A Holy Trinity

by Rafael Henry

Home. 41 Castle Road, Teignmouth, Devon.

'Haven't you got a parents' meeting soon Bo? You mentioned it last week.'

'Yes. Thursday. I told you.' Bo shouts to the voice in another room.

'Did you?'

'Yes, I did. Have you seen my socks? The grey school ones?'

'In the kitchen. On the chair I do believe. Your ironing is on the table. Don't wear those trousers again today, you got mud on them yesterday. Have you remembered to get an appointment list organized? We need to see all of your teachers.'

'All of them? Why?'

'At least six then. Maths and English definitely. Let me see it tonight. I'm off in a minute. Where are you?'

'On the loo.'

'Oh. Can I come in?'

My dad comes in……..who isn't my real dad. Arne Beck is my Legal Guardian here but I don't call him dad at home. He's just Arne. It's easier that way. He's thirty two….or three maybe. Not totally sure. My real parents are back in Denmark. Don't ask, it's way too complicated to explain right now.

I hate going to school knowing I will need time in the lavatory during the morning. It stinks in those places.

Let me explain. I suppose I'm just an observer of life, especially lives that engage my interest. I'm finding these people very interesting. The boy is registered at his school as Bo Olsen, Year Nine, single parented, no trouble, no real friends, doesn't get bullied, unremarkable academically and in most other ways, liked by his teachers, but……..good at art and not much else. Bo would like to be good at cricket, that most English of games, restrained and very very time consuming, and deeply mysterious. Art is Bo's favourite lesson of the week by far, and cricket his favourite game that sadly, he can't play very well. How lovely they look in their cricket whites. White everything, shirt, trousers or shorts, jumpers when it's cool, white socks and shoes, white everything. How lovely those graceful boys look when they run after the ball, bend to pick up that horrid hard red leather thing that hurts your hands when you try to catch it, brave boys, white paragons scattered over the emerald grass. Let me field at square leg, too close now, as the boy bends over his bat, bowler ready at the end of his run, ready to face the next fizzing delivery with just that short length of willow wood to protect me. White underneath too, so clear to see.

Arne looks nothing like me. He's very fair skinned with blond hair all over his head and arms and legs and elsewhere where nobody sees except me. We live in a tiny house in Teignmouth, so if we have a visitor, very rarely, I share the big bed with him. He sleeps one side and I sleep on the other side with a couple of feet between us. I love sleeping with him and want to every night but he says we can't any more. I'm too big now. Arne is incredibly kind to me, and often, when I think about him, I get watery eyes. I've never really understood why this happens so often to me. The best thing he ever does is put his arms around me and plants a big kiss on my cheek, sometimes even on my mouth. I know he loves me. It's not because he tells me he does, everyday, but because of what he does for me. Arne works at Next, a clothes shop in the town, so he can get everything, well almost everything he and I need at a discount. Useful. We look like walking adverts for Next. A boy in my class jokes about it.

'Oh, that's nice. Is it from Next?'

Gosh he's right, it is from Next! Quite amusing really. The inconvenient thing is that Arne works on Saturdays. So, unless I've got a date with a friend, I'm at a loose end on Saturdays, and in Teignmouth, even in summertime, there's not a huge amount to do. But, as I'm quite resourceful and independent of thought, I can cope quite nicely. I can go to the library, find new material there to interest me, art books mainly, or I can get the train to Exeter and wander around in that fair city for half a day. Then on my return the seafront can usually provide some entertainment. Arne loves clothes, so as you can imagine, I don't walk about looking scruffy……ever.

There's a family next door, a far bigger house than ours, and they're friendly. An older boy lives there with his sister and their mum and dad. His name is Rufus. He always smiles if I pass him. I think he goes to school in Exeter by train. I first met him three years ago at the bottom of our garden.

My parents' relationship fell apart just before that. My mother tripped off back to France and my father went back to his native Copenhagen, leaving his best friend Arne to look out for me here in this house which was kept unsold for us to live in. Our garden is long and thin, the width of the house essentially, whereas the house where Rufus lives is far wider, therefore his garden is wider, but the same length as ours. A wooden feather edge fence separates our two gardens, and near the bottom there were a couple of pieces missing, allowing a good view from my garden into next door. I have to admit to 'helping' the lengths of wood fall off as I was curious to see through this otherwise impenetrable barrier taller than I was. Through this gap I could see half-sized apples growing on what looked like quite old trees scattered about on rough grass, an ideal play area, nicely hidden from the house. Our neighbour Rufus had a friend round to play. Rufus is a bit older than me. The other very blond-haired boy looked my age. They were playing a game which involved makeshift loin cloths made from old towels, no tops in the warm weather, and bare legs and feet. I was just in my play shorts and newly ironed tee shirt; bare feet on the cool grass. I heard noises the other side of the fence so I dared myself to stand and look through the inviting gap. Interesting! The boys next door were playing with long sticks, knocking them against one another, a game which quickly degenerated into play fighting, one boy on the ground very close to the gap in the fence I was looking through, the younger boy more or less on top of him. They were laughing and giggling until the loin cloth arrangements fell off their bodies. The way they were tied around them was never going to last long before they inevitably fell off. Thinking back, that was very possibly deliberate. The boys had started to do something with each other that I knew to be very personal and naughty and not to be done in public. I watched as the boys began to play with each other the way I played in bed every morning and most nights if I could stay awake. If you are on your own, that is not sex. I'm always on my own which makes me sad. My first thought was how lucky those boys are to have someone to play that game with. The younger boy had climbed on top of Rufus and appeared to be rubbing his bottom up and down over his friend's tummy. At one point I could see both boy's naughty bits which had grown far bigger than normal. Rufus grabbed the boys head and kissed his mouth. Then they laid side by side on the grass and carried on playing with each other with their hands. I could only see the younger boy's bottom, very white and rounded. Rufus kept putting his hand on it in a rude way, feeling and poking it. I know how good that feels. I must have made a sound, trod on a twig or something, because the smaller boy suddenly looks over his shoulder to where I am, and sees me looking through the gap and says something to Rufus. Then Rufus looks over the boy's shoulder and sees me. Both boys stop what they were doing and stand up and walk the few yards over to me with nothing on at all with their willies bouncing up and down as they walked. I thought that very funny. Watching them, I had one hand inside my shorts. I know what they were doing and I was enjoying watching them do it, that's for sure. The very fair-haired boy is standing close to me just the other side of the gap in the fence now. He's holding his penis moving the loose skin over the tip and back again. I look down at it. I'm thinking how much mine felt like his at this moment, hidden inside my shorts wanting to come out. The boy smiles, looks down at my body, and spreads his arms wide apart, pushing his hips out towards me.

