Richard

"How the bloody fuck would I know?" Grant doesn't even look up from his mag.

"I disown you both," Mum's voice says dryly from behind me. I whirl round to grab her by the shoulders.

"Has he rung? Have I missed him? Had to get the bus 'cause the tubes are up the spout again, but there was an accident at St Paul's. Sodding bus moved an inch every five minutes. Did he call?"

Mum gently detaches herself from my grip. "He rang, yes. About thirty minutes ago."

"Fuck!" I charge off, only to immediately swerve round and go back. "Where was he?"

"Paddington." Mum seems to think this is all very funny, judging by her expression. "And he's doing a little shopping before he comes here. He said he'd try to time it to reach Stepney Green at half six. I've adjusted my cooking-"

"How'd he sound?" I interrupt then hear myself. "Sorry. Yeah, messes with the itinerary a little, don't it? How did he sound?" Grant's giving me a very odd look. Or rather, a look that implies I'm being very odd. Fuck. Need to calm down.

"He sounded fine, cheerful and very polite, as usual." Mum briefly squeezes my upper arm. "Why don't you use this time to relax in, dear. Work was a bit of a rush, I'd imagine."

Oh, wonderful mother, giving me a way out of my bloody stupid behaviour like that. I grab it with both hands. "Yeah, it's been a bloody madhouse all week." I take a deep breath. "Right then. Shower."

"I'll put the kettle on." Mum walks round the counter. "You have time, remember. Don't crack your head open on porcelain because you're rushing and slip over. You'd be surprised how often that sort of thing happens."

"Nah, he wouldn't, Mum," Grant says, looking up. "There ain't a room in this house that we don't all know every possible danger within and the exact statistical likelihood of it happening to each of us." As I climb the stairs two at a time, I have to admit my brother has a point. Having an ex-casualty nurse as a mum comes with some interesting knowledge as part of the package deal.

After unlocking my room, I take a quick look round it. It's clean and neat with Allan's bed already set up. I did that last night when I couldn't sleep. That was before resorting to the porn. Ah yeah, the porn. No way is Grant ever to use Betsy again. Don't matter how well I've deleted it, the little bastard would still find it somehow. Maybe I'll pay for an upgrade to his P2 to keep him happy.

Grabbing my robe, I leave again, locking the door 'cause I ain't bloody stupid.

The porn was good though; I find myself thinking about it as I enter the bathroom. It was what I needed. Well, sort of. Eventually.

Ok, to start with it was bloody foul -- large men with faces like ex-cons pressed between the hairy arse cheeks of other blokes just like them. Just what the fuck's meant to be hot about that? But it didn't take all that long clicking through the obstacle course of obscene pop-ups to identify that what I like is young and slender boys.

Seems me and my uncle have something in common, and ain't that a depressing thought?

Not too young, of course. That idea's fucking grotesque, and in truth, some of the 'barely legal' twinks I saw last night gave me the heebie-jeebies whatever the site said about all models being over eighteen. I'm mind-fucked enough currently without adding age concerns to the mix. Ain't it enough to be obsessing over a boy without worrying that Allan's only 'barely legal' himself?

Ain't it enough to get hard over watching two lads screw?

But I did, and I am. I bloody am just thinking about it. My cock's bouncing proud as it's freed from my clothes. My mind's not so free, stuck in images of bare flesh: cocks and mouths and arses. Bloody weird prison bars, if you know what I mean. Never have I felt more grateful for broadband than last night; movies streamed seamlessly at the highest quality. Boys, slight, dark-haired boys, sucked and fucked and let themselves be buggered and come over again and again, giving every impression of loving every moment of it.

Felt kind of crappy afterwards, like I'd been perving, but fuck it, I know everyone else uses the net for porn. Might as well join the perv parade.

I turn the shower spray to max, and as the hot water pelts down over my back and shoulders, I take myself in hand. Best to do this now; try to use up some of my excess lust so I don't get out of control with Allan later.

That's the big danger in all this, of course. The part that's giving me indigestion far more than the fact of suddenly discovering I'm gay or bi or what the fuck ever. Losing control after seven years learning how to maintain it.; it'd be a bloody nightmare. Still don't know if I dare do more than just fantasise about Allan. Hurting him would be... unacceptable.

I force my thoughts back to porn; less to worry about there. I can see now, at last, why my gender's so obsessed with the stuff. So much easier to deal with than this emotional crud. Hmm, what does it feel like to be inside another bloke's arse? Not like my hand, that's for sure. Though just now, with the steam and running water, my hand feels pretty bloody good.

