The Persistence of Memory

by Rafael Henry

Chapter 3

Seven years ago, back in the 'boro, Garth said I had the perfect eleven-year-old kinderkunt that would make any self-respecting kindercock sit up and take notice. I was on my back on my bed with my legs in the air with a touch of the anal itching as boys suffer some time to time for one reason or another, holding them right back and wide apart.

'What do you think of it Garth?' I asked with a smile.

'I haven't changed my mind Alex sweetheart. It was always a pretty one. Now put a good dollop of the cream into the opening Alex. No, more than that. Yes, about that much. Smear it around the entrance. Perfect. Now reload and push it all in. That's it. Excellent job. Now work your middle finger carefully about two inches. You should feel a little bump up there. Something like a very small plum. Can you feel it?'

'There is a kind of bump in there.' I said, delving.

'Good. You've located something rather important. We all have one of those things.'

'And girls too?'

'No darling, just boys. We're lucky that way. Girls have other things.'

'What does it do? The bumpy thing?'

'It's a small organ that acts like a pump. When you feel that your next cummy is coming, just a bit before it does, gently press a finger against your perineum, about half way between your kinderballe and your bottom opening and feel what happens darling. Then you might try feeling the bump yourself when it happens. You'll like it. Lots of boys like to feel themselves up there when they do it. It can help you along the way beforehand too. So if you're lucky enough to feel a friend in there sometime? He'll be rubbing your little bump right inside you with the business end of his kinder pricklet which may well make it feel interesting. The longer he goes on rubbing it the better it will feel. Got it?'

'Sort of. Can I try now. What does it pump out?'

'Early doors for you sweetheart, but when you are able, dear kinder spirit, to produce semen, sperm, or whatever you want to call it, that little muscle contracts very fast and hard and squirts out this creamy whitish liquid that makes babies, under certain conditions. You know all about that. We call it ejaculation , a bit of a long word but basically, it means you've come darling.'

'That's what the boys called spunk isn't it? Shall I rub the bumpy thing now? Will you do it for me?'

'I'd rather you didn't use that playground word. It's rather crude. Use the proper word for it. And no darling, I can't do that for you. Far better that you do it. Then you'll see for yourself what it does.'

Garth loves to talk about the birds and bees whenever I ask him too, which is very often. More like the boys and the bees. I always get 'on bone', as the other boys call it when they show us theirs. Lunchtimes are not always about eating. More about show and tell!

I gave up after five minutes battling to achieve my objective; to get the feeling by rubbing my tiny little plum that sits a short distance up Slippery Bottom, a place I'm getting to know well these days. Despite my failure, it did feel good. But I've got the idea now, and practice makes perfect they say. Anyway, my friend, whoever that shall be when I have been at my new school for a while, will have to do all the hard graft, according to Garth. All I have to do is lie on my back with my legs up and wide apart, and wait for our feelings to come and he'll do his ejaculation thing Garth talked about, and my kinderkunt will be full to the brim so Garth says, if my friend is old enough to get it . Simple. It's lucky that Garth knows so much about sex for kinders like me. Is that a real German word I wonder? I don't think it can be.

Garth checked my fingernails just now. Then he cut them really short and told me that every time I touched my bottom in that way, I had to wash my hands very thoroughly.

He still hasn't told me about the trouble he had when he was thirteen. That was to do with sex.

'We've been talking about being special friends with other boys Alex. Sometimes much bigger boys, and others, get interested in people just like you.'

'You mean they like younger boys?'

'That's exactly what I mean Alex. Especially sweet handsome creatures like you.'

'And you?'

'Yes, and me too, when I was your age. There was someone older who liked me, and two other boys. We liked him too, so we agreed to go to where he lived which was very close to where we lived, so it was very easy. He put on his computer thing and he showed us an interesting film which encouraged us all to start playing with our kindercocks and showing each other our kinderkunts. He started playing with himself at the same time, watching us. One by one we all had lovely wet feelings. I thought it was fun, but one boy told his mother where he'd been and what had happened. That much older person got into very serious trouble. Your sexual parts are yours should you want to enjoy them, and yours alone, and a chosen friend your age perhaps, or not too different in age hopefully, should you both want to share such wonderful gifts. Do you get what I'm saying Alex?'

