For a moment I thought he was serious. But the unzipped grin said differently so I decided not to comment or show any feelings either way. "Now who's asking to be thrown in the water? It's nearer now, don't forget!"
We all looked at the boat that the boatyard manager was pointing to. It was certainly a trim craft and, as I said at the time, it was just the sort of boat I'd like to own. The interior was even better than the pictures of the hire boats in the brochure, and boasted a very comfortable sitting area, along with two master bedrooms and a plainer room, all with double beds; two bathrooms and a very well arranged kitchen. As Peter said to Dad, we'd be silly not to agree to it. They turned to James, who happened to be nearest.
"How do you view the prospect of sharing a bed with Martin, then?" asked my father. "Do you think you could stand it for a week?"
James looked as doubtful as he could. "I suppose I could give it a try," he answered. "Does he snore?"
"No, I do not!" I answered indignantly. "And how about my feelings about being asked to sleep with a snotty nosed kid?" I asked, keeping a straight face only with some difficulty.
"Martin!" exclaimed my mother. "That's not a nice thing to say!"
"It's all right, Mary. I happen to agree with him," said Doreen. "But I think he's trying not to laugh. I think they've talked about it and agreed between themselves already. Have you?"
"Well, James did mention that it would stop us having to cancel the holiday, and he's not such a bad sort really, I suppose. I think we can probably accept the idea, can't we, James?"
"Yeah….all right."
I think it was quite a good bit of acting, really. It didn't convince the parents, who just grinned at us.
We started the long job of unloading the contents of the three cars into the boat, and were constantly surprised at the amount of storage space there was. Having in the past left a variety of embarrassing things in hired boats I wondered if we'd remember to search everywhere when we left, but the time for that seemed far away. James and I had defaulted to the 'guest' cabin, leaving the two really well appointed rooms to the parents, particularly as there was some distance between them. All my own luggage was installed in the various cupboards but there were very few of James' clothes in evidence. James had been missing for some time, too. I wondered where he was, and went to search, only to find him in the kitchen, watching a kettle that was nearing the boil. A row of teacups sat nearby, each primed with a teabag.
"What a player!" I said. "How did you know I was gasping?"
"`Cos I am. Good. You can tell me how your parents like their tea."
"Surrounded by a mug, usually, together with milk and one sugar each."
"Ha, ha. Could you tell everyone there'll be a cup waiting for them in about five minutes?"
"Okay. Don't forget that you've still got a lot of gear to bring on board."
"It's in mum and dad's cabin. I've got to bring it from there. If you're going down there, could you bring it back for me, please?"
"Since you've made me a cup of tea — and I have one and a half sugars, in case you're interested — it'll be a pleasure." I walked the length of the boat, past our own cabin and the first of the two toilets, past mum and Dad's cabin where I popped my head in to tell them about the tea, to Peter and Doreen's cabin.
"James is just making a mug of tea, when you're ready. And he says could I take any more of his stuff into our cabin, please."
"He's made tea, has he? That's more than he usually does at home! Yes, thanks Martin. Those are his two bags over there. But while you're here….Peter and I have been discussing the situation. Are you sure you don't mind sharing with him? Being a companion is one thing, but a bedfellow is a bit different!"
"I don't mind at all. After all, it's hardly as if he's a disgusting old man, is it? He's more likely to object to my being there, I'd have thought. He's either being very polite, or else he really doesn't mind."
"The day our son is polite, the sky will fall," said Peter. "He still thinks a lot of you, you know, so I imagine he's quite happy about the idea like he was at Amberdale."
"Well, it really doesn't worry me. A bit unusual, I know, as he's that much older now, and I think I'd not want it broadcast around the University - and he certainly wouldn't want his school to know! But between us, it's okay."
"Good. That's all right then. We were a bit worried. We'll be along for this miraculous cup of tea any minute, you can tell him."
I dropped the two bags into the cabin, then saw James coming down towards me.
"Tea's ready."
"Just going. So are your parents. Thanks."
"I've got yours here. Drink it while you unpack."
"I've already done that. That's when I realised hardly any of your stuff was here."
"You'll just have to watch me, then. Which side of the bed do you want?"
"Don't mind. How much are you going to drink?"
