The Persistence of Memory

by Rafael Henry

An afterword

With Duncan gone, I wanted to leave the plague village of Poverty S. Erth behind me. Far behind.

Five years have passed since I last lived at Morwenna House for more than the odd weekend, where I lived with my father and Sean, my lovely co-parent. What a wonderful city Bristol is, with all that maritime history, much of it dark and unspoken of. They might talk of the black boys brought from the Caribbean Isles and sent into domestic drudgery, of the tall ships that carried them here, of sugar and spices, of Isambard Kingdom Brunel and his bridge over the Gorge, of plays and music at the theatre, and of sweet singing in the choir at the great innovative Cathedral there. Bristol, my lovely, my queen of cities.

Sean said I ought to get away from the village, and that school, as he called it. I told him about Quintus's rather overbearing influence in the place, and the general febrile atmosphere pervading. He thought I needed a clean break and to go somewhere fresh and invigorating. Thus, I abandoned the idea of doing an IT degree with the Open University, which would have meant continuing with my job as the IT technician at the school. There were places left on the Bristol University course. A no-brainer as far as Garth was concerned.

'Far enough away, but not too far Alex. We don't want to lose you just yet. About right for you I'd say.'

I agreed, perfectly placed. A couple of hours on what are now good roads, what with the M5 to Exeter and the much improved A30 that went right past the turning for Truro on its way to Lands End, with nothing beyond there except for the wild Atlantic and the east coast of America.

I worked hard and won myself an Upper Second Class degree in Information Technology, followed by a teaching qualification from the same institution which meant there was no uprooting to go through, just a smooth line to be drawn into my future as……..what?

The IT Department had plenty of contacts in the tech industries as quite a few of the lecturers were part time and had jobs in the business, so if you wanted employment on graduation, you just had to ask. It's a fast-growing business so you can pick and choose your job, basically. And I had my teaching qualification.

I was in Smiths, the newsagents, and picked up a copy of the Times Educational Supplement, in which are advertised all the teaching jobs available in the UK, not that I was seriously interested. But my job in systems analysis………well, was not really very inspiring, and dominated by a large group of nerdy types, some of which had been on my course. Sifting through the ads in the TES, what did I see under the 'Secondary Education' section?

Required immediately. Teacher of IT. A young bright person committed to the development of a new exciting subject in a thriving and forward-looking school. New facilities. Accommodation available in exchange for some light pastoral duties. Salary above Burnham. Negotiable. Apply by hand written letter to the Headmaster's Secretary a.s.a.p. Full detail available from the school. Truro 02769 206785

I bought the paper, re-read the ads several times and went for a long walk to think about it, with my tummy turning over as the implications began to dawn on me. Should I? Should I not? I'd heard a few things about the school in the six years since I was last in the place. I knew Quintus Beer had gone, as had Dr Angus Simpson, the old Headman. I knew my old friend Hillary, the Arts Co-ordinator was still there, so that's a positive. Why not? I can always say no, and that's if I'm offered anything. I may well not be.

The interview went well, a young Head, and very different from Angus. And no Quintus. I had a chance to talk to Hillary too, at lunch.

'You could even continue your artwork here Alex. Everything's better now. A bit of fresh air has blown in. You could make a fantastic contribution. They'll give you everything you want. Why not?'

They offered to put me on a pay scale way ahead of where I would normally be, ie. at the bottom as a Newly Qualified Teacher, but……..there's a catch. I thought there might be, as suggested in the job ad.

'We need to maximise our investment in the new building and all the expensive kit within it Alex. We need to keep it open for the boys to use after school hours. The boarders particularly. We are always looking for things to keep them out of mischief. Consequently it might suit you, and us, if you were residential? How would you feel about that? I have to tell you that this aspect of your appointment is rather crucial Alex?'

Right, I get it. Live in, or no job.

I accepted the conditions of service, in full, having negotiated myself up yet one more peg in the pay scale, eight points up Burnham Scale One, but still well below my previous salary in Industry. But I knew I could go back into the IT business in a heartbeat, should I want to. It'd just this fucking fascination, if I may put it that way, for schools. And all those delights that go with them. After all, they wouldn't exist without that essential ingredient. You know what that is. This appears to be the issue with me. Well, not so much an issue, as a very interesting and engaging element in the equation, shall we say?

'I'm going to take you over to School House to meet Matron.' Philip Robinson says.

'I thought the accommodation would be……..somewhere else; Sir?'

'I'm afraid not Alex. Nothing else available sadly. It will mean some very light pastoral duties, but there's no charge to you Alex. It's free accommodation. That's worth quite a bit. And free meals too!'

Oh bloody hell. Free meals. Wow! I can't wait. But light duties? Ok, let's see what's involved. But first, secure the job .

'I shall need your answer immediately Alex. I may have others to see. Would you find yourself in a position to accept my offer?'

Yes I am in said position to accept, so that's done now. And now for my appointment over in School House, the building which houses the boarders and in which Quintus had his flat. This could be interesting.

I never had anything to do with the boarding side of things, last time around. My experience of boarding was as a boy at S. Endellion, not so very far from here near the beautiful Cornish coast, but I doubt if things are the same as they were there. I hope not! The oldest boys ruled the place, not exactly with a rod of iron, but something similar, or so it seemed to me, a mere eleven-year-old fag. That word always amused Garth.

'If ever you go America, better not announce the fact that you were once somebody's loyal fag Alex!' He would say.

Quite. To announce that you are a prefect's personal fag might just give the wrong impression to our American friends. We're a funny old lot, us British.

'Come!' The Head of House shouted at the closed door with the boy behind it who had timidly knocked. There was another prefect in the room too. He'd had his eye on this little boy fairy. That's what they called the pretty boys from the new crop. Naive little boys, most of them. Not this one though, the cheeky little sod. Pretty? Umm, in a very boyish sort of way I suppose. Nice arse? Absolutely, in those perfectly fitting grey short trousers half way up the thighs, or in some cases, higher than that. And at the top? Anything? Let's say, just a hint of a bump. You wouldn't want more than that. Too overt. No, a little mystery is much more exciting. What does he keep locked away in there? And where did he go in the summer? Somewhere nice and sunny by the look of those legs, the tan not worn off yet, though it's October already, and even the sun-bleached hair is still in evidence. Far too good to miss, this one. But it's not Robin Pemberton's decision, which boy he'll be given to fag for him. That's down to the Head of House. Michael Trelissik, dressed as he is in his purple silk waistcoat under dark grey suit.

'Got your eye on anything Robin? If he's not spoken for already, it can be arranged dear boy.'

'I have actually Michael.'

'Oh, now let me guess. That little tyke, Luke Fuller……..perchance?'

'Got him in one Michael. Bang on.'

'Quite. He is everything in one cute human form, isn't he just?'

Pemberton goes a warm shade of red. He agrees. He noticed Luke Fuller that first evening standing there, bemused and lost.

'Are you alright there? What's your name? Here, let me help you. Try not to worry too much.' Pemberton goes on, picking up the boy's holdall. He sees the blue eyes looking into his. If he asks Michael nicely, maybe he'll be given him.

The boy answers the command of 'Come', turns the door handle and enters the room to see the Head of House sitting in his tastefully worn brown leather armchair, salvaged from the Masters Common Room clear out last year, and Robin Pemberton's figure to his left, ensconced in similar styled chair, but fittingly smaller.

The boy's a picture as he stands there in classic pose, hands held together to his front, feet not quite together, head tilted just a tad to one side. He looks at Trelissik with that 'I was pleased when they told me Trelissik wanted to see me' expression on his face, tempered with that 'I don't think I've done anything wrong' look.

'Sir? You wanted to see me Sir?' Pemberton's boy asks meekly, eyes suitably glazed in expectation. He has an inkling why he's been summoned. He's going to be fagging for someone. But who? He glances to his left and sees Pemberton looking at him. Drooling more like. He's very aware that Pemberton fancies him. He's always looking at him. Too much of a coincidence.