Oh I do, I do . I knew when I got to my new school I would have to very careful who I played with. Only boys my own age. Probably.

I'd looked at older boys on the beach in their swimming trunks that looked like my pants do. I could see what was inside them, and how much bigger they looked than mine. They looked much more interesting than what I had. I'd walk past them as they sat in a group on the sand. I'd smile as I walked past them. I'd hear a whistle from one of them. One of those low wolf whistle sounds. I had some really sexy swimmers that Garth bought me. When I first got them, I'd wear them in bed and play. I had several different pairs, all of which were smaller than my ordinary pants. Until I got my new knickers , Garth called them. He told me not to use that word when I was with other boys. Or the word panties . That was another word I had to be careful not to say to anyone apart from him of course. One day I will be a proper homosexual, not like I am now, a silly little gay boy. I can't wait. When will it grow properly like Garth's?

So now I was all set to take S. Endellion by storm, armed with all this information gleaned from Garth. What a diamond he was back in the day, and still is. All I needed was a Cornish soul mate, which as we know, I found. In fact I found more than one, and then Quintus with his cucumber thing I thought was destined to fill my kindy kunty thing with the milk of Quintus's kindness. How wrong could I be. Shortly after I had offered myself to Quintus on his bed that night, giving him the perfect view of my eager bottom, I did see his creamy outlet shoot out into the wash basin through the ensuite bathroom door that in his haste, he hadn't closed properly. What a waste.

But back to the present.

'So who is the golden Mole Garth?'

'That hunky gardener's son. I'm surprised you haven't noticed him Alex. You do leave for Truro early so you don't see him waiting at the bus stop.'

'That's probably why then! You mean Andrew's boy? The chap who does our garden when you can't cope with any more weeding.'

'The very one. I thought the Mole boy was still at the local primary school?' I questioned.

'No, he's graduated to secondary this year. He's at your place. Apparently he's quite bright. Got one of those one hundred per cent bursaries they give to intelligent kids with no money, thinking it will boost their crap exam results.'

He's talking about the old ivy clad school up on the hill in Truro.

'Oh. I do think I've seen him, now you come to mention it, scudding around the playground. Quintus Beer was going to use him in the promotional film we made but he was told not to feature him.'

'Why not?'

'He's a bit unusual looking, with that hair band and all. It's a boys' school.'

'You mean he looks like a girl?'

'Slightly, with that hairband he always wears to control that long blond hair of his. Small point but a valid one I suppose. I think Quintus was disappointed. I'm just tech support so I don't get a say in anything he does.'

'I recognized the blazer, and the hair of course. He'd be a cracking mate for Duncan don't you think? He's desperate for a kinder buddy.' Continues Garth.

'Doesn't he ride his bike around the village?'

'Yes that's the one. I think he hangs out at the village play area quite a lot.'

'How would you know that Garth?' I said, tongue in cheek.

'Oh it's just that I see him go past here quite often and assume that's where he's off to. Why don't you take Duncan down there?'

Good idea. After all the trauma, our new lodger, the unfortunate bereaved Duncan, has settled into Mowenna House very well. He has his own room, decorated now, new curtains and a new bed plus open shelving for school books, clothing, a fine collection of sexy knickers that Garth has acquired for him from Next in Truro, and some others from an obscure French unisex retailer, some hanging space in the corner for his smart blazer and trousers, and a desk with a red angle poise light on it. There's a photo of his grandmother Elspeth on it to remind him of one of the kindest gentlest people that ever graced this earth, God rest her soul.

I always have the privilege of rousing Duncan from his slumbers every single morning at six thirty on school days. That gives him time to nip to the bathroom for a lengthy pee and back into bed for ten minutes. He might indulge a while before his morning shower with me, or sometimes Garth might still be in there.

'Don't mind me darling, just carry on.' Garth would tell Duncan. Duncan does carry on, directing his flow into the lavatory bowl with deadly accuracy, his foreskin deftly withdrawn to give Garth something to look at as he dries himself after his shower. Then as his kindercock begins to swell, Duncan moves the skinny part back over the dark pink head, and back again. And again……and again, the naughty boy. When he turns to leave Garth to his own devices, he's ready for that precious ten more minutes in bed. I can listen in to Duncan's activity through the closed door of his bedroom. The bed makes tiny noises when he gets close, faster and faster he goes, until he slows down to nothing. It's never longer than three minutes or so before the little noises stop. If it's a particularly strong one I'll actual hear him too. Oh my goodness that is so sexy! A tiny little ecstatic cry. That tips me right over the edge.