"What?"
"Well, the more you drink, the more likely you are to get up in the night, and the nearer you'll want to be to the outside."
"I hardly ever do. I'm not incontinent, like you."
"That water's very close, you know."
James settled for the side nearer the bulkhead. As he stowed his clothes away I watched him, still marvelling how such an unexceptional looking child — apart from the grin — could be growing into such a good looking man.
"What's up with you?"
I jolted out of my reverie. "What d'you mean?"
"You're watching my every move. It's like being on stage."
"You told me to watch you. I always obey orders."
"Right. Jump in the canal."
"….Except when it means getting wet."
"That's it. I'm ready. Let's get going."
He followed me back to the kitchen where the parents were drinking their tea. They were just making jokes about framing their mugs as a rare production from James, when the boatyard manager joined us. He declined a cup of tea, even after hearing it was made by James, explaining that he still had a lot to do and all he wanted to do was to explain the boat's workings to them and make sure they could work locks. He looked at me and said "I understand you're the experienced one so far as canals are concerned."
"This'll be my sixth trip," I explained. "If you want me to explain things to them as we go along I'll gladly do so."
"Fine by me. It'll get me out of your hair, anyway. You know, I'm really so grateful to you all for allowing me to shunt you off onto a different boat, especially one that isn't really ours. And, by the way, bearing in mind it isn't ours, I'm obviously in your hands as to what state it's kept in. My client's done me a big favour by lending it to us, and I wouldn't want to let him down. He made me promise to ensure that the people who were using it were a pleasant, responsible crew, and from Mr Evans' conversations with me you certainly seemed to fit the bill."
We assured him that we'd take special care of the boat, and that we were as responsible as he thought we were. Much gratified, he explained about the fridge, the heating system, engine and all the other points we needed to know about the boat, then asked us were we were going. Having heard about the parents' plans to visit business people in Birmingham and its area he checked that there would be someone on the boat at night, for security reasons. Having been assured that James and I would be on board, he wished us well and left.
"I'd better start on the tiller," I said, "but I'm not going to be there all the time, so you'd better come and learn at least the basics. There's quite a few bridges in the next few miles, so that'll be good practice for you."
"What's so special about bridges?" asked my father.
"Wait 'til you see a bridge hole……surely you've seen canal bridges, Dad?"
"Well yes. But obviously not from the view of a boatman."
Shortly afterwards I called them all to the steersman's position. "Bridge ahead!" I said. "Look, it's simple. Just remember that the boat swings round a point somewhere in the middle; the stern goes the way the tiller points and the bow swings the other way. Line her up in advance, steer straight and she'll not touch. Always keep power on, because it's the thrust of water from the prop that makes her turn. No power, no steering! Now, watch which way she swings, try and find the point on the boat that doesn't."
Before steering for the bridge, I made some rather exaggerated course changes to show what I meant, then settled the course down and went through the bridge hole as if it wasn't there. The fact that I was relieved to be able to do it for the first time in a new boat was neither here nor there. There was a sprinkling of small bridges from then on, and I got each of them to take a turn at steering. When we arrived at the first of the three Calcutt locks, I explained what to do, and told them to listen to the engine note as I manoeuvred so they could tell what I was doing to fit the boat into the lock and stop it moving.
With one or two problems, like having everybody one side of the lock chamber or the other when there should have been the same number each side to work the paddles, we navigated it successfully. I'd asked them to carry on to the next chamber and prepare it so I could steer straight in, and was pleased to see that it was open for me as I left the first one. James was left to close the gates, then he ran on to help the others. After the third lock, I pulled into the bank and the others caught up.
"And that's all there is to it," I told them. "Who's taking her now?"
"I'll have a go." James wasn't sharing the hesitation of his elders. Five years ago I'd taught him how to steer a dinghy. "Just carry on a little longer while I change into shorts, would you. I'm getting hot!"
So I carried on down the canal, and the remainder of them disappeared inside the boat. Both lots of parents reappeared at the bow, out of the way of the noisy engine. James reappeared a few minutes later wearing a pair of PE shorts which must have fitted him properly when he was eleven. At fourteen, they left things to the imagination, but only technically. He'd grown a lot. A child's shorts move over his body between the legs. James' didn't.