'Indeed I do wish to see you. Do you like toffees Fuller?'

'Yes Sir.'

'Then if you wouldn't mind picking it up, you may have it.' He says, tossing the gold wrapped sweetie onto the floor and in such a position that will necessitate the boy to turn to his right, move a couple of feet forwards, and bend down to pick it up, thus turned away from Pemberton. A choice move indeed.

His elders and betters watch the boy bend double, legs kept perfectly straight, to pick up the tasty morsel.

'Thank you Sir!' Says the boy, pocketing the sweet.

'Don't thank me Fuller. Thank Pemberton here. You'll be fagging for him this term. Would you like that Fuller?'

'Yessir. And thank you Sir! I would like that.'

'Splendid. Now come here.'

The boy moves a few paces forward.

'And get this cut.' He says, lifting the boy's flaxen locks with one long bony finger, the hair that falls at the back of the boy's slender neck. 'You'll be on wake-up call. Six thirty sharp, and don't be late. You can go now. Oh, and in your dressing gown. Go on now! Scram!.'

Trelissik and Pemberton watch the boy turn and leave the room, who was wondering, already, if he should keep his pyjamas on under his gown? He'd heard from other fags you don't. Underpants by all means, yes, but definitely no pyjama bottoms.

'Now what do you have to say to me Robin?' Asks Michael Trelissik, smiling.

'Thank you Michael. Thank you very much.' Pemberton replies, already deeply moved by the prospect of this boy, this one in particular, a bit of a heartthrob for him, the nubile new boy that will move his shoulder this way and that, to arouse him from sleep. And as soon as tomorrow morning.

'Now don't say I don't do anything for you. I hope you enjoy him, but be careful with him. Please consider the others that will come after you. We don't want him spoiled do we? Oh, and feel free to return the goods if not completely satisfied.' He says, smiling.

They had both looked at the boy as he bent down to pick up the sweet, and thought what they had seen to be entirely satisfactory; satisfying in fact. Well, he would be once properly trained in the art of exactly how to wake a boy up, in the nicest way possible. All the boys knew about this. News travels fast. It was what you do with your elbow apparently.

Pemberton had orgasmed twice that night from the sheer excitement of acquiring his dream fag, courtesy of his friend Trelissik. The following morning would be his first time with the boy. He thought long and hard about it. Perhaps the boy would like to talk for a couple of minutes, sitting on the edge of his bed? What if the boy gave him a sight of his nether regions? The dressing gown cord came accidentally loose and he saw the boy's little cocklet? Would that be the signal from the boy? He wanted something too?

Trelissik looked at his friend when he stood up to leave the room. To see if his brief interaction with the boy had had any visual effect on him. It looks like it. No wonder.

It was just one side of an A4 sheet of printer paper, the duties expected of the Assistant Housemaster. That's me. My title to go with Director of Information Technologies. I'm the DIT. Hmm. Not sure if I like being a dit. Tit? Dick? I know how clever boys can subtly alter titles. They'll find something. They always do.

Reading the typed set of instructions, I wondered if the actual Housemaster did anything at all? He doesn't seem to do much. It would appear that I'm responsible for a good deal of what happens of a morning, and of an evening too.

Dorms 1, 2, 3, and 4 to be woken by the handbell at 07.00, 07.10, 07.20 and 07.30 respectively. Staff to patrol the dorms to ensure boys go down to shower in strict rotation with ten minutes between groups. Beds to be aired. Windows to be opened. Boys to wait in silence. Boys to be observed during showers as and when practical. Conversation forbidden. On return to dorm, boys to dress promptly and in silence. Beds to be made [with hospital corners] All boys leave for Breakfast by 07.55.

Boys' bedtime to be strictly observed, viz: 19.40, 19.50, 20.00 and 20.10. Lights out forty minutes later. Staff to patrol dorms until 21.00 to discourage any talking. Repeated offenders to be reported. All pants and vests, if any, to be placed in laundry hampers, nightly. Other clothes folded and placed on bedside cabinets. All infringements, non-compliance, ill-discipline, to be reported.

Etcetera etcetera. Not much then? But then, thinking about it, what else can you do? There are rotas for everything.

Matron showed me around the building, refurbished since the days of Angus and Quintus. She left me soon after my brief introduction to look around the place, the sit-down lavatories with no doors, the line of wash basins, mirrors in front, the row of six shower heads, and another set of shiny stainless steel urinals. All very new and smart. And then the dormitories, six beds in each, decently spaced apart so too far away to reach a neighbour, unlike those at S. Endellion, and with good sized cupboards in between the modern beds, and with doors at the front for any bedtime reading material plus other sundry items.

I opened one of the doors to check out what Malcolm Instance kept private. His name is attached to foot of the bed in carefully hand printed biro. A can of that dreadful smelling Lynx underarm spray. Robbie brought some of that pungent aerosol to Morwenna but it didn't survive long.

'What on earth is that smell Alex?'

'Oh that's Robbie's.'

'Well get rid of it before it destroys my sense of smell!' Was his wholly understandable reaction. Filthy stuff.

Until it becomes a necessity, I loved the aroma of a boy, possibly a little warm, sweaty even, and smelling as a boy should, with his wonderful natural perfume.

A battered copy of Mr Crabtree Goes Fishing was underneath the can of Lynx. I loved those books, a total inspiration to any aspiring fisher boy. But what's underneath it? Ah, what's this? I picked up the slim volume and opened it. There was plenty of this kind of thing at S. Endellion, passed around the dorm after lights out for a boy's inspiration. One hand holding it for concentrated viewing, the other somewhere else , and busy.

'Can I have it after you? And hurry up .' The boy whispers.

'In a minute. I haven't finished.' The boy answers.

The page that had fired his imagination was of a boy about to mount his partner, weapon in hand, and fully primed. The sex of the other person? I'm not saying. Anything else in the cupboard of surprises? Yes, one other item. A small packet of tissues for when Malcolm needs a nose blow. It won't be long before I will meet Malcolm, just a matter of a few days now. It will be good to fit a face, a complete body even, to the contents of his cupboard.

And there's the dirty wicker clothes basket over there. That'll be worth a quick perusal to see if that contains any surprises.

It's all underwear and socks, pale blue shirts and a few white skimpy tops, white sleeveless ones for the weeds amongst us. The boys who feel the cold, even in summer. A couple of PE shorts too, stained yellow from contact with the groundsman's unwanted sand he dumped in the long jump pit. He filled it with the wrong kind of sand, building sand, the silly man. It stains the boys' athletics shorts.

The beds are made well, with good neat tight corners. Matron must be one of those efficient no-nonsense types that are quite brusque with the boys, but essentially very kind and caring, and who don't give out pills to boys in just their pyjama bottoms complaining of a headache when all they really want is a good hard hug and a long cuddle, and a goodnight, God bless kind of kiss. I liked her. Not that touching a boy like that was within her remit. That will be my job.

No surprises in the dirty clothes basket, apart from the wisdom and good taste of the boys' mummies, or possibly even the daddies? At Endellion everything out of sight and under trousers was white. Things have changes now, six years on, what with pastel colours, deeper colours too, even black in one case, but almost all in the latest brief 'slip' style, of which I heartily approve. The boys always look good in those, with just one thin single triangle of cotton to control small matters, which interestingly were preceded by very brief swimwear, now mandatory at all European public swimming pools, but not in England, more's the pity. But casting an eye over the shelves of newly laundered clothing that ran along the far wall, they looked to be mandatory here, all navy blue, for training and recreational purposes. Excellent.

I found Malcolm's section of the shelving and picked up an example. Nice quality from Next, and virgin white. I checked the label. Age 11-12. Part set [6]. I counted eight identical pairs. Perfect Malcolm. All I need now is to see all of the body that inhabits these delectable objects.