Quintus used Duncan to great effect in the 'Day in the Life' promo video we produced last summer term at school. What with his light summer tan on those arms and legs, and those beautiful green eyes and lovely silky, wavy light brown hair, he cut quite a dash with everybody, and not just those of us that admire the boys generally. And the rest of him. Garth makes sure he's immaculately turned out every day. All clean and pressed in his pale blue shirt, tie and blazer with embroidered badge, the entangled T with the S. Let me tell you that Duncan is a very loved boy, just as he deserves to be.

'Morning sweetheart.' I say softly as I run my fingers through the warm fine hair pushing it up his forehead where normally it covers it. His forehead feels unusually warm.

'You feel hot this morning darling. Is everything alright?'

As if I didn't know. Duncan takes another deep breath.

'Shall I come back in five minutes?'

Duncan nods, unsmiling. I know what it's like to be interrupted whilst running hard for the finishing line. Bloody annoying. For fuck's sake man, let me finish off, please! I was almost there. The other boy in Duncan's sexual day dream was about to come too. The boy he's met yesterday evening at the village play park.

The highlight of my morning, waking Duncan. Some days, tired, he's out of it when I open the door and look at him in his bed, open mouthed and very asleep. So it's a gentle and gradual process, bringing him lo life once more. The eyes slowly open as I move his shoulder, and register my presence. He smiles, and closes his eyes again.

'You alright?'

'Umm. Tired.'

'Want some more time?'

'No. Stay with me please.'

So, so very sweet.

'Five minutes only. No more.'

And then I have to gently draw back the bedclothes as he stretches out on his back. No pyjama bottoms as usual, just a large tee shirt. No playtime this morning.

Duncan had had the 'talk' as soon as he'd arrived at Morwenna House right at the end of his first year at 'big' school. The same sort of talk that I'd had years ago from Garth, more or less at the same age. Duncan had showed all the signs of needing to be fully informed with regard to all matters sexual. Spontaneous erections had been noticed, and absent-minded fiddling too. I'd noticed, whilst evening telly watching, a hand disappearing into his tight pyjama bottoms.

'Do you think he's like us Garth?' I asked Garth, privately.

'Absolutely Alex. I'm in no doubt. It's time he had the talk don't you think? It had better come from you. Unless you want me to do it?'

'You did it for me Garth. You were brilliant. I only made one slip up, as you know.'

'Simon? The one you told me about?'

'Yes, that one. Simon Perret.'

'Oh yes, that boy!'

I laughed. 'Yes, well remembered. That boy, or rather the not back there thank you very much, boy . It might have been the beginning of something wonderful.'

'Oh dear, a bit of a cock up on your part?'

'Or not; as it transpired.' I said regretfully. 'He was very lovely but a cheeky monkey. I think that's what attracted me to him in the first place.'

'And in the second place?' Garth says, laughing.

'Expensive white underwear seen through expensive white shorts. You know me Garth. He was irresistible, the cheeky little monkey. I just went a bit too far with him.'

'Your continuing fascination and preoccupation eh? Do you think about anything else? You're obsessed Alex.'

'Only wondering what lies within Garth.'

Speaking of which, Duncan has a request. I had mentioned the play park last night and what a delight it can be on the right day, if one's luck is in.

'Will you come with me Alex?' Duncan asks. Looking at me with those eyes.

'Where to Duncan?'

'To the play park? It's Saturday. He might be there.'

I'd kept out of his room after waking Duncan this morning as promised, the five-minute gap between his lengthy pee and returning to the warmth of his bed. He'd obviously just completed his mission and was coming up for air and looking a bit hot and bothered.

'Ok now?' I ask quietly, kneeling beside the generously wide single bed. He had both hands inside the duvet, holding it up centrally. Duncan knows that we have no need for secrets so he's making no attempt to hide anything, besides Garth would be cross with him if he was careless. Garth and his washing machine, the clothes line that stretches across the scruffy piece of grass in the back garden next to my sculpture shed, and his blessed bag of clothes pegs.