'Do you want to feel it? Go on.' The boy asks, as if we had known each other for years. I nod, because at that moment nothing could have interested me more. Rufus is standing there too. I look at his. It looks different. Much bigger for one thing, and thicker too. I put my left hand out and hold the younger boy's penis and gently squeeze. It feels hard and very warm. I'm feeling very hot and I can feel a rapid beating in my chest. Rufus has taken a few steps forward and is standing next to his friend now.

'Both of us you nitwit! Use both of your hands. Go on!' says the very blond boy.

So I did. They used their hands too. My shorts came down to reveal my 'clean on this morning' white underpants. A small pair of hands delved inside, fondling and squeezing my bits and between my legs trying to get to my bottom presumably. Rufus just watched.

'Put your feet apart. Come on, play properly. I can't reach.' The younger boy demands.

There was squeezing, some attempts at rubbing up and down, and something pressing against my bottom. Suddenly I was left high and dry as the smaller boy took his hands away, laughed and ran off. Rufus was a little slower to lose interest as I recall, but even he left me in the lurch in favour of the extraordinarily pretty ash-blond friend of his. I was left to yank up my pants and shorts and rearrange myself inside. I think that was the first time in my life I had experienced profound disappointment, other than my mother running off. But I now had one precious thing; an intense and vivid image etched in my memory, and what it felt like. I had never seen another boy big like that, let alone two at the same time. I could not believe my luck. I want more of this.

I walked past Arne in the kitchen on my way up to my bedroom. He gave me a funny look as I had my hand in front of my shorts. I lay on my bed, slid my shorts and pants down my legs and looked. I can still feel those hands around me and what they were doing. I can still feel my own hands on those boys. I can still see and feel everything. I made it last as long as possible. I'm sure I heard Arne open my bedroom door, but when I looked, he wasn't there. A few minutes later I saw Arne in the kitchen. He was peeling some potatoes. He turned round and smiled at me.

'You ok now?'

'Yes thanks.' I said, not knowing quite what he meant.

'You don't have to hide it you know. It's perfectly normal. Was it nice?'

I felt my face go pink and hot as I realised what he meant. He put the potato peeling down, walked over to me, put his hand on the top of my shoulder and kissed the top of my head. That is so Arne.

Mirror mirror on the wall, who is the prettiest of them all?

Not me, as I stare into the bathroom mirror, at least not in my opinion. But there's one other, or perhaps two other people who might disagree. One is Arne, my Guardian Angel.

'You're a beautiful boy. Just remember that Bo. Someone one day will make you very happy.'

Ok, thanks Arne. I'm not so sure. For starters, I'm not keen on my hair. It refuses to be styled in any way and comes forward in a mat of dark reddish brown, chestnut maybe, and not at all what it should be coming from a Danish father. I guess the southern French influence watered that down. As for the body, well, it's not exactly rippling with muscles. Skinny might be an apt description. Hands and feet? Too big. Face? That's ok. Long eye lashes and deep blue eyes, well-proportioned nose I think, nice mouth but a bit full, and ears roughly the right size. Boy's bits? Small and great for a ten-year old, and very nice if I saw them on one. When is it going to happen?

Arne made an appointment with the doctor. I ended up at the Royal Devon and Exeter having an ultrasound examination. Nothing amiss down there according to the doctor. Perfect in fact, and beautifully formed, as far as they go. I'm assured that everything will happen in due course. I think Arne was a bit worried about me. He said he remembers things down there being 'active' by the age of eleven. But that's Denmark isn't it? This is England. That doesn't happen until much later here. Arne knows I do it in bed and on the sofa if I think he's not about. One morning he caught me and asked if I needed a box of tissues. Answer, no. Two weeks later the answer would have been different.

I told Arne about my new discovery. He gave me a massive hug. I'm sure I've grown a bit too. Last night I asked him to dry me after my bath. He came in as I was getting out. I love the feel of the towel all over me, and when he'd finished, towel laid on the side of the bath, we looked.

'I think you've grown Bo.'

'How?'

'In a boy's way Bo. Do you understand me?'

I looked down, and back up into Arne's smiling face, feeling rather pleased with myself.

You might be thinking that my relationship with Arne is a tad unhealthy. I suppose in the normal way of things it is, but I want to say now that nothing he has done or is doing has harmed me in any way. If there's a problem it's with me, rather than him. I love him, which involves a lot of touching. He talks to me when I bathe, and dries me afterwards. I want him in there with me, so he and I can talk about things and enjoy being together. More so now as I'm slowly growing up. I agree with Arne when he says I'm getting a little more interesting. I feel I am. And so is he I might add. I sit with him on the sofa when we attempt to find something to watch in the evenings. I like to be in his lap with his hands where I want them; around me. It makes me feel secure and loved. I can't help what my body decides to do any more than Arne can. I slept with him most nights until a year ago. Now Arne restricts my joining him in his big bed to Sunday mornings. He's my strong tree and I'm his bendy little sapling. He encloses me, body and soul.

Arrangements.

'Bo, make sure you get an appointment with Mr Hildenbrough.'

Alex Hildenbrough, pronounced Hilden…..bro. Don't ask me why. That's what we were told. And yes, I will make sure I get him on my shortlist of Parents' Evening appointments for Thursday after school.

'May I have eight thirty please?' I ask the teacher, holding my pen and slip of paper.

'That's a bit late Bo. Are you sure?'

'Yes. My dad can't get here much before then and I've got other appointments before that.

Have I? No. I'm pretty sure that will be his last appointment of the evening. Alex Hildenbrough is special. The first in my line of special teachers, and the special teacher that is the last on my list.

He doesn't mind if I call him Alex, as long as it's just us and not in front of the others. Arne has met him before, and Alex made a bit of an impression on him. Oh yes. He's also made an impression on me too, right from the off. I knew from that first lesson I had with him. We had to draw a scene from our holiday. I hadn't been on a holiday.

'What did you do then Bo?'

'I went to the beach most days.'

'Then draw that.' Alex says. I feel his hand touch my shoulder, very lightly. I look up into his face. He looks down into mine. He looks kind. I started to draw. Ten minutes later he comes back to see what I've done. I've done some waves, badly it seemed to me, and two people standing in front of them, one larger than the other. I've done them with just their swimming costumes on. I'm holding Arne's hand.

'Who are those people Bo?'

'That's me, and that's Arne; my dad.' I say, pointing them out on my drawing.

'Where's your mum?' He asks.

'I don't have one, at least not here. She lives in France now. My real dad lives in Denmark. Arne looks after me.'

'Does Arne have a wife or partner Bo?'

'No. It's just me. He's my real dad's best friend. I don't think he would ever want a wife. Anyway he has me. He says I'm enough for him.'

'I like your work Bo. Do you draw things at home?'

'Yes, lots.'

