remember?"
"I think what Martin is saying, darling," started my level-headed father, "is that just as you find it embarrassing to talk about the size of his body and the appearance of hair and a breaking voice, he found it embarrassing that you should talk about it in front of his friends."
She looked at me, her mouth open.
"Oh…"
But I'd made my point and didn't see why I should stay for more. So I just left the room and stalked up to mine. I felt the point had been made, but sorry not to get an apology. I felt better about things, anyway. And Dad understood. That helped.
I found him, inevitably, in my room. He was sitting on the bed dressed in just a pair of underpants. My sole thought as I entered the room was that I was satisfied with having won with my mother, but that changed rapidly and, for me confusingly, to one of marvelling that he was 'here for me'. I'd started regarding him as my property, almost. When he had taken off his only item of clothing I noticed for the first time as I was ripping off my own, just how small his pants actually were. I could hardly understand how anybody could get into them. Yet they were quite loose on him. Once again I realised just how small and vulnerable he was.
"Come on then, hurry up," said the small and vulnerable one. "I'm hungry. I don't want to be late."
I know I've said a lot about sharing a shower with him. But after being interested in other boys' bodies at school I felt it a real privilege to be able to be really close to one, and to help bath it. And to like the owner, too.
Once again we both went to our rooms quite early that night, him before me. I was very tired, though, and slept like a log. But at least I had time to measure myself and check on the liquidity situation.
It was very good indeed, that check. But there was no change in the outcome.