'Tissue required?' I gently enquire, as he nods and quickly turns his head away from me, the usual guilt setting in. The box is on the floor out of his reach. Bad planning. A tissue is required, but one……or more? I lift the duvet clear of Duncan's divine body to see his semen, immature watery stuff, in several tiny pools in a line right up to his chin, almost. The aftermath of a very private meeting, in his mind, between him and another.

Two squares did the job, just, and all done now, as Duncan oversees the operation. How privileged I am to perform this simple but necessary task for the boy I love to distraction. He's amused to see me raise the said object, his guilt fading now, his kinderkock slowly restored to a firmness, the tissue neatly folded and held to my nose to savour once again the chlorine scent of the swimming pool changing room. It would have been an outrageous intrusion to be there with Duncan, during the event, as another event, just the same as this one, was in the boy's mind down the road at the play park. Such is the power of our imaginations. Then an hour later……

'Are you ready Duncan?'

'Nearly. Come in.'

Apart from the morning waking ritual, I never intrude into Duncan's room. It's his private space, and we should never intrude into it, unless invited. He's begun writing, English being a strong subject for him. Poetry mainly, but so far I'm excluded from reading his creations. Quite right. A diary too, something I kept as a boy which my father found hidden at the back of a drawer. I was glad he did discover my innermost thoughts and feelings as it avoided a ghastly coming out announcement later. I knew I would have to tell him one day. Despite his failings, he told me he had found it and should have put it back where he found it. He held me in his arms for as long as I needed him to, which was quite a long time. I thought such concern for me was significant, rightly as it turned out. My father very rarely gave me moments like that.

I went into Duncan's room to find him selecting an outfit for our trip to the park. He stands naked and in profile, his flaccid kinderpeen looking naturally forward to our outing, as he holds up a plain white tee shirt for my approval. Garth's choice again from Next, Duncan's confirmed dresser and arbiter of good taste.

'These?' He asks, showing me another of that company's designs.

'It depends what going over the top Duncan.'

'Under these?'

A pair of summer shorts, plain white again, but more decent than one or two of Garth's gifts to Duncan's slowly emerging puberty.

Duncan bends almost double, away from me, thus displaying a deep shadowy hint of his pale skinned Kinder bottom. Even the simplest of garments enhance Duncan's figure as he turns around and stands before me, smiling.

'Excited?'

He nods, pulling his boy shorts up both legs and into position, almost too high. I'm sitting on the edge of his bed, neatly made with regulation hospital corners as Garth insists he does.

'Come here a moment, adorable boy.' I say. He obeys and stands in the gap between my bare legs, looking straight into my eyes. Mine start to prickle around and behind. I place two hands on Duncan's hips.

'Do you know someone is going to love you very deeply one day.'

'I love you Alex.'

'I know, and I love you too. But there will be a space left for someone else one day. Someone you can love fully and the way you want to.

' We can't love each other that way can we?'

'No not in that way. You're right. We can't.'

'Never?'

'I don't think so Duncan. Not in the way you will love another.'

'How long do I have to wait?'

'Love for you might be just around the corner my kinderbeing. Or down the road one bright Saturday morning. Even this very morning.'

He smiles as I lift his short shorts even higher up his hips to good effect, emphasizing the neat little package within.

'What about you?' he says looking down to check my adjustment.

'Me too. Perhaps? But it's about you. You are our main concern at the moment. You need a friend. That's what Garth and I think you should find now.'

Quintus has told me I'm welcome in his bed at any time of my choosing. I looked at him, frowning.

'You must be joking Quintus. The way you treated me?'

'I've said I'm sorry Alex.'

'Anyway I'll twist your balls off and then you'd be sorry.'

'You sound like one of your blessed fucking kinders, or whatever you call them.' Quips Quintus.

'What do mean, my fucking kinders ?' I said angrily.

'They do don't they? Fuck? You probably.'

I saw red and swung a fist at him; and missed and instantly felt I had been humiliated by Quintus. That is so typical of him. He clever.