'You must show me some time. This room is always open to boys like you Bo; to do more work or just talk if you want to.'

Alex is very young for a teacher. I know he hasn't been here long. He's kind. I can see that. I want Arne to like him. I want Arne to meet him. Arne will meet him tonight.

Eight thirty five, Thursday evening. Room 12. One of the Art rooms.

'Please take a seat Mr Olsen.' Alex says quietly.

'It's Mr Beck. But do call me Arne, if that's ok?'

'Of course……..Arne.' Alex replies, smiling in that benign way teachers greet a new customer, well, new to him, almost. I suppose a teacher at a parents' meeting never knows quite what to expect, so best to be prepared for anything. The two men examine each other's expressions which might give them a slender insight as to what might ensue.

Alex's report on Bo's progress was positive from the start, as was Alex's impression, as a person, on Arne, and vice versa. As the interview progressed, now into its tenth minute of the ten minutes allotted to each interview, the conversation drifted nearer to the issues that both of the men had concerning the other, and both men seemed instantly at ease with each other. Arne seemed to want to talk about his role as Bo's guardian, just as Alex wanted to talk about the challenges that a new teacher had to deal with, and how Bo seemed to hover, almost, above all those things in his life that might trouble him. What a lovely boy he is. Both men were agreed on that. Alex narrowly avoided using the word 'beautiful', but did manage to slide the word into a space reserved for pupil's attitude to his work. Arne was equally effusive with his assessment of his charge saying that the boy was the best thing that had happened in his life, and how he loved him for so many reasons. Alex found himself excitingly sympathetic to his own ideas. They agree on so many things it seems? A little frisson perhaps? Alex feels the goosebumps rise on his bare arms; and a chill even, a tingling.

Arne had not had a relationship of any consequence for a year or more. It was always going to be difficult with Bo at home. The issue of Arne's sexuality had not been broached at number 41 Castle Road. He could no more bring a boy, preferably in his early twenties or perhaps a little younger, or even younger than that, back to the house than fly. He'd looked at teenaged boys on the beach, almost naked boys, lots of them, with appropriate feelings of guilt, and then quickly looking away again. And then back again, quite unable to resist the pleasure of observing bare flesh and the sometimes obvious evidence of pre or post pubescent boyhood. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder he thought. He need not feel guilty about it. He was only looking. After all, they are beautiful. So is Bo. He doesn't stop the boy folding into his arms on the sofa in the evenings, just before bedtime. He likes to put his hands on Bo's bare flesh, underneath a tee shirt, under his bottom, and Bo likes it too. You can see how the boy likes it. Perhaps he shouldn't, now Bo is clearly growing up. Certain thoughts occurred to Arne, hurriedly dismissed.

There was however, a question in Arne's mind concerning Bo's relationships with other pupils at the school. Every parent worries about that issue don't they? Is the boy being secretly bullied? Who are his friends? Does he actually have any friends? And so on.

Bo knew that he might be asked to leave the consultation. It was Alex who took the initiative, and this being his last appointment, and Arne's too, the discussion wasn't limited by time, or content it seemed. Both men watch the boy leave the room when asked. Both men think he looks lovely this evening in his smart trousers, head held up high, no hands in pockets. They are still looking when Bo opens the door in the corner of the room and looks back, and hesitates for those vital two seconds. In that time Bo's tummy turns over, both nervous and excited at the same time.

Outside the room, sitting on one of the two chairs arranged against the wall beside the door, Bo sits and ponders. With both hands held together in his lap, he feels the weight of them as he presses down. Looking up now, mouth open, there's no one in the corridor to see him. It's the sort of thing he does all the time in class, just like the other boys. Bo's mind drifts towards the conversation going on the other side of that door. What he suspects and hopes for might just be possible. There's a small window in the door. Ten minutes have slipped by. He looks. There are smiles in there, and then a handshake that lasts longer than all the others that evening. The two men are standing now, their hands still joined. They move towards the door as Bo sits down quickly on the chair. He hears voices as the door opens and the voices are louder now, normal voices. The open door. Perhaps a metaphor for the future.

It's a fifteen-minute walk down the hill back to Castle Road, number 41. There is little conversation, until a half hour later when Bo, ready for bed now, sits with Arne. The boy rests his head on Arne's chest and feels the man's arm tighten around him and his breath in his hair. He loves the secure feelings he gets when he's with Arne in this loving way.

'Do you like him……Alex I mean?' asks Bo after a long pause.

'Yes I do. I think you do too? Am I right?'

'Yes, he's nice.'

'He says he sees you at other times too, not just in his lessons.'

'Yes. I go in there at lunchtimes. There are other boys there too.' Bo carefully qualifies his statement, his face suddenly warming.

'Any other times?'

'Sometimes after school.'

'Is that wise Bo?'

'I'm not sure.'

4.30. Room 12.

Alex isn't sure Bo should be staying so long. It's just the two of them. But there again, no one is going to notice. The cleaner maybe. No one else. So after another five minutes or so…….

'You had better go home now Bo. Leave the door open please.'

Alex sits down. He's enjoyed watching Bo sit at the table just under his nose so he can study the boy at work. When Bo looks up, as he often does to see if Alex is looking at him, he will see Alex's smiling eyes.

Bo stands up, his chair pushed back, materials in his hands ready to put away in cupboards and a drawer. A couple of minutes to tidy up. Alex, from his chair behind the desk, sees the boy in profile. There's a little flutter in his stomach. Anything can set a boy off in that way. There's no message there, no hint, no danger signals…….or is there? But one thing Alex does know. There is a link to be forged between two men and one lonely boy.

The Note.

The next morning Arne has given Bo a note [in a sealed envelope] to give to Alex. At the meeting last night, Bo not present, both Alex and Arne had received coded messages from the other that has excited them. It was an instant mutual attraction, and there's no time like the present.

Hello Alex! It was great to meet you last night, and to hear how well Bo is doing at school; at least in your subject! As you know now, he's not my son. You know his story, and more of what he is, and of course, what I am I think? I'm sure you have worked that out. From our talk I'm quietly confident that we are both on the same page, so to speak. Am I right? As for Bo, you have already, and I'm sure you will continue to support his learning and well-being in as many ways as you are able, perhaps not just in your classroom? Might you consider meeting socially? Bo loves his artwork and does quite a bit at home with me. He would never ask you, but would you be prepared to look ? He would be thrilled if you would. With sincere best wishes, Arne.

Look? At what precisely? Bo would love him to look.

Bo delivers the note a few minutes before he registers his presence in his Home Room, with twenty-nine other boys, before classes begin.

' Jonathon .' Mr Ellison, form teacher, barks out the boy's name.

'Yessir.' The boy replies, loudly, well used to this daily routine.

' Bo .'

