Nigel Gordon

Walk the Wild Side

Copyright © 2020 by Nigel Gordon

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Nigel Gordon asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

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Contents

1. Foreword

2. Acknowledgement

3. Chapter 1

4. Chapter 2

5. Chapter 3

6. Chapter 4

7. Chapter 5

8. Chapter 6

9. Chapter 7

10. Chapter 8

11. Chapter 9

12. Chapter 10

Foreword

This is a story which is based in part on real events which happened to real people, people who I have come to know. I would like to thank Dan and Jaz for telling me their stories. Authors need inspiration and our inspiration comes from the world around us. Sometimes that world is not a nice place.

Acknowledgement

I would like to thank Pedro, JD, Ty and Cole Parker for variously beta-reading, fact checking, and editing the innumerable drafts that this went through before it got to its final form.

Chapter 1

Yes, I know I should have been eighteen to join the site, but, so what? I was nearly eighteen — well, alright, I was seventeen a couple of months ago. Anyway, it is not as if it was illegal for me to have sex. I was well over the age of consent, bloody randy, and all my friends were bonking off with their girlfriends like there was no tomorrow. I wanted sex. I wanted to find out what it was all about.

There was of course one major problem. I wanted sex with another male. Girls did not interest me, never have, never will. No, that is not quite correct; girls do interest me but not in that way. I have some girls who are friends, and I have a good time with them. It is just that they are not girlfriends, and I don’t want a girlfriend. Now a boyfriend, that would be different. Unfortunately, in the town I live in it would also be impossible. Where in the seven hells was I likely to find a boyfriend? So far as I knew there were not any other gay boys or men in the entire town.

Looking back on things, I should have known better. There had to be other gay boys and men in town. They say that between five and ten percent of the male population is gay and there is another twenty to forty percent that plays both sides. Given that there were some thirty thousand inhabitants of Cromford of whom about fifty percent were male, that is some fifteen thousand males, of which probably two thirds are of legal age, that means there must have been a potential ten thousand males of which at least five hundred had to be gay. Then there were another two thousand who were playing about with both men and women. So, in theory I should have had a potential pool of two thousand five hundred to hook up with.

That may have been fine in theory, but the question was, how did I find them? I had heard rumours at school about boys being approached by men in the public toilets off the Market Street carpark. However, that sounded a bit sordid to me. Anyway, the option was no longer available. In one of their cost cutting exercises the council had closed the public toilets just after Easter. So, no hope there.

It occurred to me that if those public toilets were a pick-up spot, then there must be others around town. How did people find out about these? It’s not as if they had adverts showing up in the local paper. Where to look to find out? Where did you look to find out anything? The web of course. So, I went online and googled it.

“Cromford gay meet up”, was what I entered. Was a bit shocked when Google returned more than seven thousand hits. I was even more shocked to find that the first few in the list seemed to be for massage parlours and escort services. Though I must admit if I had the money, I would have been tempted to use one, the way I was feeling at the time.

It was on the second page that I found a listing that looked as if it might be worth following. “Young bi male looking for fuck partner in Cromford or Little Hamford …“. It looked interesting, so I clicked on the link.

I did not get to the page. Instead I got a page telling me that the page I was trying to access was viewable by members only and I needed to sign up or login. What caught my eye though was the site name, ‘LocalGuyWildSide’, and the page banner, “Explore your Wild Side, Local Man 2 Man Sex Contacts.” It gave me the option of logging in as a guest for a time limited period, so I did.

I had to put in my post code. When I did, a list of local matches came up. There were over two hundred. I could not message them or anything but could look at their details and see their pictures. Most of them showed pictures of their bodies or their cocks, but no faces, at least on their public pictures. They also had ‘friends only’ pictures but you could not see them unless you had become their friend and you had to be a member to do that.

I clicked to message one guy who looked interesting. A window opened telling me that I had to be a member to message members and that I should sign up.

Tempting, in fact very tempting. To quote Oscar Wilde, ‘the only thing to do for temptation is to give into it’, so I did. I clicked to sign up and entered my details. OK, they were not exactly my details but they were close enough. The site made it clear that I had to be over eighteen to join, so I changed my date of birth to fit.

The registration process was quite long. I had to write up a profile of myself. Easy enough; I said that I was new to all this and just wanted to find somebody to show me the ropes. One thing I had to say was how big my cock was. I chose average. I do not know if I am bigger or smaller than other guys. Never got around to measuring it, at least not since it stopped growing. That is if it has stopped growing.

Once I had selected average I decided I better check, so got out a tape measure, whipped out my cock and got it hard, then measured it: sixteen point two five centimetres. Was that average or not? Opening up another tab in my browser, I entered another Google search, ‘average cock size’. Apparently, the average American male’s penis size is five point six inches when erect and four point eight inches in circumference. Not much bloody help. Why can’t they use the same measurements as the rest of the world?

I gave up on cock size and went on to sexual interests. How should I know what my sexual interests are? Anyway, what is TV or SM? I just ticked all the boxes. That way I had all my bases covered.

The next boxes were asking if I could accommodate and could I travel. Well, I know how my parents would react if I was to say I have someone coming round for sex. That was right off, so I stated ‘cannot accommodate’. However, I could travel, at least a bit. Got a 125cc motorbike for my seventeenth and had just passed my test, so I could get around, at least in town and the surrounding villages.

Finally, I had to select the age group I wanted to meet. Did not want to meet anyone I was likely to know from school, so I set the minimum age to twenty, then left the maximum age to the default, that was ninety-nine. What the hell, I am not into age discrimination.

Once that was set I pressed save and got a message saying that my profile was saved and would activate as soon as I had activated the confirmation link that had been sent to my email. Checked my email, found the email in the spam folder, opened it and clicked on the link. Got taken to the login page with a notice confirming my account was now open.

I then logged in and got a reminder that I needed to upload some pictures. I took a quick look around the site looking at profiles and seeing what sort of pictures others were putting up. Most of them were nude or semi-nude shots. There were some close-ups of cocks and a lot of close-ups of tight underwear showing erect cocks in them. I wondered how I could get some pictures like that, then remembered my mother had a full-length mirror on the wardrobe in her bedroom. So a stripped off and went into her room and took some pictures of myself in the mirror using my phone.

Back in my room, I dressed. Uploaded the pictures from the camera onto my computer, then edited them to make sure there were not any face shots and I could not be recognised. Then I uploaded them to the site. One, which showed me in a very skimpy pair of white briefs with a very erect cock tightly packed in the briefs, I put up as my profile picture. The rest I made friends only.

Just then I heard the front door go; mother was home. I switched my browser to Facebook and started to catch up with my friends.

Mother called, saying that lunch was ready. I went through to the kitchen, where she was just turning out some chicken pie and chips onto some plates.

“Sorry dear,” she stated, “I have to go back on duty at three, Carol’s phoned in sick, so I won’t be able to cook dinner. Thought you better have a good lunch as your father is out ‘til late.”

For a moment, I considered asking her when Father was not out late but then thought better off it. Anyway, just then my phone pinged. I checked it to see that an email had arrived. Then it pinged again, another email. Followed by yet more pings as more emails came in. Mother looked at me.

“You phone seems busy?” It was a question, not a statement; she wanted to know what was going on.

“Yes,” I replied. “Got added to some email list and now getting piles of spam. Must reset my mail filters.” I switched the phone to silent.

Over lunch we talked about my plans for the summer holidays. Basically, I did not have any. I had wanted to try and get a holiday job, but Dad had put his foot down on that. Said it looked bad, as if we needed the money. The fact that we did need the money was beside the point; no son of his was going to have to work whilst still at school. Once I was away at university I could think about getting part-time work to support myself but not before.

Mother moaned to me about Carol going sick. By the sound of it, I think she suspected that Carol’s sickness was just the first step to Carol leaving the surgery. For the past few years Carol and my mother had job shared the assistant practice manager’s role between them whilst bringing up their respective families. One of them covered the morning session eight ‘til one, the other did the afternoon/evening session three ‘til eight. It was likely that if Carol left they would want to make the position full-time, which would be a bit difficult for mother.

I thought it was best not to tell mother that Maddie, my best friend and Carol’s daughter, had told me that Carol and Dr Stevenson were now an item, though suspected mother probably knew that anyway; Carol was one of her best friends. Dr Stevenson had locumed at the surgery for a few months last year, shortly after Maddie’s father died. He had taken a permanent position at a practice in Worcester, some thirty miles away. Maddie was worried that if things got serious her mother would want them to move to Worcester.

Must admit I would not have minded moving to Worcester. I had checked out Gay Worcester’s site and there were a number of gay friendly places, so I would have had no problem meeting up with somebody. As it was I was stuck in Cromford, with not much option. However, things might be getting better. Those pings on my phone were all emails telling me I had messages on LocalGuysWildSide; now all I needed to do was read them, that though would have to wait until mother was out. Did not want to risk her walking in on me whilst I was on the site. Not that she ever did walk in on me without knocking first but, you know, there is always a first time.

So, I waited ‘til after three to go back onto the site. When I did get back onto it I had over thirty messages waiting for me. Some of them I could just not believe. One man was telling me he had a bladder full of piss for me to drink, another that he wanted to eat my shit. Do people really do that? Then I found the message from someone calling himself GayAuthor. I checked his profile, he was an old man but had a lot of verifications saying how good and gentle he was, some of them from members around my own age, or at least the age I had given when I registered.

What he said made sense:

Hi LonelyBoy147

You say in your profile that you are new to this. If that is the case I think you need to look at the interests you have listed and revise them. Are you really into scat? Do you even know what it is? If you don’t I suggest you remove it from your list. The same goes for watersports and S&M. Are you a TV/TS or do you really want to meet one? Again, if you do not know what these means you might be best to delete them from your profile

To start with you need to cut your list of interests down to the minimum. For a start I suggest you just have 1 on 1, kissing, safe sex, and wanking on your list. You can think about webcam — do you really want to show yourself wanking on the web with the risk that the other end may be recording it and could post it to the web?

If you are meeting anyone, meet them first somewhere public, just in case you want to break the meet off.

If you need any advice, message me.

GayAuthor

I noticed that GayAuthor was online, so sent him a message asking what the terms meant. The reply I got shocked me. Scat it seemed was eating or playing with somebody’s shit: not my idea of fun. Then again being pissed on and drinking piss, which it appears that the term watersports covered, was also not something I wanted to explore. As for S&M GayAuthor explained that meant sadism and masochism. I knew what sadism was and did not fancy that. I had to look up masochism and decided I definitely did not enjoy pain. TV/TS turned out to be transvestite and transsexual. There was no way I was dressing up in girl’s clothing, though I had no objection to meeting someone who did, though did not fancy the idea of sex with them. However, just to be safe, I thought it best not to go down that path.

Once I got GayAuthor’s reply I got quickly back to my profile and edited it. Then went through the messages and deleted most of them. There were a few, though, that I followed up on.

One responded that he was in the area that afternoon, wanted to fuck me and I should be standing on the corner of High Street and Station Street at six for him to pick me up. He specified that I should not be wearing any underwear. I deleted that response and blocked the user. There was something about it that did not feel right.

I did send a message to GayAuthor asking him how I could decide which responses to follow up. He replied that I should only meet up with people who provided a face picture on their account, though he pointed out that it may be in a friends’ only section and I would have to friend them to see it. Also he said to read the verifications carefully. See if there was anybody of a similar age to myself verifying them and see what they said about them. He also suggested I should check out the profiles of the persons verifying and see if they were verified by others. GayAuthor warned me that some people set up accounts just to verify themselves, so you get circular verifications. If you start to find those you need to be wary as it indicates something might be wrong. I had to message him back and ask what a circular verification was. He responded:

Hi LonelyBoy147

Genuine account holders tend to pick up verifications from all over the place. However, questionable account holders often set up two or three fake accounts to verify themselves, or they may set them up with a small group of friends. So if A verifies B and B verifies A, that is not a problem. It is normal for board members who have good sex together to verify each other. However, if A verifies B and B verifies C and then C verifies A you have a circular verification. One or two of those may not be a problem but if you find a lot you are probably looking at either a close-knit group of friends, who are probably using the site to get new bodies to play with, or a member who is using a number of fake accounts to verify himself.

Take care, play safe.

GayAuthor.

He was right. When I checked the verifications on the accounts I found a couple which were circular, so I deleted the responses from them and blocked the users. The others I sent simple responses to, thanking them for their messages and asking them to tell me more about who they were and what they were into.

Some responded quickly with invitations to meet up that evening for all sorts of things. Most said they wanted either to fuck me or have me fuck them. Was not sure I was into that yet, so I sent back a message saying I could not be free that evening. One message was from a chap with the username TommyTeen, the site said he was twenty-two and he had been on the site for three years. In his message, he identified himself as Tom and suggested that we meet up in town for a coffee one day in the week. I told him my name was Peter — it wasn’t; it’s my middle name — but I did not want to use my real name on the board. Tom said it was always best to meet someone somewhere safe and neutral to start with. That was what GayAuthor had said to me, so it made sense, I responded to Tom and agreed to meet up at the local Starbucks on Thursday.

There was also a message from a MasterJames. He was a new contact, had not been in the original set of messages I had got. His message was very complimentary about my profile and said that he liked the fact that my English usage was correct. From the sound of it I thought he might be a school teacher. Anyway, he sounded nice, so I responded to him.

Later that night I got another message from him. He asked me what I had done and what I wanted to do. I replied and told him I was new to all this; aside from some mutual wanking with my friends, Simon and John and a couple of boys from school when I was thirteen, I had not done anything. That got a response that I needed to be taught properly so I did not mess up. I messaged back that it would be nice to be taught by somebody who knew what they were doing.

I also got friend requests from MasterJames and TommyTeen, both of which I accepted. I also sent a friend invite to GayAuthor. The other friend requests I received I deleted. I had just deleted the last of them when I got a friend acceptance from GayAuthor. I went and read his profile. One of his verifications was from TommyTeen. I made a mental note to ask about that when we met on Thursday.

Tuesday morning there was another message from MasterJames. It said he would be in Cromford that afternoon and suggested meeting up for a drink in the Red Lion about one. Well, there was no way I could do that. Cromford is not very big and there are only a couple of pubs in the centre. If I went to one I was bound to be seen and word would get back to mother. To make matters worse, the bar maid at the Red Lion was my mother’s oldest friend; they had been at school together. If I was seen in there meeting a thirty-six-year-old man mother would know about it before I even got home. I messaged him back and explained the situation. He replied that it was a pity as he would have liked to have met me but it would have to be some other time, maybe at the weekend. I agreed but felt a bit bad about letting him down when he had gone out of his way to invite me to a meeting.

I got another message from Tom, that is TommyTeen, to finalise arrangement for Thursday. He said he was taking his brother camping in the Wye Valley for two nights so would not be back till Thursday morning. I asked him wasn’t it a bit far to go for two nights. He told me his brother was fifteen and a keen angler who wanted to do some night fishing, so they were going to a fishing lake for two nights. We agreed to meet at Starbuck’s at two-thirty, Tom told me what he would be wearing so I could recognise him.

That evening I exchanged another series of messages with MasterJames, who had guessed I was not eighteen. Don’t know what gave me away but he insisted I tell him how old I really was. Once he was satisfied I was over sixteen he was happy to continue but warned me to be careful as some users on the site would report me if they found out I was under eighteen. He then started to ask me about how often I wanked and what I thought about when I was wanking. I felt a bit embarrassed answering his questions and felt that he was being intrusive. At the same time I found it somewhat exciting to talk or at least chat online about these things to somebody. Never could speak to any of my friends about such stuff.

Wednesday, mother was off all day. Carol was doing a double shift to cover for the one she took off sick. Apparently, she confided in mother that she would be leaving. Dr. Stevenson had spoken to her about marrying him, though they had decided not to do anything till Maddie finished school. With mother around the house I kept off the board. So it was Thursday morning when I finally got on it. There were piles of messages for me. One from MasterJames sounded a bit angry. He wanted to know why I was not responding to his messages, said it was important that if I was to learn that I had to respect him and respond promptly. I messaged him back saying that I had not been able to get on the board because my mother was around all day.

I had told mother I was meeting Tom in town for coffee. Fortunately, I had a school friend called Tom, so she did not question who Tom was. She actually gave me a fiver to help with the costs, saying she was glad I was starting to get a social life.

Having a couple of things I needed to get, I took the bus uptown and did a bit of shopping before making my way to the market square. I arrived at Starbuck’s a good fifteen minutes before I was supposed to meet Tom so went over and took a seat in the old church yard, from where I could see the entrance to Starbuck’s. About ten minutes later I saw a young man, dressed as Tom said he would be walk up to Starbuck’s and stand near the door. I got up and walked across the precinct to him.

“Tom,” I asked as I walked up to him.

“Yes, you must be Peter.” I took me a second to remember that I had used that name. “Not your real name, I see.”

“It is, but it’s my second name,” I replied. “How did you know.”

“Oh, just the way you responded to it, you had to think for a moment.”

I nodded. “Then Tom must be your real name.”

“Yes, in that it is my first name. However, my family call me Steve, which is my second name. Only my gay friends and my friends at uni call me Tom. Shall we go in a get a coffee?”

Tom was nothing like I expected. From the pictures on his profile I had expected somebody who was … well, not anything like the man in front of me. The photographs of his body on the site had shown a fit body but nothing like the body I could see under the tight stretch of tee shirt, he was ripped. I must have been staring.

“Like what you see?” he asked.

“Yeah, you look a lot more developed that your photos on the site,” I responded.

“I should hope so — they’re three, four years old. I really ought to put some new ones up,” he commented. “I’m on the rowing team at uni and that requires a lot of training.” He paused for a moment. I felt his eyes on me, studying me. “Come on, let’s go in and get a coffee.”

“Ok,” I agreed, “though I think I’m having a hot chocolate.”

Tom laughed at that comment, guided me into Starbuck’s and told me to grab a table, he would get the drinks. I watched him as he went up and joined the queue at the service counter. The place was not busy — never is early afternoon — but there was still a queue. I do not know what it is about Starbuck’s or coffee shops in general for that matter but it does not seem to matter how busy they are it always takes ten minutes before you are served. If anything it took a bit longer right then, not that I was complaining. It gave me more time to look at him. He looked fantastic. Dirty blond hair tied back in a ponytail, tight white tee shirt that emphasized the muscled form below, black hip hugging jeans, which looked so tight that they must have been painted on. They showed the shape of his arse perfectly and when he turned to bring the drinks over to the table I could clearly see the outline of his cock. By the sign of things he was not wearing any underwear.

“So you do like what you see,” he stated, placing the tray of drinks on the table. There was also a plate with a couple of Tiffin cakes on it. “Thought we might need some sustenance as I think we are likely to be here for a bit.”

With that he sat down. For a moment there was silence, the he started. “You’re not eighteen are you?”

“No,” I responded.

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Good, at least you are legal.”

“Are there some who aren’t?” I asked.

“Some,” he responded. “Not many; the board is good at picking them up and killing their accounts, but there are some. Met up with a lad in Brum last term and it turned out he was fifteen.”

“What did you do?”

“Introduced him to the YLGBT group in town and told him to get off the board, it’s too bloody dangerous and not just for him. I also reported his account, so it got killed. Stupid idiot was back on a week later with another user id. He is going to get hurt.”

“Haven’t you reported his new id?” I asked.

“Naa not my job, and anyway, I was too busy with my finals. He got taken down anyway in a couple of days.”

I asked him what he had been studying at Birmingham University. He informed me he was not at Birmingham but at Aston, where he was reading Engineering. Although he was hoping to be at Birmingham next academic year to do his master’s. That took us onto a discussion about education. He told me that he was planning on going for a PhD in Environmental Engineering, the master’s being his first step. He wanted to know about my plans for A levels and university. It turned out he had gone to the same school I was at now and one of his brothers, Paul, was in the sixth form with me, though I did not know him other than by sight. In the end we were chatting together for over half an hour and had not discussed sex or the board.

I went up and got us some more drinks and another couple of slices of Tiffin cake. When I got back I asked about GayAuthor.

“Ah, Cromford’s dirty old man,” Tom replied.

“Is he a dirty old man?”

“Naa, actually he is quite nice. I’m glad I met him when I first went on the site. He gave me a lot of good advice and also taught me a lot about sex. He is very considerate and although a top he is not a dominant unless you are into that sort of role play with him.”

“So, you have had sex with him?” I asked.