"That's better," he announced. "I was hot. I should have done that ages ago. Can I take over now?"
"Yes. We're on a straight bit. Make small adjustments only, though, and see how the bow swings. And by the way, I thought you were changing into shorts, not down to your underpants!"
"These are shorts. And I don't wear underpants in public. They show off too much!."
"Those nearly do. Anyway, most people wear underwear all the time, especially in public."
"Ha ha. Very funny. Anyway, these are proper shorts even if they are a bit small. Besides, if you've got it, flaunt it!"
"One thing I didn't mention," I said in a low voice, "is that because you're talking loudly over the noise of the engine, everyone can hear you on the front of the boat." I'd seen some rather astonished looks from Peter and Doreen who must have been unaware of their son's lack of inhibition when away from them.
"Oops," said James quietly. "Thanks for the warning. I'll remember that when I want to say something rude to you."
He took over the tiller, but I stood at his side to help if any problems arose. God, was I really going to be spending my nights sleeping with this boy? Do you know that fizzy, light, shivery feeling you get when you're really excited or anticipating something? Well, I felt that. All over.
He quickly learnt how the boat handled at normal cruising speed — I'd impressed on all of them that to try to go faster than three or four miles per hour was pointless since the cross-section of the waterway just wouldn't let the water get behind the boat any faster, and all that an over-fast propeller did was to dig the back of the boat into the water and leave a bigger wake.
We passed through several more bridges before reaching Stockton where we had decided to moor for the night. As it was school holiday time most of the moorings near the pub were taken, and we had to continue almost to the top of the locks before we could find a vacant area of bank. Peace descended once the engine was switched off, and then everyone met in the kitchen.
"I'll cook," offered Doreen. "I've brought a ready prepared surprise, and it just needs heating up. If one of you men could peel some potatoes, I'll get busy. Don't all rush," she added as there was a silence.
"It's all right," mum laughed. "I know my two. They're just interested in looking at the pub! Go on with you. Get out of Doreen's and my way. We're not going to be tied to the stove, though, so get used to the idea that each of you will be doing some cooking. And don't forget, whoever cooks doesn't wash up."
Three sheepish male faces looked at each other, then laughed. The youngest just looked thoughtful. "Come on, then, the men. We've got our pass out. Let's go and look at the local watering hole," said Dad.
Peter and I followed him, thankfully. After driving so long the last thing they were interested in was cooking. James turned to follow, then hesitated. "What am I meant to be doing?" he asked my father, who he was following.
"Coming with us, I imagine. Why, did you want to do something else?"
"No. Not at all! Dad's never taken me into a pub, that's what I mean."
"Peter," called Dad over my head, "James says you've never taken him into a pub before. Is that right?"
"Oh….Yes. I forgot his age! I just assumed he was one of the men that Mary and Doreen referred to…. No, it's true I've never been into a pub with him, but then I not generally a pub person myself. It's just never occurred to me. Sorry, James. Do you want to come, or would you rather stay here?"
"No. I'm coming, Dad."
"Well, go and make yourself look older, then. You look about nine dressed like that!"
James decided not to object to that but just said "Give me two minutes, then," and vanished into the cabin. The fathers and I continued onto the bank and stood watching the deepening evening, quietly enjoying the peace. Soon James rejoined us, now dressed in quite smart trousers and a sports shirt.
"You've outdone us now, old son," his father chided him. "We'll all have to go and change!"
"Oh Dad! I can't win! First you say I look too young, then when I dress in something like you wear all the time that's wrong too!"
"He'll do! Leave him alone, Pete. We'll just send him up to the bar to get the drinks all the time."
Even James laughed at that. "If you do, they'll all be alcohol free, then! You wouldn't want me breaking the law, would you?"
We walked onward toward the pub. James dropped behind with me. "Don't worry about it," I said. "My parents were always on at me about how to dress, too. I used to take a lot of notice about their and other people's dress codes until I realised what it was really all about."
"What do you mean, what it's all about?"
