4.        A Brother's Worries

I was aware that my bedroom door was opened.  "Move over Marky," came a confident whisper, "It's time for you to talk to me."

     "Go back to your room, Frankie.  I've got a busy day tomorrow."

     "And Tris said you'd talk to me tonight..."

     Before I could protest further he'd lifted the side of the duvet and pushed into the bed

beside me.  I had seen in the dim light at least he was wearing a pair of boxers.

     "...Shove over,"  he commanded.  A hand reached out to push me and slid down my

naked side as I had turned slightly.  "...Nothing on?" he asked, "Do you always sleep with

nothing on?"

     I sighed wearily.  I knew there was no way of dislodging him until he'd heard

'everything'.

     "Is that your first question?  And when did you talk to Tris?"

     He sniggered and moved up closer.

     "Um, you're lovely and warm.  I think I'll move in here with you."

     I moved away as a hand moved down further onto my thigh.

     "It's OK, I'm not going to rape you!"  The Toad sniggered again.  "Tris told me to say

that if you got antsy!"

     I gave up.  Any thought of turfing the terrible child out of the bed evaporated.  There

was no stopping him and the best way was to acquiesce.  He was in full flow.  He tweaked

the rather abundant crop of black hair above my knee.  I winced but kept still.

     "You're getting very hairy legs.  Aldo's got very hairy legs and so had that boy who

cleaned the pool.  We're half Italian so I suppose we'll have hairy legs, too.  Tris ain't, he's

fair.  He said it's in the genes."  He paused and sniffed.  "I know why you love him.  He's

wonderful."  He sniffed again.  "You are, too, but he said I shouldn't tell you 'cause you're a

shy young fellow and it would make you blush."  I was silent.  All these disparate statements.

"And Wesley says his brother Milton thinks you're brill."

     Wesley and Milton?  Oh yes, Milton Oblongu was a huge Nigerian front row forward

in the Second Year Sixth who had been in that celebrated production of The Mikado

mentioned at our evening meal.  He'd been one of a trio, with a mid‑sized Asian lad and a

diminutive Chinese youth, all dressed in very short gymslips and pale blue Lycra cycling

shorts, as the Three Little Maids from School.  On the last night, the three had shimmied onto

the stage at their first entrance to concerted giggles from the packed audience.   Milton had

then, in the pause before their trio commenced, turned, waggled his rather immense

backside, looked at our Director of Music, who was in the pit conducting the orchestra,

simpered and asked in a wonderfully falsetto‑voiced concerned ad lib, 'Does my bum look

big in this?'.  It brought the house down and the second trombonist blew the loudest and

longest raspberry in response.

     "Yeah," continued Francis as I recalled with enjoyment that occasion, "Wesley says

Milton's got your photo with Tris and the others in his bedroom."

     He slid closer and put his arms round my neck.  "Oh, Marky, I'll miss you."

     I stroked his back as he snuggled up closer.  "It won't be for more than a year in any

case."

     He nodded against and clutched me tighter.  His young body was getting wiry and was

firming up away from his previous rather puppyish roundness.  My brother was certainly

growing.  But there were questions for me.  But my turn first.

     "And when did you talk to Tris?"  I asked again.

     "Yesterday when you were arty‑farting on the piano.  I didn't get much when I started

to say things after you came downstairs and  I knew there was something up so I went round

next door when I knew you would be busy.  Tris always talks to me as if I'm not a kid,

anyway."  He stopped again  and pulled his head away from me.  Was I being rebuked?

"That reminds me," he said very authoratively, "That Mendelssohn.  You want to make sure

near the end those down scales which go from left hand to right hand are exactly the same

and you missed one of those twos against three."

     I was gobsmacked.  "And I wasn't right?  How do you know?"

     "I couldn't help listening and I'd had a look at the piece when you left it on the piano

on Sunday.  Mr Prentice says he'll start me on the organ after the Summer vac and if I do

well enough I can have your job when you go off."

     I breathed in deeply.  Frankie was becoming a competent pianist and was just about

coming to the end of his shelf‑life as a prominent treble soloist in the church choir.  Reggie

hadn't said anything to me.

     "Mr Prentice said I'm obviously at the beginning of my growth spurt so I should be

OK for the pedals soon."

     Mr Prentice should know, his day job was as a well‑respected orthopaedic surgeon,

FRCS,  and he'd replaced Gran's hip last year.  What else?

     His head went back down and rested against mine.  "Now it's question time," he

breathed,  "Tris said I had to be bloody, bold and resolute and it was a good job I knew where

that came from else I might have thought he was taking the piss as he usually does but I knew

he was serious...."