“Of course, that is what the site is about. It is not a dating service to make friends and find your life partner, though I have made quite a few friends through it. It is somewhere to find a body to bonk with for a couple of hours. Don’t make the mistake thinking you are going to meet friends and other gays you can talk to and have a good time with. Most of the men on that site are so deeply in the closet they have problems admitting to themselves that they are gay or even bi. They call themselves bi-curious. Well, if they are still curious after six months of getting their arses fucked you have to wonder about their ability to think. They are either gay or bi. Accept it, the board is a place to arrange meet ups for sex; that is its sole purpose and the sole reason for being on there is to look for sex. If you are not after sex, leave it. Of course, that raises the question, are we going to have sex?” I must have blushed quite deeply. “Have you had sex with anyone before?”

“No,” I replied.

“I thought so. Look, I like you and would like to have a bonk with you but if this is all too fast, tell me and I’ll pull back. I was going to suggest we go to my place. My parents are away on holiday in Italy. They left at lunch-time and have taken both my siblings with them, so I have the house to myself for the rest of this week and next.”

I was not sure. Anyway, it was now gone half three and I needed to be home by five. That was a good excuse. It ended up with us agreeing to meet again and swapping mobile numbers and email addresses. Also, Tom told me that if I did make arrangements to go anywhere for a sex meet-up to make sure somebody knew where I was going.

“Who am I going to tell?” I asked. “Can’t tell my parents I’m going off to meet somebody for sex.”

“Don’t you have any friends you could trust?”

“Not for that.”

“Look, use me. If you are going to meet anyone, text me the details, what time you are meeting them, what time you are due back. When you get back text me to let me know you’re OK. If I don’t hear from you in a certain time I will raise the alarm.”

“Is that necessary?”

“It bloody well is. Most people on the board are OK or at least not too bad, but there are some nasties. You need to be careful.”

With that we split up with a final agreement to message each other later. I went back to the car park and got my bike, then rode home thinking what I might have missed not going to Tom’s place. By time I got home I was bloody regretting it. I liked Tom and thought I could trust him and I needed somebody I could trust for my first time.

When I got home I walked into the inquisition.

“Where have you been?” my mother asked.

“I told you, I was going up to town to meet Tom, we’ve been in Starbuck’s all afternoon chatting.”

“I saw Mrs Crawford and Tom at the library. He said you’ve not been in touch with him since the end of term.”

“Not that Tom, Paul Bletchley’s older brother, he’s just finished at Aston and I was talking to him about what it is like there.” I knew mother knew the Bletchleys so she probably knew the older brother was at Aston. It was a good cover because we had already discussed Aston as one of my options for university.

“I thought the older Bletchley boy was Steve,” she commented.

“That’s his middle name, it’s what the family uses, but he prefers to be called Tom by his friends.”

Somewhat mollified she went back to preparing dinner. I went to my room and onto the computer. There was an email telling me I had a message from TommyTeen. Did not risk going onto the board with mother in the house, just in case. One of the problems of living in a bungalow is that you can’t hear people coming up the stairs, so you get no warning that they are on their way. I know my mother would not walk in without knocking but can’t say the same for some of my friends who might call round.

It was a good job I did not go onto the site because about ten minutes later Maddie burst into my room. Maddie is one half of the Atkins twins, the bossy half. Her mother and mine have been friends since they were both nurses in the local hospital. They both gave birth there as well, though not at the same time. Maddie and John are four months younger than me. As a result our mothers tended to share childcare between them. From the time of their birth the twins were either at our house during the day or I was at theirs. Actually, it came as a bit of a shock to us when, at about three and a half, we found out we were not triplets. I still regard Aunty Carol as a second mother, and I know Maddie has the same feeling for my mother. She also treats me as a brother, a younger brother. That explains some of her attitude to me. She never knocks and it has been embarrassing on a couple of occasions. It was not so much the fact that she caught me wanking, more the fact that she just stood there pointing and laughing her head off. I was thirteen at the time and am certain that is what totally turned me off girls.

This time fortunately she did not catch me at anything. She just stormed into the room, slammed the door and slumped onto my bed.

“Not a good day,” I stated. It was far more of a statement than a question; I know Maddie too well and know her moods.

“Fucking no. Bumped into Shirley at the supermarket and she congratulated me on my mother’s engagement. When did they get bloody engaged?”

“Don’t think they are yet,” I commented. “At least not according to mother. Anyway, you told me they were an item.”

“Your mother knows about it. Tell me what…”

“Maddie, calm down.”

“Sorry, but what is going on.”

“All I know is that your mother and Dr. Stevenson have discussed the idea of marriage. That is what mam said anyway. Apparently, they have agreed not to take it any further until you have finished your A levels and are off to university. Then they will decide if they want to get married.”

“Thanks for that information, it’s fucking more than anyone else has told me. I’ll kill them, the pair of them, when I get home. They could have told me what was going on.”

“They probably could,” I agreed, “but Maddie, you have to look at it from their position. As yet they have not done anything more than discuss the idea of marriage and there is no formal engagement or anything. It’s not quite two years since you father died, and I suspect your mother still feels it is a bit too soon to move on.”

Maddie thought about that for a moment, then nodded. “There bloody well should be an engagement, everybody knows they are dolallie over each other.”

“Yes. Just give them time.”

“OK, but I’m not giving you time. Who was that hunk you were with in town?”

“What hunk?”

“The one you were having coffee with in Starbuck’s. Don’t deny it because Marion saw you and took a picture, she’s sent it to everyone.” I groaned. “So, come on, who is he?”

“Tom,” I responded.

“Tom who?”

“Tom Bletchley,” I answered.

“Bletchley as in Paul and David Bletchley from school?”

“Yes, their older brother.”

“I thought their older brother was called Steve,” she commented.

“That’s his second name. His first name is Tom, which he prefers and it’s what his friends call him.”

“So, you’re his friend?”

“Well, sort of,” I answered.

“How sort of? How do you know him? Is he…” I blushed. “You’ve got a boyfriend, haven’t you?”

“No, it’s not that. I just met him to get some advice about Aston University.”

“But how do you know him? It’s not as if you are in the same crowd as Paul. I only know Paul through my economics class, so how do you know his brother?”

“I met him online,” I told her.

“You’ve been going online to meet people?” I did not answer, did not need to my face turned a bright red. “Lennie, have you been going online to get a boyfriend?”

“Well, it seemed a good idea,” I responded, wondering when I was going to get her to stop calling me Lennie. My name is Leonidas, usually shortened to Leo, but Maddie shortens it to Lennie and everybody follows Maddie’s lead, even my mother sometimes.

What followed was a half hour lecture about the dangers of meeting up with people from the internet, especially when you are a seventeen-year-old gay boy. It was only afterwards that I wondered exactly how she knew so much about it. Then again, when it came to computers and the internet, nothing surprised me about Maddie’s knowledge. She definitely knew more about the subject than the IT teacher at school. Bet she had been online doing some research on the subject to try and find me a partner.

That was something I would have to take up with her, though that was for later. Right now I realised I had a major problem. Whether I wanted to or not I had just outed Tom. I knew he was out at university but when it came to home I had no idea.

“So,” Maddie asked me when she had finished her lecture, “is Tom your boyfriend now?”

I looked at her –she had promised never to mention the fact that I was gay after she had wheedled that information out of me last Easter. “No he is not, and we were talking about Aston University. I am going to apply there now.” I had not decided that before but it was one way to shut Maddie up and thinking about it, there was a sensible reason for doing so. It was a good university with a strong basis in science and technology.

Just then mother shouted out that dinner would be ready and did Maddie want to stay for dinner. Maddie jumped up and ran out of the room. I followed her into the kitchen.

“Sorry, Mrs Oliver,” she stated as she passed through the kitchen, “I did not realise it was that late. Have to get home and put dinner on; mother’s expecting Dr. Stevenson this evening.” Mother smiled at receiving this titbit of gossip.

Once Maddie had gone I fed Blackie, our dog, then went to clean up before dinner. I also sent Tom a quick text telling him what had happened and that I may have outed him. Got an answer back that he was already out at home so no problem.

It had gone eleven by the time I got onto the board. There was a message from Tom thanking me for the meeting and suggesting we meet up for lunch on Sunday at one of the pubs by the canal. He said it was his treat and he would bring a friend who could tell me more about the gay scene in Cromford. I messaged back saying OK.

There was also a message from MasterJames. I had told him at one point that I had a 125cc motorbike and he had said he rode a Triumph and a BMW and had several friends who rode bikes. In one of his messages he had said that they often went off for rides in the country for parties. Now he was inviting me to join them on Saturday week. Said they were going to Langford Bridge, which was about forty-five miles, then would be returning to his place in Little Hamford for a barbeque party. He also said he would be in Cromford this Saturday morning and suggested meeting up at the shopping centre by the Worcester road junction.

I asked him what time and also asked for details about the trip. He messaged back suggesting eleven by the entrance to Mario’s, about the only good food outlet there. He also told me that the road trip would start about three and the party would be starting about seven. Sounded good, so I said I would see him on Saturday and join them for the ride but was not sure about the party. He sent a message back saying he would send me directions to his place in Little Hamford closer to the date but he did confirm that the party was an optional extra.

Chapter 2

I told my parents that I was going out for lunch on Sunday. When Mother wanted to know why, I told her I was meeting Tom to get some more information about Aston University. She was not happy about the fact I would be missing Sunday lunch. Mother still made a big thing of the whole family, all three of us, sitting down together for the meal. Dad told her to stop fussing, that I was at the age when I would start to make my own life outside of the family.

Friday was my day for swimming. Since as long as I could remember during the summer holidays, I had always gone swimming on a Friday. Usually it was with either John, Maddie’s twin brother, or Simon, often both of them. We had all been in the same class at primary school and were mostly in the same classes in sixth form. It had started as kids, when our mothers dropped us off on a Friday morning at the swimming baths so they could go shopping together. Paying the costs of a couple of hours swimming was cheaper than employing child minders for the five of us.

Keith was the fifth. All our mothers being nurses at the local hospital back then. Keith Rogers had been the fifth member of the gang, but he had drifted away after our move to the comprehensive school, and he had left school at the end of last term, not opting for sixth form. Maddie was still part of the gang but had dropped out of swimming when she took up weight training.

If anything, John and Simon were my best friends, or at least they had been, but in the last couple of years they had grown more distant. Especially since they had got interested in girls. However, we still went swimming together.

So, I called round to pick up John just after eleven and gave him a pillion ride to the baths. Simon had his own bike and would meet us there. John and Maddie would not be seventeen till the middle of August, as neither could yet ride a motorbike and John said he would not be seen dead on a moped, Maddie did not care, all she wanted was wheels, so she had a moped. When we got to the baths Simon was waiting for us. All three of us had our trunks on under our streetwear, so it took only moments to get our stuff off, shoved into our bags and into the locker. A quick dash through the showers and we were out into the baths.

Surprisingly the baths were not as full as I had expected seeing that all the schools were out. It was the second week of the school holidays and I suspect most families were away for their annual holiday this week. Also, it was still a bit early; the main surge would come in after lunch, which was why we tried to be there in the morning.

I hate climbing down the steps into the water. When I was younger I would just run and jump in. That, however, was now not an option. First, they had started to clamp down hard on such activity for health and safety reasons. No running, no jumping in. Second, it was considered decidedly uncool behaviour amongst my peers. So I walked down the pool to the deep end, then dived in and glided underwater, coming up about a third of the way up the length of the baths. As I surfaced a voice behind me said nice dive. I turned to find myself facing Tom.

“Hi, Tom,” I stammered.

“What’s brought you here today?” Tom asked.

“It’s Friday, we always come swimming on a Friday during the holidays,” I replied.

“We?”

“John, Simon and me,” I stated, looking towards the two boys who had climbed into the pool rather than dive and were now swimming towards me. “We have done since we met in primary school.”

Just then Simon reached us. He surfaced and looked at Tom. “Hi, Steve.”

This, I thought, is going to get confusing.

“Hi, Si,” Tom replied. “You know that most of my friends call me Tom?”

“Yah, but I’m your cousin,” Simon replied. “Anyway, you start calling me Simon and I’ll start calling you Tom.”

“You’re Tom’s cousin?” I blurted out.

“Yah, somebody has to be. Are you and Tom boyfriends?” Simon asked just as John reached us. I turned red.

“Why should you think that?” Tom asked.

“Well,” Simon stated, “you’re gay, Leo is gay, and you were together in Starbuck’s yesterday.”

Thank you, Marion, I thought. The photo had clearly circulated further than the girls.

“What do you mean I’m gay?” I asked.

“You are, aren’t you?” John queried.

“Well, yes,” I stammered. “But how did you know? I haven’t told anyone but Maddie.” I paused and thought for a moment. “I’ll kill Maddie.”

“No, you won’t.” John interrupted. “First, she never said anything. You should know Maddie is the one person around our gang who can keep secrets.” That was true, she probably knew more secrets than anyone and never let anything out. “Second, she is bigger than you and a black belt, which makes her a damned sight more dangerous than you.”

I had forgotten that. Maddie was about one inch taller than me but about five kilos heavier. No, that was not the weight of her boobs; she hardly had any; that five kilos was all pure muscle. She not only held black belts in Judo and Taekwondo, she also trained in other martial arts, including weapons, and did weightlifting in which she had won some competitions. She had been doing martial arts since she was ten and weights from fourteen. John and she started Taekwondo at the same time, though John gave up after six months. I remembered how Maddie dealt with the fourteen-year-olds who started to bully John, Simon and me when we moved up to the comp. There was no way I could kill her.

“If it wasn’t Maddie then how …”

“Leo.” John answered, “it’s been obvious since you were fourteen. You were never into girls the way Si and me were. Anyway, when we were playing around with our mutual wank sessions, you were far more into it than we were. It was clear you were gay.”

“But you never said anything,” I pointed out.

“What was there to say?” John asked. “You were still Leo, nothing had changed. In fact, I was glad you were gay.”

“Glad?”

“Yes, you are by far the best-looking guy in the year, and if you were gay you would not be trying to get the girls, so no competition for us. Don’t think we would have stood a chance if you had been after them.

“So are you and … Tom an item.”

“No, we are not!” we both stated together, then laughed.

Tom said he had to get back to swimming. It was part of his endurance training which he needed to keep up during the vacation. He was aiming to do fifty lengths. We did though agree to meet in the leisure centre café later.

John, Simon and I horsed around in the pool for a while. I did some real swimming, at least five lengths, but basically, we were just swimming around in circles, not doing much, and going up onto the low boards to do some simple dives. It was the way we had spent our holiday Fridays for the last five years, so why change it? Tom joined us when he had finished his lengths and we had a game of tag.

The pool started to get busier, so we decided that it was time to leave. In the café Tom and I got sandwiches and a drink, though John and Simon just had a quick drink and said they had to leave. I found this a bit surprising as usually, when we went swimming, we would hang around together for the rest of the afternoon. When I mentioned this to Tom, he smiled.

“I think, Leo, they wanted to give us some time alone. Don’t know about John but I know Simon has quite a romantic streak in him. I hope you don’t mind me calling you Leo. I heard John use it, and with your blond hair is suits you a lot better than Peter.”

“No, I don’t mind, it is my name. But why should they want to give us time alone?”

“Maybe because they could see I fancy you,” Tom replied.

“You do?”

“Yes. You may not realise this, Leo, but you’re a gay guy’s wanking dream. You’re good looking, fit and young, plus you’re intelligent. It is not often that you get all four together.”

“And you really do fancy me?”

“Yes. But the problem is, Leo, I want something more than a quickie with you.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” I responded.

“Look, Leo, most of the guys on that site are looking for one thing: Sex with a capital S. They just want to find someone whom they can have a quick bonk with, cum and move on. I know; I have done exactly that. Turned up at some bloke’s place, gone in, stripped off, fucked him, dressed, then left, all in ten minutes.”

I must have looked a bit shocked.

“Don’t look like that. Leo,” Tom continued. “It’s not all that surprising. Men want sex. Sometimes you get it where you can. Then it is just a quick mechanical release. However, it can be a lot more. You can take your time and give yourself up to providing your partner pleasure. Your pleasure is not important; what is important is that your partner is pleasured. When you do that, sex becomes more than a quick mechanical release.

“If you are really lucky you find somebody to have sex with that you love. Then it becomes an act of love and that is probably the best thing ever.”

“Have you ever done that?” I asked.

“Yes, but it did not last. His family were strict Muslim and when they found out about us they packed him off home to Pakistan. I’ve not heard from him since. I’ve had a partner, Mark, for the last couple of years but we both knew from the start that we were no more than fuck buddies. We split up when we graduated.” There was sorrow and pain in Tom’s voice. I reached across the table and put my hand on his. He looked up and smiled. “Thank you, Leo. You know, I think I might be falling in love with you and that is probably not a good idea.”

“Why not?” I had to ask, as to be honest I was starting to have some feelings about Tom.

“Look, I am going to be at university doing my master’s, then a doctorate, and you’re still at school here. How much time are we going to be able to get together? A relationship, especially in its early stages, needs a lot of input and a lot of time together. Also, there is the age difference. You’re what, four, five years younger than me?”

“How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-two in September.”

“You’re four years eight months older. So what? My dad is ten years older than my mother.”

“Yes, but with gay relationships things are not quite that simple. People would think I was cradle snatching. Anyway, that does not answer the distance problem.”

“You’re only in Brum. I can get there in an hour on my bike. We could be together at weekends and some evenings even. I’m sure you could get here sometimes, Tom.”

“Look Leo, we both need to slow down a bit. I think you might be getting a bit of a crush on me. Quite common for gay youths to get infatuated with the first gay person they can openly connect with. It’s not uncommon for gay men who find themselves advising younger gay men to get infatuated with them, also.”

“So you say we should not do anything?” I asked.

“You mean sex?”

“Yes.”

“Probably best to stay clear for the moment, though it is very tempting.”

“Well, Wilde said the only thing to do with temptation was to give in to it,” I commented.

“Yes, and look what happened to him.”

“Good point,” I responded. “So no chance of a quick wank? My parents are both out.”

Tom looked at me surprised, then thought about it for a moment. “This is probably a mistake but OK, let’s go to my place. My family is in Italy for another week.”

It ended up being more than a quick wank. We were at it nearly two hours. Tom taught me to kiss. I don’t mean a quick peck on the lips, I mean to kiss deeply, properly. You know, where your mouth and their mouth becomes one and you explore the whole space with your tongues. He also sucked my cock, something I could not do to him, not ready for that yet. I’m also not ready to lick his arse, though he licked mine and stuck his tongue into it, said it was called rimming. It ended up with him spreading lube over both our cocks and bellies and me lying on top of him, rubbing our cocks between us. Tom told me it was called frottage. That ended up with me cumming in the biggest blast of my life. Sex with somebody else was definitely so much better than wanking off on your own.

I left Tom’s just after four but had to walk back into town to pick up my bike, so it was just gone five when I got home. Mother was in the kitchen getting dinner ready.

“Maddie was round looking for you,” she informed me as I came in.

“Did she say what she wanted?” I asked. “Though it couldn’t have been important; otherwise she would have called me.”

“She did, so did I — your phone’s off.”

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked it. It was off. I had switched it off at Tom’s and forgotten to switch it back on. “Sorry, its dead; must have forgotten to charge it last night.”

“Well,” mother instructed, “you better go and put it on charge and phone Maddie.”

I fed Blackie, then went to my room and put the phone on charge. It needed it anyway even though it was not flat. Then I used the landline to call Maddie. She wanted to know if I would like to go to the cinema with her and some mates. I agreed to go and we arranged to meet up at seven.

The film was OK, not something I would have gone out of my way to see but entertaining. What was not OK was the grilling I got about Tom. Apparently, John and Simon had gone back to John’s and spent the afternoon telling Maddie how we were making moon eyes at each other over the table in the leisure centre café. Maddie wanted to know all about it and what I had been up to all afternoon. I am sure she will end up working for one of the intelligence services, probably as Grand Inquisitor! Thinking about it, some of the things she carries in her bag looked like instruments of torture.

If I had been a gentleman, no doubt I would have escorted Maddie home to make sure she was safe. Though in practice it would probably have been more sensible for Maddie to escort me home to make sure I was safe. After all, she is the one who knows how to look after herself. In fact, we went to the burger joint after the cinema, where I got the inquisition and then split to each make our own way home. Though we do not live that far away from each other, on opposite sides of the area of grass and trees the town calls a park, we are on totally different bus routes, so it made sense to split up in town.

I got to the bus stop and found I had just missed the nine thirty, which left me with an hour wait for the next bus or take a mile and a half walk. I choose to walk. As I started I remembered to switch my phone on, having switched it off in the cinema. It immediately started to beep with messages. I checked them. One was from Master James confirming he was coming into Cromford in the morning and that we were to meet up for a coffee. Reading the message, I felt that I better agree, as I had already scotched one meeting with him and had implied that I would meet him. It would not be polite to drop out of this one.