' Yes Sir .' Bo replies

Alex is free first thing this morning, so having read Alex's note, he has time to think about a reply. He reaches for a sheet of paper and a pen. He's excited.

Dear Arne, yes it was good to meet the other night, and yes to your other questions. Am I that easy to see through? Ha ha. Bo is, as you say, a lovely boy. I'm thrilled that I have someone so receptive to my teaching. I see him most days as you probably know. I don't think it would matter how much I see him! Please let me know if there's anything I can do. I'm new to Teignmouth and don't really know anybody, so I'm free any time after work, or later if you want? I'm open to any suggestions. In haste, Alex.

Arne opened Alex's sealed note, read it, and then read it three more times to make sure he got the correct inferences. Bo was nearby and curious.

'Shall I ask Alex round Bo? I think he'd like to see the stuff you've done here. What about after school one day soon? That'll give him a chance to look before I get back at six? Would you be happy about that?'

A wordless nod from Bo.

'Ok. Tomorrow then. I'll give you a note in the morning.'

With Bo safely in bed, Arne thinks about his reply to Alex's note…..

Thanks for your reply Alex. Phew! I wasn't expecting anything so soon. I really wasn't. Can Bo bring you here after school today? I get back from the town by six. I don't see any point in delaying. I could make supper? Please know that you can stay as late as you like.'

All night maybe? That would be his first overnight guest since he became Bo's official guardian two years ago.

Bo was home by a quarter past four. He's made sure Alex knew exactly how to find the house on Castle Road, drawing him a map, and to knock on the back door, as Arne had suggested he did, rather than the more visible front door. Alex said he would be there by five at the latest. Normally Bo changes out of his school uniform as soon as he gets home, but today he will wait for his guest to arrive. Understandably, he's just a little anxious, but excited at the same time. It was exactly a quarter to five when he heard a tapping on the back door. He's here. Bo reaches the unlocked back door and opens it. He looks up into Alex's smiling face.

'Come in……..please.'

'Thanks. This is nice.' Says Alex looking around the kitchen. It isn't particularly nice. Rather worn in places.

'Still in your uniform then Bo?' Alex observes, and then regrets his remark, thinking it forward of him to comment.

'Sorry, I didn't mean you shouldn't be.' He says, repairing the situation.

'I'm not usually. I get changed. It's the first thing I do when I get home.'

'Not today then?'

'No, I thought I shouldn't. You wouldn't want me to.'

'Do what you want Bo. I can stay down here while…….until you can show me what you do.'

'You can look now if you want to. I don't mind. I do everything upstairs in my room.'

All very enigmatic. Neither one quite knows what the other is meaning. Alex feels those goosebumps again. Is this what teaching is all about? So far he's enjoying the job.

Bo is half aware of what he must look like at this moment, although clothed, he's exposed, on his knees feeling for the folder stored under the bed. When a boy feels vulnerable to prying eyes, he might pull his jumper down with fingers and thumbs to cover his bottom. Odd that. In the position he finds himself in now, an interesting gap has appeared between the top of his trousers and the bottom of his school shirt. A lovely expanse of golden skin and lower, just a hint of parting paler forms. Alex smiles.

Bo pulls a large folder along the carpet and lifts it onto his bed.

'It's all in there.'

'Do you mind if I look. May I sit over there?' Alex says, picking up the heavy folder. 'You just carry on Bo.'

Alex opens the folder. There's a nice charcoal sketch of a landscape. He doesn't look any further than the first drawing, at least not for a minute or so. There's something else to look at first. A charming show indeed.

Bo didn't exactly make a meal of it, but it was an engaging performance to say the least. No doubt it's an unconscious one, or is it? The boy is certainly well-formed from head to toe, and the promise Alex had seen in uniform is amply fulfilled when the uniform, as nice as it is, is carefully laid to one side, and Bo is revealed, the form of the boy's figure beautifully lit by the window opposite. Bo is bathed in light. Alex looks down, slightly embarrassed as well he might be, but looks back at Bo and smiles. He has never seen a boy undress in front of him like this. Bo doesn't move. He and Alex just look at each other. Moments of truth indeed. The grace of a boy, so clearly defined and perfect. The poise, the veined hands, arms hanging, the head slightly turned away, eyes following his, one foot just behind the other in classic pose. The chest, the deep pink circles, slowly expanding with new air, and then slowly exhaling through open mouth. This is the real thing Alex, and he knows it.

'I usually have my shower now.' Bo states, moving gracefully towards the door, just stopping to turn again to Alex. Another pose?

'Ok Bo. See you in few minutes?'

Bo nods his head, and disappears into the darker space. See how he moves; the grace of a boy.

Alex needs time to reflect on Bo's undressing in front of him like that. It reminded him so much of Harry, his boyhood friend when they undressed together to shower on those sleepover nights. Then the feel of the cool sheets, the feel of his friend's body next to his. The smiles and giggles, the touching, the feeling, and what inevitably followed. Perfect bliss. He wonders whatever happened to Harry? Just one of those friendships that come along, and then somehow fade into the mists. No one quite knows how it happens, the beginnings and then the ending as if it never happened at all. But it did happen. The beginning of Alex's knowing what he would become; what he wanted, and what he didn't want. If Arne invites him, what should he do?

Alex looks back at Bo's drawings. They lack knowledge, structure, conviction. He needs to learn. That's his job. He will teach him, like he was taught. Harry was the perfect model, sitting, standing, lying; then they lay together on the rug. Do you remember the very first kiss Alex? You and Harry? Kisses everywhere that afternoon, so sweet tasting. Kisses everywhere. It's what you've always wanted.

When Arne arrived home just before six, he found Alex and Bo, now casually dressed in shorts and tee shirt, up in the bedroom going through Bo's collection of drawings and small watercolour paintings. Alex made all the encouraging noises that Bo needed to hear, without raising hopes too high. It would all mean lots of hard work if Bo was to progress. Arne's offer of supper was accepted by Alex. Before Alex left for home around nine thirty, words were exchanged between the two men immediately after Bo had been packed off to bed. It was a critical moment.

'Thanks Arne. That was nice. Good to see Bo too……and his work. I think you're very good for him. He obviously loves you very much. That's lovely for him. He's…….'

'Very lovable?'

'Yes he is. Can you come again? Bo would want that.'

'Yes, I can come any time. Just say the word.'

'I'm saying it now.'

The touching of hands, the pulling of two bodies together, the confirmation of mutual attraction, that all important first kiss. How was it? It was one of those that tells both men that this is the beginning of something. Just sex? Maybe not. Maybe more than that. Who knows, but for both men, sex is important to them. Neither has had much of that for a while, and in Arne's case, a long while due mainly to his responsibilities towards his best friend's son, Bo. Bo has become the love of Arne's life, but he's just a boy. Alex would of course be very different. Both men had slipped their hands lower as they kissed that first time and felt the other aroused; the all-important signal. There's no doubting that. Bo wouldn't be asleep yet. There's no question of Alex staying. Too soon, despite the urgency. An arrangement to be made? Oh yes. A last kiss, hands around neck, goodbyes and the arrangement made. It's work for Arne on Saturdays. It will have to be Sunday.