My official duties begin tomorrow when the boarders return after the Easter hols, the first of which will be introducing myself to the boys, all twenty-four of them, and then putting them, post showers, to bed. I've had a couple of nights in my room, or rather two rooms, one 'sitting room' with a small hotplate, a sink and a kettle in the corner, plus a separate rather tiny shower space with a loo and a very noisy extractor fan that comes on when you pull the light switch cord. Outside my door is the corridor that leads to the boys' rooms, just a few paces away, which are pleasingly light and airy, with good sized sash windows open a few inches to allow a gentle breeze in. All I need now are the boys.

One month later.

The day job is straightforward, made easier by the useful fact that no one else has a clue about it. IT to the rest of the staff is a complete mystery. As for teaching, I'm starting at the bottom with twelve first year boys who will go through the years all the way to the top in four years-time, and maybe beyond that. We'll see. I have a purpose built 'lab' with ten machines in it, plus most classrooms are connected to the others in the lab. It's a machine in waiting really, a new empire waiting for me to build.

The night job involves very different bits of kit. Boy creatures, for want of any other description, aged eleven to fourteen, the older, another twenty-six of them, being housed in another purpose built 'House' elsewhere in the grounds. I think, at least at this moment I do, which will keep me here, that these are people I see and enjoy each and every day, as they prepare for another day of living and breathing and learning, hopefully. And then the night time when they all shut down and sleep in peace. In between I see the beauty of them, often laid bare for me to observe and marvel at, six at a time, standing naked while they wash themselves very efficiently, everywhere, it has to be said. Matron has given them dire warnings about any inefficiencies she discovers. I'm referring to lazy and thus incomplete bottom cleaning.

'Have you just been to the loo just now Teddy?' I ask one of my favourites. He's totally gorgeous. A truly lovely boy, in every way.

'Yes Alex.'

'A sit down one, I think it was?'

I happen to know it was.

'Yes.'

'Washed your hands?'

'Err, yes.'

'Everything else?'

'No Sir.'

'Then go and do it.'

So he goes next door to a wash basin and does it. I don't want to see it, but I know from a vantage point near the door that he has followed the correct procedure. Good lad. Taking good care of the delicate anal tissue I know to be rather important.

I know all about the friendships that can and do form between boys which are not necessarily limited to playing together and chatting, but become deeper. And not just between boys of a similar age. Boys can have crushes, or pashes, on much older individuals, or much younger ones, and even young teachers who they perceive to be role models, or simply very attractive personalities they want to be with, often in close physical proximity. They enjoy being touched, like having their hair ruffled, or shoulder squeezed, or just patted on the back. Sometimes they have a very strong desire to be held tight, as in play fighting, and with an adult, treated like an elder brother might treat or cuddle a younger sibling. We saw this with Robbie and Rosie at Tregenna Cottages when they had to share one bedroom. Both were at that stage of sex-experimentation, and showed signs of becoming sexually involved with one another, which necessitated Robbie sharing a room with his father, Ralph Mole, prior to coming to stay with us at Morwenna House. Matron had warned me about affection being mis-directed amongst the boys.

'It's very easy for these things to get out of hand Alex. We have had problems, particularly with young members of staff and one or two of the younger boys. They get too friendly Alex, and mustn't be encouraged. Teddy Woodcraft for example. He's a very physical boy, as you may have noticed, with the other boys and……'

'Yes I have noticed.'

'I thought so. Do be careful Alex. It doesn't take much. Things can happen very quickly with a boy like Teddy. I know you're fond of them but please do err on the side of caution. Of course the boys are fond of you too. That's very obvious by now. So long as you can see the red line? You can can't you?'

It's a timely warning from her, clearly directed at my warm relationship with Teddy. She's noticed. I have to remember to act properly at all times. But how?

'May I ask you if Teddy has said anything worrying?' I said.

'No, nothing, apart from expressing his fondness for you. Jonathan too. They may be perceiving you to be something you cannot be Alex. Or shouldn't be. May I leave it at that?'

Yes, you may, but I'm shocked to be honest. What have I done? Have I misjudged everything? Teddy? I needed to talk to him, but when I did, he had a problem.

'It keeps on happening. Every morning when I wake up. There's more of it.'

'Well go and see Matron about it. She might get you to see the doctor. I'm sure there's nothing wrong Teddy. It's just the age you are. Have you tried talking to another boy about it? I can find an older boy who could talk to you? Would you like me to do that?'

'No. I want you . You're the only one I want to talk to. No one else. I can't talk to anyone else.' I want you to look at it. To help me. I know you'll know what to do. I don't want anyone else to look. Just you. Please? Will you?'

There's a rule of silence after the boys have the light put out at sleep time, very well observed usually. With the lighter evenings, the curtains are still effectively keeping the rooms pretty dimly lit so the boys can sleep, after whatever they feel they need to do. By the age of twelve, most boys are engaged in that relaxation pursuit, but not Teddy I strongly suspect. He's a young twelve, in every way, so certain body functions are getting ahead of his understanding of them. He showed me that evening a few days ago. I didn't ask him to, he just did it, in case you were wondering if I had ignored Matron's advice to keep well clear.

I go back and check the boys are ready for sleep, if not already gone. I do these visits every fifteen minutes or so. They don't know I'm there. Several pairs of knees are raised, and in one case they haven't bothered to disguise what they're doing at all, with their lower bodies visible, one hand busy. You'll know enough about me by now to know I wouldn't find that particular sight uninteresting. Boys reaching orgasm. Then there's a bit of fumbling around, some pulling up involved, and he turns over onto his side, head on pillow, and then some deep breathing, and then he's soon asleep. If there was anything to deal with as a result of his pleasure seeking, then it will be absorbed into warm tummy skin or disappear into pyjama bottoms very easily, leaving no evidence. Well, in the course of a week between changes, there will be something there to notice, as the dreaded Matron is not slow to point out.

'Boys have habits Alex.'

Another habit they have is not going to Matron with some of their minor problems, which they leave for me, being far more approachable than her, according to them. Something I'm pleased about.

'Can I show you something Alex?'

'And what might that be Teddy?'

He knocked on my door a few minutes before wake-up time for his dorm. I'm already up and dressed as I can't wake the boys just in a dressing gown. He doesn't wait to give me an answer but lowers the elasticated waistband of his pyjama bottoms to reveal his penis, held in his left hand. It's about half way up. With his hand he forms a tight ring at the base of his circumcised cocklet, squeezes quite hard as he works the ring formed by his fingers and thumb up from base to head. Out comes a tiny amount of clear viscous liquid which I recognize as pre-ejaculatory fluid.

'What is it Alex? Is there something wrong with me?' He asks, with those doe-like eyes of his, slowly filling.

He looks down and with a fingertip from his other hand, he touches the tip and extrudes an inch or so of the material from whence it came, then wipes the finger on his pyjama bottoms.

'No darling, there's nothing wrong with you! What you are showing me is perfectly normal. You are growing up. That's good.' I said, holding his shoulders.

'What is it then?'

'I'll explain it to you, very soon. In the meantime, go back to bed and ignore it. It's what boys get. It's a good sign. There's absolutely nothing wrong with you.' I said, looking at him straight in the eye.

One relieved little boy trots off back to his bed, now awaiting an explanation. That's tricky, what you can explain to these boys when they ask awkward questions best answered by a parent.

I know I need to discuss with the Housemaster, in my mind a totally useless article, just how much I can discuss with the boys when it comes to the regular questions they ask me about very personal issues they constantly have, not that I'll get an answer. But thinking about it, I am in loco parentis, therefore I'm bound to talk about anything that concerns the boys, just as a parent would; or should . I know from experience that many parents avoid awkward subjects concerned with sex, thinking that the school should deal with it. Why should the school be responsible? It's not our job, until it is. It is my job to explain certain things to Teddy.

The following morning I had another pre-wake up visit. I was out of bed but still just in my pants. I have to answer any call. I'm behind the door when I open it and see David Prospero standing there. He's the most physically mature boy in Teddy's room by far. In warm weather most of the boys abandon pyjama bottoms in bed. David stands in just his top. I look down to see something dangling there. He sees and a hand quickly covers it.