I toyed with the idea of going onto the site from my phone, but decided against it. It would not be long before I was home, and I could do so then once my parents were in bed. As things turned out I did not have to wait when I got home. There was a note on the kitchen table that they had gone over to my aunt’s and would not be back till late. That meant I could get on the site the moment I got in.

Master James was online, and we messaged back and forward for a bit. We had arranged to meet at Mario’s, the only decent eating place in the Lowcross retail park. It was one of these new developments by a major road junction, just off the motorway. Not many people from Cromford went to it, as it was a bit difficult to get to from town even though it was technically within the town boundary. Mostly it served people coming from the south of Birmingham, Worcester and even Oxford, who had easy access to it via the motorway. I was fairly happy with meeting up there as there was little likelihood of anybody I knew seeing me.

Chapter 3

Saturday morning I was up early and preparing my breakfast when my mother came through to the kitchen.

“You’re early,” she observed.

“I’m going over to the Lowcross shopping centre. Want to get there before it gets busy,” I stated.

“Whatever for? Isn’t easier to go into town?”

“There’s a branch of Black’s there and I need to look for a new tent,” I responded. Not true but a good cover story.

“Leo, you got a new tent for your fourteenth birthday and it’s hardly been used.”

“Mam, that’s a boy’s tent. I was fourteen and what, one sixty max? I’m seventeen now and one seventy-eight. My feet will stick out of it.”

“Why now? You’ve not said anything before. When we were in Brum we could have looked in a few stores.”

“Only really thought about it last night. John and Maddie’s birthdays are next week and they will both be taking their bike tests. If John passes I thought we could go off to the Beacons camping for a week before school starts.”

“And who do you mean by we?”

“Simon, John and myself,” I replied.

“No Maddie?”

“No, don’t think she is into camping,” I responded. “Anyway, she’s off on some training camp with British Taekwondo the first week of September, which is when we would probably be going. Doubt John can do his test and sort a bike before then.”

“Ok, but don’t go wasting your money,” she admonished.

“I’m not going to buy, just to look. Will probably see what I like and then get it online; it will almost certainly be cheaper online.”

“That’s good thinking,” she commented. “It’s nice to see you getting out with John and Simon more. You’ve been a bit distant from them for some time. You need to build up your social life, outside of Maddie.” I just nodded in agreement, not wanting to commit to anything.

I finished sorting out my breakfast and made mother a bacon sandwich, then rode over to Lowcross. It is technically still part of Cromford but only just, being nearly five miles from the town centre and a good couple of miles from the urban spread of the town. What had until a few years ago been a couple of farms and the odd cottage was now a thriving retail park with an industrial park behind it.

Unfortunately, there are no main roads from the town to the retail park, just a series of small country lanes — a fact that has probably saved most of the small retailers in town. It was just too much of a hassle for most people to drive out to it, at least if you were driving a car; that was why most of its business came from out of town. On a bike it was a different matter, all those tight corners were fun to ride, so long as the weather was good.

Fortunately, the weather was good. Even this early in the morning the temperature was twenty-three and the sun was shining. That was a problem for me. I have very fair skin and it burns easily. So, whilst I would have loved to be able to ride in a tee shirt or tank top and shorts, prudence demanded a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. I know from a safety point of view I should have been wearing my leathers but in this heat they would have been too much.

It was just after ten when I got to Lowcross. Had arranged to meet Master James at eleven so had quite a bit of time to look round. I did go into Black’s and look at tents, though there was nothing there that I liked. At least not in the sort of price range that I had in mind. Whilst there my phone beeped, and I saw it was a text from Maddie. She asked if I could join her and John at three to discuss Simon’s birthday, which was the first week of September. We did this for all our birthdays to make sure that we did not duplicate gifts. I texted back to say I was at Lowcross but would be back in town by one so could meet them at three. I had finished with Black’s and went to PJ Leathers, who had a big outlet store on the park. Did not need any new leathers, the ones I had were only few months old, but it was nice to look. Anyway, there was an assistant in there who was quite attentive. He could not have been much older than me and he latched onto me as soon as I walked into the store. Not that there were that many customers around to latch onto — I think I was the only one in the place. He persuaded me to try a couple of pairs of leather trousers on. One pair was far too tight on me, I could only just do up the zip, and how I got the waist button fastened I do not know. Must admit though I did look good in them. They were a very soft leather which moulded itself to my form and left nothing to the imagination. The assistant seemed very keen on them, especially when he started to check them out on me to see what ‘adjustments’ would be needed.

After trying on the two pair of trousers and about four jackets, I opted to buy a pair of gloves and a silk balaclava. They were actually things I needed. The gloves I had were not really that good and I did not have a balaclava to wear under my helmet. Had missed that in the bad weather we had back at Easter when I first got the bike.

I had just left the leather store when three bikes roared into the parking area. They rode in formation, one in front, the two others side by side behind him. The leader swung his bike round and parked it in the motorcycle parking area. His outriders followed suit but parked a bit away from him. Once off their bikes they stood for a moment and talked, then the two followers started to walk across in the direction of the leather store while the leader went off towards Mario’s food outlet. It was there that I had arranged to meet Master James.

I checked my watch and saw it was not quite ten fifty; I had agreed to meet Master James at eleven at the entrance to Mario’s. He had been quite insistent that I made sure I was on time, saying that if I was not there he was not going to hang around and wait for me. In one of his messages he had told me that people who were late tended to be time wasters and wimps. It seemed Master James had a particular dislike of wimps. At least that was the impression I got from his messages.

I popped into W H Smith’s to get some cartridges for my pen. I know my friends mock me but I do prefer to write using a fountain pen than a biro. Find it a lot easier. I’ve got a really nice Lamy pen which writes like a dream. Unfortunately, getting cartridges for it can be a bit of a problem. So, I make a point of grabbing some anytime I am anywhere that sells them, like the larger branches of Smiths.

When I came out of Smiths it was just gone ten fifty five, so I made my way to the entrance to Mario’s. As I walked across I looked round to see if I could see any of the bikers who had ridden in, but there was no sign of them. Once at Mario’s I took my place on the left side of the entrance, waiting for Master James to make himself known.

“Peter?” a voice from inside the door asked. I turned in that direction just as the leader of the three bikers stepped out.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Good,” he replied. “I’m Master James.” He held out his hand in greeting, I took it and got a very firm handshake. I noticed he had emphasised the word master when he had introduced himself. “Let’s go through to the terrace; it has a far better view than looking over to the car park, and also it’s more private for talking.” With that he turned and led the way through Mario’s to the rear. Since the retail park had opened I had been out here a number of times, and I had visited Mario’s before. It was by far the best place for food in the park, the alternatives all being junk food outlets. What I had not realised was that there was a terrace at the back of the place that looked out over the valley beyond.

Master James was right; the place was a lot more private. There was only one other table on the terrace occupied and that was at the far end from where Master James took a table. I mentioned to him that I had not known that the terrace was there. He informed me that it was generally only open for special events and weekends because of the extra staff needed to cover it. If I had come during the week it would not have been available. That made sense. I had normally come out here on weekdays during the holidays.

The waitress came and took our order. I ordered cola and a Danish, Master James ordered coffee and strudel. We chatted for a few minutes until we were served. Once served and the waitress had moved away Master James asked me why I had joined the site.

“Well, I was gay and did not know how to find anyone else who was gay in Cromford,” I informed him.

“It can be difficult to meet up,” Master James commented. “That’s especially true as so many are dishonest about themselves.”

“What do you mean, dishonest?” I asked.

“They try to pretend that they are not gay. You find them trying to set up some sort of relationship that looks like what you get between a girl and a boy. That’s not being gay. It means that in any relationship one of the males has to take on a subservient female role. Being gay is about being male, being a man.

“Look Peter, you don’t want to be a girl do you?” he asked.

“No,” I responded.

“Then, why go looking for a relationship that pushes you into a female role?” he asked. “Real gay men want men, not imitation women. They want men who can take charge of them as men and make them feel as men. They don’t want to get into some lovey-dovey relationship with one person, they want to be part of a group, a gang. That’s how men bond, they form gangs, groups of men who have a common interest.

“For us it is sex. We enjoy sex, we explore sex, we use it to the full. You’re new to all this aren’t you?” I confirmed I was, and he continued. “You have a lot to learn Peter. There is a lot I can teach you. There is no need for you to be on your own. There is a group of us for you to belong to. We will guide you and teach you, we will be there for you.”

There was something about the way that Master James was talking that made me feel included. Since I had realised I was gay I had always felt a little bit of an outsider. Never quite fitting in. Now it made sense, I had been thinking of life in terms of straight relationships, the boyfriend and girlfriend, husband and wife scenario that I saw all around me. I could never work out how I fitted in with such a lifestyle. Now Master James had made it clear: I did not. The gay lifestyle was different.

I must have nodded or something to show my agreement with his argument as he continued. “Look Peter, gay men have to take sex where and when we can find it. We are like sharks going out hunting for sex. Of course, that creates problems, so we find our own way to solve them. We form groups and are available for each other within the group.

“Of course, any group must have a leader. I am one, I lead a group of young men, gay like yourself, all of whom ride motorcycles. We like the sort of things you do, bikes, speed, leather.” As he said that he glanced down at the PJ Leathers bag that I had put down at the side of the table. “It is a group where you can find a home, no longer be outside. You would be welcome inside. There you will find sex and you will find friends, for we will look after each other. We also teach you about sex and about yourself. We will teach you to be a man, a real gay man, not some boy pretending to be a girl to please some dirty old man who wants to fuck him.”

“Are there a lot of dirty old men who want to fuck boys?” I asked.

“More than you can imagine,” he replied. “That is one thing I can assure you we will keep you protected from. Once you are one of us no dirty old man will be able to get his hands on you.”

There was something comforting about that statement. It made me feel important, that Master James was concerned for me. I thanked him for the assurance on my safety. He told me that looking after each other was what the group was about and that I would fit right in with it. Then he invited me to join them for lunch in Little Hamford. I was tempted to agree but remembered that I had already made arrangements to meet Maddie in the afternoon. One thing you did not do was fail to turn up when you had agreed to meet her. You might do it once, but that would be the last time.

I explained that I had an appointment in the afternoon that I could not change so would be unable to take up the invitation. Master James expressed regret but stated that he hoped we could meet again soon and that I would be able to join them for the ride the next Saturday. We finished off, paid our bills and I walked with Master James to the motorcycle parking area. The two guys who had ridden in with him were standing by their bikes, helmets on, which I thought was a bit strange, when we got there. I noticed they were both dressed alike, black tank top, wide leather studded belt, blue denim jeans and calf-high biker boots. Both men had tribal tattoos down their left arms. I wondered if Master James was the same. He was wearing a light denim jacket, so I could not see arms. However, it was open and he appeared to be wearing a tank top underneath. There was a hint of a tattoo showing over the next of the tank top.

I put the stuff I had bought into my top box. Master James repeated that he hoped I would make it to the ride next Saturday, assuring me that I would find it interesting. He also emphasised that it was for men, not wimps.

It was well before twelve when I got home. I had plenty of time before I was due to meet Maddie in town. Mother had left a note saying that she and Dad had decided to go into Worcester for the day, would be back around four. Guessed that Dad was being dragged around clothes shops as mother wanted a new outfit for a wedding in September they were going to. Fortunately, I had not been included on the invite, so did not have to get a new suit.

Given that there was nobody around I took the opportunity to go onto the site. There were a few messages for me, most of which I deleted immediately. Tom had messaged me to give me details where to meet for lunch the next day. It was a canal-side pub down by the locks. I knew it as it was one of the few pubs around that was specifically dog friendly, so one dad and I sometimes popped into when we took Blackie out for a Sunday walk. Though we had not done that for a couple of years.

There was one message from HappyBoy10, inviting me to meet with him for a chat and a coffee on Thursday evening. He suggested meeting at a greasy spoon on the edge of town. Not the best café around but popular with truck drivers who took the main road as a short cut from the M40 to the M5. In his message he said he was twenty-eight, though the site listed him as thirty, and gay. He was very open in saying that he was not interested in any sort of relationship but was looking for a regular sex partner. Well, a regular sex partner would be a damned site better than what I had at the moment, which was nothing. I messaged him back and agreed to meet.

Scanned the meets that were listed on the site but there was nothing there that interested me. In fact, there were some that actually repulsed me, such like the chap asking for tops to come and fuck him bareback and fill his arse with cum. Doesn’t he have any respect for himself?

Not being in any rush, I decided to walk into town. I could always get the bus back if I needed to. Anyway I was not too keen on parking my bike in the car park as there had been a couple of bikes stolen from the motorcycle parking area in recent months, even though there were fastening posts to lock your bike up to. Another advantage of walking into town was that I could take some routes that were not available when using wheeled transport. For a start, I could walk through the park, then along the river bank and cut up through the churchyard to the market square. Although not much shorter than following the road, it was far more enjoyable on a warm day.

I came up the steps from the river to the church yard and entered by the back gate, only to find Maddie and Keith Rogers sitting on a bench behind the church. Maddie looked up surprised as I walked up, giving me the distinct impression that I had walked in on something where I was not exactly welcome. Keith grunted some sort of acknowledgement to me, and Maddie said she had expected to see me later at Bruno’s, a small café just off the market square where we had agreed to meet. I told her I would be there at three and left, wondering what Maddie and Keith were doing together.

They had been close for a couple of years before Keith had left school. I had got the distinct impression that anything between them had ceased before then. For one thing, Maddie’s mother had made it quite clear that she did not approve of Keith. Thinking about it, I realised that once that disapproval had been made clear, we, that is Simon, John and I, had sort of dropped Keith from our group, as we normally went to Maddie and John’s after school. To some extent Keith had separated himself from the group before that. This was partly by the subjects he choose to study at fourteen, it being clear even then that he was not going for sixth form, and even more so by the fact that he increasingly tended to hang out with a group of lads who were just not into the things we were into.

Crossing the market square, I popped into the local card shop and bought cards for Maddie and John; it was their birthday next week. Then slipped into the bookshop, just to browse. I made it to Bruno’s about ten to three. John was already there. He told me he had no idea where Maddie was as he had not seen her all day. I mentioned I had seen her earlier with Keith Rogers. John gave me a questioning look. I decided best not to supply further information.

Probably just as well because that was when Maddie arrived. We all got colas and sat discussing what each of us were getting Simon for his eighteenth. No mention was made of the twins’ birthday the following Wednesday. Once we had made sure we were not clashing on gifts, we split up or at least John split. He was taking his girlfriend to the cinema. I had no specific plans so we decided to walk home. Maddie’s house being on the opposite side of the park from mine, we split up at the bandstand and made our way home. I had only just got home when mother arrived back with piles of bags, followed by father, who looked as if he had been put through the wringer. I suppose being dragged round every dress shop in Worcester, especially on a day verging on the hot, can have that effect on any man, especially when he is having to pay.

Dad asked me if I could take a look at the car, said something did not sound right. Dad’s an IT man and apparently quite brilliant at it. Mechanically, he is useless. He is also useless at any form of DIY. Somehow, I have acquired a mechanical bent and love putting up shelves and things. Until I was fourteen I would often hang out with Keith at his father’s garage on a Saturday, helping out and in the process learning a lot about car mechanics. Unlike Keith, I had never had the desire to go into the business; it had, though, led to my interest in engineering. However, Dad had put a stop to me going to the garage when one of his mates had said something about me working there.

I went out and started the car. Dad was right, something did not sound right. Could have investigated but to be honest I did not feel in the mood, so went back in and told him he better take it into the garage. He gave me the look which said ‘can’t you do something?’ but did not say anything. I told him I thought it might be the timing belt, and that that needed specialist tools.

Sunday morning I was late getting up, very late. It was something of a rush to get ready to go and meet Tom and his friend for lunch. I was supposed to be at the Leathern Bottle at twelve-thirty and it was a good half hour walk along the canal bank. So I had to leave at noon at the latest, and so not waking up till gone eleven was not good. Fortunately, mother had decided to take Blackie out of a walk, so I did not need to take him along with me. That would have slowed me down.

It was not as if I had any excuse for oversleeping other than being a seventeen-year-old. I had not been up late the night before, or at least not that late. I had stayed up a bit: one of the messages I got on the site had given me a link to a gay porn site, and I had gone on it once my parents were in bed. It had been interesting but I had not been on it that long, or at least I didn’t think I had.

In the end, I got ready and got out just before twelve and made it to the pub with a couple of minutes to spare. Tom was already there. I was surprised to see him sitting at a table alone as he had mentioned meeting a friend. When I asked about this he told me that Stephen was at the police station and doubted he would be out in time to join us.

“Is he in trouble?” I asked.

“No,” Tom replied, laughing. “But one of his clients is. Stephen is a solicitor. He got a call at nine this morning that one of his clients had been arrested last night and was in custody; he has gone over to see if he can sort out bail. No idea how long it will take, especially as it is a Sunday.”

Tom asked me what I would like for lunch. I took a quick look at the menu and opted for fish and chips. I know, not traditional Sunday lunch, but I almost never got it at home so it was a nice change. That established, Tom went to the bar to order the food and get us some drinks, a bitter shandy for me and a pint of bitter for him.

We chatted for a bit while we waited for our meals. Tom asked if I had made any other meets on the board. I told him I had one at a café yesterday and was meeting another chap in a café on Thursday. He asked if there was to be a follow-up from yesterday, I told him I was not certain; had been invited on a ride out but had not confirmed yet that I was going. Tom reminded me that if I did I should make sure somebody knew the details.

Our meals came and over them we discussed relationships. Tom told me about Rajeet, the Pakistani boy he had been in love with. When he gave me the details I realised I knew his younger brother; he had been a year ahead of me at school and had just finished sixth form. It was clear from the way Tom spoke about Rajeet that he has strong feelings for him still. I found this confusing as it did not fit with what Master James had said about gay relationships.

When Tom got onto Mark, his roommate at Aston, it was a totally different thing. Yes, they were having sex but that was all it was, sex between mates. Tom used the phrase friend with benefits, which I then had to get him to explain. He told me he knew Mark from Cromford before they went to Aston but did not know he was gay. Only found that out when they met at a GaySoc meeting during Fresher’s Week. After that they became friends and sexual partners and from that went on to sharing a one bedroom flat, but both understood from the beginning that they were not in love with each other and they had an open relationship. Again an explanation was required. It turned out it meant that they had no problems with either of them having sex with other men. In fact, Tom admitted that on occasions they would take people back to the flat to have three or sometimes four-way sex sessions.

By the sound of things that sounded a lot more like the sort of relationship that Master James had described. Men being men and enjoying each other’s bodies. When Tom had been talking about Ranjeet it had all sounded a bit sloppy, like something out a Mills and Boon novel.

The idea of having a friend with benefits sounded nice, to be honest the idea of having sex with any male seemed a good idea just then. After all that porn last night I was feeling somewhat randy, not having had time for my wank this morning. I was not certain though if there was going to be on offer from Tom, so I pushed the issue.

“Are you sure Leo?” Tom asked.

“Yes,” I responded. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know really. You would think I would jump at the chance to have a bonk with you. As I told you, you’re a gay guy’s dream come true. The thing is, I don’t really know, there is something different about you. I feel as if I should be protecting you, not fucking you.”

“You are not fucking me,” I pointed out. “So far we have not got that far, I am not sure I am into that yet. I am though sure I am into what we have done up to now, so let’s get somewhere and do it.”

So we did. We went back to Tom’s place. This time I actually managed to suck him off, though he pulled out before he came and sprayed it all over my chest. He then sucked me off and insisted that I come in his mouth, which I did. I tasted my cum on him when we kissed afterwards.

We arranged to meet up again on Wednesday. This time I insisted that we meet at Tom’s place, as his parents were still in Italy, and I intended we would have sex again.

Wednesday morning I got a text from Tom cancelling the meeting and saying he was sending me an email later. It was much later that I got it. A long rambling message about how much he felt for me and how he did not think it was a good idea for us to be so sexually involved with each other the way we were. He pointed out that come the end of the holidays we would be miles apart. Then he went on to say how he felt I deserved better than being a quick fuck on the side and he did not want to hurt me.

Fuck, he was hurting me. I thought we could get something going. What was it that Tom had called it? Friends with benefits. If he and Mark had managed to do it for nearly three years, surely the two of us could, at least for a year? Then we could see how things went. I was angry. It looked like Tom was exactly the type of gay guy Master James had been talking about, who wanted to build a romantic girl boy type of relationship. Well, there was no way I was going to be the girl in any relationship.