What would it feel like to be inside Allan? His arse or his mouth. God, he has nice lips. Noticed them right off, and I suppose I should've known from the start I fancied him, noticing things like that. Mind you, they were painted scarlet at the time.

I imagine my cock pushing through those painted lips, dark-rimmed eyes looking up at me, and just like that, I'm coming. I lean heavily against the tiles during a short, intense orgasm that don't feel like nearly enough when it's over.

"Fuck," I mutter, hurriedly getting about the business of washing once I've recovered. Still gotta shave before I go down, not that I've grown a lot to shave since the morning's ablutions, but... well. Oh, I'm buggered if I'm gonna eyeball my motivations too closely here. Just do it and get downstairs.

A few minutes later, I'm just that, wandering into the kitchen. There's no sign of Mum or Grant, but Deb's home and playing with the kittens on the rug.

"Hi, not-so-little bro," she says, looking up with a smile. "Not dressing up then?"

"Not tonight." I look down at myself: jeans, tee, hoodie, and trainers. Yeah, not smart or nothing, but clean and ironed. "Just going to the pub with the lads tonight."

"Reckon Allan'll enjoy that?" Deb seems doubtful.

I shrug, "I'll give him veto-power. Don't wanna do nothing too special tonight as my big plans are for tomorrow."

"Ah, the theatre." Deb draws herself to her feet, holding the black kitten in her hands. She's smirking for some reason.

I give her a suspicious look. "What?"

She laughs. "Rich, has it crossed your tiny male brain that you're taking Allan on a date tomorrow? I don't care if Mel and whatever boy he's now got clinging to his arm will be there playing chaperone. You're taking a gay boy to the theatre with two other gay men. Don't that make you question yourself at all?"

"Don't need to," I reply, turning away from her. There's a mug of tea getting cold on the counter; guess it's mine. I pick it up. "Know what I am now." Or at least, I'm starting to get a much better idea.

"And what's that then?" Deb puts the kitten down and walks round behind me, trailing a hand across my back. "Go on, define it."

"None of your sweet effing business is what it is." I turn and mock-glare at her before swigging down my tea.

"Why not?" She raises her over-plucked brows. "Not like you don't know all my business inside out."

"Yeah, whether I want to or not." I duck in time for Deb's open palm to miss me and check the time on the hob while I'm down there. Another five and I'd better be off. Don't mind waiting at the station a little if I have to.

"You have to admit you've bonded strongly to Allan."

"Bonded? We're not bloody araldite." I sigh. "You need to drop this, woman. Ask yourself -- when was the last time you saw me acting this way?"

Deb's voice is softer when she replies. "So Allan is special then?"

I give her a rueful look. "Can hardly deny it, can I? Know I'm acting like a mad stalker on space-dust or something. Don't know how to stop."

She reaches out and gently combs her fingernails through the hair at my temples, making me feel about five years old. "Maybe you shouldn't stop. Not 'til you get there."

"You know I can't do that." I look down at my empty mug.

"Why not? Allan's not Josie, Rich. Nothing like her. And you're not who you were at fifteen neither."

Aw shit, if only I could be certain of that. This would all be so fucking easy if I could just know that for sure. Allan fancies me all right. I just need to give the nod, and he'll be all over me...

"Is it the gay thing?" Deb asks suddenly.

I give her an annoyed look. "Course it bloody ain't. I mean, would've bet a lot of money that I weren't gay, but I don't care that I am." I pause, my words having rung a dud note to my own ears. "Well, I know it don't come without hassle -- Justin being a knob, for a one. But all things being equal, it don't bother me. You know that."

She frowns, scratching her nails into the hair at her temple. "So all that's standing in your way is what happened one day seven years ago with Josie?"

I wish she'd stop saying that name, stop making me think of the girl and of my crime. Fuck, if I did something like that to Allan it'd all be- I look up at the clock near the door and grab my jacket. "Gotta go, Deb. Don't say nothing about this, ok?"

"To who?"

"Anyone. Dunno what I'm going to do yet. Don't wanna feel people are silently urging me one way or another."

"Gotcha." Deb nods. "Don't fret. Go pick up your sweet boy and bring him home. We'll treat him like one of ours and seduce him for you." She winks.

With an uncertain smile in reply, I nab my car keys from the plate on the dresser and hustle out.

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