'It's Teddy Woodcraft Alex. He's crying.'

Oh bugger. What now?

I put on a dressing gown and went with David to their room. He's right; Teddy is distressed. He's lying on his side, knees raised, gently weeping. I think I know what's happened here. Teddy never does it, as the boys call it. Most of them do, but not Teddy.

'Thank you David. I'll deal with this now. You get back into bed.'

'Has Teddy had a wet dream; do you think? He was humping his mattress just now.'

The boys can be very perceptive, at times, surprisingly, and show genuine concern for others. Teddy is a popular boy with all of them due to his cuddly nature and in some measure, his charming immaturity.

'Maybe, yes. I think he has David.'

'Will he be alright?'

'He'll be fine. It's come as a bit of a shock to him probably. You know, the first time it happens?'

David looks back at me and there's almost a smile there. He knows.

'It's alright Teddy. I just need to look a moment. Ok?'

I drew back the covers, eased Teddy's body away from the middle of the mattress, and saw what I expected to see. A darker area of the white sheet, about three inches across. With Teddy on his back now, and still very hard down there, his eyes looking frightened, I drew back the covers.

'You're fine Teddy. Don't worry, you've had a dream. All boys have them. The first time you have one, it can be a bit frightening. I won't tell Matron! Lie on the other side until it's time to get up. Then come and see me. Ok? I'll explain to you what's happened, but it's nothing to worry about, you lucky boy.'

I stroked his head. I think that worked.

He was totally unprepared for this cathartic event, poor Teddy. I wish parents would prepare their kids for this kind of thing.

Typically, it's a slight swelling around the penis head, a result of poor hygiene, probably. Being circumcised, it was never an issue with me, but most of these boys are intact, quite rightly in my opinion. So at shower time, one has to check that the boys do wash under there. In general, they do. Another common problem is over zealous pleasure seeking resulting in very sore spots on the penis shaft, shown to you by a worried and embarrassed young boy. There's no way they are going to show that to Matron. Answer; three fingers and a thumb, rather than the whole fist method, at least until the problem has resolved. Then you have the choice. Meanwhile Teddy has an explanation to deal with.

Once something has been explained to them, properly, including the delightful Teddy, there's no problem left to deal with. Just the wet sheet in this case. I love him. I dearly wish he was mine.

I changed the sheet but had to tell Matron the reason why. She tutted a couple of times but accepted the inevitability of boys' behaviour, no doubt having seen it enough times before.

So I think I've said all I have to say now, probably much to your relief. It's been a good ride, as they say, what with the various characters I've mentioned over the years. One or two stand out, Johhny, Robbie and others, but Teddy will always be in my heart for the sheer beauty of the boy, inside and definitely outside. You'll have to imagine what your ideal boy might look like, or ideally, what he actually does look like, the dear sweet thing that he is.

He's sitting at our rather tatty upright piano right now, practicing for his Grade 2. Two lightly tanned thighs emerging from those little grey shorts, as Teddy sits very straight on the wide piano stool, his shirt detached, and just a couple of inches of bare back showing, and the hint of a white gathered waistband to add to an exotic blend of real human boy and a celestial angel. I stand in awe.

In a weak moment I asked him what he was thinking about that morning when his body finally needed to spill immature seed as it did at the culmination of a reverie that for me, on the rare occasions that I have been lucky enough to experience a nocturnal emission, one of the deepest and strongest and long- lasting sexual sensations I have ever had, or ever will have. Well, there might be just one or two exceptions. Hmm. Maybe even more.

'So, who or what was it then Teddy? Your inspiration for your dreams yesterday morning?'

'Yes I can remember Alex, vividly.'

He stopped playing, put his hands on his thighs, turned his head towards me and looked into my eyes so deeply, I thought…….

'It was you.'

I'm wondering if Pemberton was completely satisfied with Luke Fuller? Probably. I can't see the subtle charms of Luke not winning the day, or even the very early morning when most boys are very vulnerable to persuasion, with Pemberton, can you? When Luke wants something, or someone , he's going to get it I strongly suspect. And I'm flattered by Teddie's apparent pash for me. Mind you, I'm still only twenty-three and according to Garth, every boy's dream. Mind you, he's biased and has always flattered me for no real reason I could see. The trouble is that I've got Teddie for the weekend every month. The explanation for that is a tad complicated and to do with the monthly exeat for the boys when they all go home, or somewhere for the Friday and Saturday nights, and back late on the Sunday afternoon. So it's just him and me in the House all on our tod rattling around this place. He said he doesn't want to sleep on his own in his room.

'It's scary Alex. I don't like it. Please can I come in with you?'

No.

'Why not? It's not fair. Why do you want to see me suffer like that? That's unkind. I didn't know you like that . Unkind to boys.'

Like that eh? Well I am like that Teddie.

'Can I then? Come in with you tonight? Please?'

No.

'I like this rug. It feels lovely on my back.'

Does it? How nice for you. How about putting your tee shirt back on? And while you're at it, how about putting your knees down? From where I am in this armchair, I'm faintly embarrassed by the position you've put yourself in Teddy. Naughty boy. I know what you're up to. No good, which if one were interested, which I'm not, would be very good. Loose knickers, and just one boy orb showing plus the very tip of the other thing he keeps in his knickers. That's when he's wearing any. He has a habit of not bothering.

'I can still see you Teddy.'

'See what? These? You shouldn't be looking.'

Perhaps not but it's difficult not to.

'You're always looking at me.'

True, I am.

'What's wrong with it anyway? At least I'm not like you, all hairy and……..'

And what?

'Can I have a cuddle please?'

Why?

'You said I'm like a bear. A Teddy bear. They get cuddled don't they?'

Again, true.

'Well then? I coming.'

Teddy gets up off the rug and walks over to where I am in the large leather armchair, another refugee from the Senior Common Room. With the springs, or webbing under the seat so worn, one sinks into it somewhat. He sits across me, his legs over mine, his bottom nicely sunk into my lap, and my right arm with nowhere to go apart from around Teddy's right shoulder, his arms resting on his chest, hands on his bare tummy.

'Comfortable……..are we, your majesty?'

'Umm, sort of.'

'Why? What's the problem?'

'You. Arm round please.'

'It is round you.'

'Tighter. You're not trying hard enough.'

'Sorry. What should I be doing?'

'Holding me……properly. Both arms.'

An adjustment is made. Better use of my left hand.

'Better?'

'Umm. A bit.'

Hard to please, Teddy takes my hand and places very deliberately at the top of his left thigh, too far up for my comfort, but not for his. The little white shorts he's wearing have flared legs and frankly……..well, rather too accessible for safety. My safety, not his. He keeps his hand on mine. This I'm enjoying, the warmth of it, and what it means to me.

'I need to move you a bit Teddy.'

'Why?'

'You're sitting a bit awkwardly on me. Just get up a mo.'

Teddy half stood up, his shorts rucked up, the left side seam of his pants now below the hem of his shorts. He's got a bump. Not much of one but it's there.

'Go down again.'

'Like this?'

'That's better, and try not to wriggle around too much please.'

'Why not? I need to.'

'Because. Because it's awkward for me.'

'Why?'

It's like being cornered in a game of draughts. I know what he's trying to do. Get me more interested than I already am. He's trying it on with me.

'Stop moving my hand please Teddy.'

'I want to. It's fun. Anyway it itches there.'

'Use your hand then, not mine.'

'No. Your hand feels better. I'm not letting it go. Never.'