Matthew, the chap I had agreed to meet on the Thursday, messaged me that evening to confirm details. I confirmed I would be at the café at seven thirty Thursday evening. There was also a message from Master James about the ride on Saturday. I told him that I would be going but asked for some more details.

Thursday was pretty boring. Maddie was away in London at some championship she was taking part in and John had gone along to support her. Not sure he had much choice as their mother and Dr Stevenson had also gone along having taken some time off work to be present. I think they saw it as a good excuse to have a long weekend in the capital and take in a couple of shows.

Simon was down with some summer cold. You could bet your life if there was any sort of infection going around then Simon would get it. As a result I had no one to meet up with during the day. Almost wished I had gone down to London with the Atkins, both Simon and I having been invited to join them, but we had both turned it down.

Mother was working the late shift as Carol was off, so I had an early dinner and then set off on a ride round the countryside before making my way to the greasy spoon. I got there a bit before seven thirty. Matthew, who I had no difficulty in recognising thanks to the description he had sent me, was already there. I got a tea from the counter, one safe drink in any greasy spoon – they always make good tea. Once seated at the table we chatted about ourselves and things in general. He seemed like a nice bloke, though I thought he might be a bit older than he was saying. He was not bad looking, and from what I could see had a fit body and was clean. What more could you ask for? I wanted someone for sex, not a life partner. We quickly got round to that subject. Matt, as he had insisted I call him, asked me what experience I had. I told him very little. A couple of blow jobs with Tom, kissing, mutual wanking and frottage.

Matt smiled at me and told me he would be my first fuck. I was not sure I could do that; how did you fuck someone? Matt assured me there was nothing to it. Push your cock in and let nature take its course. He then told me that his flat was upstairs over the café and asked if I would like to go up.

Well in for a penny, in for a pound. Why not? I said yes. He led the way out of the café, round to the side and up some steps to a balcony walkway, off which there were four doors. His door was at the very end. Inside it was small but very tidy, if a bit feminine for my liking. There were lace curtains at the windows and frilly cushions on the chairs. Matt told me to take seat, that he had to go and get ready but he would call me when he was ready and I was to come through to the bedroom.

I had read a bit online about preparing to be fucked. About douches and enemas. Thought Matt was probably giving himself one to make sure he was clean inside. Expected it to take him at least ten minutes, so was surprised when he called out about three minutes later telling me to come through.

I opened the door, stepped through and came to a complete stop. He was lying on the bed on his back his legs pulled up and spread apart, exposing his arse. What threw me was the fact that he was wearing a blond wig, a pink baby doll nighty and a pair of pink crotch-less panties.

“Well baby, get that cock out and fuck this pussy,” he called to me. I turned and left. The idea of fucking that just made me feel sick, physically sick. About five hundred yards down the road I had to stop the bike so I could vomit. Just could not get the image out of my mind. Now I knew what Master James had been on about. Was that what Tom wanted me to be?

Friday at breakfast I told my parents I was going to bike over to Langford Bridge on Saturday with a couple of guys and then to a barbeque in Little Hamford. Mother started to question me about who they were but Dad told her to give me some space. He pointed out I was seventeen and needed a life of my own. Mother did not look happy but did not pursue the matter. Looking back on things I wish she had pursued matters, that, though, comes with the benefit of hindsight. What I definitely should have done was text Tom with details of where I was going. I had told him I would but didn’t think it mattered, I had already met Master James and he seemed OK.

Chapter 4

The last few days we had been having a bit of a mini-heatwave. Saturday it decided to turn into a full-blown heatwave with the temperature touching twenty-eight degrees by midday. It was in the thirties by time I got to the address in Little Hamford. Even on the bike with the wind it was hot.

I arrived at the address with only a couple of minutes to spare. Had a bit of a problem finding it, having driven past it twice. To be more exact I had driven past the entrance to the driveway twice. In the end I had to phone Master James and ask him how to get there. Turned out I was only about ten metres from the driveway but had not realised that was the way to the house.

The house itself was set well back from the road, a good two hundred metres through woods. Then it was surrounded by a high Victorian wall, complete massive gates and metal spikes on top of the wall. The house itself was a massive Victorian place of over four floors. It seemed totally out of place in its location, just outside a quiet market town. As I rode through the gates and into the forecourt I saw six large motorbikes parked, and a group of men who were standing around them talking. As I drew level with them to park my bike, Master James walked over to me.

“Peter, glad you could make it” he stated.

“Yes. Sorry I’m late.”

“No problem,” he stated. Smiling at me. He was an impressive man, over one eighty-five and quite muscular. He had jet black hair and a small goatee beard.

He was dressed in black. Black jeans, with a black studded belt. He was wearing a black tank top that displayed the tribal patterns tattooed on his arms. By the look of things the tattoos extend from his arms onto his back and chest.

He turned and looked at my bike. It seemed small compared with the other bikes parked in the forecourt.

“I think,” he stated, “you might have a bit of a problem keeping up with us on this.”

“It can do seventy,” I responded.

“No doubt, but it’s not the top speed that is the issue, it’s the acceleration. The moment we accelerate away we will leave you standing and there is no way I can ask the boys to slow down for you. That would not be right, would it? We can’t make an exception just for one, can we?” I nodded my head in agreement. He had a good point but why had he not thought of that before? I had told him what model I had when we had messaged each other.

“No,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder and grasping it firmly, at the same time turning me to face the other riders. They were all dressed similar to Master James, except they were wearing normal blue jeans. “Guys, this is Peter, I’d invited him to come on the ride today, but his machine won’t be able to keep up. Would anyone object if he came pillion?”

There was a chorus of “No, Master”, in reply.

“Right then, you better come inside and I will sort you with a helmet,” Master James instructed. I pointed out to him I had a helmet. “Peter, you are going to be riding pillion, you need a helmet with an intercom built in, we keep a few spare. You have to do what your rider tells you to do whilst riding. You understand that, don’t you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s yes, Master, Peter. You always address me as Master. Do you understand.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good, I have a lot to teach you and it will take time but obedience is the first lesson you must learn. Do what you are told and you will quickly learn what you need to know. Now follow me and we will sort out a helmet for you.”

I followed Master James into the house. Inside it was quite modern with trendy decoration. I commented on it. Master James informed me that it used to be the offices and a superintendent’s house for a private asylum that stood in the woods. The asylum had closed down in the nineteen thirties and was demolished after the war. The house, though, had been used as offices by the local council till a few years ago when he had bought the place and refurbished it.

At the side of the main hall, just in from the front door, was a small side room. No doubt at one time it had served as a door keeper’s room. It now contained shelves holding a range of biker wear including helmets. Master James went and took one off the middle shelf and told me to try it on. It was a lot heavier than the one I owned but it did fit quite well. I said so.

“Good, you can use that one. Leave yours here.” He indicated a small side table in the hall. I put my helmet on it. Then took the helmet that Master James was holding for me. We then went back outside.

The other guys were now mounted up on their bikes. Master James led me to a large BMW motorcycle and got on, telling me to mount up behind him and put my helmet on. As I did he edged himself back against me, which pushed me back against the top box mounted at the back of the bike. He turned his head and told me to switch on the Bluetooth intercom in the helmet, indicating a small switch at the side of the visor. I did as directed.

“All right, Peter, now just remember to do exactly as I tell you,” his voice came through the speaker in the helmet.

“Yes, Master.”

“Now put your arms round me and hold on.” I did. The machine beneath us burst into life. Suddenly we jumped forward with an acceleration far beyond anything my bike could manage. As we shot forward the other bikes around us started to move off. Master James led the formation of bikes down the drive and onto the road, then changed up through the gears with the bike accelerating rapidly far beyond the speed limit. He had been right — there was no way I could have kept up on my one-two-five.

The speed at which he was taking the corners was far beyond anything I would have attempted on my bike. It was scary, also thrilling. I found myself holding on tighter, my body pressed hard against Master James’ body. Embarrassingly the contact brought about an erection which I felt pressed between me and Master James body.

“Ah,” Master James’ voice sounded over the intercom, “you find something exciting?” I was embarrassed and started to loosen my grip of him. “No, hold on tight,” he said and accelerated into a bend. I held on tighter. “Now slide your hands down. That’s it, slide them down.”

I did. They came to the bare skin between the bottom of Master James’ tank top and the top of his jeans. “That’s good Peter, now slide them down into my jeans.” I did not move, not understanding what he had said. “PETER!” he emphasised, “to learn you must obey. Slide your hands into my jeans.” I did. Immediately I contacted his hard cock. “You see Peter you excite me as well, now take hold of it. Just hold it, don’t do anything else.”

I wanted to pull my hand away but that would have upset Master James. Anyway, there was part of me that wanted to keep it there, to feel his cock. It was long and thin, a lot bigger than mine but I didn’t think it was quite as thick as mine was.

For the rest of the journey to Langford Bridge, Master James kept giving me instructions on what to do with his cock. Sometimes he wanted me just to hold it, other times he told me to wank him slowly, then to feel his balls. All the time he was telling me what to do and then congratulating me when I did it. That made me feel good. It was nice to be told I was doing something well.

The journey to Langford Bridge according to Google maps should have taken about an hour and ten minutes. There was no direct route and most of the way was through country lanes. However, Master James got us there in just under fifty minutes. Even I could work out that we had to have done most of the journey well over the speed limit. I was a bit surprised that when we got to the town we carried straight on, over the sixteenth-century bridge and then turned right onto a very small side road that went up the hill. Soon we crested the top of the hill and started down the other side. Again, we turned right onto a track which had notices saying strictly private.

“Don’t worry, Peter, this land belongs to a friend of ours. He will be waiting for us down by the river. Shortly after that we turned left and came out into a clearing at the side of the river. A large bare chested man with long blond hair hanging down his back was standing there behind a table with a couple of coolers on it.

“About time you lot turned up,” he shouted as the machines were switched off. “What kept you?”

“Sorry, Master Francis,” Master James said, indicating for me to get off the bike, “we’ve got a newbie with us and I was delayed sorting him out before we could set off.” Once I was off the bike, Master James got off and then pushed me forward towards Master Francis. “This is Peter.”

“His first time out with you?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Nice, I suppose you are having a party this evening?” Master Francis asked.

“Of course, would you like to join us?” Master James responded.

“Wish I could. I’m taking a couple of subs down to Gloucester for a gangbang. First time for both so they need tight supervision.”

“Of course, Master,” Master James replied. He turned to me, and as he did he pulled his tank top off over his head. “Come on Peter, get your gear off.”

“What?”

“Peter, Master James gave you an instruction, obey,” Master Francis stated. It was not quite a shout but clearly an order.

“This is a nudist bathing beach, we’re here to swim,” Master James explained. As he did so Master Francis came round from behind the coolers and I saw he was naked. Like Master James he had tribal tattoos on his arms, but I could also see that they spread across his body and down his legs. I started to undress. I felt very uncomfortable at first, but soon it did not seem to matter as everybody was naked and running down to the river.

We were splashing around in the water, which was not that deep, only about one thirty at its deepest though most of it was under a metre, but it was fairly fast flowing. If you were not careful it could knock you off your feet.

Somebody produced a ball and we started to play a game which seemed to be a cross between volley ball and water polo. I could not understand the rules, not certain that there were any. Every time I got hold of the ball they piled onto me, pushing me down in the water. At the same time I was getting felt all over. It was a bit disconcerting the first couple of times but there was also something nice about it and after the first few times I started to look forward to the experience of having all those hands moving over my body. I also took the opportunity to have a feel when somebody else got the ball and we jumped on them.

We were playing around in the water for the better part of an hour. Then, apparently in accordance with some signal that I was not aware of, everybody made their way out of the river and lay down on the grass bank to take in the afternoon sun. I was one of the last out. A younger guy in the group, who I had gathered was called Phil, grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the bank. “Come on, it’s time to have an afternoon nap and catch some sun.”

The idea of ‘catching some sun’ worried me. I am fair haired and my skin burns easily. For that reason, I generally wear long sleeved shirts or smother on high factor sun cream. Well, everybody was lying down on the grass naked, so the shirt was out and I had no sun screen. I had put some on earlier, before I came out, just in case, but was fairly certain the waters of the river would have washed most of it off.

It was, therefore, with some trepidation that I found a spot on the bank to lie down to dry off. As it was I choose a spot with some dappled shade, which I thought might help. I had to admit a short nap would feel good, was a bit tired after all the horsing around in the river and the warm afternoon sun made the idea of dozing off for a few minutes very appealing.

I had just closed my eyes when I became aware that someone had walked up to me. I opened them to see Phil standing next to me, his shadow falling across my face. He was holding a bottle of sun screen.

“Master James thought you might need to put some of this on,” he said, extending the bottle to me. I reached up to take it. He pulled it back. “No, turn over; I’ll do it for you.”

I turned over and felt the trickle of liquid down my spine as he poured some of the sunscreen onto me. Then he straddled my back and I felt his cock against the small of my back as his hands started to work the sunscreen into my shoulders and upper arms. He pressed the heels of his hands into my back, pushing my muscles out as he spread the sun screen. It felt far more like a massage than just spreading the block over me. As he worked his way down my back I became aware that his cock was getting erect along my back. It was almost as if he was rubbing it on my back as part of the massage. I was also aware that I was also getting very erect from the effects of the massage.

Phil told me to spread my legs, so I did. He moved off the small of my back and down between my legs. I felt another trickle of sun block onto my buttocks and down the back of my legs, then another trickle into my arse crack. Phil’s knees pushed my legs further apart as he started to knead my buttocks. Slowly he worked his way across my buttocks onto my thighs, then he worked his way down the back of each of my legs individually. Finally, he ran both his hands up my legs at the same time, until his thumbs touched my perineum just where my ball sac starts. His thumbs traced the line of my perineum up, forcing my buttocks apart, then his fingers swept down over the exposed arsehole, lightly touching it. Again my buttocks were pulled apart and the fingers moved down, this time slowly, gently playing over the surface of my arse hole.

There was a sudden stinging slap on my buttocks and the demand that I turn over. I felt embarrassed, knowing that I was painfully erect.

“Don’t worry, I know you are hard,” Phil stated, “I’m also; feel this.” I felt his cock slide down the line of my arse crack, briefly pausing as it touched my arse hole. I turned over. I turned over and looked up at Phil. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, black hair closely cropped to his skull, brown eyes. His face was not anything special, but his body was. It was well-toned and showed highly defined muscle with a clearly defined six-pack. Looking down, there was a short, thick cock, rampantly erect, pressed against my balls. Like the rest of the group, he was tattooed but in his case there was just a tribal tattoo across his left shoulder and the outline of one on his upper arm.

Phil took the bottle of sun-screen and held it over me. A trickle of it poured out onto my chest and ran down to my abdomen.

“Lie back and let me do this,” he instructed. I lay back. He moved up seating himself across my hips. His arse trapping my cock. As he leaned forward to massage my shoulders and upper arms, my cock slipped up his arse crack. His cock rubbed on my belly as he rocked back and forward working on my upper arms, shoulders and pecs. Phil then moved back, pushing my legs apart so he could kneel between them as he worked on my abdomen. Slowly he worked down my body, spreading the sun block and massaging me at the same time. Eventually he got down to my pubes. I thought he was going to take hold of my cock.

He didn’t, he took my leg, picked it up and rested it on my shoulder. Then worked his hands down the length of it, the heel of his hands massaging the sides of my calf and thigh as his fingers worked on the front. As he came down his inside hand moved across and down, sweeping under the ball sack, his thumb pressing down onto the arse-hole as it passed over. As he completed the second leg he pushed both legs back, pushing my buttocks up with the flat of his hands, his thumbs rubbing up and down my crack, playing with my arsehole, pulling it open.

He then bent down and took my cock into his mouth, at the same time a finger was gently pushed into my arse. I felt it slide back and forth a few times, then it touched something within me. I was ready to explode and drew in a deep breath, my arse clenching on the finger. Phil withdrew his finger and removed his mouth from my cock. I reached out to take hold of it, to bring myself to the climax I so needed. Phil knocked my hands away.

“Don’t touch. We are not allowed to cum until the Master says so.” I looked at him puzzled. He smiled. “It’s the rule, you will understand as you learn more. It is so much better when you do what the Master says. Do you want a drink?” Now he mentioned it I was thirsty, and I nodded. Phil stood up and went over to the Master Francis at the cooler. They spoke for a moment, and then Master Francis took out two bottles, uncapped them and handed them to Phil. He said something to Phil who raised the bottle in his right hand. Master Francis nodded. Phil brought the drinks over taking a swig from the bottle in his left hand as he crossed the grass. When he got to me he handed me the bottle in his right hand. It was one of these up market colas. The ones that say they use only whole cola beans and no artificial colour or flavours. It tasted a bit odd, not unpleasant, just different. I mentioned it to Phil.

“It’s OK, you’ll get used to it. You’ll get used to a lot of things.” I wondered what he meant by that.

I had just finished the cola when Master James called out it was time to start to get ready to go back. Going over to where the bikes were parked, I went to pick up my pants from the pile of clothes I had placed on the pillion.

“No, Peter, you don’t need those,” Master James stated, walking up to me and taking them from my hands. “We don’t wear any underwear when we are part of the group and you want to be part of the group, don’t you.”

“Aa.. Yes,” I stammered in response.

“Yes what Peter?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good,” he put his hand on my neck and pulled me close against his naked body, at the same time pulling my neck back as he lent slightly over me. For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. I hoped he was going to kiss me. He didn’t. He slid his hand down my back, then slid it round until it cupped my balls, which he squeezed. Not much, not so that it was painful, but enough to be uncomfortable. “You are learning. You have a nice body Peter, and I am going to enjoy teaching you all about it and what it is for. Now dress. You can ride back with Phil, play with his cock as you ride behind him, but don’t let him cum. You must not cum either until I tell you to. Do you understand.”

I don’t know if I did understand — something seemed funny about the whole situation. I was finding it a bit difficult to focus on things, everything seemed a bit fuzzy. I dressed, sans pants, and went over to Phil’s bike. When I got there, he took the helmet I had and spent a few minutes fiddling with it. I looked at him puzzled.

“Just, connecting it to my Bluetooth,” he informed me, handing me the helmet and getting on his bike. He indicated I should get on behind him. I did. As I did he reached behind and took hold of my hands, pulled them round in front of him and pushed them down the front of his jeans. I could feel his cock there, erect, already very hard.

“Remember Peter, you must feel me on the way back but you must not make me come.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because that is what Master James has instructed,” Phil replied.

“But why does he give such instructions?”

“He says that it is to heighten the overall sexual pleasure. The longer you can be kept sexually excited without coming to a climax the greater the sexual pleasure at the end.”

“Is that true?” I asked.

“It seems to be,” Phil replied. “Now you hold onto me as we need to get off.” He started the bike and accelerated away after the group who had already moved off. I held on, enjoying the feel of his cock and balls in my hands. No, that is probably not the right phrase. I can’t say I was enjoying it, it just felt, not so much right, just nice. Then everything started to feel nice. Almost as if I was in a dream.

Chapter 5

We arrived back at the house in Little Hamford some time after the rest of the group. Why I don’t know. I got off the bike, followed by Phil, who took the helmet off me, then pointed me towards the door.

“You have to go in that way,” he stated.

“Aren’t you coming in?” I asked.

“Yes, I’ll be there but I have to go around the back,” Phil informed me. With that he gave me a push towards the door. It was open. As I got to it Master James called out from inside, “Come in Peter.”

I entered. Master James was stood about halfway down the hall, he was dressed in a full length black kimono, which was embroidered with a red dragon going up one panel. On each side of him stood two of the guys, they were bare-chested, wearing only tight fitting leather trousers, which left nothing to the imagination.

“Come here Peter,” he indicated a place in front of him. I approached and stood where he indicated. “Have you enjoyed this afternoon.”

“Yes,” I responded.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good, you are learning Peter. You have a lot to learn but you do want to learn, don’t you.”

“Yes, Master.”

“We are going to have a barbeque now and a party, would you like to join us and come to them?”

“Yes, Master,” I responded.

“It will be a sex party, Peter, are you OK with that?” he asked. “You will learn a lot and you want to learn, don’t you Peter?”

“Yes, Master. What sort of sex?”

“Only what you have indicated on your profile, are you OK with that.” He indicated a sheet of printed paper on the table at the side of the hall. I could make out my login name at the top, so guessed it was my profile.

“Yes, Master.”

“That is good, Peter,” he stated. I felt good. Everything felt good. “Now, Peter, I am going to give you a safe-word. Do you know what a safe-word is?”

“No, Master.”

“When you are having sex often you will feel you should say no to something, even though really you want it. You have been conditioned to say no. We know this and we know that you will say no or stop when really you want us to carry on. So how can we know when you really want us to stop. That is what your safe-word is for.