     "OK, " was the only response I could make without collapsing, "Ask away."

     "First, I'd better tell you I can do it OK.  Found out just after Christmas."  As I was

quiet and still he obviously though I hadn't guessed what he meant.  "You know what I

mean, I can shoot stuff," he said rather testily, "You never told me anything about it so I had

to listen to Jack and his tales and then Laurent sent me an e‑mail and he said 'je me tire mon

coup' with three exclamation marks and I e‑mailed back and asked what he meant though I

knew 'tire' could mean 'to fire' and he just sent back 'white stuff' so I was right 'cause I was

the same.   Jack's the same he can, too."  He nudged me.  "And I want to know all about it

and I'll show you if you like, 'cause I want to know if it looks OK."

     "Yeah," I said, rather hastily, "I  know all about it..."

     He interrupted me by sniggering again, "...I know you do.  And I've seen it, too.  You

don't always clear up properly.  You leave your mucky tee‑shirts and pants just on top of the

basket and then you swiped Mum's last pack of tissues too, and I was sent to look for it and I

guessed it was you 'cause that's what Jack uses and I found it under this bed with two sticky

ones."  He rubbed his nose on my shoulder.  "What would Mrs Elliott have said if she'd

found them?"

      'Oh, Gawd' I thought.  I'd forgotten completely and....

       "....Don't worry," he continued, "I flushed them down the loo....  I did have a look,

though,"  I felt his face screw up against me, "...there was lots.  Not fair, mine's still just a

few drops."

     I let out a deep breath.  I had been holding it while he never seemed to take one.  I

was going to see if I could shut him up with a few short statements.  "So, you're wanking and

your little pals are as well.  You've been spying on me and now you want to indulge in what

might be called 'inappropriate behaviour'."

     He laughed.  "I haven't started asking any questions yet, and anyway we discussed all

that stuff about 'inappropriate behaviour' in PSE and Mr Gatling said it was all to do with

the idea of consent and also what was public opinion.  We had all that about age of consent

as well for what boys do together and I didn't say anything about Tris and you 'cause you

certainly weren't sixteen when he started...."  He stopped and sniffed and flung his arms

around me.  "Sorry, Mark, but I knew what you were doing a long time ago.  I wanted to

know and I could hear you and him in here when I came home from Jack's one afternoon to

collect my skateboard and you were telling Tris how much you loved him and you wanted

him again.  I wanted to know but I didn't dare ask you....  ...Oh, Marky!"

     His emotions took over.  All the fast talk and the, I suppose, 'little‑boy bravado'

disappeared and he sobbed..  I moved over and held him tight.

     "It's OK, Francis.  Let's just lie quiet for a minute and then you can ask me things."

     He sniffed and a warm tear dripped onto my face as I stroked his back and he relaxed

against me.

     "Now, Francis," I said after a few moments and he was more settled.  "Anything I tell

you, or you ask me, is just between us.  OK?"

     He nodded against me.  "Tris said that, too.  He said what's between brothers and

friends is theirs and not other people's.  I understand."

     "O.K. then, I don't want you tittle‑tattling gossip to Jack.  You can tell him

straightforward things but no more.  And the same for Laurent.  He's coming this weekend

and I suppose this is part of your preparation?"

       He nodded against me again.  "But, it's mostly about me, really," he said, now in a

slower and more deliberate way.  "I need to know if I 'm alright.  I want you to have a good

look at me and see if you think I look OK,"  He nudged me.  "I've got more hair than Jack

and I'm definitely bigger than him.  But do I look the same as you did? "

     He paused a moment as if waiting for me to say something, perhaps to object.  I  just

lay still trying not to laugh outwardly.  But.., he was being very serious, so I'd better be as

well.

     "So, that's the first thing," he continued, "Then I want to know how many times I

should do it.  Jack and I don't have a competition but he keeps a note and I tell him.  He

found some site on his computer and it said thirteen year olds generally did it more times just

after they start than older boys.  I want to know if that is true.  And then I want to know if I'm

a bit gay 'cause I like watching Jack as well as those girls on his computer."

     Without saying more he slid out of the bed, switched on the light and whipped off his

boxers.  He came and stood by the bed  just a foot or so from my face.

     "Well?"

     Well, well, well.  Little brother was on the move.  Last summer's snail was now a

drooping getting‑on for four inches.  It was also plump and his foreskin seemed well‑filled

with his knob end.  His young balls were hanging just below that end and there was a very

dark little bush of hair into which the root of his prick nestled.