Teddy stretches his body backwards making me grip him to stop him becoming dislodged uncomfortably for both of us, then re-adjusts his position so that he's facing me a little more, his right hand on my chest. He knows I'm left-handed. As he begins to blow warm air into my flesh, a diversionary tactic, he pulls my hand higher up his thigh, his loose white pants clearly visible now, and the revealing open gaps either side. I ought to remove my hand right now, but I can't. So long as it goes no further, I'm ok. Then Teddy does something I could not have expected. He pulls the hem of his play shorts, and with it his pants, hard to one side to show me what's in them; a couple of inches of smooth creamy skin that covers the inner workings of his reproductive system, the head of which is completely covered, with a little extra overhanging and puckered at the very end. One of the two testicles are on view, which moves slightly, and then stops moving. No doubt encouraged by naughty thoughts lurking in Teddy's mind, his penis moves too, all by itself, as he holds the off-white material to one side. Teddy looks at me very straight in the eyes.

'What do you think Alex?'

'I think you look like a boy should look.'

'Nice?'

'If I'm honest, totally lovely.'

'So can we go to bed now?'

That film, Jaws, was an amazing show that came out a few years ago. I remember the underwater scene when the shark approached the camera with its huge mouth wide open, full of razor-sharp teeth and about to fatally attack its human target. I'm feeling like that right now. My head is almost in the predators vice-like grip and my whole life is about to be torn to shreds. But; this is an unbelievable opportunity to have my way with a beautiful boy who is at a stage in his life of very great interest to me.

The predator in this case is not me.

'Can we then?' Teddy asks again as I stare down at the most delectable little creamy specimen.

'No Teddy.'

'Later then?' He asks, pulling the fabric yet further to one side, revealing the other plump plum shaped object. Above, there's no sign of any pubic hair yet. Just the usual crop of tiny fine golden hairs that boys have there, and elsewhere too.

'I can't wait any longer. It's tingling……..inside.'

'Is it?'

'Umm. Look.'

Teddy uses two fingers and his thumb, in the time-honoured way, to slowly withdraw the overhanging skin back over the head as far as he can get it, which is quite a long way in his case, and then reversing the move so the head is covered again, and in so doing, the whole organ begins to swell, perfectly formed.

'Do, you like it Alex?'

'I do. It's very beautiful.'

'The tingles are getting stronger. What should I do?'

'I've no idea darling. Have you had those tingles before?'

'Yes.'

'And what did you do, to make those tingles go away?'

'This.'

He shows me what he does in bed at night, to help him sleep and make the tingles go away.

'But I want you to do it. Afterwards.'

'After what Teddy?'

'After you have. With me.'

His penis has lengthened now, the foreskin retracted, and as long and hard as it's going to get I fancy. Another perfect example of boyhood. He's taken his hand away and slipped it between his legs, deep within and under, and in motion, the gap between his legs wider to give perfect access. I'm looking at the dark opening in the centre of the boy's cockhead. There's a trace there, and as I look, there a tiny bit more. He's reached a certain stage. He's started, definitely .

'It's itching Alex. Right inside. I'll be good. I promise.'

'Good?'

'Umm. I promise I will be. You'll like me. Can we go to bed now . Please?'

So, what are you going to do Alex? Put your head into the jaws of death? Best be a good boy, and pack Teddy off to his own bed to sort his problem out himself, while you sort yours out. By this time, you certainly will have a problem to resolve. Ooh!

Teddy has been in bed for a good half hour now, with me stroking his face from time to time. Such a beautifully formed mouth the boy has, and ridiculously long eye lashes. Fingers through his hair, such soft pale brown hair he has. That kind of thing, while he fiddles, rather than plays properly under the covers. Fiddle I foe, he fiddles on, and then gives such a long sigh you might think he has actually orgasmed. Perhaps he has. Perhaps not. And then another even deeper breath and another great long long sigh. His eyes have been shut all this time, eyeballs occasionally moving underneath the thin translucent veined skin.

It took him fifteen minutes to drift off, one hand still in position. Typical boy. He's at that age when they can't keep their hands off it. I had better just check the situation, should I not? To be sure?

Perfect. All in good order now, resting quietly.

I woke up and found Teddy Woodcraft in my bed. It's big enough for two, easily. There's a small space between us. I've no idea when he decided to join me. Late last night? Early this morning? I don't suppose he'll know if I ask him, but I'm not going to wake him. I want to look at him for a while. All of him, from head to toe. He's a subject , rather than an object of beauty. An inspiration in fact, as so many just like him are to me. Not something to be spoiled or misguided, but to be nurtured, encouraged and above all, to be loved and cherished for what they are. Something beginning with a 'b'………..possibly?

It's just not fair is it?

I wondering if I should wake him. He looks adorable as he lies here with me. I'm up on one elbow looking at his face, his mouth slightly open, his breathing calm and measured. I've just had another look at him, elsewhere. I rather like that expression, morning wood . An apt description I'd say. Under those eyelids, his eyes mobile reflecting a sexual wakefulness some time before his actual consciousness becomes apparent.

It would be the easiest thing in the world, I assume, with just two fingers and my thumb to, very slowly, pass the thin skin of his prepuce back and forth over the business end of his eleven, almost twelve-year-old erect penis, and………maybe, no, certainly bring him to a sexual peak. Then again, perhaps it wouldn't work and he'll wake up? Or alternatively, and an infinitely better plan would be to achieve the same objective not using my hand but in another way. That leaves one's hand to stimulate the other part , that concentration of nerve endings highly sexed boys always want played with, at the same time. Now there's a thought?

All those years ago Quintus refused me, the bastard.

Teddy has turned further onto his back and I've done nothing, yet. And what if he woke? Perhaps just before orgasm? Or during even? Or immediately afterwards? Would he know, or object? I know he's experienced orgasm for a couple of years now. He told me. and I happen to know he's no longer dry. But fellatio? I wonder if he's ever had the pleasure of that, either as the doer or the receiver. I wonder. Knowing this bunch as I do now, and judging by the chit-chat after lights out, he probably has. That's when the boys talk about things they would prefer not to in daylight. In the dark, whispering to one another, is the time for such intimate conversations to take place. I have heard these conversations, unseen behind the door, open enough to hear.

'Have you ever done it?'

'Done what?'

'You know, not with your hand.'

'With a boy?'

'Yes. Like……..sucking.'

Silence.

'Have you?'

Morfe silence.

'You have haven't you. Tell me; please?'

'Why?'

'What's it like?'

'Amazing.'

'Did you do it to him, or…….'

'He did it to me first. Then I did it for him.'

'Was he older than you?'

'Umm.'

'Fucking hell. Did he come?'

'Yes. Loads of it.'

'What was it like?'

'Warm and a bit sickly.'

'Did you swallow it?'

'Not the first time. I spat it all out.'

'Did you do it again then?'

'Yes. The second time I wasn't expecting it. I swallowed it.'

'All of it?'

'Uhuh. It wasn't that bad. Quite nice actually.'

'Can you come?'

'Yes, but not like that. He gave me a shilling to do it for him.'

So there you are. These are twelve-year-olds, mostly, and not to be under estimated or taken at face value.

Last night, from our conversation, Teddy would welcome me taking considerable satisfaction from giving him such a pleasure. We talked about consent, and the law of the land, here in the UK at least, that commands us that we can't have that pleasure together, let alone be united in proper lovemaking. Not for another four years in fact, if I'm right about that. Maybe not. I wonder if that's the case everywhere?

Not in Nigeria, where the age of consent is just eleven years old . How about that? Surprising? I'm somehow not surprised.

Teddy Woodcraft has turned completely onto his back now, his knees drawn up and wide apart, thus presenting me with the perfect opportunity to provide for him, his eyes still closed, but I strongly suspect he's feigning sleep, just as I did when Quintus Beer looked down upon me just over ten years ago now as I presented myself to him in just the same way that Teddy is presenting himself to me now. A boy on a plate you might say?

I'm here waiting for you Quintus. Just you; now, because I'm ready for you. So, so incredibly ready for you. Do what thou wilt with me. I don't care if it hurts a bit, or even if it hurts a lot, and for however long it make take you to…….well, you know what I mean. The longer the better in all possible meanings of that word. It will happen just the way I want it to. The way you want it to. It will happen the way it should do. What is right for us, and us alone. Make love to me now Quintus!