This sporting life.

I had spotted my next-door neighbour, Rufus, once or twice looking out of his bedroom window into our garden. This afternoon he was there and when I looked up he waved. I waved back thinking no more of it. Apart from the odd hello going in or coming out of his house, I never spoke to him. A few minutes later his face appeared by the gap in the fence that divides our two gardens. He beckoned me to slip through the gap in the fence and into his garden. He was dressed in cricket kit; everything white.

'On your own again Bo?'

'Yes. How do you know?'

'Know what?'

'That I'm on my own?'

'Oh, I often see you from my window. I just thought you might be. Do you play cricket?'

'No, not really. I do but not very well. I like it though. I watch better players. I like watching them.'

'So, how about coming with me to Sunday practice? I can introduce you to some people. That's all. I can't be a proper friend for you because I'm older. I do know someone who would like to meet you; at least he might. We could try? How about it. This Sunday?'

'Who is he?'

'The boy you met in this garden ages ago. Do you remember. He was a bit naughty. Did you mind?'

Er….no. No I didn't mind.'

'Did you think he was nice?'

'Yes he was.'

'Is. He is nice. We used to be friends but we aren't now.'

'Why not?'

'Oh, it's a long story. I don't really know what the story is if I'm honest. He might tell you. If he ever does, will you tell me?'

'Yes of course. Do you think he'll like me?'

'He might. Worth a try.'

Shy boy Bo. There's something about him that puts other boys off. It may well be his home situation which is unusual. Single parents are usually women. Bo lives with a man who is not his father. They even have different last names. The other boys think that's a bit weird; unnatural. Andersson is in a similar boat. They think he's weird, but for a different reason. Something else too. Two boys saw Andersson and another boy playing together at the far end of the school playing field. Enough said.

'But I haven't got any cricket stuff to wear.' Pleads Bo, hoping to be let off the hook.

'No problem. I have plenty I've grown out of. Mum won't chuck it out in case someone else needs it; you know, a deserving case. It looks like that's you Bo.' Rufus laughs. Bo looks horrified.

'Come round now. I'll kit you out.'

The bedroom, chez Rufus.

'Take everything off Bo.'

'And my pants?'

'Yes, if you want to.'

'Do I have to?'

'No of course not. Keep them on.'

Bo's standing in his underpants. Rufus inspects and is not impressed.

'They're no good Bo. Right style but way too loose. Have you got any smaller ones?'

'No I don't think so.'

'Ok. I'll find some.'

Off to the cupboard he goes in search of something that will hold a junior cricket abdominal [genital] protector in position without it falling out. Very important as every cricketer knows.

'Try these.' Rufus says briskly, handing him a pair he picked out from the bottom of the pile. Boys, size, aged 12 – 13. He's fifteen, but Rufus enjoys that feeling of tight security down there.

No getting out of this one Bo. It's time to reveal all. With Rufus sitting on the bed and Bo standing naked before him, his all is revealed for the second time to a relative stranger in as many days. Anyway, it wasn't so long ago he did see him at the bottom of the garden. Nothing seems to have changed with Bo. It's a neat little perky arrangement, perfectly formed. Bo steps into the garment, his hands resting on the fifteen-year-old's shoulders. Rufus does the pulling up, makes a couple of adjustments and sits back on his haunches.

'There. Perfect. Now the other pair. You need two pairs, one on top of the other to be safe, otherwise the plastic box thingy makes your skin sweaty and sore. You put the protector between the two pairs, like this. Get it?' Rufus puts his four fingers between the two layers of white material that fitted neatly around everything , his thum b resting on a bare tummy.

'You can keep these. If you get any more later, make sure they're white. Only white kit for cricket. Oh, and briefs like these. Nothing else will work. You'll need this in case you bat.' He stuffs the protector into the pocket of the white trousers.

Next, the socks followed by the trousers which were slightly too short but would pass. A white polo shirt slips neatly over Bo head. Lastly, an old Exeter cricket sweater. A feeling of pride sweeps through Bo.

'Perfect Bo. Very professional. Take all this stuff home with you when you've changed. All you have to do now is be ready by nine on Sunday morning. I'll call for you.'

What follows is known as a pleasant reprise. Rufus smiles at his minor success. There's been a subtle change. Was it the tightness, the feel of the material, or just the process young Bo was put through? By the time Bo is dressed, restored into his own clothes, the change has become quite noticeable. There was no denying Rufus this small pleasure. In some measure, he knows he's had his way with Bo.

Sunday morning. Boy meets boy.

Rufus rings our bell bang on nine this morning. The practice starts at nine-thirty at the cricket ground half a mile up the hill. The town, as it grows, is gradually spreading up the hill as it has nowhere else to go. Rufus carries a long bag with his bat and pads in it, gloves and a few other bits, like the plastic cup thing we have to slip in between the two pairs of briefs we wear. You don't want to get hit by a hard ball there. I'm feeling anxious on two fronts. One, how will I do in the practice, and two, will I like this boy; and will he like me?

Rufus wouldn't introduce me to Andersson because he's not allowed to speak to him. I've no idea why. He just pointed him out to me and told me to go up to him and ask him to help me get registered as a new recruit to the Club.

'You've got to do this yourself Bo. I can't help you with this bit. Look, he's over there on his own. You've just got to be brave Bo. This is one of those moments. Go on! By the way, you'll have to walk home without me. I'm being picked up from here straight after practice. I'm going to Granny in Exeter for lunch. Courage Bo!'

He pushes me forward. Doing this sort of thing does not come naturally to me. The boy with the pale hair, white almost, is about ten yards away. I can vaguely remember him from that strange event at the bottom of the garden ages ago. I didn't really look at him then but I do remember the colour of his hair. There were other things going on at the time. I'm looking at him now as I walk towards him. He's sitting on a wall by himself with a cricket bat in his hands, a bag on the ground next to him. I don't know what I'm thinking as I walk up to him. I know I have to do this. I'm so close to him now but he still looks ahead at some boys and girls chatting, laughing and running about. I have nothing in my hands, it's just me standing next to this boy. Then he turns his head and looks up. He doesn't appear to recognize me which is a relief. I'm looking at his face.

'Hello.' I offer, weakly.

The boy's expression doesn't change. He's just stares at me. This is not going well. So I just came out with it.

'Will you help me please? I don't know what to do.'

Help is at hand.