"It's quite easy when you think about it. All the time you just need to be comfortable, you just wear what you find practical and comfortable. If you're trying to make an effect, dress accordingly. That way, you'll dress older for a pub, smartly for an office job, practically for a more manual job, as your aged aunts expect you to when you visit them, and in cricket rig when you play cricket. That's how you show people you're serious about things. Of course, when you're very wealthy, or old and eccentric, then you dress as you want to all the time and sod everyone."
He laughed. "And which of those categories do you come under, then?"
"Definitely old and eccentric, according to you."
"Thought so. How come you get away with it, then?"
"I said: I'm eccentric."
"And old…no. I won't accuse you of that at the moment. That'll come later. But at Amberdale you just wore shorts and T-shirt…huh! Or nothing! …and now, all you're wearing is jeans and T-shirt. Yet you get away with it. Why can't I?"
"You could have. Jeans make you look older than PE shorts. They'd make you look older than any shorts, probably, unless you've got particularly hairy legs which make you look of an age to drink alcohol. I noticed that you haven't……And don't look at me like that, I know it's not fair. But it's the way the world works. If you're not what you think people want you to be, either dress in a way to make them think you are, or else ignore their opinions if you can afford to, and impress them with your charm, wit, intelligence and above all, conversation."
"All right, I'll take that. But how come you regard me as …. well …. what? A kid who's got older since he last met you? A young wally who doesn't know his way around anything but his home town? Or what?"
I stopped. "At Amberdale, I got to like you as a person because you were entirely natural and what came over from you was something I liked. As a result, either I treated you as if you were fourteen or you treated me as if I were nine. We've been through that.
"Five years on, you're not a different person, you're the same character and you seem to see me as the same person I was. Most importantly, you seem to have accepted me as being the same friend at the some standard age that instinct seems to have worked out between us. It's personalities. We're lucky; five years ago it took just a couple of days to get there. Five years on and it's taken less than half a day to become……well, more than just acquaintances again. The clothes and acting bit doesn't come into it. That's only useful when you want to make an instant impression, or when someone expects you to be something else, as I said before. You could come to me dressed as the hind legs of a pantomime horse. I'd still know it's old James. It'd just confirm to me that you're mad."
There was a pause. We continued walking.
"You know," said James at last, "that's about the longest speech you've made to me"
"Did it make sense, though?"
"Yes. I think so. Give it time, and it may sink in."
"I bloody well hope so. Most of that took me years to work out for myself!"
"Didn't your parents tell you?"
"No. It'd never occur to them. Have yours told you?."
"No — you're right. I wonder what Dad would say if I told him all that as my opinion."
"He'd say: 'Cor. There is life inside that idiot head, after all.' And who could blame him?"
We didn't spend long in the pub, just long enough to see what it was like and enjoy a pint. James, automatically given a Coke by his father, sampled my bitter once or twice and decided he liked it. "Can't you get me one without anyone noticing?" he asked his father.
"Oh yes. And where will you hide a pint glass when the police arrive and ask you how old you are?"
"I'll give it to you. Or say I'm eighteen. Besides, why did you tell me to dress older if I can't look as if I'm old enough to drink properly?"
"One up to you, James!" laughed my father, as his own fumbled for an answer.
On the way back to the boat James was talking to his father about beer, and his attitude to James drinking it. He was fairly happy with the result, his expression told me as we arrived at the boat. I had had no part in the discussions, but was confident I would soon find out the outcome. We were welcomed back by a most wonderful smell of cooking: Doreen and mum had been busy. The table was set most attractively, even down to candles on the table in proper holders. "We found them in one of the cupboards," explained mum. "They seemed too good to waste. I hope you lot aren't full of beer, because Doreen has really gone to town on this meal."
We assured her we were hungry, which was true, especially after we had smelt what was in store for us.
James and I washed up, with help from Peter. When it was all finished and stowed away, James suggested a walk. We locked the boat and wandered along the towpath, toward the locks but in the opposite direction from the pub, much to James' disgust, especially since I was leading the way. We wandered alongside the locks, down the flight, to the bridge at the bottom. As we came out of the arch James saw another pub on the left and started edging towards it, hoping the rest of us would follow.
"Peter," exclaimed Doreen, "What have you been teaching James? He's turning into a boozer!"
"None of my doing," said Peter wistfully. "But its not a bad idea. How do the rest of you feel about a short to finish off a really excellent meal?"