“Your safe-word is for when you really, really want us to stop what we are doing. If you use it we will stop immediately what we are doing. That is the rule, it is an absolute rule. It is one rule that can never be broken. If I broke it I would lose all credibility as a Master. So be assured if you use your safe-word we will stop, no matter what we are doing. Your safe-word is your protection. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“That is good, Peter,” he said, smiling at me. He had a nice smile. It was a smile that made me want to please him. “You must understand we want you to be part of our group. Do you want that? You met them today and had a good time with them, do you want to be part of them?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Right Peter, your safe-word is Tiberius. Can you repeat that for me, please?”

“Tiberius,” I stated.

“That’s right,” he assured me. “If you say Tiberius those in the group that are with you will immediately stop what they are doing. You understand?”

“Yes, Master?” I understood, but why should I object to a bit of wanking and sucking? I was looking forward to it.

“Now, Peter, listen carefully, only wimps use their safe-words and we do not allow wimps in our group. You don’t want to be a wimp Peter, do you?”

“No, Master,” I replied.

“Good, you are a good boy Peter and provided you do not use your safe-word you will be part of our group, but if you use it you will be out. We will not want you. You will be a wimp. A wimp that nobody wants. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good, then strip.” I looked at him for a moment, surprised by the instruction, then thought, why not? I had been naked in front of them all afternoon. I kicked off my trainers — I was not wearing socks — then removed my shirt and jeans. I had left my underwear off earlier.

“Fold your clothes, Peter, and put them on the side table over there with your helmet,” Master James instructed. I did, then returned to stand in front of him.

“You are learning, Peter. Remember all you have to do is obey me and you will learn, you will learn to be who you really are. You will learn to be a man, a real man, not a wimp. Now kneel.” I knelt. Master James opened his kimono. He was naked beneath it, cock proud and erect sticking forward. He grabbed the back of my head and pulled me forward towards his cock. “Now suck me.”

I did. He forced his cock deep into my mouth, causing me to gag, but I took it. He kept telling me how good I was, what a good boy I was. I felt good. This is what I wanted, sex with a man. Suddenly he thrust his cock deep into my mouth. Sperm shot into my throat, I started to choke.

“Swallow, Peter, that’s a good boy, swallow.” I swallowed. He pulled his cock out of my mouth. Then lifted me to me feet, pulled me tight into him and kissed me, pushing his tongue deep into my mouth. As he did so he reached down and took my cock in his hand, playing with it. Finally he released me and let go of my manhood.

“You did well, Peter. You are a fine boy, soon you will be fully part of our group and you will make a good member. We will enjoy having you amongst us.” With that he stepped back leaving the two men who had stood there, motionless, watching everything. “Prepare him.”

The two men stepped up to me and took me by the arms, then guided me down the hall and off into a side room. It was like the changing room at the gym, with a large shower unit with a number of shower heads at one end. What was surprising was that there were a couple of toilets within the shower area.

As we entered the man on my right stepped away and took a bottle off a ledge at the side of the room and poured a slightly blue liquid into a shot glass. “Here,” he said, handing me the glass, “take a swig of this, it’ll help with the taste of the cum.” Now that he mentioned it I could taste the cum in my mouth, a cloying, slightly salty taste. It was not particularly unpleasant but by the same token neither was it pleasant. I took a sip of what was in the glass. It was sweet, no unpleasantly so, but far sweeter than anything I normally drink. It also had a strong taste of alcohol. It was not much though, only one small glass, not enough to affect me riding the bike. I downed the contents of the glass in a single gulp, to be hit by a bout of coughing from the strong spirit base of the drink hitting my throat. It was clearly a lot stronger than I had thought from the sip.

The two men laughed. “Don’t worry,” the one on my left said. “You’ll soon get used to it. We all did, didn’t we, Mike.” The chap on my right smiled and responded, “Yes, Dean, we all got used to it.” The guided me towards the showers. I told them that I could wash myself.

“No doubt you can,” Dean stated, “but we have our instructions, to make sure you are clean, inside and out.” We came to a stop just in front of the shower area. Dean and Mike removed their trousers. As the Master had said they wore nothing underneath and both were well endowed. They were also tattooed with tribal patters down the whole of one side of their body, arm, chest, abdomen, thigh and calf. On the other side only the right arm held tribal tattoos. I could not help but look at them.

“Nice, aren’t they?” Mike stated. “Once we become Masters we will be allowed the full set.”

So, the amount of tattoos you had indicated your status in the group. I had no tattoos and in fact did not want any, so I was clearly at the bottom. I was at the bottom of the group and would be till I got tattoos. What was this group anyway? I realised that no one had actually told me who they were or what they did. I thought I should say something or ask something but found I was having difficulty putting my thoughts together. The fuzzy haze that had descended on me at the river has suddenly got a lot thicker. I knew where I was and what I was doing but somehow it seemed almost as if it was another person.

Mike and Dean guided me under the shower. I realised I was swaying slightly, having problem with my balance, as if I was drunk. They held me there between them, their bodies pressed against mine, as they started to wash my body. Their hard-erect members pushed in on my body as they did so. It was highly erotic and my own member became fully erect again, more erect than I had ever known it. It was painfully erect and there was a buzzing and a throbbing in my head. I reached down with my hands to give myself relief. Mike, who was behind me, grabbed my arms and pulled them back.

“Get the strap, Dean.” Dean stepped out of the shower.

“Now, Peter, we can’t have you playing with the Master’s toy can we. Only he is allowed to play with that now.” Dean came back into the shower. My arms were pulled back and I felt a strap being fastened about them just above the elbows, then it was pulled tight, wrenching my shoulders back. A scream of pain erupted from my lips.

“Good,” Dean stated. “Now you feel pain. Pain is the path to pleasure. To give ourselves to pain is to give ourselves to pleasure. It is pain that lets us know we are alive; it is the doorway to pleasure.” I was confused. Somehow, I knew what Dean was saying was important. It was important that I understood but I couldn’t. The fuzziness that had descended on me by the river was now more like a fog. It was as if everything was one step removed from me. I felt giddy and there was a throbbing in my head. My cock was so hard that I thought it would burst.

Dean grabbed hold of it and bent it forward. “Nice, but we can’t have you coming too soon. The master would not like that.” From somewhere he produced a ring of silicon which he forced down over my cock, then he pushed my balls up through it, stretching it to accommodate them. Once he released it the ring clasped tightly around the base of my cock and my balls, forcing my balls forward.

Once he had fixed the cock ring in place he reached back to the shelf behind him and picked up a small brown bottle, which he uncapped. Placing his free hand behind my head he pulled it down, forcing me to bend over. The bottle was shoved under my nose. “Take some deep breaths,” he said. I did, a strong chemical smell hit my nose. He held the bottle there forcing me to breath in the fumes. Soon I was becoming very giddy and lightheaded. Mike was doing something with my arse, I could feel him rubbing something on it and pushing on it with his fingers. Then something cold and hard went into it. That was followed by the sensation of water flowing into my bowels and filling me up.

“What the fuck…”

“Calm down, Peter, we are just cleaning you out inside. You need to be nice and clean for when the Master fucks you. He doesn’t like getting shit on his dick,” Mike stated. Dean pushed the bottle once more under my nose. The thing in my arse was pulled out and I was pushed back onto one of the toilet bowls. My bowels emptied.

“I don’t want to be fucked,” I shouted.

“But you agreed to be, we heard you,” Dean stated. A hard smile forming over his face. He shoved the bottle under my nose. “Now take deep breaths, the poppers will make it easier for you.”

They pulled me up from the toilet and sprayed the shower head over my arse, then I felt the nozzle being re-inserted. The process was repeated. I was filled, evacuated and filled again. Each time poppers were pushed under my nose. All the time my cock was rigidly hard, throbbing painfully. I wanted sex, I needed sex, but I did not want to be fucked. Not by the Master; I had seen how big he was. As they took me out of the shower area and dried me off I told Dean and Mike that I did not want to be fucked, that I had not agreed to that.

“But you did,” Mike informed me. He went over to a shelf at the side of the room and picked up a laminated sheet of paper, which he brought back to me. “You told the Master in the hall way that you agreed to do take part in what you had on your profile.” He laid the sheet on the table in front of me. I looked at it as they dried themselves off and put their leather trousers back on. It was my profile, that I could not deny, but it was my original one, the one before I changed it after what GayAuthor had told me.

“It’s your profile isn’t it?” Dean asked.

“Yes, but…”

“There are no buts, Peter. It was there in the hall for you to look at. You should have checked what you were committing to. We will make it as easy as we can for you but you have to go through this. The master expects it; it is your rite of passage to be part of our group. Once you are in we will teach you, we will protect you, we will take care of you. Just don’t fail us, don’t let yourself down. You don’t want to be a wimp, you don’t want to use your safe-word. Take plenty of poppers when they are offered and take some of this now.” Dean pushed a different bottle below my nose, telling me to take deep breaths. I did. This one was different, it smelt sickly-sweet, I found myself going giddy and felt for a moment that I would faint.

Dean and Mike took my arms and half carried, half dragged me through a door into a room which seemed to be darkness. The moment the door closed behind us I could not see anything. Then as I was moved across the room, my eyes adjusted. There seemed to be some dim red light in the room. Ahead of me something hung from four chains which were attached to the ceiling. Mike and Dean propelled me towards it. When we got to it they spun me round and lifted me up into it. I was pushed back, my ankles grabbed and pulled up into the air to be cuffed by straps attached to the chains. My feet were spread apart, about as wide as they could go, my arse sticking up in the air. I realised it was available for anyone who wanted to take it. I started to plead with Mike and Dean to let me go, but they just pushed me up and released the strap that held my arms before pulling me back and cuffing my wrists to the chains at the opposite end of the device. A hand grabbed my hair, pulling my head back.

Behind me I could see Master James in his robe. He was smiling. A wide strap was fastened across my neck forcing my head back. With my head held upside down I felt very exposed. Dean came round and pulled my head up as far as it would go, then held a bottle of poppers to my nose, telling me to get a good hit of it. I did, he then pushed my head down.

Master James walked up to me, dropping his kimono from his shoulders. Beneath it he was wearing a studded leather harness and black leather pants, which had a hole at the front through which his cock and balls protruded. I looked up at him and told him that I did not want to do this, I did not want to be fucked.

“Stop whimpering, Peter,” he instructed. There was a bite to his words that forced me to be silent. You know how some good teachers can silence a class by just telling them to be quiet. He looked down at me. “You agreed to this, Peter. You have to do this if you are going to join our group and we would really like you to join us. You are a fine boy, Peter, you have a nice body, but now you must become a man. You must experience what it is to be a man who is used by men, for that is what we do. We don’t love, we use. We are the strong. We take what we want. Now we want you. Now we take you.

“You are not going to be a wimp about this Peter, are you? You are going to be a man. You are going to live up to your commitments. By doing so you will prove you are a man and you have a place in men’s society, that you are worthy of joining our group. Now get this nice and wet, ready to go into you whilst Phil gets you ready to be fucked.” With that forced his cock into my mouth. For a moment I gagged on it, but then he pulled it back a bit. As he did I felt Phil’s tongue start to play across my arse as his fingers stretched the edges of it.

Dean held a pad up to my nose, it had the sickly-sweet smell of the stuff in the bottle. My head started to spin. I was aware at one point that something was being pushed into my arse, then something else was. Whatever this second thing was expanding inside my arse, forcing it open.

That was replaced by fingers deep inside me, pushing lube into my arse. Master James pulled his cock out of my mouth. The strap over my neck was released and my head lifted up. Dean held the poppers below my nose, telling me to take them in deep as I would need it, I did. Then I screamed. An agony of fire spread through my body as the Master forced his member into me. I screamed for him to stop but he did not. He pounded away at my arse, taking deep long strokes. As he did the experience changed. The pain was still there but there was something else. A pressure building up within me.

Then it came, the release. Shot after shot of cum ejaculated from my cock. More than I had ever experienced before. As it did I felt my arse clamp around the Master’s cock, bringing him over his edge. Deep within me I felt his spunk shoot forth.

The tension that had been within me gave way. I collapsed into the harness that had been holding me. It was over, I had survived. Dean came and held the poppers below my nose. Why was he doing that? It was over. Mike took the place of the Master. I felt his cockhead pushed against my arse. He thrust forward, I screamed. I could not do this, they were all going to fuck me, all seven of them, I could not take them all, it was too much. I called on them to stop but they kept going. I had to get them to stop, I pleaded with them to stop, but they did not. Mike was replaced by Dean, who was followed by another man whose name I did not know.

Finally the fog that had been in my brain seemed to lift. They weren’t giving me the poppers now. I remembered what Master James had said. He had told me about the safe-word. That they would stop if I used the safe-word but what was it. Then I remembered.

“TIBERIUS”, I shouted.

“Stop, he’s safe-worded,” Master James commanded. Whoever was fucking me at that point stopped and pulled out. Master James came over and stood looking down at me. There was a look of disgust on his face. “You disappoint me Peter, though most youth do these days. You are nothing more than a wimp.” He spat in my face. “Get him out of here and throw him and his stuff out.”

Phil was standing at the side of the contraption in which I was held. He started to release the straps. “Fucking wimp,” he stated, the spat on me, “you should get yourself some makeup and put on a skirt, you’re no man.”

Mike and Dean came and lifted me out of the contraption, then dragged me across the room and out through a door into the hall. There they grabbed my clothes and helmet, which were on the side table, and pulled me to the front door. Opening it they pushed me out. I stumbled and fell onto the gravel of the drive way. Mike looked out. “You have ten minutes to get yourself off this property, otherwise you will be treated like a trespasser. In ten minutes we will shut the gates and release the dogs.” With that he shut the door. I managed to stand up, with difficulty. I pulled on my jeans, got my feet into my trainers and pushed my helmet on my head. As I stumbled across to my bike, I pulled on my shirt. Fortunately, I have my bike key on a reel pull, so it was easy to find. I sat on the bike and started it, then realised that I was in no fit state to ride it. I got off and started to push it under power towards the gate. It was hard; I barely had the strength to hold the bike up, or keep myself up. It seemed to take ages to get to the gate. I had only just got past them, a distance of not more than a hundred metres from where I started, when they started to close. I still had the length of drive to get down and it was starting to get seriously dark.

Chapter 6

I climbed back onto the bike and set it into first gear, then slowly made my way down the drive. I kept my feet off the rests, hanging at the sides, ready to support me if the bike started to go over, as it did a couple of times. Eventually I got onto the road, turned right in the direction of Little Hamford. It took me only a few moments to realise that I was in no fit state to ride the bike. Out of the woods in the final dregs of daylight that remained it was clear that my vision was very skewwhiff, something was seriously wrong. I also felt that I needed to go to sleep. I managed, mostly by instinct and luck, to make it down to the main road, where I turned in the direction of Cromford. Just past the junction was a layby. I pulled in, parked up the bike and pulled out my phone.

I sat there on my bike wondering who the hell to phone. There was no way I could phone my parents. What would I tell them? That I had been part of an SM orgy. No thank you. The question was who could I phone? I knew I needed help. For a moment, I considered calling 999 — this was an emergency, at least for me — then I remembered what Tom had said. If I had problems I could phone him any time. So, I did. As I dialled him I became aware of something uncomfortable trickling down my leg. I got off the bike and looked. There was a dark stain forming on the inside leg of my jeans; I was certain it was blood.

I must have sounded like a demented idiot when I spoke to Tom. He kept asking me questions and I would burst out crying. Eventually though he told me to stay where I was and he would be with me as soon as possible. I heard him talking to somebody else in the background, and then he told me they were on their way. Who ‘they’ were he did not say.

I must have passed out or something for the next thing I knew someone was shaking my shoulder, and I looked up to see Tom, and an old guy standing behind him.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Bloody awful.” I responded, “The world won’t stay still.”

“Tom, he’s bleeding.” the old guy said, “We need to get him to St Mary’s A&E.”

“My bike?”

“Don’t worry about that, it can go in the back,” the guy stated. “Give me a hand, Tom, it’s too much for me to lift. The two of them took my bike and lifted it into the back of one of those big American-style trucks. The ones with the big cabin at the front with two rows of seats and a flatbed truck behind. Then they bundled me into the back seat. I was worried about the blood on the upholstery. When I mentioned it, the old guy told me that was why he had thrown a blanket over it.

With that he climbed into the front passenger seat and threw the keys to Tom telling him to drive as he had to make some phone calls. As we set off he started to dial a number.

“Could you put me through to duty desk please,” he stated to whoever answered the phone. “Stephen Meadows of Meadows, Court and Jacobs, solicitors.” There was a pause then he started to speak again. “Sergeant Righton, Stephen Meadows, I’ve just picked up a young motorcyclist at the layby on the Tonhess Road just past the junction with the Little Hamford Road……Yes, that is the one……He is not in a good shape, traumatised with indication of a haemorrhage from the anus. We are taking him directly to St Mary’s A&E. Can you advise them we are on the way in please? … We are about a mile from the junction with Cromford Road, we will be turning onto Cromford Road, then at the island we’ll going onto the main road to the hospital … You will? That is most helpful … Yes, I suspect it is … Thank you, Sergeant, I will see what I can do.”

With that he disconnected the call and put the phone into a holder on the dash board. He reached back, asked if I was alright, to which I mumbled something, and then he picked up a briefcase that was in the well between the seats. He opened the briefcase, took out a sheet of paper and a pen, then asked me my full name and date of birth. I stated them and he entered them onto the form, then wrote something else and passed the form and pen back to me, telling me to sign the form.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Good, I’m glad you have the sense to ask. It is a letter of instruction to act for you as a solicitor in a temporary capacity.”

“Do I need a solicitor?”

“Yes, Leo, you do. Although you are of age to have sex you are still a minor and you have certainly been subject to sexual violence. Given your age and the circumstances — which is that you are not in immediate risk of further assault — it is a bit of a fine balancing act for the medical officer dealing with you as to whether he should report it. Given the present climate regarding sexual assaults, they almost certainly will.

“Anyway, I had to use the police to advise the hospital that we are on our way in, so they are ready for you. That means they have some idea of what has happened and you can be sure they will want to investigate.”

We were now on the Cromford Road and I became aware of a flashing blue light behind us. I looked through the rear window and saw two police cars with their blue lights on coming up behind us. Tom slowed down a little and pulled over to the side of the road. The lead car passed us but the second car seemed to slow down and take up a place behind us. As I looked round at the car that was now in front, a sign lit up in its rear window reading ‘FOLLOW ME’. Tom flashed the headlights. The front car switched on its siren and speeded up, and Tom put his foot on the accelerator to keep up.

I vaguely recall the convoy going through one set of red lights as we approached Cromford but then I must have passed out again. The next thing I knew I was being lifted out of the rear seat of the truck and onto a trolley. A nurse was talking to Mr Meadows asking if he was my parent.

“No,” he stated, “I’m his solicitor.” The nurse looked surprised. “This gentleman,” he indicated Tom, “is my clerk.” Tom looked surprised. The nurse wheeled me into one of the examination bays and helped me change into a hospital gown. She did some basic tests and told me I did not appear to be in a critical condition so the doctor would be probably twenty minutes to a half hour before I was seen. She then asked if I wanted my friends in, I said yes, so she went and told them they could stay for the moment but would have to leave when the doctor came.

“What’s that about my being your clerk?” Tom asked. Mr Meadows pulled another sheet of paper from his briefcase.

“Well, Tom, we don’t want Leo to have to go over everything twice, so it is easier if you are my clerk, that way you can sit in on the police questioning and take notes for me. Sign this.” He pushed the paper across to Tom.

“What is it?”

“It as standard internship agreement we use for students who are working in our office over the summer period. You don’t get paid, you are expected to work all hours and you are treated like shit. At least you have the chance to be with Leo when he needs a friend. Let me assure you he is going to need a friend. Now I’m going to get a hot chocolate — always avoid the coffee from the machines here. Do you want one, Tom?” Tom said he would like one, with which Mr Meadows stepped out of the examination area and left us.

Rather feebly I asked, “Who is he?”

“That is Cromford’s very own dirty old man, GayAuthor. I was at his place when you phoned.”

I looked at Tom questioningly. “Oh no, Leo, we weren’t doing anything, though I wouldn’t have minded. He is really good in bed and very considerate. No, I often go round on a Saturday evening just for a game or two of chess and to help make some inroads on his collection of fine whisky. Fortunately, you called before he started on the whisky.”

Just then the doctor came in and Tom had to step out. My blood pressure and vitals were all taken and I was attached to no end of different machines. At one point I started to panic as my legs were being pushed back into the same position as they had been in that contraption. The doctor ordered an injection and pretty soon I was off in LaLa land.