He didn't seem very interested to start with, like a person who has been told to do something they don't really want to do. But he did do it; got me registered as a new member of the Colts Section of the Club. A very enthusiastic lady helped by what must have been her son, did the paperwork and told me to bring five pounds next week. That will cover the coaching fee for the rest of the season she said. Then………

'Andersson, look after Bo won't you? I've put him in your group. Make sure he knows where to go and what to do. Is that ok? He's not to be left on his own.'

Is that ok? She said it like she meant it. Andersson nods his agreement and looks at me.

'Come on Bo. Our group is over there. Just follow me.'

I did follow him. We ran round the boundary edge to get warm, we threw balls at each other, we practiced various skills, as the man called them, hit balls with bats, laughed, cried out with joy when someone did something everybody thought was good, and after an hour and a half, Andersson and I walked down the hill and back into town. At the corner of Castle Road Andersson and I said goodbye. I felt truly grateful for his help this morning and wanted to tell him. But boys don't reveal their feelings easily; not if they can help it.

'Thanks Andersson.'

He stood there looking back at me. I think he has got my message. Just two words which stood for much more. I'm sure he understood.

'Anders. My friends call me Anders.' He says smiling. 'Next week then? I'll call for you. Bye the way, you were good this morning. The Under Thirteens are a bit short of players. You'll probably get asked to play.'

As soon as I got home I went up to my room and lay on the bed, feeling triumphant. I had two victories over fear to celebrate. A fear of joining an organization, and a fear of meeting a new person. I'm thinking about that person now, about his kindness towards me, and his other qualities on show this morning. I know I'm at that stage now when these things are very much in my mind. There's an urgency about it all. I need to see Anders again, as soon as possible.

I had no idea that Alex had come round today. Maybe Arne had thought I would be longer at cricket than I was. Arne obviously hadn't heard me come into the house. When I stopped thinking about Anders in all his wholesome glory, I got off the bed and indulged in a little self-examination, and headed off along the hallway to the lavatory for a quick wash. A few feet from the half open door I heard the noises; a panting noise coming from two people. I knew those kind of noises must mean something unusual is going on. I couldn't imagine why two people would be making noises like that, rather frightening noises, but my curiosity got the better of me so I approached the quarter open door of the bathroom and peeped inside.

Arne was behind Alex, his knees slightly bent and his hands gripping Alex's hips. I had heard about this kind of sex between two boys. He was pushing into him in with rhythmic thrusts. Alex, bending forwards slightly had his hands against the tiled shower wall pushing his body back against the weight of Arne's body, his head raised and his thick curved penis projecting forwards and upwards. It's difficult to describe what I was thinking and feeling; a whole heap of ideas and emotions all piled in together in an almost meaningless jumble. I instantly turned away, but a moment later I turned back again as the groans, little cries, and grunts got louder still. Arne was suddenly silent, followed by one final sharp intake of air, followed by a low moaning sound as his head lay against Alex back. He pulls Alex away from the wall. Alex is now leaning against Arne as he takes hold of him with his right hand; the other hand around Alex tummy. I watch on transfixed. They certainly haven't seen me. Not yet. I'm totally transfixed. The hand, in a fist now, works fast along the length of Alex's penis, suddenly slowing, and then finally stops. The sound Alex makes is like satisfying an itch; something you've needed to do and now you can do it. What you've waited for has come. Is that what happens? Have I actually seen it? Arne can just see over Alex's shoulder. He wants to see. The three of us see it. Rivulets sliding slowly down the tiled shower wall. I'm breathless and terrified I'll be heard, and aroused.

I'm out of breath as I slip back into my room and onto my bed. What I had thought of doing about my thoughts of Andersson, I do now with that bathroom image burning in my memory. And at the last, those thoughts return. The boy in white, platinum hair flicked by the breeze, bending body that reaches for the ball, bending body as he crouches over cricket bat, glorious white seen through white, but now, here in my bed all is real enough, his buttocks in my hands, my lips on his, my tongue slips and slides with his, tummy against tummy, our hands gripping and clawing, our legs entwined, our sexes burning.

After the climax, the quiet. Such sweet reflection, the glowing as my heat cools, all tinged with guilt. Come, more blessed Sundays!

Arrangements.

I'm lying between Alex and Arne in the big bed. Arne had come into my room to apologize. Alex had caught sight of me as I retreated from the bathroom door. He was mortified that I might have seen what he and Arne were doing in the shower. I told him that I hadn't seen anything, which was not true. Admittedly I had witnessed little more than a snapshot, but that both shocked and excited me enough to do what I had done a few minutes ago. Sunday afternoons is a quiet time for Arne and I, and we often lie in bed for an hour or so talking about this and that, and things that are affecting our lives. I'm in his arms, upset with shock and happiness at the same time., the newness of everything.

'I need to know what you were crying about Bo. Will you tell me please?'

I tried to explain my feelings. It's all about kindness, and love I suppose. It was mainly about Andersson. I just had this overwhelming gratitude towards him for treating me like he did this morning. He could easily have rejected me. He didn't. Right now he's the sun of my soul, my saviour dear. Just as Arne has been, and still is, an ever will be I hope. I'm just in one of those boy type emotional whirls. I can't help it. I cry a lot.

Alex is gently stroking my back. I've known for a while he really likes me, as I do him.

Alex has just kissed the back of my neck. I've stopped crying now. It made me giggle which Alex liked. I'm back to feeling excited again, and hoping very hard that Arne and Alex are friends; proper friends. We just have a sheet over us at the moment. I'm wriggling backwards so I'm touching Alex, or rather he's touching me on my back; right at the bottom. That's my fault, not his. He didn't move, I did. I'd love to look but I can't do that. I want to kiss Arne for being so good to me. I'm in that mood again. Just so grateful. I do love him so much. But Alex is different of course. I'm old enough now to know what I like. What I'm attracted to. I have admitted to myself that Alex is very attractive, and I'm attracted to him alright. He is to me too. I know that well enough by now. The looks. The little touches. Can we be honest about these things? Right now we are a kind of triangle with me at the top about to fall down onto Arne and Alex. A trinity if you like, with a small 't' of course. If people could see us now, they would say it was a very unholy trinity. I don't think it is. Just the opposite.

I've turned towards Alex now, in our big bed, and Arne is stroking my back. It's a gorgeous feeling I'm having.

Arne has just whispered some words in my ear.

'Alex wants you. Will you go to him……just for a few moments Bo?'

Alex has let me lie on him, his arms around my back, my hands on his chest. I can feel the rough skin of his face on mine. I want to kiss him.

I woke up on my own, in the middle of the bed, uncovered. I don't remember going to sleep. Alex is sitting on a chair at the end of the bed. He has a black book on his lap and a pencil in his hand.

'I take this everywhere Bo. You should do the same.'

'Is that me?'