I hoped we would be united in love then. I could see where Quintus had wiped the tiled floor in the bathroom. The slimy wet patch that hadn't properly dried. That's how he saved himself, and me. I saw him right at the end through the door slightly ajar. The last of it, hanging there like a silvery and slowly extending fine string, finally letting go, there now at rest in a little pool on the floor. I have the same decision to make, right now, as I stare down at this boy.

His eyes flicker open. He smiles. What a beautiful little mouth he has. Like as the hart. I'm looking right into his eyes, such a deep, deep blue. Such desperate beauty.

'Hello sleepy head.' I say quietly, stroking his forehead.

'Where have you been?' He says.

'You were asleep darling.'

'No I wasn't.'

Fibber. Perhaps not in the last few minutes, but he certainly was before . At least I sincerely hope so. I have been in the bathroom, and not with the door left open, unlike Quintus's little error when he thought I couldn't see into the room, and him, just completed his very necessary task. But I'm safe now. The danger has passed.

'Of course you weren't Teddy! Sweet dreams?'

'Umm. Very sweet.' He smiles that impish smile of his, his hands perilously close. 'Are those for me?'

'Umm. Ok……are they?' I say, showing him the cute little garment.

'They're not mine.'

'Probably not. But they'll do won't they? I'll take a couple of spares too, just in case. You'll get these wet no doubt. I thought we might go down to the Hut this morning?'

'At Endellion Cove?'

'Yes. I'd like to call in on my dad for a few minutes. John's come down for the weekend……..with his little brother Sis.'

'Who's that?'

'Adrean and Anna's small son. He's lovely and a bit special to me.'

'Why?'

'Oh, let's say he just is . A special bond between us? You might find some time to play with him on the sands; if you're feeling kind? The tide will be out in the afternoon according to my tide table.'

'Will I need my swimming things?'

'No.'

'What if I want to go in the water with…….what was his name?'

'Sis. It's short for Eustace; and don't laugh. And you won't need your swimming things. You probably won't see anyone on the beach. It's very isolated. You can both runaround in your pants if need be.'

'These ones?' He asks, putting a palm over his front, firmly.

'Yes.'

He smiles.

'How old is Sis?'

'I'm not sure sweetheart, but I know he'll be perfect for you.'

I am sure of Sis's age. He gets a birthday card from me every year, sealed with a large number of kisses. And I get from Anna, his mum, regular photo snaps of his progress. She says he's the image of me. I should jolly well think so! He was made with very queer semen so he ought to look pretty. Ok, there's absolutely no logic to that. Anna said she's worried about the size of his kinderpeen. I told her he's a chip off the old block which made her laugh. I know mine is on the titchy side, floppy, but much more respectable when it's got prospects.

Teddy seemed happy with a trip to the Cove. Sis is old enough, and certainly not too old to enjoy a cuddly Teddy bear! I see my beautiful son a couple of times a year when they come down to Morwenna House here in Poverty. He's a bit younger than Teddy, but kids get on with anyone if that's all there is to amuse them. We'll see shall we?

Sunday morning. The six bells were ringing from the tower of the village church dedicated to Erth, some sort of cave dwelling, hair shirted evangelist, or to be more historically accurate, Saint Erc, a very early dark-age saint from Ireland. There are quite a few of that ilk in Cornwall. Every other village is saint something or other.

My father's long-time partner, Garth, was at his beloved ironing board, the aroma of a cooked breakfast still lingering in the low-ceilinged thick stone walled kitchen. My father was not in sight. Garth reminded me…..

'Sean took up bell ringing last year Alex. Then it's choir. You won't see him until after 12.00.' By which time we will be long gone.

Teddy is standing behind me, shyly.

'And who is this then? Oh goodness, you really do pick them don't you darling.'

I'm just slightly annoyed by that remark.

'I didn't pick him , as you put it, actually Garth. They had an exeat but he had to stay. Some sort of mix up over dates. Ok?'

He shouldn't have said that in front of the boy. Garth is usually better than that. That was naughty of him. Teddy seemed impervious.

'Well, we're off to the Hut now.'

'Sorry about that Alex. Let me make you something to take with you. Johnny went with Sis about an hour ago.'

'Thanks, that would be perfect. I'm just going to show Teddy my studio.'

'Good idea. Some inspiration clouding your mind; possibly?' He says, smiling.

'Not clouding Garth, enlightening.'

Enough said. My Arizona friend, Al, has bought three pieces thus far. Bronzes we cast in the new mini-foundry in the tech department at school that Hillary inspired. I gave half the fee Al paid me to them. My website has suddenly attracted some interest. It verges on the soft porn, I agree, but forever tasteful…….I think. There are images of all my sculptural pieces on there, plus loads of preparatory sketches going back as far as Johnny and including Robbie of course, the glorious Duncan, and now Teddy? Oh, and not forgetting the engaging Charlie Van Hoeven. But Teddy will be on the beach later with Sis. Ideal material for new work, if I can catch them in the right mood, and the right place. It won't be for want of trying. Al, my loyal client from Arizona wants a beach boy. Who doesn't? He might just get one. I think Teddy might well be his hunk of desert cactus! A succulent if ever I knew one.

Johnny had passed his driving test a year ago. He and Sis had already left for the Hut. When Teddy and I arrived, we found them lounging on the wooden decking. I had warned Teddy that nudity was the order of the day there, every day, whatever the weather. It was a place where we could relax knowing we could be ourselves, in complete privacy. That's how we liked it there. It's a ten- minute walk down from the road on a rocky overgrown path, the nearest parking place, and cars parked there are always a candidate for a break-in. A risk we always have to accept. So the rule is, don't leave anything valuable in your vehicle, preferably an old vehicle like mine.

Teddy stood looking; Sis is playing with a water bottle and some sand, and on his knees, his cute little kinderbottom facing us, oblivious to our presence. I looked at Teddy. He was open mouthed, no doubt having noticed Sis's rear end smiling at him, the tiny pink orifice looking tight and healthy. The only thing that has ever been within it has been his own finger possibly, and probably the only thing that will ever penetrate that dark place.

'You all right there Teddy?'

'Uhuh.' He says, as he runs his tongue along shining lips.

I made him a drink of squash while he acclimatized to this very new situation. He sat in the kitchen-cum-sitting area getting used to idea of nudity. Then……

'Is it ok?' He asks, looking like he's about to take off his shirt.

'Of course!

He's down to his underpants; my choice today and not his. Another boy's property. Freddie. His mother has very good taste, and expensive, those. He hesitates and looks up at me. I smile indicating that the choice is his.

'Go and play with Sis if you want?'

He kneels beside the boy who looks sideways and smiles. Then he looks around and sees me. I was waiting for him to recognize me. When he does, he springs to his feet and with sandy hands around my neck, he joined me in my arms, my hands underneath to support his weight. Goodness, how he's grown. He must be six inches taller now, and heavy. With one hand behind his head, the other central under his weight, I pull him towards me and plant a kiss on his mouth. He leaves his against mine for a few seconds before I'm the one that disengages as he wipes his mouth with the back of a sandy hand. By the look of his pale hair, he's been in the water. His head is next to mine now and warm against me. I can't let him go. He's just too precious.

The boy slides down my tummy and back onto his feet, standing now. I look down his body to remind myself. Oh yes, he's fine. Absolutely typical in fact in terms of size and shape. Nothing whatsoever wrong there. I'm just so amazed at his existence. It was Anna. He would never have existed but for her on those three Thursday afternoons. In my head I was with a boy and we had wonderful sex. But the reality was the fact that I was with her. It was what she had intended all along; a working plan. Her gift to herself and to me. By the age of fifteen, almost, I was more than biologically capable of fatherhood. She had had both barrels three times, a week between each deep injection of potentially life engendering fruit of a boy's loins. Mine.