When I came to Tom was sitting at the side of the bed holding my hand. Mr Meadows and a large man were standing at the end of the bed talking with the doctor. Tom told them I was awake.

The doctor came down to me, checked some of my signs and then asked some questions. The thing was she did not ask about the rape or anything, just general question about how I was feeling. A lot better now was my answer.

“Right, Leo,” she said, “You were clearly raped by some people who are experts at it. They prepared you well so the actual physical damage was minimal, though there was some. I have seen a lot worse in these sorts of situations. So, you were lucky. There has been no major tearing of the rectal tissue, though it is badly bruised and inflamed. There is damage to the sphincters and the anal canal has a lot of minor tears which we call fissures. None of them are major and they have all started to heal, but that is why you were bleeding so badly; there were just a lot of them. We will be keeping you in overnight, but you should be OK to go home in the morning. Now these men want to have a word with you.”

Mr Meadows came over and introduced the large man as Detective Inspector Rawlins.

“Leo, I know you probably want to sleep at the moment,” the DI said, “but it is important that we get as much information as possible as quickly as possible. First though, we need to contact your parents. They are not at home, do you know where they are?”

“Do you have to?”

“Yes, Leo, you are a minor, so we have to inform them, unless we have good grounds to believe that might put you at risk. Do you think that they will try and harm you if they find out that you’re gay?”

“No, they’ll just be disappointed in me as usual. They are at my Aunt Jane’s. They were going for the weekend. The number is in my phone.” Mr Meadows opened his case and removed my phone from it. I looked at him.

“Leo, the police had to take you clothes for forensic examination, so I took charge of your personal property. It is all in a bag in here.” He tapped his case. “Now what is the unlock code for your phone?” I gave it him, he unlocked the phone and then checked the contacts, not that I have many. Found Aunt Jane’s number and read it out to the DI, who then called a sergeant who was standing outside and handed him the number and told him to make the call.

The sergeant left and the DI started to ask me questions. What surprised me was he asked me how I had met Master James. I must have looked surprised.

“Oh, it was fairly clear who had done this from where you were picked up and what had been done. You are not the first and unfortunately I doubt if you will be the last.”

For the next half hour I was questioned in detail about the events of the day. When I mentioned the strange taste of the cola the DI instructed the sergeant to ask the doctor to do some blood tests for drugs. A nurse came back and took some more blood. Shortly after I was moved from A&E onto an observation ward, but was told that unless there were any real problems I would be released in the morning.

Just after the move my parents arrived. I was not up to facing them so pleaded tiredness, a friendly nurse gave me a tablet which he said would help me sleep. Mr Meadows informed my father that he was my solicitor and was handling the matter with the police. That was about the last thing I recall before going to sleep.

The following morning I was woken about seven thirty by an over-happy nurse who informed me that the doctor would be coming round about ten and I would probably be discharged then. He served me something he stated was breakfast. I asked him what he was so happy about.

“Kid, we need to keep happy in this place, otherwise it would break us up. Last night we had twelve admissions and we’ve still got twelve patients alive, if not all that well. That’s something to be happy about.”

With that he left me to my fruit cocktail, undrinkable coffee and flabby, cold toast. I suppose he had a point. A nurse came round a bit later and checked my vital signs, to be followed by Mr Happy who told me that so far as they could see I would be going home. To be honest all I wanted to do was sleep. I told him.

“No doubt you do, kid. It will be the after-effects of all those sedatives you took.” I looked at him, shocked.

“I didn’t take anything.”

“Then someone gave them to you.”

Just then Tom appeared carrying a large shoulder bag.

“All ready to get out?” he asked.

“S’pose so, though I would much rather sleep.”

“Well, I picked up some clothes for you from your place. Don’t blame me for the selection, your mother and some bossy girl sorted them out.”

“That would have been Maddie. Christ, I’m going to have to tell her everything.” I wondered how come she was back, had expected her to be in London till Sunday evening.

“Unfortunately, Leo, that’s the case. She had me pinned to the wall for ten minutes demanding to know what I had done to you.”

“Yes, she is a bit protective, took Taekwondo lessons as a youngster so she could protect her twin brother, has extended it to all her brother’s friends. I don’t fancy telling her or my parents but I suppose it has to be done.”

“You are right there,” Tom replied. “Stephen felt the easiest way to handle it was to have a meeting in his conference room where he can control everything.”

“Who’s paying for all this,” I asked.

“Cromford LGBT Support Group; we take care of our own.”

Cromford is not that large a town, more an oversized village, and I know most groups in it. That was one I had not heard of. “Just who is the Cromford LGBT Support Group?”

Tom looked a bit sheepish for a moment then answered. “Actually, it is Stephen, with a bit of help from me and my ex-partner Mark when we are around. At the moment Mark’s off backpacking in Oz.”

“Lucky bugger.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. If he had not been in Oz he would probably have met you first. He seems to get to all the nice boys first.” I looked up at Tom’s eyes and there was a look in them not quite of ownership but not far off.

Just then the doctor came round, did a quick check-up of me, and I was discharged, with strict instructions to avoid anal sex for at least three months. Did not think that was going to be a problem — I never wanted to think of anal sex again. She also told me they had started me on post-exposure prophylaxis and I had to be careful to keep strictly to the regime of tablets and take them at the right time. Tom took me to Starbucks for a drinkable coffee, and then we went to Mr Meadows’ offices. I was surprised; it was Sunday morning but reception was manned. The woman at reception must have known Tom because she told him to take me up to Mr Meadows’ office and that Mr Meadows was seating everybody in the conference room.

About ten minutes later Mr Meadows came through and escorted me into the conference room. Mam and Dad were seated on one side of the table with Maddie at the end. DI Rawlins was at the far end of the table. Mr Meadows indicated that I should take the seat between him and Tom.

To be quite honest everything was a bit of an anti-climax. Mr Meadows and DI Rawlings had already explained the events of last night to my parents and to Maddie, who it appeared was very insistent on being present. The DI confirmed that the blood tests showed I had taken a benzo-diazepam, although it could not be shown who administered it. As a half-used strip of Lorazepam was found in the rear pocket of my jeans it was a good bet that if any prosecution was attempted the defence would claim that it was self-administered and their client had no knowledge of it.

I protested at that point that I had never taken any drugs.

“I believe you, Leo. For a start, your fingerprints were not on the strip and it would have been difficult to get a tablet out without leaving a fingerprint,” the DI responded.

For a moment I was puzzled about how they had got my fingerprint, but then remembered that I was fingerprinted three and a half years ago when John, Simon and I had some fun with the town Christmas tree. We got let off with a caution but were all fingerprinted and we all suffered from major hangovers without any mercy from our families. They just seemed to want to lecture us which made things worse.

“Look,” the DI stated, “this is not the first incident of this type involving Mr James Halmdean.” At the mention of the name my father went white. He worked for Halmdean Engineering, by far the largest employer in the area. The DI noticed it. “Don’t worry, sir, the old man is well aware of his grandson’s activities and has cut him off from the family completely. Unfortunately, Mr James’ mother did not believe a word of it so left him her personal fortune which was quite considerable and finances his lifestyle.

“There have been a number of complaints in the past but we have never been able to provide sufficient evidence to get a conviction. The one time we got him into court the case was thrown out because there was clear consent. It was recorded on video. As no doubt your consent was yesterday, Leo. The lad in that case was given a safe word and when he used it they stopped. Turned out they videoed everything, just to cover themselves. No doubt they did the same with you, Leo.

“I must say that for these types, I may not like what they do, but they do stick to their own rules and if you safe-word they stop, though they make you feel like shit for doing so.”

I nodded.

“Look, we will put everything we have got to the CPS, but to be honest, I do not think they will agree to prosecute.”

“What about the video?” Mr Meadows asked.

“What about it,” the DI responded.

“Well, Leo is seventeen, therefore if they recorded anything they are sexually explicit images of a minor. Sexual Offences Act 2003 raised the age to 18?”

“Don’t know if we will get away with it but it is worth a bloody try,” the DI responded. “I’ll organise a warrant today.”

“Right.” Mr Meadows looked to my parents and Maddie. “I am sure you have questions you want to ask Leo. Can I suggest you leave them for the time being? The boy has been hurt and badly messed up. You’ve been given the details. I am arranging for some counselling for him. Let him deal with it at his own speed and let him tell you about it when he wants to, if he does.”

In the end there was no prosecution. The CPS stated that there was sufficient doubt about whether knowing consent had been given for the case to be dismissed. With respect to the video material, Master James could fully claim he thought I was eighteen as that is what I had put on my profile on the site. It would then have to go to the jury who would have to decide on my appearance in the video alone as to whether I was eighteen or not. As DI Rawlins remarked, I looked older than my years.

Stephen Meadows did initiate a civil claim for aggravated trespass against Master James. It never went to court. The writ was returned with a cheque for the full amount of damages claimed. Mr Meadows did say that at least they had put him on notice that he was being observed.

Chapter 7

Over the remaining few weeks of the holiday I never seemed to have any time alone. Usually John, Simon or Maddie were with me, often all three, and then there was Tom. He was doing some sort of internship with Stephen Meadows, though I wondered what an engineering graduate could be doing with law. When I did ask I was told it was about intellectual property. The important thing was that Stephen Meadows, despite what he had said, was paying him quite well and he was able to save up quite a good deposit for a flat in Brum for when he started his master’s.

Whenever he was not working for Stephen Meadows he made time to be with me. We would meet for coffee in town, go for walks along the canal, stopping at canal side pubs for a meal or a drink. A couple of times we went to the cinema. We also made a couple of trips into Birmingham, one to see the Royal Ballet. They were doing Romeo and Juliet as a community project. Most of the dancers were kids from various youth groups – that was why we were there — and Tom was involved with one of the groups. It was nothing like what I expected it to be, and I quite enjoyed it.

I enjoyed being with Tom and looked forward to the time we spent together. One thing I missed, though, was the sex. Since that Wednesday we had not had sex and I did not know how I felt about it. Part of me wanted it but part of me was terrified of the idea. There was no way I wanted to be fucked and I was sure Tom would want to fuck me.

I suspect Tom had picked up on my thoughts as he never pressed me for sex. If anything, he went out of his way to make sure that the subject never raised its head. He was just there for me, somebody who was a friend and who cared for me, which I found comforting.

I had been back at school for two weeks when I was walking down the main corridor and one of the fifth years standing at the side asked if I had enjoyed being raped. Unfortunately for him Maddie, who was head girl that year, was about three steps behind me. I will never forget the howl of agony as she marched him, in a very painful arm lock, all the way to the headmaster’s office. I did wonder though why she proceeded to take him there going clockwise round the building when the headmaster’s office was only about five doors back and just round the corner if she had gone counter-clockwise.

Nothing else was said at school about it after that but I did feel uncomfortable about it, knowing that people knew and thinking that they would think I was dirty. Mr Meadows had got me into a rape counselling group. I had been reluctant to go at first, thinking I would be the only male there, but in fact there were two others. One who was a bit older than myself had been raped by his uncle since he was thirteen and had only just started to come to terms with it. He had still not reported his uncle to the police. We all told him he should. The other chap was a lot older, in his forties. He had been to a club, met a couple of blokes and went back to a party with them. It turned out that it was a very similar set up to what I had found myself in, but this time with no hint of consent. He had eventually woken up in Broad Street in Birmingham with no idea where he had been and no idea what he had done. However, his anus was badly torn and he was bleeding badly with cum oozing out of his arse. Unfortunately, he was so embarrassed by the situation he did not seek medical help till a few days later, when going to the toilet became a major issue. By that time, it was too late for PEP and he had HIV. Big lesson, don’t waste time before getting on PEP.

All in all, I found the sessions quite useful and they made me feel a lot better about myself. I still was not up for talking about what had happened but nobody was really pushing me to, with the exception of Maddie. Oddly enough she did not want to know about what happened, just what I could remember about the place. Like how long the drive was and how high was the gate.

.oOo.

At the end of September, I gave Tom a hand to move into his new flat. He was doing his master’s and hopefully doctorate at Birmingham University, but it was on a research project in which his old tutor at Aston was one of the leads, so he would be going to both from time to time. As a result, he had got himself a flat close to the city centre. The flat was the first floor of an old Victorian house a couple of miles from the university but with good transport links to both the university and the city centre. What was surprising was that it was a two bedroom flat, though the second bedroom was quite small. What was even more surprising was the rent; it was less than I knew some people were paying in Cromford for a one room studio.

“What’s the catch?” I asked.

“Well, I do have to do the garden for the old dear downstairs,” Tom replied.

“Are you any good at gardening?”

“Well, I’ve been helping Stephen with his. That’s how I got the flat. Seems she is some sort of relative of his and she was complaining that she could never get a good gardener.”

“Well, at the price you are paying for this place I think she deserves a Chelsea Show Garden.”

Tom laughed. “Not sure I can quite go that far, but it has some potential.”

After we had unpacked his stuff and arranged the flat we went down and looked at the garden. When we got there the old lady was sitting at a table out on the patio having a cup of tea. Tom apologised and started to turn to go back round the building.

“Don’t bother about me boys, come and join me. Ages since I have had anyone to natter to.” We stopped, I nodded to Tom and we walked over to the table.

“Now you,” she stated, looking up at Tom, “must be Thomas. Little Stevie described you well.” It took me a moment to realise little Stevie must be Stephen Meadows. “You though,” she stated, turning in my direction, “I have no idea about you, though you look a nice boy.”

“I’m Leo,” responded.

“Short for?” she queried.

“Leonidas,” I answered. Tom gave me a look. I realised I had never given him my full name.

“One of your parents studied Greek history?” she enquired.

“No, but mother loves Mary Renault. We have all her books.”

“Probably one of the best ways to learn about Ancient Greece. Now Leo, if you go through the patio doors and then take the door on the left you will find my kitchen, such as it is. The cupboard on the left has cups and saucers in it. Bring a couple; spoons are in the drawer to the left of the sink. I have only just made this pot and there is plenty in it.” I looked at the pot. It probably could have filled twelve cups.

I went and got the cups. When I returned Tom was already seated, so I put the cups down and took the other seat.

“Good. By the way I am Alice Meadows,” she stated, as she started to pour the tea. “Sugar?” We both indicated two; “milk?” again we affirmed the option. “Now, Thomas, Stevie is my nephew. I have no doubt he has given you strict instructions on keeping an eye on me.” Tom blushed, but nodded.

“Thought so; just because I’m ninety-two he thinks I am infirm. I can assure you I’m not. I have a fit body and a keen mind and I intend to keep both going as long as I can. Now tell me about yourselves.” We did. Talking with Alice was refreshing and amusing. She made witty, penetrating comments at various points. At the same time, she had some deep and insightful questions about the area of research that Tom was going into.

Suddenly she stopped mid-flow in one of her comments and looked at her watch.

“How thoughtless of me, it’s gone half six and I bet you boys haven’t eaten, have you?”

We admitted we had not. Once we had both confirmed we liked Indian she was on the phone to a local take away. What was surprising to me was she was talking in what I thought was an Indian language; there were a few Indians in Cromford and it sounded like what they spoke in the local take-away. When she put the phone down I asked her what it was.

“Bengali. My partner, Adhip, was from Bengal, she came to England in nineteen-sixty for an arranged marriage when she was only fourteen. The marriage did not work and she applied for a job as my housekeeper. It was the best thing that happened for both of us. We soon became lovers and were together for forty-five years.

“Of course, for most of that time we could not declare our relationship. To the world we were the English spinster and her Indian housekeeper. In the end, though, we had a civil partnership and were wife and wife. She died three years ago. That’s when Stevie got me to convert the house; he said it was far too big for me on my own. Afraid I would fall down stairs more like.”

The meal arrived and I helped Alice lay it out on the kitchen table. She informed me that once they had a dining room and Adhip would never allow them to eat in the kitchen. “'Only servants eat in the kitchen,’ she would say.” Alice got some beers from the fridge. Tom said he had better not have any as he had to drive me home.

“Do you have to go home tonight?” Alice asked.

“Not really,” I responded.

“Then stay. Have a meal, get drunk and go upstairs to your flat and make love. That is what lovers like you should be doing.”

“But we’re…” Tom started to say.

“Forget it, boy,” Alice interrupted. “You are clearly in love with Leo, I can see it in the way you look at him. As for Leo he looks at you in exactly the same way, so the two of you need to get this sorted out and you might as well do it here and now.” I must have flinched or something because she turned and looked at me. “Leo, I don’t know what your problem is but I can tell you that the best way to solve it is to be held in the arms of somebody who loves you.

“So now let’s eat and you can both drink, though not more than two bottles each. Making love when you are merry is fine, making love when you are drunk is a disaster.” So we had our meal then went back upstairs. I called home and left a message on the answerphone that I would be home in the morning. Tom came up and put his arms around me from behind.

“You’re sure you want this?” he asked.

“Yes, but I’m scared.”

“What of?” he asked.

“Of being fucked. Don’t think I can cope with that.”

He turned me round and kissed me. “Then, Leo, we won’t fuck. There is a lot more we can do and to be honest a lot of the time fucking is over-rated.”

That night and over many subsequent nights Tom taught me just how many ways there were of making love. After that I started to go up to Brum every Friday night, returning home on Sunday afternoon to be at school Monday morning.

My family were fine with it, though mother was a bit worried by the age difference. Tom’s family was a different matter. Although they said they had not objected to Tom being gay they also said they preferred that he did not flaunt his ways in front of his brothers. When Maddie heard this she laughed for ages, then proceeded to tell Tom about the sexual antics of his brothers. It seems that the two of them were something of a legend amongst the girls.

“Of course it’s not only girls for David,” she stated.

“You what?” exclaimed Tom.

“Your little brother is most definitely bi. He has definitely had at least three boys in the lower sixth,” Maddie informed him.

“But he’s not sixteen yet,” Tom stated.

“Well, did that ever stop you?”

“No, I suppose you’re right, but I need to have a word with him.”

“Is that wise,” I asked.

“Yes, I’d better tell both of them about safe sex and where I keep my stash of condoms. Found a place I could buy them by the gross.” That got both me and Maddie laughing.

Chapter 8

Christmas that year was on the Saturday. University and school had finished the week before, so Tom had come down picked me up and we spent five days in his flat, except for the occasional trip out to buy food and Christmas presents. On the Thursday, though, we had to go home, and that meant to our separate beds. Friday I was pretty down and moping around the house.

“Leo,” mother called to me from the kitchen as I switched once more between channels on the TV, “why don’t you go over to your boyfriend’s.”

“Can’t. His parents don’t like me being over there.”

“Why the hell not?” mother exclaimed, slamming down her mixing spoon.

“They don’t want him flaunting his ways in front of his brothers,” I responded.

“Then tell him to come and flaunt them here. I am sick of you moping around.” Tom arrived about twenty minutes later. He left at eight-fifteen on Christmas morning saying he had to attend the Christmas day service with the family but would be back as soon as he could. After that, on those occasions when Tom had to visit Cromford, he tended to stay with us.

The only change in the next few months was the fact that Mr Meadows started inviting us to join him for dinner if we were in Cromford on a Saturday evening. It had already become our tradition to join his Aunt Alice on Saturday evenings for an Indian meal when we were in Brum.

By Easter I had offers of places from all the universities I had applied for. Now all I needed was to get the grades. Mr Meadows’ Aunt Alice came in useful there as well. Turned out she had been a Senior Tutor in Mathematics (this was in the day before women could be professors) and still had a quite brilliant mind. In the weeks leading up to my A levels she spent quite a few Sunday mornings coaching me on some of the more puzzling aspects, for me anyway, of the subject.

Middle of June and exams were finished. I packed up what stuff I wanted to move to Birmingham and Tom came and collected me. There was no big emotional send off, no parting of the ways, actually there was not even any discussion about it. It was just accepted that I was moving in with Tom. He had finished his master’s and was now into his doctorate. That had advantages — it meant he got research funding which gave him some income. It also meant he was no longer fixed in his studies to the university term times. I managed to get myself a summer job at a garden centre in Edgbaston. In recent months I had come to enjoy helping Tom in the garden, under the watchful eye of Aunt Alice, as she insisted we call her.

I ended up having to do the early shift, which consisted of going in at six in the morning to get all the plants watered before the customers arrived at nine. The good side to that, though, was that I was home by mid-afternoon and ended up having tea on the patio with Aunt Alice. This event was always interesting, especially if I got her talking about the anti-apartheid movement. It was clear that a lot more was going on than we ever got taught about in school. Of course, I had read about the protesters outside of South Africa house for all those years. What I had not been told about were the workers who refused to work on equipment that was destined to go out to the South African regime. Aunt Alice also taught me about the gay history of Birmingham and how in the early years after the repeal of the legislation that made male homosexuality an offence, it had been more gay friendly than London or Manchester. Clubs like the Nightingale and the exclusive Grovernor House had very much led the way but the former was no longer like it used to be and the later long gone. A status now unfortunately lost.