'Well there's no one else that looks like that here Bo. Sweet dreams? I'll rub it out shall I?'

'No don't. I like it just as it is.'

One month later.

'How do you feel about Alex being here Bo. Tell me truthfully please.'

'If it's what you want Arne, it's what I want too. I love you and want what you want; all of it. Alex is lovely, and I love him in a completely different way to you. Do you remember that first Sunday?'

'Yes. I'm sorry about that.'

'When I came into your bed; you and Alex? Can I again? Sometimes?'

Alex and Arne make love in their bed after I've gone to bed. They make sure I can't see or hear them but I know that's what they're doing in there. Sometimes I get up and listen at the door and I know when they've finished. When they've stopped doing it, I scoot off to my room and out of sight. Either Arne or Alex come in a bit later to make sure I'm asleep. It's pretty easy to pretend. But I have something I have to tell Arne. I'm going to sneak into their room tomorrow morning, early, and tell them what Andersson said to me.

06.30. Monday morning.

I squeezed myself in between Arne and Alex. I think they were about to make love again. A new relationship, Arne calls it. I call it something else. Of course I'm pleased. I quite fancy having two dads. But I'm here to tell my 'boys' as I now call them, my news. The boys make room for me, reluctantly. They both have early morning issues that need dealing with no doubt and it's impossible to work myself between the two bodies without knowing it. Alex gives me a sloppy kiss on the back of my neck while I land one on Arne's mouth. Alex lets out a very loud sigh indicating that my arrival is badly timed.

'Sorry, but I've got to tell you something.'

'What now? What is it Bo?' Asks Arne briskly.

I told them both what Andersson had said to me on our way back from cricket, and what I had said back to him, and that it had made me cry. I got another kiss from both of them.

'You have school this morning Bo. Don't be late.'

'So has Alex.' I reply cheekily.

'Exactly. Is that all?'

Not the time or place. I get the message. Clear off Bo.

Revelations.

Cricket matches allow chunks of time for thought and reflection it seems to me; as in, nothing much happens when you and your friend are batting last. They were short of players for the Under Thirteens which is why I've got a game. We're batting, which is to say not us; not me and Andersson, which is highly convenient as we can wander around the white chalk line which defines the playing area, the boundary, and sit in the grass and talk. That's what cricket is all about for me, talking to Andersson. Something has changed in my life, and for the better because I have a real friend now. It's all happened so quickly. He now knows about my life, and I know a fair bit about his. One of the first things he wanted to know was my connection to Rufus, my next-door neighbour.

'He's the reason I've met you.' I explained, fully.

'We were friends once.'

'What happened?'

'My parents worked it out; one or two details about our friendship; what was going on. I went to stay with Rufus for a week when they had to be away. They thought I was sleeping on a mattress on the floor in Rufus's bedroom. I wasn't. That was it. I have never forgiven them. They can't face the fact that I'm not bothered about girls.'

'Looking like you do Andersson, the girls must be all over you.'

'That's what they can't understand. They are, but I'm not all over them. They practically line them up for me. Invite them for tea and then pack us off to my bedroom. I'm thirteen, just like you. They gave me a book about sex to read. I know all that stuff by now. Mind you, the bit about boys who like other boys was amusing. Do you know how boys do it?'

'What, the real thing?'

'Yes.'

'Have you ever done it like that?'

'No. Have you?'

'Nearly; with Rufus.'

'Did you want to?'

'Yes. But at the last minute he decided we shouldn't do it.'

'Why not?'

'He said he was taking advantage of a younger boy which was wrong. I couldn't see the problem myself.'

'Do you like talking like this Andersson?'

'Yes I do. It's fun isn't it?'

'Yes it is. It's what friends do isn't it? Talk about things like that?'

'I would invite you round but……'

'Your parents would suspect?'

'Yes. Can I come to yours?'

'Of course. What about after school. Where do you go?'

'Exeter. I have a homework club after school, every day, but nothing on Sundays now, apart from cricket in the summer. I get a later train. Rufus is on an earlier one. It was all planned so I never see him.'

'Nothing on Sundays? What did you have?'

'Church. A big church actually. Twice on Sundays. My parents thought it would be good for me. Actually it was good for them. Their little boy all dressed up like some barbie doll on a shelf being admired by old ladies…….and some others too. I quite liked it as it happened. Every time you looked in their direction, their eyes were on you. I think that's why they were there. Because we were there. Objects to feed their imaginations.'

'Crikey! Do you really think so?'

'You're rather naïve Bo. People who would like to know what you look like underneath all that kit they dress you up in twice on Sundays. I never minded it. I took it as a compliment.'

'You do stand out in a crowd a bit. Did any of them ever see you…..like that?' I ask, laughing.

'No. They would have fainted if they had. Heart attack or something. You have your school uniform on underneath, minus the blazer, and six pairs of pants on underneath your shorts. One or two of the men could get a bit too touchy feely. You know, ruffling your hair and all that stuff. It was quite fun to encourage them by smiling back and touching the front of your trousers as if what they were doing was turning you on. Silly games really. it's not like here at the Club. You can get changed here if you want; shower even. Most of the boys turn up already changed. Not everyone does. I don't for a start. Some of us come straight here from school so we have to change here. When did you know?'

When did I know? It's a question I've been asked before; by Arne.

'Ages ago. You just know don't you?'

'That's true for me too. I knew by the age of ten. A boy at a party kissed me and put his hand inside my short trousers. We were hiding in a cupboard at the time. He kept his hand in there for ages. I got excited and put my hand inside his pants. It was like a tiny little nail, but good to feel. I'm pretty sure I knew at that moment that's what I really wanted. The rest of it came later.'

What did that mean?

'The rest of it came later?'

'Sorry. I mean the touching and rubbing. Not until secondary school. What did you think I meant?'

'Nothing. Just a bit of ambiguity in your last sentence.'

'Oh, you mean that ?

'Yes.'

'About a year ago. A bit of a gradual process. You?'

'Same here.'

'When?'

'A couple of days ago.'

'Really? Ooh, a tasty new boy eh?'

'Tasty?'

'That's the first thing you do isn't it?'

'Is it?'

'You are very naïve Bo.'

'And what's the next thing you do?'

'Somebody else's.'

We laughed. It's great to compare notes isn't it? We were lying side by side in the grass and terrified we'd have to get up and bat.

'Have you got one Bo.' Asks Andersson quietly.

'Yes. Have you?'

'Umm. A good one.'

'Lets hope we don't have to bat soon.'

'The first two are still batting. The other team have rubbish bowlers. I doubt if we'll be needed.'

'Have you still got it?'

'Yes. It's your fault.'

'No it isn't; it's yours.'

'Ours then.'

'Ok, ours.'