We all agreed. I stood the round, and made a point of asking James what he wanted so that his father heard. "Bitter, please," said James firmly. Peter looked at me and raised his eyebrows, then nodded, but without James seeing him. We sat away from the bar. When Doreen saw James with a half-pint in his hands she gasped. "Peter! What on earth's got into you? You know he's nowhere near old enough!"
"I know, I know. But it's the middle of the countryside, he looks far older than he is — or so Martin tells me — and he's got to try drinking sometime. I'd want him to do that with us, rather than feel he's got to do it furtively."
"Well, I suppose you're right. But I can't help feeling he's too young."
"Oh, come on, darling. Look at him. Think of yourself at eighteen — he'll be entitled to vote then — and that's only four years away. All those nights as a baby when he wouldn't let us sleep the night through you were always saying 'I wish he'd grow up!'. Well, now he has. We can enjoy his company on equal terms. Let's not put him off by imposing unnecessary restrictions, and perhaps we'll stay his friends, like Martin's done with his parents."
All this was music to James' ears, as his smug expression showed. I nudged him in the ribs. "Take that Cheshire cat grin off your face, or I won't thrash you at bar billiards."
"At what?"
"Over there."
So we left the table, and that was all the parents saw of us for the next hour as I explained the rules to James and we played game after game. James won once or twice, and by the end of the evening was noticeably improving his ability. Eventually Dad came over.
"We're all tired and want an early start tomorrow. Are you coming with us, or are you going to stay there playing, oversleep and miss the first few locks in the morning? We'll have to go through them before we get anywhere."
"We'll just finish this, Dad, then we'll be along. Unless, of course, James is going to buy me a pint?"
"Tomorrow."
So we finished the game and our drinks, then followed about five minutes behind the parents. James suddenly said "Did you know that pub was there before we got to it? Or was it just chance?"
"I knew it was there, all right, and I knew that you wouldn't be satisfied until you'd been into another one. I like a pint too, especially on holiday, so I thought I'd try it on with them."
"There's devious. Thanks. I'm glad you did, because I enjoyed that."
At the boat we found the parents getting ready for bed. Goodnights were said all round, and we two went to our own cabin. I sat on the bed and stretched, yawning loudly, anticipating being able to watch him get undressed and relishing the idea so much that my body was in danger of making it known.
"I hope you're not going to do that in the night, `cos if you do you'll punch me in the face!"
"Do what?"
"Stretch like that." Was he talking about my erection?…no…ah, he meant the way I'd stretched my arms.
"Now that's a good idea."
James sat beside me and bent to untie his shoes. I started removing my T-shirt, then socks, and folded them on a shelf. When I next looked round James was standing dressed just in a pair of quite well filled Y-fronts, his clothing in piles around him.
"Untidy sod," I said, my voice unsteady again.
"Good, isn't it? Saves time in the morning."
"You'll not be wearing them in the morning."
"You think I'm going around in the nude all day? With my parents here?
"Would you if they weren't?"
"We used to, back on the island. And I did at home. But now and here is not such a good idea. All right. I'll be tidy."
As James was putting his clothes away, I couldn't help noticing his boyish back view which contrasted with the rest of his already well developed body. The shorts he had worn earlier had hinted at that. Once again I was astounded at the luck which was leading me once again to sleeping alongside this remarkable young man, but I warned myself that I mustn't rise to any temptation…. What was natural and acceptable, and even eagerly awaited by both of us when at Amberdale, must be by now forbidden territory. Then we had both been children. Now, although I was the same person, he had changed into someone else. Not so much mentally, but the innocence of childhood seemed irretrievably lost.
I took off my trousers, folded them and went to put them away too. As James had not just stripped off his underwear and climbed into bed naked as he would have done in my Amberdale room, so I left my underpants on too. As I stood at the wardrobe to put away my other clothes James tried to barge me out of the way with his hips.
"What's that for?" I asked.
"I need to get there and you're in the way. It's my way of asking you to move."
"I see. And if I do the same to you?"
"It's your way of saying no."
"A complete vocabulary of basic body language, courtesy of James Evans. Price £16.99. Never knew it existed. And what else is in this tome?"