Tom insisted on having the day off on the third Thursday in August to drive me over to Cromford to collect my grades. Two As and an A star. It was more than the required grades for any of my offers. I immediately accepted a place at Aston. I’d be starting there the third week in September.

Life settled into a pattern. An easy one at that. Unlike many of my fellow students I had no real financial pressures. Tom’s income from his research work and some private tutoring he did more than covered what we needed to live on. My parents had insisted that they would support me through university, and did so to the tune of a hundred quid a week. The one down side was I found that I was missing my friends from Cromford.

Maddie had excelled, getting two A stars and two As — she had insisted on taking four. That got her into Cambridge to study Computer Science. Her brother John had got an A star and two Bs, which, while not getting him into his first choice, London School of Economics, had got him into Imperial College, so he was off down in London. Simon, though, had been disappointed with his results, two Bs and a C, and eventually ended up going through clearing and got a course with a former polytechnic on the South Coast. Tom speculated that it might have been deliberate as the course was titled Film, Theatre and Design, which was what he had been interested in. It had been his parents who had been pushing him to do architecture.

Gradually, as I got into my course, I started to build up a new circle of friends and now, being openly out as gay, I got quite a few gay ones, male and female. For a few months Tom and I had been holding small dinner parties for friends from the universities on a Friday evening. We could just sit five around the table in our kitchen. One Friday, I had invited Tracy, one of the activists in the LGBT group on campus — she was quite a laugh — and her partner, a medical student who told some of the funniest jokes I had ever heard. Tracy phoned up about half an hour before they were due to arrive saying that her partner had been called home for a family emergency and she would be coming on her own. Not wanting to have an empty seat at the table or to waste any food I suggested to Tom that we invite Aunt Alice to come up and join us.

“You know, boys,” she stated when we invited her, “I’m not sure my legs could get me up those stairs and I don’t want to take the risk of you to trying to carry me. Why don’t you bring the meal down here and use my kitchen? I’m sure there is a damned sight more room down here than up there.” There was. Her kitchen table sat eight with ease, ours only five at a push. From then on Friday dinners parties took place in Aunt Alice’s kitchen. For the first couple of months we cooked the meals upstairs and brought them down but Alice soon insisted that we use her kitchen, pointing out it was far better equipped.

After that, dinner at Aunty’s became quite a social event amongst out small group of friends. It was a much sought-after invitation and woe betide anyone who upset Aunty. To be struck off the list of acceptable guests made you a complete social nobody. Not that anybody ever suffered that fate, but the threat of it was always there.

As most of my lectures and tutorials were in the morning, I often found myself free in the afternoon and would spend time pottering around in the garden. Keeping the garden nice looking had become something of an obsession with me. Whenever I was there Aunt Alice would come out onto the patio with a couple of mugs of tea, or if it was chilly, hot chocolate. After I had finished whatever bit of pottering I was doing we would sit and talk. It was during these talks that Aunt Alice expanded my thinking with respect to mathematics, and I started to see it far less as a tool to get results than a language to express ideas.

That Christmas Aunt Alice stated that rather than having Stevie come over to stay with her, she would visit Stevie, and we would be transporting her. There was no discussion, no argument, no preparation. Aunt Alice had decided and it was to be. So, on the twenty-third of December we went to load Aunt Alice and ourselves into Tom’s Fiat Uno. Aunt Alice took one look at it and said there was no way we would all fit in that and we had better use her car.

“Your car?” Tom and I queried.

“Oh yes, it’s in the garage.” She pointed to the self-standing garage on the far side of the property. To be honest both Tom and I had thought it was actually part of the next-door property. “I can’t drive. For medical reasons they won’t let me have a licence but I still have the car. The garage comes every few months and takes it off for a run and to service it, and Stevie will drive me in it sometimes when he is over. I know it’s old; got it not long before Adhip’s death; it was her sixtieth birthday present. She loved that car and took great care of it. I could never get rid of it. Will only take a phone call to get you two added as drivers.” She had been walking us round to the garage whilst saying this. Once there she instructed Tom how to open the doors. Inside under a dust sheet was the form of a clearly expensive car. I helped Tom pull off the dust sheet. It was an extended wheel base Jaguar XJ. Both of us just stood there looking at it with our mouths open.

“I gather you like it,” Aunt Alice stated.

“Yes, but…” Tom started.

“No buts, let’s go back inside and I’ll phone my broker and get you both added to the policy as drivers.” At that point I had to admit I had not yet taken my car test. I told Aunty that.

“That’s no use, Leo. How are you going to take me somewhere if there is an emergency and Tom’s not around? I’m not going on the back of your bike. I’ll book you an intensive course for next week, so you can get your licence.”

So, it was. One learnt not to argue with Aunt Alice. When we got to Cromford later in the day Aunt Alice insisted we keep the car for our use while she was at Mr Meadows. She pointed out that he already had a Jaguar on the driveway, and having two Jags parked outside was a bit over the top. I did suggest that they put one in the garage but Tom pointed out that Stephen kept his SUV in there. Tom of course stayed with us for Christmas, only popping over to see his family on Christmas day and getting back as soon as he could from that chore.

It was becoming increasingly clear that things were not going well between Tom and his parents. I mentioned this to Maddie when she came over on Boxing Day for the small party we gave. John and Simon plus a couple of other friends from school were there as well.

“Of course, they are not happy, and they blame you,” she informed me.

“Blame me! Blaming me for what?”

“For Tom being gay.”

“That’s stupid; Tom was gay before I met him,” I pointed out.

“Yes, Leo, we all know that. They, though, are convinced it was ‘just a phase’ that he was going through and if you had not appeared on the scene he would have found a nice girl and got married.”

“But that’s stupid.”

“I know, but it is how they think,” Maddie informed me.

After that I made it a point to discuss his family situation with Tom and found that there was quite a lot of tension there. His father was looking at emigrating to New Zealand and wanted Tom to join them out there, strictly without me.

The one big laugh of the holiday was Maddie and the motorbike. She had taken her motorcycle test six months after me and passed but had never bothered getting a machine, as she had her old moped. The few times she had ridden she had borrowed mine. For the last few months, though, she had been saying that a motorcycle would make sense for going to and from London and getting around there. So, unbeknownst to her, we had all clubbed together. Her parents had got her a Honda 250cc bike. My parents, who tended to regard her as the daughter they did not have, had bought her the leathers, Tom had got her the helmet, and I paid for the boots. Simon had chipped in for the gloves and John had paid for a scarf and balaclava. Nobody had discussed colour scheme but we seemed to have ended up with the same one, red and black.

The day after Boxing Day Aunt Alice asked us to drive her out to a small village a few miles north of Worcester. On the way we stopped at a florists for her to buy some flowers, then proceeded to a small country church. It was there that Adhip was buried. She stood for a moment or two, her head bowed in prayer. When she turned to face us she was smiling, her eyes bright with tears.

“This is where I will be buried soon, boys. In this grave with my wife Adhip. You can see there is room on the stone for both our names.” We could.

“Why here?” Tom asked.

“Well, this is where the Meadows family is really from. That large house the other side of the church yard is the old rectory. Far too big to be practical in this day and age. I bought it twenty years ago when it came on the market and had it made into six flats. Gives me a nice bit of income and it means there is some low-cost property in the village that the locals can afford.

“My father was the Reverend Joseph Meadows. He was a farmworker’s lad and worked the farm himself ‘til he got a scholarship to go to school and eventually university and ordination. Not sure he ever believed in god but he certainly believed in people. They also believed in education. He and his wife Kathy raised five children in that house, two boys and three girls. One of the boys, Paul, and two of the girls Suzie and Anne, did not make it to adulthood. That was common in those days. They are buried in this churchyard, as are our parents.

“Enough about the past and my family. We must think about the future. Always plan for the future. You see that white house at the end of the Green?” We looked across the village green with its duck pond to a white house set well back in its own grounds. It looked a bit odd and out of place in the quaintness of the English village. There was something almost mechanical about is shape and form.

“Well,” Alice continued, “it used to be the village mill, but the mill brook was diverted or dried up about a hundred years ago. Adhip and I bought it for our retirement home. Adhip had it renovated but she died before we could move in. I have it let out now to tenants. I could never sell it, although I couldn’t live in it without Adhip.”

We returned to Brum on New Year’s Eve, and Aunt Alice, as promised, started to sort out an intensive driving course for me. When I objected, pointing out I could not afford to pay for one, she informed me that she needed me to be able to drive her in an emergency, so she was paying. There are some arguments that I knew I was going to lose from the start, and this was one.

Chapter 9

Life proceeded onwards. I did the intensive driving course and passed my test. This resulted in Aunt Alice calling on me to drive her to various places and events. What was a bit of a surprise was that often Aunt Alice was the primary speaker at many of the conferences I took her to. I had not realised that she was quite as eminent as she was. But then, my subject was engineering, not mathematics. However, during that year I got a deeper feeling for and appreciation of mathematics and started to take a greater interest in it. I found myself quite often in discussions on the subject with Aunt Alice which took me to totally unexpected places.

Life was good and I was doing well, yet there was one thing that worried me. That was Tom and myself. I was convinced that we were deeply in love with each other but we never fucked. We made love in every other way I think was possible but not once had Tom tried to fuck me, though I was certain that he wanted to. The problem was that I was certain that I did not want him to. Even thinking about it made me feel sick.

We had discussed the issue a couple of times and Tom said it did not matter but I could not help thinking that somehow I was denying something to him that he should have. I was failing to give myself totally to the man I loved.

“What are you worried about Leo?” Aunt Alice asked on late spring morning as I was planting out some bedding plants. I had been thinking about the sex between myself and Tom the night before, but did not want to say that so made some comment about the chances of a late frost.

“Leo, come off it. You were not thinking of a late frost. You only have that look on your face when you are thinking of Tom, so something is wrong and it concerns Tom. So, what it is?”

Well, when it came to avoiding answering questions I would probably have done better with a leading member of the Gestapo than being cross examined by Aunt Alice. It took her the better part of three hours, I missed my lecture that afternoon, and at one point was in tears, but by the end of it she had the whole story out of me.

“Good,” she stated. “After that I think we both need a drink.” She stood up, went to the black lacquered cabinet in the living room and unlocked it using a key from the chain at her waist. She returned to the table where we had been sitting and put a glass of pale amber liquid down in front of me. “Now treat it with respect, it’s the Laddie, fifteen year old second edition. A really good single malt. Whilst you sip it you listen to me. You understand?”

“Yes, Aunt Alice.”

“What that animal did to you was unacceptable. You are not a wimp, you are not a failure. You are Tom’s lover. And Tom is a good man with good sense. If he has chosen you as his lover it is because you are a good man with good sense.

“Love is not about sex. Oh, sex with somebody you are in love with is great, so much better than the old boring romp around in the bed. Believe me I know.” I looked at Aunt Alice in surprise. “Don’t think I was some sort of celibate before Adhip arrived, I had more than my share of bedmates, then I found Adhip.

“It was a year before she came to my bed, and I waited for her. Even when she came to my bed it was another couple of years before she gave herself to me fully and without reservation. I waited for her. That’s what a lover does. A lover does not demand of their partner; they wait and accept what they are given. If what they are given is very little they will be grateful for it, for it is worth so much more than anything else they could have. Because it was given in love by their lover.”

“Thank you,” I responded.

“Now finish that single malt, get upstairs to your flat and make Tom a nice dinner to come home to. Then take him to bed and make love to him in any way that you feel you can. He will be grateful for it.”

So I did.

I was back in Cromford by myself for Easter. Tom was having to attend an academic conference in Sheffield at which a paper he was co-author of was being presented. As a result he would not be able to get home till the Saturday afternoon. I had brought Aunt Alice down in the Jag to stay with Mr Meadows over the weekend and had driven into town with Maddie. Our plan was to do some shopping and then meet Tom off the train, which was due in at four-thirty-six.

Maddie had gone into the covered market to get some supplies she wanted, whilst I had gone into Walman’s, our independent bookshop’. I was actually looking for a present for Aunt Alice. It was her birthday in a few days, and I had thought of a couple of books that might be good to get her. Unfortunately, neither was in stock. Clearly a job for Amazon.

Maddie and I had agreed to meet by the horse trough, now used as a flower display but the long-time meeting place for the youth, or anybody for that matter, in town. As I approached I saw Maddie speaking to a tallish boy I vaguely recognised. He was dressed in biking boots, blue jeans, black belt and a black tank top. There were a couple of younger bike boys with him. Getting closer still I recognised him as Keith Rogers. He had been a friend at primary school and then in my year at comprehensive school until the end of GCSEs at sixteen, when he had gone off to technical college to train as a mechanic rather than come into sixth form. His father ran the local garage. One of the boys with him I thought was his younger brother but could not remember his name. The other boy was unknown to me.

As I approached I noticed Keith had the outline of some tribal tattoos inked in on his left shoulder. Just the outline. No filling. They brought back memories that I would rather forget. Just then Maddie saw me and called out to me to join them, which I did.

“Keith,” she said, “you’ll remember Leo.”

“Yes,” he said, then looked at me directly, “but we don’t talk to wimps like Leo, or is it Peter.” With that he turned and left, followed by the two other boys who looked rather puzzled. Maddie asked me what was going on. So, I explained as best I could.

“You mean that Keith is messed up with that Master James character out at Lower Hamford?”

“Looks like it, he is wearing the same uniform and he has the start of the tribal tattoos.” I answered.

“But you said you used the name Peter when you met them; how could Keith know you were Leo?” she asked.

“Remember the damages claim. My real name was on all the documents. Master James probably told Keith the gory details, maybe even showed him the video.”

“Shit. I hope he does not get in a mess,” she commented. I was surprised about the amount of feeling in her voice.

We picked Tom up from the station and then drove home, on the way giving him a brief excerpt of what had happened with Keith Rogers.

“Would you mind if we went round to Stephen’s this evening?” Tom asked.

“No, nothing planned, why?” I responded.

“I know he knows Sam Rogers, Keith’s father. It might be useful to let him know, see if some sort of warning can be given.”

That evening Tom and I went round to Stephen’s, played a few games of chess, listened to some old jazz and explained what I suspected about Keith Rogers.

“Can’t say I am surprised,” Stephen commented, once he had heard what I had to say. “Sam’s been concerned about young Keith for some months now. Nothing that he could put his finger on but a lot of little things that are just not quite right. Like the fact that Keith has become passionate about going to the gym and doing weight training.” I nodded in understanding. Keith had never been one of the more athletic or sporting boys in class. If anything he had always been a bit on the podgy side. “He has also been going off to this motorcycle club he’s joined but he won’t tell anyone where it is or what it’s called.”

“Probably doesn’t want his father to know he is in the Hell’s Angels,” Tom quipped.

“I wish it was that easy,” Stephen commented. “I know the Hell’s Angels have a bad reputation but there are a lot worse motorcycle clubs around than them.

“The problem with the small groups, such as Master James’ lot, is that they make themselves into a cult. They define how you live your life both inside the club and outside. They tell you whom you can meet and whom you can’t. They build their whole system to enforce a level of control over you that reinforces their view of how things are and how things should be.

“I’ll have a word with Sam when I can but to be honest, I do not think there is very much that can be done. The big danger is that if Sam tries to put his foot down and make the boy choose between the family and the Master, the boy is more than likely to choose the Master. They do so in nine cases out of ten.”

As soon as Easter was over it was back to Brum and course work. I had end of year exams and Tom had a couple of important papers he had to get finished. I felt fairly confident with my year’s work, especially with the tutoring in mathematics I had got from Aunt Alice. Though I had thought I had done well, I was not ready for the note that came from the Head of Mathematics asking me to call by his office.

I came away from that meeting a bit shaken. Maths had always been an interest of mine and I had never done badly at it, though it had been a bit of a struggle at times. Recently though I had got to understand the subject a lot better thanks to my talks with Aunt Alice. She had a way of explaining things that just made them seem sensible, especially when she gave practical demonstrations of some abstract mathematical concept. Some of what she had showed me must have stuck. It turned out that I had used two methods to solve problems in the exam papers which were not part of the syllabus. In fact, they were not taught as part of the course I was doing at any level, being considered far too advanced. It turned out that the tutor who had been marking my paper had to take it to the Head of Mathematics to get it checked as he had not been able to follow my workings, even though he knew I gave the correct answer.

The outcome of the discussion was that if I was able to apply mathematical principles such as those to practical problems then maybe I should be doing a degree in mathematics rather than my current engineering with maths joint option.

“Can I ask you,” the Head of Maths asked, “just where you learnt those methods.”

“My landlady showed me them, I thought they were useful,” I responded.

“And just who is this landlady that can teach mathematics like that?” he asked.

“Alice Meadows. She talks to me about maths when I am helping with the garden,” I replied. The Head of Maths looked at me for a moment then laughed his head off.

“Young man, Alice Meadows is probably one of the greatest applied mathematicians in the last hundred years. If you have her teaching you maths whilst you are doing the garden all I can suggest is you do more gardening. If it was up to me I would say drop your lectures and do gardening, you would probably learn more. Unfortunately, the powers that be would not countenance such an approach. However, I do recommend you give serious consideration to switching your degree to mathematics.”

We stayed in Brum most of the summer. Partly because Tom had a lot of writing up to get done and needed access to the university library, partly because I still had the job with the garden centre, and it was a good time to build up some extra cash. It was, therefore, something of a surprise to find Tom busy packing overnight bags for the two of us when I got home on the Sunday afternoon.

“Maddie called,” Tom informed him. “Said she needs us, or more precisely you, in Cromford in the morning.”

“I’ve got work in the morning. What am I supposed to do about that?”

“Do what I did, phone in and say it’s a family emergency. Do you want to upset Maddie.”

“Put that way, no.” I phoned work and told them I would be away for a couple of days due to a family emergency. Then went down to see Aunt Alice to say we had to go to Cromford.

“Well, you’d better take the Jag; I’m not likely to need it,” she laughed. So we did.

As we drove into Cromford I was surprised to see the petrol station at Rogers’ Garage closed. Also, there were bunches of flowers being laid on the forecourt.

When we got to the house it was empty, and there was a note on the kitchen table telling me to phone Maddie as soon as I got home. There was no need. I had hardly got my coat off when Maddie came through the door with the younger of the Roger brothers in her grip and I do mean in her grip. It was quite clear he did not want to be here.

“Leo, Tom,” she said, indicating the two of us, “this is Barry. He needs to tell us about his brother Keith.”

“What about his brother?” I asked. “And why does he need to tell us.”

Barry looked very upset and positively scared. For a moment there was silence then he blurted out, “He’s topped himself”.

“He what?” I exclaimed.

“He hung himself, last night, well this morning really. Dad found him hanging over the inspection pit when he went to open up.” the boy responded.

“His parents brought him over to us this morning so he would be out of the way. He’s my cousin,” Maddie mentioned by way of information. Not surprising, in this town anybody whose family has been here for more than two generations is cousin to at least half the town.

“Keith had been bragging,” Barry started, “how he was going to get his tattoo completed this weekend. He said he was not a wimp like you.” He looked at me, then apologised. I told him not to bother, just to tell his story. “He went out Friday evening, said he would be with the gang till Sunday, maybe Monday morning. Dad was furious, wanted to know who he was seeing where he was going. Keith told Dad it was none of his business and left.”

“Really, Dad did not have that much to complain about as it was Keith’s weekend off and Keith is a good worker. Anyway, Keith left about seven Friday night. Saturday night I woke up, there was a noise in the bathroom. Keith and I share a bathroom between our two bedrooms, so I went to look. Keith was there, bent over the toilet bowl retching. He was mumbling something about not being a wimp, that he could not be a wimp. He did not want to be like Leo. I asked him what he meant but he said nothing and that I should go back to bed. Said he was sorry for waking me, but he had eaten something that disagreed with him, that he was fine now and would be going out again soon.

“In the morning, there was no sign of Keith, though his bike was in the yard. I went out to help dad open up, had just opened up the kiosk when Dad called from the workshop. I went in to look and he was at the side of ... side of the pit … holding Keith up by the legs…told me to call an ambulance. It was too late though.” At that Barry started to cry. Maddie put her arms around him.

“What do you think?” Tom asked.

“Master James,” I responded.

“I think you’re right. We need to speak with Stephen.”