'Oooh. Temper temper eh? Hit on a tender spot did I? A weak spot more likely. So which one is it now? Duncan? So he's the latest one you've persuaded to get into your knickers is it? I have to admit he's a cutie isn't he. I understand he's living with you now? That's very convenient. Lots of goodnight kisses no doubt and taking showers together? Very cosy. And then what? You don't have to tell me Alex. I know you well enough. Anyway, that's fine by me. If it's little boys you want in bed with you. I always thought boys a disappointment, not that I could be bothered too much. No experience. And not much of the other too. If any. Does he then? Your smooth svelte little boy? Oh not yet? Never mind, that means you've got that to come, and quite soon by the look of him. Gosh, and when that happens, that'll be a good day. Look Alex! Look what's come, he says as he shows you for the very first time. And there it is, all slippery and shy as you smooth the tiny fair hairs along his thighs. Lovely wasn't it? Little boys beautiful first show. Better not waste it. Far to precious to waste it. Like that is it Alex? I rather think so. I'm right aren't I? Go on, tell me I right.'

I didn't say anything in reply to Quintus's rant. We just stared at each other for at least a minute with me feeling very upset. No words from me would make the slightest difference to anything. I just felt so unhappy for Duncan, and I have always had difficulty hiding my feelings. I thought of Elspeth, and then saw Duncan's beautiful face looking at me the way he does. Those eyes.

'Oh dear. Is that a tear forming? I'm so sorry Alex. What can I do to say sorry Alex?'

It was a tear, and why not after all that. Quintus put out a hand and touched the front of my body. I let him. Then the touch turned into rather rough fondling. I'd had enough of this and left.

Of course he's right, the bastard Quintus. He always is. That night I thought about this attraction problem, if we look at it from a 'normal' person's point of view? The doesn't seem to me at least, too much difference between a boy of seventeen being sexually attracted to a girl of fifteen, or younger. So if you take a pretty girl of fourteen, just into puberty and compare he to Duncan, our seventeen year-old boy would look upon two slim figures, two pretty faces, two pairs of similar white underpants, but one with a small bump at the front and the other without. They are not that dissimilar. That's my observation. This sexual attraction business involves fine lines. Perhaps?

Duncan often wants, or needs even, to have his hand held when we walk together. He's been known to stop and tell me he needs to us kiss, lightly on our respective mouths. It's not a sexual thing at all, but a truly intimate engagement. Just with our lips. How sweet they are too. This morning we have set off together to walk to the park and he knows how proud I am of him, and love being with him.

'Do you know his name? This boy you stumbled upon?'

'Robbie. I fell over him.'

'How old is he?'

'Just twelve. His birthday was last week. That's a lovely age isn't it?'

'Yes it is. So, how did you get to speak together?'

This is a nice story.

'I thought I'd see what the play park was like.'

'Yes I remember you took yourself off after school yesterday. How was it?' I asked Duncan, sitting on the sofa next to me.

'Good thanks.'

'Did you speak to anyone?' I asked, knowing he had spoken to someone.

'Yes.'

'Who? I'd quite like to know Duncan.'

'A boy. He came on his bike. He fell off it. It was my fault…..I think.'

'How did that happen?'

'It really was an accident. He didn't see me near the gate into the play area and skidded. I don't think his brakes work very well. He fell off and I tripped over him and hurt him a bit. The brake lever on the handlebars dug into his leg. That hurt! He cried a bit. Not much though. I said sorry.'

'So what happened? Did he go home?'

'No. He lay there for a while rubbing his leg.'

'Which part of his leg?'

'Right at the top. The bit inside. The brake lever caught him and dug into him. He could sit up alright. I said I would stay with him until he felt better. It took a few minutes but then he got up. It really hurt him. He said thanks and got back on his bike but he looked really wobbly. He got off again and wheeled the bike away and left it on the ground. I think the bike was a bit too big for him too. He went off and sat on a bench and played with a long piece of grass. I sat down quite near him wondering if he was ok. He looked upset and he looked round at me a few times. I thought he might want to talk some more so I got up and walked over to the bench. As I was walking towards him, he looked round again. I got to the bench and he looked up at me but didn't say anything. Then he looked down again and carried on playing with the strands of dried grass. He moved towards the end of the bench. I thought that was his way of asking if I wanted to sit down with him, so I did. We didn't say anything for ages. He kept looking at his leg. It had gone a funny colour. '

'Where was this injury again Duncan?'