Anna had asked me what I liked, in terms of sexual stimulation. We didn't kiss; not really. So I told her. You might hazard a guess as to where I liked being touched and with what, so the first Thursday we tried. Or rather she tried, and it became clear that success was a definite possibility! It felt different, obviously, but with the power of my imagination, and the stimulation she gave me throughout the process, I managed it very simply. All in less than ten minutes, with John lending more than a hand along the way. It was as if he wanted it a lot more than I did. A little baby brother that in some way would bind us together forever, as it has done. And a boy too, although a girl all in pink would have delighted us just as much. But a boy? A fifty percent chance I suppose.

The boys hit it off famously which was no less than I expected, decamping from the wooden decking onto the sand below armed with buckets and spades, Sis nude and Teddy in his heavy seamed underpants; and looking every inch what he is, lovely. John has been slaving away in the rather minimal kitchen making lunch; slices of melon, a bowl of mixed salad and a couple of French sticks and some soft French cheese, washed down with bottled water, something we have to have plenty of here for various uses.

John and I have kept in touch as old friends will. I wondered which way he'd choose in terms of his own sexuality. He's chosen the middle way, finding a girl of similar persuasion. It's the first time I've met Ruanna, with very short almost black hair, very flat chested and almost too thin for my taste, as she stands very erect. At one point I wondered if she actually was female. But when she changed for a swim I could see she was. She shot me a glance and caught me looking. I gave her a nervous smile which she returned, recognizing, I think, why I was looking. She has an interesting body, one I wouldn't reject from a modelling point of view. Using boys as models has its drawbacks due to limited attention spans, but there's a spontaneity with them as they will strike a pose you hadn't thought of. Arizona Al wants another piece, the Boy on the Beach. I'm a pencil and paper man usually, but needs must. A photo essay of Teddy and Sis playing is clearly needed in this case. It will be easy.

I looked along the huge sandy beach, the tide well out. John's lunch will be ready for us when we get back. The boys have been in the water, playing, Teddy now nude too. I've been watching with the water up to my calves. I have had an idea.

Teddy stands very straight, his body almost dry now. Sis looks on. Teddy holds the white garment in both hands, getting things the right way around and ready to stoop and put first one foot through and then the other. I've told him to stand still now and hold the pose. It's perfect. The boys had just finished playing together, a very physical game with plenty of touching. Typical Teddy wanting that kind of contact. Sis loved the attention of the older boy, being chased and then caught, laughing as he felt arms around him and then held tight, his body, at times, off the ground. Teddy had loved this game too. You only had to look at him to see.

Sis is strangely quiet now, his arms around the boy's neck, his head nestled sideways against his new friend's head. He's supported in the best way possible, two hands underneath his body as his legs wrap around the boy. That must feel good. To be held like that, like mother and child. Lucky Sis. Clever Teddy.

It took me just a couple of minutes to record not only Teddy's figure, all the angles, front, back and both sides. Everything I needed to satisfy Al's requirements. I'll get a deposit from him that will pay for the essential materials. Bronze casting is a very expensive process. Too expensive really.

It's a tradition at the Hut. Everyone, and I mean everyone, rests. No swimming or playing on the beach after lunch. Go to a room and lay your heads down. Naturally, I left Sis with Teddy in the smaller of the two rooms. Teddy will know what to do with Sis. Tell him to shut his eyes and go to sleep, or no playing this afternoon. That left me to share the bed with John and the androgenous Ruanna.

'What about you Ruanna?'

'Ru. Just call me Ru. It's quicker.'

She has a nice smile. I like her and I can see why John is attracted to her. She's a boy in female form.

'You two boys were……..weren't you?'

'Yes we were, quite a long time ago now.'

'That's nice. Has the candle flame gone out now? Completely?'

'Not for me it hasn't.' I said.

'Well then?'

'That's up to Johnny isn't it? And you?'

'We've discussed it. When you were down on the beach. It's what we both want.'

I looked at John who was smiling. He was lying there, just like he did in those good old days, not that my days, particularly the first part, are anything other than interesting, currently.

We took turns, Ruanna and I, to gently pleasure our Johnny, and with no intention of letting him have what he needed. Oh no! I have to say we did take a rather sadistic pleasure from it. So many times, but not quite there. But then he got wise to our little game. He gave us no indication of what he was desperate to rid himself of.

'Alex. Now? This isn't fair.' He asks, his eyes shut. If there's one thing I know how to do, it's this. How to bring a boy to orgasm this way . My Saint Endellion schooldays to blame for that, partly. John the other part. I didn't care how long it took, in fact the longer the better. I didn't care how big or small they were, they would succumb! Eventually. I can remember a boy taking half an hour. Another few seconds pass before I will feel the wet warmth on my tongue and around my teeth. Ok Johnny, this is for you; and me of course.

Just like the old days, forceful, but considerably more from John. Ruanna got the gist immediately as she leaned over John's body to put her mouth on mine. We touched and a few seconds later, she withdrew, as I leaned over John and gave what was his, back to him. So it had been three ways now. John gave us a smile, eventually, partially recovered from his ordeal, poor boy. Ruanna gave me a nudge, seeing the state I'm in. John made the final decision by making the perfect space for me between his legs, his erection appearing to be undiminished. A second time for him? It's possible given enough excitement. Well, I'll do my level best to bring that about, so I'm going to try and make this last. And then we can all settle down and sleep.

I've always maintained that the sounds of sex are almost as exciting as the doing of it. John was always very vocal and today is no exception. So we got plenty of grunting and groaning, and ooh's and ahh's, and various other erotic noises he has in his vocabulary, and likely to shorten my journey, sadly. I did my stuff as best I could, whilst counting sheep in a field to distract myself. He felt good in there, and as smooth as a baby's bottom, after the most delightfully tough entry. He must have been doing those pelvic floor exercises he went on about earlier because he was like a willing virgin gripping me quite painfully. But once past those reluctant doors, prizing them open, I found myself in calm waters, able to glide forwards until my pelvic bone could go no further, hard against his pereneum. Bliss! A really lovely fuck, if you'll pardon the crudeness. As things turned out I lasted pretty well until……matters became unbearably urgent and I just had to let go. What I've left inside him is not going to appear for a while. John let out the most delicious sigh when I finally extracted myself, feeling like I had done some serious work for my pleasure.

Thank you my lovely Johnny, that was very, very nice.

It's an odd kind of love we have for one another now, years later. Deeply embedded and just simmering along, for ever. But it's there.

An hour later, about two fifteen, I carefully opened the other bedroom door and saw the large bed in front of me that accommodated Teddy and Sis. They were on their sides facing each other, both with knees bent and hands under chins, and asleep still. For how long now I don't know. Teddy's penis is hard, about three and a half inches at a guess, the foreskin stretched over the head, but the meatus clearly exposed. Good. Tight but not a problem. When he starts masturbating regularly, if he's not already doing so, it will loosen naturally. Sis looks relaxed in comparison. But then there's some movement. Perhaps I've disturbed him? Teddy's hand has moved onto Sis's shoulder, but his eyes are still tight shut. Is he still asleep? I think so. Then he moves closer and the hand has lowered onto the small boy's thigh. And then lower still. And then he finds what he's unconsciously seeking. Slowly Sis responds. I'm spellbound. At last I'm likely to see the boy as I've never seen him before. It's a slow process. He doesn't stir but the light touch on him is sufficient stimulus it would appear, as very gradually the little organ fills, and expands in terms of girth and length. It takes a couple of minutes but now it's there. Sis has risen to perfection. I replaced the single white linen sheet, had one last look for the memory bank, and left the room feeling just slightly guilty. No, this is not where I should be.

A half hour later I knocked on the boys' bedroom door and went in. The sheet was hurriedly pulled up over the two giggling boys. I had no idea what they had been doing but it wasn't that. If it was, there would be signs and there were none. Just some noisy fun and games. That's all, and I'm glad about that.

As I sat with a mug of tea in what passed for a small living room equipped with a couple of tatty armchairs, I noticed that both bedrooms had gone very quiet. Oddly so. Carefully I pushed our bedroom door open to see John and Ruanna close together, and John's left arm over the middle of Ruanna's body, their togetherness covered and thus hidden beneath one white linen sheet. I looked for any perceptible movement. There was.