     He was getting impatient with his big brother who was gazing at the most beautifully

formed penis which he had only seen in the mirror before.  His own..., less than four years

ago!  Instinctively my hand went down and gripped my own, now much larger version.  "And

is it OK?" he demanded.

     What could I say?  It was all I could do to prevent myself from reaching out and

drawing him to me so I could take that lovely young penis into my warm mouth.  I

remembered the time when Tris had first stood by the same bed, in the same state, and we

had learned all by ourselves how to give such other pleasure to each other without the use of

our hands.  I just about croaked out, "You're beautiful..."

     My innocent little brother, or perhaps, not so little, was not satisfied with that reply.

"I asked you if it was OK.  Do I look OK?  Jack's different, he's circumcised and I haven't

liked to ask any of the others at school to compare.  I did get a  look at Wesley's when we

shared a shower after that muddy rugger match last term but he kept moving around too

much and his is very black and looks fat and I didn't like to ask him to stand still and the

others all sort of turn away when we shower...."

     Well, I'd studied his big brother Milton's implement fairly closely when we were

getting changed ready for that performance of the Mikado.  Milton tended to parade round

the dressing room au naturel before pulling on those very tight Lycra cycling shorts which

bulged very hugely when all was tucked away.  There was good reason.  He had a thick rather

than long prick, heavily foreskinned and with quite pendulous low‑hangers.  Young Wesley

seemed to be built on the same lines.

     "......Are you listening?"  Frankie was becoming a bit petulant.  I was gazing at him

and away in my own world of images and thoughts.  I'd better return to this planet.

     "Frankie...," I drew a deep breath, "....I am sure you have nothing to worry about.

You look fine, just like I did at thirteen and a bit, I think."  I took in the rest of his body.  Still

slightly tanned.  I looked up at his fresh young face and his questing look.  "If you weren't

my little brother and only thirteen I could fall for you in a big way.  You are very beautiful."

I shook my head.  "I love you very much anyway even though I might not show it..."

     "That's how I feel about you and Tris.  I love you both...."  He stopped and climbed

onto the bed next to me.  We held each other tightly, I putting my hands down around his

buttocks and drawing him close to me.  "...I want you to tell me about love as well."  I felt a

stirring against me.  He was getting hard and in response so did I.  "Jack has those pictures of

girls with nothing on in a folder on his computer and he watches them when he does it.  I've

watched them too and they make me hard and we do it sitting side by side and he tells me

there's many more he could collect.  Am I doing right?  I don't love them but it sets me off."

     I stroked his back.  I thought of the many times I'd laid in this bed at night with a

whole panorama of boys of my age ‑ of  friends imagined, of others I had but glimpsed in the

changing rooms or the showers, of Ivo's and Adam's matched glories, but primarily of the

wonderful body of my precious Tris ‑ passing before me as I slowly but surely gave myself

that primal and eternal pleasure.   I thought of the shared times with Tris.  Those early

fumblings, then the more practised release kindling our growing love and the final realisation

that the passion overlaid a deeper kinship between two boys and how my thoughts when

alone and needing release now centred on him.

     "I can't tell you about girls," I said, "I only know my own feelings and they have

never involved girls.  I've been very lucky, I've got Tris and I hope and pray he knows he's

got me.  How you feel about girls is good.  If all boys were like me and Tris there wouldn't

be any little Frankie's around."  I felt him respond with a slight chuckle.  "We all have to

release that build‑up ‑ Ivo says the best word  is libido ‑ it's that urge and you need to release

it."

     I felt him nod against me.  That need for release hits one suddenly and I knew he

understood what I was saying.

     "Yeah, Jack's got this book he found in the Oxfam shop.  It's all about growing up

and that word's in it.  He says it's got three syllables and that's one for every time he has to

do it each day..." He stopped.  "....Oh, I shouldn't have told you that.  That's gossip..."

     I stroked his back again.  "...But it's true of most boys of your age, I bet."

     "Yeah, that's what Jack found on that site.  It said from some survey that boys of our

age did it about twenty times a week.  It's not gossip but Jack and I do it about that.  He

keeps a count 'cause he wants to be statistician like his dad."

     Oh, Professor Goldman was in the Economic Policy Statistics Department at the LSE

so I doubted if he collected data like that.  But, of course Tris and I had kept a tally as well

for a few weeks when I was fourteen and he was fifteen.  Yeah, my recent statistical analysis

of that data had shown an average of about three emissions per day per person.  I supposed

we were about  normal, too.