'Right at the top of his leg.'

'His thigh then?'

'Yes, just below his pants.'

'Goodness, he was lucky it wasn't any higher!'

'Yes. I asked him if it still hurt. He said it didn't much. It was a small pink bit of skin. He showed me.'

'How?'

'He had to pull one side of his shorts right up, the inside part. I could see everything. I don't know why he showed me.'

'You didn't mind him doing that?'

'No. I thought he was nice.'

'Nice, in what way?'

'Well, quite nice looking. Sort of handsome. But he looked very young to have long hair like that. I didn't think boys were allowed to have long hair? He had a hairband thing like girls have to keep it all out of his eyes. I said I liked his hair. That made him smile.

'What's your name?'

'Duncan. What's yours?'

'Robert. Robbie usually. Robbie Mole……and I don't live in an underground house before you ask.'

'You don't look like you do. You look like you're out in the sun a lot to me. Do you like being outdoors? Your arms are really brown.'

'Yes, most of the time. Do you?'

'Umm. Do you play here every day?'

'Most days. Are you new here?'

'Yes. I'm staying with friends so I can keep going to school in Truro. Alex takes me because he works there.'

'Where?'

'TS. Do you know it?'

'I go there too! Which year are you in?'

'Year Eight. You?'

'Seven, but I think I'm leaving soon. My dad can't afford it any more. The bus is really expensive. His job doesn't pay enough.'

'What does he do?'

'He does people's gardens, but only when they want him. In the winter……….'

The boy looks down at his injury, right at the top of his right thigh. A nasty looking reddish blue patch where the brake lever on the handle bar of his old Raleigh bike dug into the pale flesh. It hurt, and so close to his kinder hoden too. A close shave indeed but it hadn't pierced the skin. As for his little kinderswanz, it lay undamaged, soft and uncovered, pale in rest, as Duncan sat still on the grass studying the beautiful object at close range. He thought it pretty, just like his but smaller, with the puckered overhang of skin that sheltered the familiar bulbous kinderpenis-kopf. Unconsciously his hand slipped down to the front of his white shorts to give his own kinderkock a satisfying squeeze, in some odd 'boys belonging to each other' ritual, or a 'yours belongs with mine' thought, in sympathy perhaps, and not just to make sure it was still there. He felt the soft head part of it and then pulled his hand away quickly, fearful that Robbie might notice the thoughtless sexual gesture. It was his first thought about the boy he had just met in unfortunate circumstances. It wasn't his fault, the accident, but Duncan being Duncan, assumed the guilt on his narrow shoulders. He had to be the cause of the boy's distress. Like the time a fountain pen was stolen from the boy's satchel. He hadn't stolen it, but he still assumed the guilt of the real guilty person. He cried openly when he first heard of Jesus's sacrifice on the cross. It was the sheer injustice of the thing. We all have to share the guilt. His grandmother Elspeth had just died. Could it have been his fault? If he had been there, maybe she would still be alive?

Robbie had cried as little as he could control, despite the pain, and as the two of them sat there close to the abandoned bicycle lying on the grass in front of the two boys, the evidence of Robbie's salty tears was still there, but dry now on his cheeks.

Robbie pulls at his shorts, sharply sideways once more to feel the cool air on the bruised flesh. Duncan looks. Such a pretty thing to behold. But why all bare like that?

'Robbie wasn't wearing any pants Garth. You could see everything. Well not exactly see , but you could see it was there.'

'I'm not having you go out in those shorts without something underneath.' Garth told Duncan in no uncertain terms. 'You're not a baby any more Duncan. You are a growing boy. You need to be a bit more aware darling. People notice things like that. We don't want you drawing that sort of attention to yourself ……..do we.' Garth lectures only like Garth can lecture, with an emphasis on the ' do we' .

Duncan looks himself in the bathroom mirror

Duncan wondered why the boy was uncovered down there, allowing the very tip of his kinderkock to be seen when he showed Duncan his bruise. And then, tantalizingly, a little more of the pale pink ultra soft skin. The last inch and a half now, there or thereabouts. As Robbie rubs the tender bruised skin, the inner and uppermost part of his thigh, a little more, and then a little less of his kinderkock appears, as Duncan watches, waits and waits longer for the possibility of more to see.