"Oh, lots. Like: if you don't get to bed now, I'll dig you in the ribs until you do. Like this." And he suited the action to the word.
"All right, all right, I'm going." I lay on the edge of the bed, the side of it I had agreed was mine. "But the last one in switches the light off."
"Damn. Where is it?"
"Over here, just by the bed."
"Trying to be awkward, eh? That's another dig in the ribs. Just a minute…I'm on the inside, aren't I. I forgot that. You'll have to endure me climbing over you."
"Oh no, please not!" I said in mock horror.
And James knelt on the side of the bed, put one leg over my recumbent form and bounced on me as if he were still nine. "That's for being cheeky."
I put an arm each side of the boy's chest and dug in, holding on. James squirmed helplessly and rolled over onto his back. I hurriedly released him.
"You swine," panted James. "You remembered I'm ticklish!"
"Just testing, and getting my own back!"
"And where are you ticklish?"
"You think I'm going to tell you?"
"All right….let's see. Soles of the feet? Can't reach them. Under the arms, like you just did to me?" He tried. I lay there as impassively as I could. "I know one place where it'd work."
"Oh? Where's that?"
"Hmmm…no, I don't think I'll try that now. Perhaps later in the week."
I raised my eyebrows, mentally as well as physically. Did James really mean that? Was he really suggesting that we should start from where we had left off? Or was he joking? Or was he talking about something completely different from the way it seemed to me that he was thinking?
"I shall look forward to that," I tried.
"You might, you might. We shall see."
I reached down to pull the duvet up over us, more to cover up my body than to keep warm.
"Are you putting the light out, then?"
James was suddenly calmer. I think he was wondering if he'd gone too far. "Yes. Good night, Martin." I felt a hand come and grip my shoulder.
"Good night. Sleep well." I wondered whether to return the sign of friendship, for that's surely what it was. I decided to risk it, and gave the boy's shoulder a short squeeze: a far cry from the hugs we had shared in my hotel room. We both turned over, and it wasn't long before I heard regular breathing from the other side of the bed. I lay and thought for a while, still amazed at and thankful for the turn of events which had brought the two of us into the same bed again. My body was reacting in an extraordinary way to all this. I had no sign of the raging erection which, by now I would have thought inevitable. But my penis seemed to be leaking the fluid that comes before orgasm, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I was glad I was wearing underpants which would soak it up, and hoped it wouldn't continue while I was asleep. If it did, there'd be a major problem in the morning.
At last, euphoric, I drifted off to sleep.
Some time later I became conscious of movement as James climbed over me again, back into the bed having visited the toilet. I made no move or sign of being awake, though, just lay on my side, facing the middle of the bed. James' soft, sweet smelling breath blew gently against my cheek as he lay down facing me. I shivered with delight, and this time my blood supply decided it was time to divert, and my penis started to extend.
It grew quiet on the other side of the bed, then I felt a hand touch my shoulder again. Still I made no move. The hand was withdrawn, but a moment later I felt a warmth near the base of my chest, just over my waistline. The warmth turned into a touch, which extended as James' palm lay gently across my stomach. It stayed there for a short time, then moved slowly down to the top of my underpants, where I could feel a hesitation, and a slight trembling.
My mind was in turmoil. It was impossible for James to be asleep and doing this in his dreams — he'd only just returned to the room. No, I thought, it was quite intentional. I wondered what to do, if anything. Probably, if I said anything now it would embarrass him completely and ruin the holiday for both of us, and maybe even our friendship into the bargain. Yet I knew that would be the most innocent course to take. But it wasn't as if I objected to James touching me — after all, he'd done so often enough when he'd been nine. And wasn't it what I wanted? Should I do the same to him, though?
Eventually I decided to do nothing. He was probably in a world of his own at that moment.
Slowly, he moved his hand down my underpants until he could feel the edge of the bulge was presumably his target. Slowly, and very gently so as not to make any sudden moves, he drew his fingers onto the top of it, where he thought the tip would be, and stroked them downwards. I felt my body start to react even further to the warm softness that was exploring me. He slowly curved his hand around until it was around the width of my penis. I could hear his breath, fast and shallow, as he grew excited at the delightful naughtiness of what he was doing. I wondered what state his body was in. In fact I wondered what his body looked like now. The more he did this, the more certain I was that I would eventually find out…
He must have been surprised to find that his hand was no longer holding as much of me as it had been, and that some of the throbbing he could feel was not in his own body, despite his excitement. The bulge he was trying to hold was growing. I suppose he must have wondered if I was awake and would discover what he was doing, because he hurriedly drew his hand away, and lay with it close to me but without touching me.