     "Anyway, what I need to know is, is that too much?  And that site said older boys do

it about twice a day.  Is that true?"

     I thought I'd better be honest.  "It's never seemed too much for me.  I did keep a

count too, but that first week I found out I did it at least four times a day.  It was only because

I made myself sore I slowed down."  He nodded ‑ I suppose a nod of shared agreement.

"Yeah, for the first few months it was about three times a day.  If I tell you something else

it's a real secret."

     "Yes."

     "I actually saw the first time Tris  made stuff.  It was that time we were at

Disneyland.."

      There was an audible gasp from Francis.

     "I couldn't as I was a lot younger than him.  The twins showed us what they could do

the first night.  Tris and I tried and all I got was a buzz and Tris was the same.  It was the

next night with Adam helping him that Tris shot his stuff for the first time.  I found out all by

myself months later."

     "The twins showed you?  Gosh, that's wonderful."

     The twins were objects of veneration for Francis.  Whenever they appeared on our

doorstep Francis dogged their every footstep.  They never minded.  He was the little brother

they'd never had so he was teased, tickled, told outrageous things and used as general ball‑

boy and dogsbody when they worked off steam playing football or tennis in our large garden.

On the two occasions they'd joined us at the villa in Italy they'd spent time teaching him to

swim.  I'd spent more time inspecting the packed Speedos they wore, no socks needed for

them, and contemplating the shared enjoyment we would be having once we retired to our

room each night.  Last year, with Tris there as well, I think we exceeded the quota even of

extra randy fourteen‑year‑olds on Jack's reported site.  Ivo and Adam were as insatiable as

Tris and I and never seemed to tire even though they raced about, swam and cavorted

generally even in the hot Italian sun.  They were games mad and last Easter during their last

year at school they had been on a rugger tour in the Midlands and had ended up for a

weekend with us in South London complete with one black eye, a badly grazed leg, a gashed

forehead and two fingers taped up between them.  Dad always referred to them as the

'Thugs' and they just grinned and said they enjoyed it all.

     We lay for just a few moments and I knew that if my brother didn't go soon to his

own bed...

     "...Frankie, do you know what temptation is?" I asked very quietly.

     He stirred against me.  "Yep," he said, "It's when you see something you want, you

feel as if you want it so badly you have to take it."

     Neither of us said anything for some seconds.

     "I know, Marky," said Francis, "I must go."  He rubbed his face against my shoulder.

"I'm tempted, too.  But,...."

     "...It wouldn't be fair on me, certainly not on you, and most surely not on Tris..." I

said, I hoped completing what he was thinking.

     He nodded against me.  "That's true and I understand."  He moved his head up and

kissed me on the cheek.  "Thanks for talking to me.  There's lots I still need to know and

you'll tell me another time?"

     "Thanks, Francis, for understanding how I feel.  We'll talk again but at the moment I

feel a bit confused and uncertain."

     "I think I understand," said Francis, sliding away from me.  I caught him and held him

to me and kissed him, too.  "That was lovely, Marky."

     He stood by the bed now.  His four inches and a bit stiff young cock proudly upright.

He found his boxers and stepped into them.  "By the way, Uncle Nick gave me an envelope

and two paperbacks for you as we came out.  I put them on the kitchen table for you for the

morning.  Nighty‑night."

     He smiled as he turned and went out to his own room.  I switched off the bedside

light and lay contemplating that interchange.  I was sure I had done right.  Another few

moments and there would have been no holding back surely and definitely on my part and,

no doubt, on Frankie's.  But, was he ready for that full‑scale onslaught which, though done

with love, would have been primarily to dissipate and assuage my lust.  He was beautiful, but

it would have been an extension of self‑love bordering on  lechery as I wanted him so

passionately, as I knew I was just like that at his age.  But, it would not have been right, nor

fair.  He should experience a gentler introduction to real love between two boys.  No doubt,

also, that the dual delight of wanking with Jack and helping each other to orgasm, was the

best introduction to shared pleasure as experienced by most boys.  Perhaps he and I....?

...Another time?   I wondered.   How would I explain it to Tris?

     I was thinking of Tris with such concentration that I must have been in some state of

semi‑delirium so it was with just a few movements of my hands I was raised to one of the

most powerful climaxes I'd ever experienced.  I knew I had done right in rejecting

temptation.  Not rejecting Francis, as it were, but rejecting something I felt I could not deal

with just now.  Yes, Francis ‑ we would talk in the future but, as ever, no one knows exactly

what the future will hold.  After that immense sensation I now had a feeling of great stillness.

I fell asleep knowing that I had won a great victory of self.