I had left the door slightly ajar in the boys' room, enough to peep through it. Again the two bodies were hidden from view, but Sis had arranged himself directly on top of Teddy, the older boy's arms on the smaller boys shoulders. Apart from movement generated by natural breathing, there was no other.

From the wooden decking, I looked out onto the beach, the sea retreated once more, holding the blue and white striped mug, the remaining inch of tea now gone cold. I saw the naked figure of Teddy out there, standing in profile, his head lowered as he arranged his dry underwear for wearing, Sis nearby playing in the sand. The image would work well, replicated in wood and plaster, half-sized, crated and shipped off to Phoenix Arizona. I wonder if I'll ever meet him? This Al character. Probably not.

Sunday morning. Ten past nine. The bells of Saint Erth will be ringing now, my father at the end of one of the six ropes that turn the great bronze cast tenor bell that calls the local folk to share bread and wine. About fifteen of them. Then gentle Evensong at six and the chant of the psalms set for this evening, the accompanying small pipe organ, electric pump recently installed, and wheezing. The Mag and Nunc will follow; a Stanford setting practiced not to perfection last Thursday at choir practice. Every Thursday they meet in chilly church. Two more boys have joined now, so Garth said. Four hymns tonight, last verse in unison, all the others in harmony; more or less. There might even be a descant.

My boys will return tonight too, shoes clattering on the wooden floors, then give way to slippers and bare feet and quieter chattering, bed and thoughts of the coming week.

There's a murmuring in the western sky. A screeching seagull swoops. An Atlantic blow is forecast and the birds know it. They always know. And what was that last hymn again, as the light fades? The Day Thou Gavest, Lord, is ended.

Not quite.

Teddy Woodcraft knew he had had a good day out and was asleep soon after his head hit the pillow. All the other boys in his room had 'gone' by nine this evening. I did my usual rounds ending with his room. He has the bed nearest the door in the corner so there's a discrete space between it and the wall. About two and a half feet and plenty of room to kneel in it. There was still a little natural light coming through the curtains which gave me, albeit diminished, a gently lit view of Teddy's face as he lay on his side facing me, one hand, his left, under his chin. His breathing is quiet and slow.

Sis's mum, Anna, always keeps me up to speed with every aspect of our boy's progress, but John knows too.

'Anything else?' I asked.

'Not really, although he's just started to show signs now.'

'Of what?'

'You know, what boys are most interested in.'

'Really? Well I suppose he is at that age when he'll get interested in how everything works.'

'Yes. You're right. He's got into that lately.'

'Has he? Do you think………with Teddy this afternoon?'

'They were rather pink in the face when they finally emerged. Maybe you didn't notice?'

'Actually I did.'

Who knows. I'm not about to ask Teddy if their games got just a little sexy during their 'rest' time.

Teddy has the most attractive dark chestnut hair, and at this time, on the verge of requiring a trim, makes him even more adorable. Underneath his eyelids there's the occasional fluttering indicating some sort of dream in progress, and a small movement lower down in the bed. Time to have a little peek I do believe.

Duvets are easy to move without causing any disturbance, and the room is plenty warm enough, so no sudden rush of cold air that might wake him. Let's have a look and see what's brewing.

Oh yes, typical boy. It looks like sleep overtook him before anything else did, poor lad. His other hand, the right, is where boys like to keep them when they are contemplating sleep. Where hands inevitably end up. Who knows how far he'd got on his journey, but the subject of his attention looks expectant, slightly livid, and probably disappointed it wasn't satisfied. What a shame. No naughty thoughts please Alex, tempting as it is.

I gave the under the covers scene a couple of minutes observation, wrestling with my conscience which was doing battle with an urgent desire. Then, right on cue, Teddy turns over onto his back, and brings both arms up and around his pretty head, his eyes still tight shut. I manage to move the covers in such a way as to not expose his upper body and chill it, but to allow a sight of his middle parts. If ever I was presented with an invitation, this was it.

I'm going to lay a palm on his tummy. No harm in that……is there?

Teddy doesn't stir. Go on then. Just a little lower.

I'm about two inches above the seat of a boy's desire when the arms behind his head move; both of them, down to his sides, and then one arrives on top of my hand. He gently grips my hand and very deliberately moves it south, and into the angle made by his lower abdomen and…… well, you know what . Hard against it. Has he woken? No, definitely not. I slowly move my fingers out of his and take up a new position where the tops of his legs meet, a warm and humid place made more spacious and welcoming as he raises his knees, effectively opening a door. For me? No; the boy is asleep. An unconscious desire perhaps? The boy's chest rises as he takes a deeper breath, and exhales through an open mouth, the pulse no doubt quickened. There's one more move I could make. If that would cause no alarms, then it might be so. The process would begin, and only end one way.

And so time passes and I find myself where I ought to be now. Not with a hand between a sleeping boy's thighs where his legs meet at the top. No.

I travelled through my memory bank which if nothing else, is persistent, like the pages of a photo album, and all the images therein to sift through as I lie here. I know what I'm going to do. What I have to do. And soon, or I'll be back with my mouth on Teddy's cheek, bless him. Let's call it a preventative measure.

So many images of friends. So many wonderful memories. So beautiful, all of them, and all so different in their various ways.

Duncan with those beautiful eyes. The lovely Robbie, which was just about everything about that boy. And now Teddy. But let's remember Johnny, all those years ago, as he asks…..

'Can we go to bed now please?'

'Why?' I ask, with a question in my eyes. He smiles back and takes my hand.

'No particular reason.' He says, but I'm suspicious.

'Alright.' I say, taking his other hand and feeling the heat rising inside me. He wants to kiss, so I put my mouth close to his. I feel his hands behind my head pulling me in. This is the beginning. Sex between us always starts this way. Kissing.

I look into his face as he looks down on me, perched as he is on me, my hands on his hips to control his movements. My breathing is slowing now, at last. It's been quite frantic, he and me, just the way he wants it most. Him in control of me. Calling the shots if you like. He's called them and I've provided them in spades. The sheer intensity of his experience has brought tears to his eyes, which I find totally irresistible. It's worked for him as I knew it would, and now it has for me too. His mouth is open as he continues to stare down at me, rising on his arms, and then settling down again. Again and again. Again and again. And then, with a hand that has been free to work, with a last and deliciously lingering sigh, he finishes with several pulses, leaving the familiar milky traces from my chin to my navel. There's no need or desire to disconnect so we lie together again, all his weight on mine, in bliss.

Now morning has broken once again in the ceaseless daily round, and time to start the best task of my day. Bringing my boys to life again.

It sounds a little heartless, but the boys cannot lie in bed for more than thirty seconds or so after I have called them. Thus Teddy stands beside his bed, pyjama bottoms already fallen to floor, tee shirt up and over his head and now his arms are raised in a long stretch, then a protracted yawn, while the early morning sexual reverie is still made bodily manifest and enduring; and he's not the only one. They don't notice me watching, or would care that I am.

Another night has passed, another day gone, a friendship perhaps made or remade, or gone with it, lost now but not forgotten.

So All's Well then.

Is it? Is all well?

I deserted my post tonight, not that the children were in any danger by my taking off for Endellion Cove. There are other people there who will respond to emergencies.

The half-moon was up and the tide out, but clearly rising. The familiar black rocks jutted up from shining sands as I stood with my ankles in the water, perhaps six inches above my feet. The water felt warmer on my skin than the air felt on the rest of my naked body. I do really feel at peace now. Here in this place. I take a few more steps into deeper water. Yes, I feel overwhelmed with a strange feeling of peace. It's so quiet here, no wind, just the slow, slow lapping of the water on my upper legs. It feels oddly warm now, like I really belong, finally immersed. I've always belonged here.

But don't worry dear, dear long-suffering readers, all will be well.

The story ends.

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