Duncan has reached a certain age for boys, that time in his life when he begins to wonder if it will be girls he wants to see more of, or boys. He looked forward to the twice weekly drawing club. On Thursdays Alex would be the model, nude, so he could study his body in pencil or charcoal in all its sexy detail; his big penis, or so it seemed to him, and his backside when Hillary turned him round that way. The other days, Tuesdays, Hillary would ask for a volunteer to be the model. All the boys' parents had had a letter asking if they had any objection to their son posing with nothing on. Fearful that their boy would lose the opportunity to enhance their art education, they all agreed except one. As for the nudity issue, all the boys shower together after PE and Games, so they're quite used to seeing one another's bare bottoms and their kinderkocks, so what's the problem with posing naked? The only thing that's different is that you're the only one with nothing on. Some boys keep their pants on which Duncan thinks, like one or two of the others, is better because you have to use your imagination which is more fun than seeing the actual thing which, let's face it, are all the same at their age. Skinny things with a bit of queer skin that extends over the end bit, except of course the ones that don't have the skinny bit still attached. There are not many of them. They're nice because the really good bit isn't hidden away under that skin. There's one boy who still has his skinny bit but it doesn't cover the head bit properly because it's quite long and hangs down more than all the others. Sometimes you see more of the head bit and then less depending on, presumably, how he's feeling at the time. That boy likes being chosen.

Invited to pose that afternoon, three hands go up, but not Duncan's. Hillary selects one boy, Simon. Duncan is excited by her selection, just as she is. Duncan has never seen Simon in the altogether. The boy steps forward into the middle of the room and undresses, finally standing tall in his conservative and traditional underpants. He looks at Hillary. Perhaps he's having second thoughts about his decision to volunteer?

'Are you alright there Simon? Is there a problem?'

Simon recognizes her tone, swallows hard and slips his pants down his legs and off. He takes a few steps forward and places the garment on top of the rest of his clothes on the back of the chair. Duncan knew that what he was to draw in intimate detail was truly beautiful, as they all were, there . A little bigger than his maybe, or smaller even, and one or two with the skin cut off. It made no difference to him.

Quintus had wandered around the room full of boys drawing behind their easels with what Duncan thought was a small camera. How he wished he had one right now.

In bed Duncan day dreams about such things, boys' kinderkocks and their exposed kinderkunts if he was lucky enough to have his easel in the right place so he could see into that deep and mysterious shadow between the boys' buttocks. And when the boy got dressed afterwards. Duncan would be deliberately slow to pack up his easel and put away the charcoal in the box just so he could keep an eye on the boy.

Duncan knows what time Alex comes to wake him up on school mornings. More often than not he's already awake and thinking nice thoughts, both of his hands in playful occupation, one at the front and the other at the back, just as Garth had explained in his recent chat with him. When Alex comes in, he's either still asleep, or finished, in the middle of things, or just wanting to start. It's all cleverly timed by his bedside clock. Ten to seven now, so he'll start things off. This morning he's decided who shall be in his thoughts this morning. The boy who fell off his bicycle two days ago and quite by unhappy circumstances, let him see his kinder bits. Or was that unintended?

Alex always knows when he goes into the bedroom if Duncan has passed the post, or preparing to run his race to the line, or right in the middle of things. He looks at the clock. One minute to seven. Duncan is awake and deep in thought. When Alex comes through the door, he may not have finished, not that he needs to stop. Alex will come back.

'A penny for them?' Asks a smiling Alex as he places a cool palm on Duncan's forehead.

'Was it the boy on the bike?'

'Umm. Please can I stay in bed for a bit longer?'

'Oh, ok. Of course darling. Take as long as you need.'

Duncan takes a deep breath. He was back talking to the boy who fell off his bike. He can her Alex coming down the hallway to his bedroom. Duncan covers himself up again. Then he takes another deep breath as the boy on the bike fades away.

Alex went into the bathroom, the atmosphere rather awkwardly thick, to find Duncan washing himself in that way Garth has taught him to. Alex stops to admire the boy's figure, taking a second deep breath. And then another.

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We support Ukraine — Мы поддерживаем Украину — Ми підтримуємо Україну

We support Ukraine — Мы поддерживаем Украину — Ми підтримуємо Україну

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