A short pause while the two boys ponder the situation. Then Andersson has a question……

'Do you dare?'

'What; exactly?' Say I.

'A quick delve?'

'You'd have a job. I have two on don't forget. Tighties.'

'Ooh. Come on then.'

'You'll have to do it.'

'What's this then? Feels more like a chastity belt to me.'

'What, one of those things you wore for your big church gatherings?'

'Don't remind please. Actually I didn't wear anything underneath. You should have seen their faces when I lifted up my skirts. Palpitations all round.'

'Including the other boys?'

'Only joking. I'm having trouble here. Are you sure it's only two pairs?'

'Yes, quite sure thank you. There're Rufus's you might like to know.'

'Rufus's? How come?'

'At our grand dressing up event in his bedroom, he decided that mine didn't fit the bill, so he donated two of his old ones.'

'Should have a name tape in them then. His always had. A school rule in our place. Abandoned underpants are lying around all over the shop so we need to know whose are whose. Hang on, turn around a bit.'

'Have they?'

'Yes, but they're not his. They're mine. You are wearing two pairs of my old knickers, my darling buddy. What a cheek! That's what started the rot after our blissful week together. My mother wanted to know exactly how I had lost not just one pair of my under garments at Rufus's place, but two . That's not an accident. Rufus wouldn't give them back. He hid them.'

'Well, you're not having them back now.'

'You keep them Bo. Think of it as a bit of me caressing your bits. How are they feeling?'

'A bit constricted if I'm honest, and hot, and clammy probably. They need some cool air.'

'Well one bit is doing its best to escape the heat.'

More laughter. But there's no possibility of a boundary edge revelation. That will have to wait, but not for much longer. When two boys make up their minds about something like this, it's a matter for urgent consideration. It's a matter of where and when?

Saturday morning. 41 Castle Road. Upstairs. Three thirty in the pm.

'I like your Dad Bo. And Alex too. It was a really nice walk yesterday. I think I'd like to be a gardener of some sort. Maybe I'll get a degree in horticulture or something when I finally get out of this place. Landscape architecture maybe. Growing things. That would suit me.'

'Nothing to stop you is there?'

'No, not really. Imagine it, being away from parents for once.'

'What did you tell them about today?'

'That was easy enough. Library. Researching a project. That always works when you want to do something they wouldn't approve of. I think I'll go to London when I'm older. Go and be very naughty there just to spite them.'

'We've been naughty here, haven't we Anders?'

'We have Bo. Very. Have you been counting? I have.'

'Yes. That's the third time. Do you think that was the best one?'

'No not quite. That first time. That has to be the best.'

'You're right. Every other time is just affirmation isn't it?'

'And expression Bo. Do you know what I'm expressing when we do it?'

'Oh, Mr Expresso! Warm milk?'

'Apart from that. What Bo?'

'Feelings?'

'Yes, for you. You're my friend now Bo. I need you. Have you guessed?'

'I'm so very glad about that. I've had trouble finding friends as you know. Were you very fond of Rufus?' I say, changing the subject rather, and feeling my eyes begin to prickle again.

'In a word, yes. He said he loved me lots of times. He was like you. He cried at anything. He said it was one of his strengths, not a weakness. I believe him. It is a strength.'

'So what did you tell him Anders? That you quite liked him?'

'I like your sense of humour Bo. No, I never said I loved him. It remains one of my deepest regrets that I denied him that. It was cruel. I should have told him how deeply I felt. But I did love him. I didn't think boys of our age could do that, but I now know we can. I didn't think you could tell another boy something like. Too sissy. But we are perfectly capable of loving each other. Maybe one day Rufus will find me somewhere and rescue me from myself. By that time I'll probably need rescuing.'

'But he told you. So we are capable of anything and everything?'

' We seem to be, if what we do is everything. Can I cry now? You did. Did you realise?'

'When?'

'Just now. You know. Right at the end.'

'You were lying on me. You're heavy.'

'I didn't hurt you did I?'

'No! Slim Jims seem to get into certain places quite easily.'

'Especially slippery Jims. Anyway, so are you.'

'Yes, but I don't squash people like you do.'

'Or bite people's necks.'

'No, or scratch people's backs. It'll be a week before I can go on the beach. Do you realise that?'

'Yes you can. Just keep your tee shirt on. Your Dad will never know. Has Alex moved in yet?'

'I told my Dad about you. Alex moves in next week I think.'

'Are you pleased?'

'Yes. Yes I am. Really pleased.'

'Good. That will make a nice triangle then? A veritable holy trinity!'

'Ah, you've spent too much time in church.'

'Probably, but that's when I did my best thinking.'

Half an hour later.

The curtains are still closed, the warm room dimly lit, Andersson enjoying the the sight of the boy sleeping next to him. His eyes follow the contours of Bo's body, the ins and outs and the delicate lines that describe his face. Fingertips touch the boy's flesh, stroking the delicate dark hairs on his forearm. He can't resist now. It's all so inviting. If he wakes, he wakes. Once more this afternoon…..before Arne returns? Surely there will be time. Bo's body stirs.

'Were you asleep Bo?'

'No, I don't think so.'

'What was that snoring sound then?'

'Oh, sorry.'

'Is that the future then; what I've got to look forward to? When is Arne back?'

'At six as usual. Another hour and a half. How long ago was it?'

'According to my H. Samuel, exactly an hour ago.'

'Seems like five minutes.'

'Am I annoying you Bo?'

'No, don't stop. Are you trying to tell me something here?'

'Yes. Sorry I squashed you last time. Would you like to lie on me? It's your turn.'

Andersson sees to the new arrangement, the necessities required, the smiles, the gentle caresses, the sweet kisses, until everything is ready.

No words. They won't speak for another twenty minutes or more.

Bo didn't exactly squash his friend along the way, now they were this way up, this way around, inside out and backwards. Not everything is plain sailing when you're new to things, but they will manage alright; perfectly this time, and then the other times too. This way, or the other way? Such a sweet conundrum.

And finally……

Shall we leave it there? Let young love take its course? And other loves under their roof, and in countless other roofs no doubt. Such is life; and romance, and passion. But spare a thought for those others who feel the ship of romance has passed them by through no fault of their own. Circumstances? Wrong time, wrong place? Feelings denied? Feelings rejected. Or perhaps it was just never meant to be.

So Bo and Andersson are having their moment in the sun, plenty of moments by the sound of it. Enjoy yourselves boys while you can, and keep safe from harm. And do you know what I think? I think that far too honourable Rufus might just catch up with that lovely platinum haired boy, Andersson, one day. You see if he doesn't.

The story concludes.

Comments are welcome. raphaelhenry59@gmail.com

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We support Ukraine — Мы поддерживаем Украину — Ми підтримуємо Україну

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A Holy Trinity

by Rafael Henry