For my part, I didn't know what to do. I was still not convinced of James' intentions or desires — of what was driving him. I was aware now of the illegality of any move on my part, and of whose side anyone else would take if I tried to plead that James had made the first move. If I had thought this way at Amberdale there's an awful lot that would never have happened. Especially between Mark and me. Arghhh……!
So I still did nothing, except grunt and move, not to make myself more comfortable in the usual sense, but to bring my hands nearer to my underpants in order to relieve the pressure of tightened underwear. A few minutes later I felt James move again and wondered if he was going to continue his exploration. But he carefully sat up, and there was a pause. I wondered if I dared open my eyes a slit to see what was happening. Very carefully I did, hopefully without any noticeable movement. I needn't have worried. James was looking down at his own erect penis, protruding out of his Y-fronts and beyond his navel, its tip gleaming. He looked entranced, and I certainly was. It was a wonderful sight, more exciting than anything I'd seen for a long time, and I felt brotherly towards him again, delighted and amazed that the boy could have developed so much in five years. Although James's body was normal so far as my strictly limited knowledge of boys' bodies was concerned, there had been nothing particularly remarkable about him then. But there was now.
I watched as his hand wandered to the end of his own penis. Then he seemed to think better of it. He looked at me, and thankfully failed to notice my slightly open eye. Then to my surprise and delight a slow smile spread across his face as he gazed at me for a long while. If anything convinced me that James might really find me even slightly attractive, that did. I wondered whether to say anything, but he moved again.
He once again knelt on the bed. As he moved across my apparently sleeping form, I was rewarded with a closer view of his lithe, mobile young body, with its swollen, erect penis protruding from his underwear. Then he was once again heading for the door, where I heard him pause, open it and listen for signs of movement outside. Once he was satisfied on that score, he went out, closing the door quietly behind him, and padded next door into the lavatory.
Through the thin wall between it and the bedroom I heard a big sigh, then there was silence for some time. Soon, though, I became aware of a rhythmic sound and realised just how James was ridding himself of his erection. In the way he had learnt on holiday in Amberdale. From me! From me! Thinking back to the events of the previous few minutes I was suddenly angry with myself for not reacting in some way to him. Perhaps by this time we might be helping each other… Impatiently, frustrated, I started to ape James' actions on myself. He was still audible softly through the wall. If I couldn't be there in body, at least I might in spirit. And the desire to do so was almost unbearable. But I realised in time, after only a few strokes, that I might well be discovered when James returned, and anyway I had nothing to clean things up with. I didn't want to give myself away now. All I could do was listen as my friend's — my little brother's — breathing grew deeper: there came a gasp and gave a soft moan, and the rhythmic sounds of reciprocating foreskin died away. Uncalled, my mouth gave a whimper of frustration and the desire to have been with him, to be with him still.
For some time there was silence, then I heard the rustle of paper followed by the toilet flushing. Once again a pause, and footsteps returned, the door opened and closed, and James once again climbing over me, the bulge in his underwear still large but no longer visible over the elastic.
I gave a mock groan and as sleepily as I could opened my eyes just as James was once again sitting on the bed next to me. The boy's eyes were on me.
"Sorry," James whispered, sounding guilty. "Did I wake you up?"
"Mmm. Must have done," I mumbled. "You okay?"
"Yeah…fine. Sorry."
"All right." And, still uncertain what to do, I reached out and squeezed his shoulder as he snuggled back into bed. He did the same for me, and left his hand drooping over my back. I saw no reason why I should take my hand away either, and we lay like that for a few minutes. Gradually sleep and the natural exhaustion following orgasm overcame James and he sagged forward, his arm slipping from my shoulder. Despite the turmoil of my mind, and my uncertainty over what my little brother (as I had started to think of him again) wanted from me, I too fell asleep. And there we lay, close, nearly touching, until morning.