We dropped Barry off at Maddie’s parents then made our way over to Stephen Meadows’ having first made sure he was in. Maddie insisted that she came with us. When we got there I was surprised to see DI Rawlins present. He quickly made it clear that he was present in an unofficial capacity.

“I gather,” Stephen stated, “from what you hinted at on the phone, that you have some information regarding the unfortunate events at Rogers’ Garage. Am I correct?” I told him he was and then filled him in on what we had learnt.

“Well, Stan, what do you make of it?” Stephen asked looking at DI Rawlins.

“At a guess, the kid safe-worded and then could not face the consequences of safe-wording,” the DI responded.

“My thoughts exactly,” Stephen agreed.

“What are the consequences of safe-wording?” I asked.

“Well,” the DI stated, “in theory there should be no consequences. That is other than whatever is happening stopping. There is nothing wrong in safe-wording. In fact, a good master will on occasions push a sub so that they do safe-word, just to make sure that the sub will use it.”

“I don’t understand, why would a master want a sub to use a safe-word,” I asked.

“Because a safe-word works both ways. It protects the sub or slave from being subjected to something that is beyond their capacity to endure. It also provides a limiting factor for the master. The last thing a master wants is to have a sub safe-word, it means they have lost control. So, the fact that the safe-word is there forces the master to exercise control.

“Sometimes a master will push a situation deliberately to make a person safe-word. That though is to confirm that the protection is there and is working. Otherwise it is the master who has failed if a subject safe-words. Either not understood the capacity of the subject or the depth of the process being applied. It does not matter, something has gone wrong and it is the master’s fault that it has gone wrong.”

“Master James kept saying that only wimps safe-word,” I stated.

“Don’t give that bastard the title of master, he does not deserve it. He certainly has not earnt it.” DI Rawlins spat out. I looked at DI Rawlins somewhat surprised at the venom in his voice.

“You’ll have to forgive Stan,” Stephen stated. “He gets a bit upset when people like James Halmdean take the title Master with no right to it.”

“You make it sound as if it’s earned, like a degree,” I stated.

“It is.” Stan responded. “You start off as either a sub or slave and work your way up to be a master, or you start working alongside a master as an assistant. In the old days you had to make all the ‘toys’ and kit yourself. That or go to very obscure shops that did not advertise and one only heard of by word of mouth amongst like-minded people to get what you needed. The problem nowadays is kids read erotic fiction or watch some online porn and think that is what it is all about. Then then go online and buy the kit and think that is all there is to it. It’s not, there is a lot more to it, and that has to be learnt and you can only learn from experience.”

“But can’t you do something to stop him?” Maddie asked.

“Wish we could. Legally he is very clever and stays just on the right side of the law. Morally, a few of the Masters have spoken with him and made our views very clear, but that has had no effect.” The was a pause, then Stan continued. “Yes, I’m a Master. A bi one. I run a small bondage club for men and women. I know a few other Masters — we all tend to know each other. We have our standards and try to make sure people respect them but these days, like cases such as this show, it is getting harder and harder. To be honest, it needs one of his victims to turn on him and take him out. Unfortunately, I can’t see that happening.”

We spent the rest of the evening talking. I was surprised about the amount of information Stephen knew about James Halmdean and also how much information Stan was prepared to give away. Though I suspect that might have had something to do with the quality of the scotch that was being consumed, from which I, as the designated driver, had to abstain.

Keith Roger’s death was to weigh on me quite a bit in the next couple of months. I kept thinking that if Tom had not been around for me that it could have been me. That made me think were there any others. I mentioned this in an email to Maddie just before the start of term and she said she would look into it.

Chapter 10

I did not expect Maddie to do much but surprisingly she came up at Christmas with a pile of information. Amongst other things, she’d found that in the last fifteen years there had been eight suicides of young men in the area who were between seventeen and twenty-five, all of them bikers. Interestingly, four of the eight had incomplete tribal tattoos. All eight had been involved in anal intercourse.

I looked at Maddie when I read that last piece of information and asked how she knew. She simply stated it was in the medical report of the post-mortem examination. I left it there for a moment, then asked how she got the post-mortem reports, to which she responded that she was doing computer science.

She then gave us another piece of information. There had been at least nine road traffic incidents, four of them fatal, involving young bikers around the area of Lower Hamford where James Halmdean lived. In each case the biker was under the influence of drugs. In the case of the fatalities there had been evidence of anal intercourse.

Tom and I looked at the information Maddie had presented.

“It’s too much to be coincidence,” Tom observed.

“Of course it’s not a coincidence, it’s James Halmdean,” Maddie stated, spitting out his name. She then went on to say that there were a number of other incidents involving the suicide of young bikers from outside the area. She could not say they were connected but there were sufficient similarities to make her think that they could be.

That Christmas Tom and I gave Maddie a live-fire experience weekend at Bisley. She gave us a massage set, with a range of oils. We set about experimenting with them as soon as we got home to Brum. It was strange: both Tom and I now thought of Birmingham as home.

Following the instructions, we warmed the oils, then I massaged Tom, then Tom massaged me. It was fine until Tom ran his thumbs down my spine and into my cleft, touching my anus. The moment he touched my anus I tensed up, then started to shake. Tom stopped immediately, was holding me, cuddling me, telling me everything was fine.

“It’s not, though, is it?” I responded. “That man has spoilt it for us.”

“I don’t care,” Tom replied, as he moved in to kiss me. “I am happy with what I have.”

“I know,” I responded, once he had finished the kiss. “It is just I want to be able to give you more.”

“I don’t need more, I have you.”

The big storm in February really made a mess of Aunt Alice’s garden. A couple trees came down and some others were damaged. Aunt Alice wanted to get replacements planted as soon as possible. However, specimen trees of any decent size are not that easy to find. They were certainly not stocked by the garden centre I worked at. Tom suggested that we try the big garden centre in Lower Hamford, so the last weekend in February we took Aunt Alice there.

It was a much larger place than where I worked, with its own large nursery. Talking to the staff it turned out their main business was growing for the professional market and the retail garden centre was just a side-line. As a result they did have specimen trees of a decent size in stock. We weren’t able to get everything we wanted, it would have been too expensive but Aunt Alice did manage to get replacements for her magnolia and the birches she had lost. Better still the nursery agreed to transport and plant them for her. That had been one job I had not been looking forward to.

Having dealt with the business of getting the trees, we had a look round the garden centre and went into its café for a drink. As we entered I spotted Maddie sitting at a table with a young man and an elderly woman, neither of whom I knew, and I thought I knew all of Maddie’s relations.

Maddie saw me and waved us over to join them. She introduced the young man as Neal and the elderly lady as Miss Jenkins but gave no explanation as to whom they were. Miss Jenkins and Aunt Alice were soon chatting to each other about gardens. Tom went up to the counter to get tea and tea-cakes for the three of us. I asked Maddie how come they were there, I thought she would be over in Cambridge. She responded that she was just showing Miss Jenkins around the area. There seemed to be something slightly evasive about her answer.

That evening we were at Stephen’s. Aunt Alice was staying there for the weekend. Over dinner I mentioned bumping into Maddie at the café and said she was with a Miss Jenkins. Stephen looked up and asked if I meant Edith Jenkins. I told him I did not know but wondered who Edith Jenkins was.

I planned on staying in Birmingham until Good Friday before returning for Easter. Partially this was for practical reasons. Aunt Alice wanted to visit Stephen for Easter but Stephen made it quite clear that five days of the old dear was more than enough for him. Tom was also working right up ‘til Good Friday. Partially it was because Birmingham was now home to us. Tom and I had built lives here, lives we enjoyed. So, we were in Birmingham on the Thursday when the news broke of the vicious attack on a billionaire’s grandson.

The initial reports were quite sketchy. That the grandson of the inventor and engineering billionaire Stuart Halmdean had been viscously attacked and beaten in his own home was the headline in the evening paper that I saw when walking home from the supermarket. I wondered if it might be Master James but then remembered that Stuart Halmdean had other grandsons who were a lot higher profile. It was not until I saw the local news at six that I recognised the building and knew who had been attacked. I immediately called Tom, who was still at work, and gave him the news.

There was something odd about the way the news was being reported. I just knew there was more to the story than was being told. As soon as Tom got home I told him that things did not sound right. For a start where were Dean and Mike. I could not imagine James being anywhere without that pair around. Tom said he would phone Stephen whilst I sorted dinner. He came back ten minutes later and said that Stephen had said there was a lot more to the story but a lot of pressure was being put on people to make sure it did not come out. He invited us to join him and Aunt Alice for dinner on Friday, the next day, and suggested we brought Maddie along as well. I found that a bit strange, but she had been there last time we had talked about James Halmdean.

Things got stranger next morning. My phone beeped with a message from an unknown number. It contained a link to a video file. I checked it out, it was clearly the security footage from the outside close circuit camera at the gates of James Halmdean’s house. A motorcyclist wearing a backpack rides up to the gates, which are closed, places something on the centre of the gate, then pushes them open, gets back on the bike and rides in. As the bike enters two dogs appear charging at the bike and its rider. Suddenly they stop, start to whimper and slunk off. By now the rider is close to the door. They park the bike carefully, get off and start to walk to the door. As they do so it opens and a figure comes out, running at them, I recognise Mike just at the moment when the rider does a high snap kick and connects the heel of their bike boot with Mike’s chin. Mike goes down like a lead balloon. There is another figure behind Mike. I guess that is Dean. He pauses for a moment in the doorway, then picks something up and steps out with a baseball bat in his hand. The rider reaches behind into their backpack and pulls something out. It looks like a short rod, about thirty centimetres or so. Dean swings the baseball bat at the rider’s head. The rider drops down onto the ground, twisting as they do so. As they hit the ground the rod suddenly expands from thirty centimetres to about one metre fifty and comes up very sharply between Dean’s legs. The rider who has continued in their spin is now up on their feet or more precisely foot, as their other foot is arching into the side of Dean’s head.

With both Dean and Mike down on the ground the rider removes some cable ties from the backpack and proceeds to truss them up. Once done, the rider compresses the staff into its former size and replaces it in the backpack before entering the house. At that point the video stops.

Tom and I watched it again. It was Tom who spotted when it was taken. It was the second time we watched when it he suddenly announced, “That’s Monday night.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“The moon, you can see it reflected in the windows,” Tom stated.

“Yes,” I responded.

“But it has been overcast and raining for the last couple of nights, so it had to be Monday night,” Tom pointed out.

“So why has it taken two days for the news to break?” I asked

“Or before anyone found out?”

During the rest of the day the phone beeped about every twenty minutes or so with a link to a video. I did not watch them all. In fact, after the first couple I did not bother to watch any. Though I did see the scene of James Halmdean being dragged out of his safe room by the rider. That was shown on national news, with calls for greater protection for rural areas. That was before the video files hit social media. Especially the ones that certainly were not legal.

So late on the Good Friday afternoon we drove down to Cromford, dropped Tom’s and my stuff off at my parents, picked up Maddie and proceeded to take Aunt Alice to Mr Meadows. We got there just after seven. Bank holiday weekend traffic had been murder. Stephen welcomed us and told us dinner would be in half an hour. In the meantime, he suggested drinks in the conservatory. Going through I was surprised to find DI Rawlins there as no mention had been made of him.

“It’s OK,” he said, seeing my surprise, “I’m not on duty. In fact I’m on leave pending my retirement.”

“And it’s not early retirement,” Stephen interjected, going up and putting his arm around Stan.

“Are we to understand Stephen that you and this gentleman are now … what is the word that is use … ah yes, an item?” Aunt Alice asked.

“Aunt Alice,” Stephen responded. “I would like you to meet Detective Inspector Rawlins, informally Stan Rawlins, and yes we are an item.”

“About bloody time,” Aunt Alice stated. “How long have you two known each other?”

Stephen looked at Stan, who shrugged, then answered Aunt Alice. “We’ve known each other just over fifteen years, since I moved up here from the Met. Blotted my copybook slightly and the powers that be thought the countryside might suit me better.”

I looked at Stephen questioningly.

“It’s OK, Leo, a gang of queer bashers got slightly bashed when they were arrested. Would not have been a big deal but one of them was the son of an MP,” Stan filled in before he continued. “Anyway, Stephen and myself soon met when I moved up here just before the millennium. Not long after I moved here I was investigating a case involving an assault on a sixteen-year-old by a member of his family. Turned out the boy was gay and the uncle was a homophobe. No father around. Stephen agreed to act for the boy on a pro-bono basis.

“Since then we have worked together on several gay issues around the area. Though nothing more than being just social friends. Stephen had his partner…” Aunt Alice huffed quite loudly.

“Yes, Aunty,” Stephen stated, “you were right.”

“Of course I was right,” Aunt Alice replied. “So you got together when that piece of rubbish decamped.”

“Not precisely,” Stan stated, “but we did get together to investigate a certain character around these parts…”

“If you mean that Master James say so,” Aunt Alice spit out.

“You know about him?” Stan asked.

“Got the story out of Leo. Nasty piece of work, what’s happened to him is not enough.”

“Right,” Stan resumed. “We started to cooperate to see if there was any way we could end Master James’ activities. It was clear that the official approach was not going to work. After his first acquittal, we had gone in twice on complaints and both time the CPS refused to prosecute. Can’t say I can blame them; the bastard had covered himself well.

“Anyway, Stephen and I started to look at alternative approaches. As a result, we started to spend quite a lot of time together and found that we had more in common than an interest in bringing an end to Master James’ activities. Of course, our professional status meant that we had to keep some degree of separation going. Now that the problem of Master James appears to have be resolved by the actions of a third party, I decided it was a good time to put my retirement plan into operation. I have some accumulated leave due, which I am taking, and then I am officially retiring next month.”

“So,” Maddie commented, “you are not on the investigation into Master James?”

“No, Miss Atkins, I’m not, which is probably better all round.”

“Why’s that?” Aunt Alice asked, topping up her glass of wine.

“Well, Dr. Meadows,” Stan responded. I was shocked a bit by his use of Aunt Alice’s formal address because, although I knew she held a doctorate in mathematics, nobody had ever addressed her as such. “The thing is, I might have too much local knowledge, which might provide insights into the investigation that are probably best not explored.”

“Why ever not?” Aunt Alice enquired.

“Madam,” Stan responded, “there are times that in the interests of justice the law should be blindfolded.”

“So who is doing the investigation?” I asked, accepting a refill from Stephen as I did.

“They’ve brought in a DI from the Met. Very nice young women, who is totally efficient. She has her own team, also very efficient. Fortunately, none of them have any local knowledge.”

“Why is that important.” Tom asked.

“Because if they did they might wonder at the coincidence of a certain motorcycle riding young lady, who is connected to three of Master James’ victims, being a computer geek of the highest order and a highly skilled martial artist,” Stan stated, turning to look at Maddie.

“Three of the victims?” Maddie asked.

Stan smiled. “I believe you are acquainted with Edith Jenkins,” he stated. Maddie looked a bit surprised. “The Met still likes to keep an eye on the old lady, even though she is living in Oxfordshire now. When a motorcyclist visited her, a note of the number was taken and a local check done.”

“Who,” I asked, “is Edith Jenkins.” Thinking of the old lady we had met at the garden centre.

“She’s an old shoplifter, now retired. I was doing some background on the impact of modern security systems,” Maddie responded.

“She is also the effective head of one of London’s most successful crime families. Not the biggest, by any means, but by far the most successful,” Stan stated. “I met Edith when I was with the Met. Not the sort of woman that one wants to upset. I bet she was very upset when her nephew Michael Thompson was killed in the motorcycle crash a few months ago.”

“Yes, she was,” stated Maddie. We all looked at her, she just smiled. I for one would not have liked to be on the receiving end of that smile.

“I suggest,” Stephen interrupted, “that before this conversation goes any further we go in and have dinner.”

The next couple of hours were spent avoiding the conversation we all knew we wanted to have. It was a delightful meal. I told Tom and Maddie that we better walk home as we had all being drinking. We would leave the car at Stephen’s. Tom suggested a taxi, and I gave him a look that put an end to that line of thought.

As soon as dinner was over, I made an early excuse for us to depart. Once outside I turned to Maddie and asked her what the hell she had done.

“I did what was needed,” she responded.

“But…” I started.

“Come on,” Tom interrupted, “let’s go and sit in the park.”

Once we got there Tom got us seated at a table in the picnic area.

“Alright, Leo, let Maddie tell us what she wants to tell us in her own way. Don’t interrupt her and don’t ask questions. Maddie, you better fill us in on what you know otherwise we will be constantly trying to find out. However, if you tell us now I think it would be best if we all then forgot about it and did not bring it up again.”

“OK, after what happened to Leo and Keith I was angry. I was angry that the police seemed to be unable to do anything. So I started to look. I managed to hack into Master James’ network and what I found there made me mad. I also realised why the police were powerless. Most of the stuff was held remotely on off-shore servers. When the police raided and took the systems for forensic examination the stuff was not on them, only links that would not work except from the original location, so they could not follow up.

“Anyway, I did pick up a lot of stuff and started to follow it up. The thing is that no matter how careful you are when you are doing stuff like this you do leave some signs around and I noticed some of those signs. Somebody else was looking around. They were coming from a different perspective, though: the death of one motorcyclist.

“I followed that up and established contact with them. Turned out to be a seventeen-year-old kid from the East End. He was doing it for his Aunt Edith. That is how I got invited to visit Edith Jenkins. She is a remarkable lady and somewhat frightening. It turned out that I had the missing information that she needed to understand what had happened to her nephew Michael. Apparently, she had never accepted the police report that he had been taking downers and crashed under their influence.

“Once she knew the truth and had the information about Master James’ computers, she set up the operation to take him down. I was just a bit player.”

“You could have got hurt, badly,” I pointed out.

“Oh no, there were a couple of heavy boys there and they had Tasers; they were just to stay back out of shot unless they were needed. James Halmdean and his boys were wimps!”

“But why, Maddie, why did you do it, surely not for what that bastard did to me?”

“No, Leo, it was not only about you, though that made me angry. It was Keith.”

“Keith?” I asked.

“Yes, he was my boyfriend,” Maddie stated.

“I didn’t know,” I replied.

“We kept it quiet. My mother made it clear she did not approve of Keith, especially when he left school at sixteen. We agreed that I would get my degree and he would qualify as a mechanic, then we would marry.

“But he changed. I knew he was bi, we had discussed that and I could cope with that. What I could not deal with was him locking me out of his life. It started about a year and a half ago. He started to say how he could not be in a relationship until he was truly a man, that he had to prove that he was a man. Last Easter he told me he had best not see me until he had sorted himself out and proved he was a man.”

“So that is why you were so upset by his death?”

“Yes.”

“One question, Maddie,” Tom asked, “why three days? It was Monday when you went into Master James’ place but all the stuff shows the date as Wednesday.”

“Needed to copy all the remote stuff back to local drives; there were over eight terabytes of data. The bastard had state of the art connections but even then it took time. Actually, we were not able to get everything back but we got the stuff pulled back to local that would put him behind bars.”

Tom nodded. Stood up and walked round the table to Maddie and gave her a hug. “You know, as we are walking home why don’t we go into the Lion and Lamb and get drunk.” We both agreed with him.

Over the next few days news broke of Master James’ arrest. Initially he was charged with having and making indecent images of minors. Then other charges started to be made. As more and more charges were made people who had been his victims started to come out of the woodwork and make complaints. In the end he was charged with over two hundred separate offences. Dean, Mike and Master James were charged with conspiracy offences, which from a legal perspective were regarded as more serious than the base offence and which carried heavy sentences.

It was several months later that the case got to court. I was called as a witness for the prosecution, one of over two hundred. It was expected to be a long trial. Tom went down to London with me for the trial, which was being held at the Central Criminal Court. James Halmdean’s lawyers had objected to it being heard in Worcester so it had been moved.

We had been told that the case could last eight to ten weeks, maybe longer, and the prosecution could give us no indication when I might be called. We just had to sit around and wait. In the end I never got called. For nearly a week the lawyers for the defence put up all sorts of legal arguments, mainly aimed at getting the video material from James Halmdean’s servers omitted from the evidence. When that failed they asked for and got a twenty-four hour adjournment.

It was on the Friday morning that the case resumed with a surprise. James, Dean and Mike all pleaded guilty to all charges except the conspiracy ones. The judge accepted the pleas and ordered that the conspiracy charges be left on the file. I gather that this meant that those charges would not be tried and no finding of guilt or innocence would be entered against them. They could, in theory at least, be brought up again sometime in the future, but we were told this was very unlikely.

The court adjourned for twenty-eight days for sentencing reports and assessments to be made. I was told that I was no longer needed so Tom and I got the train back to Brum. It all seemed a bit of an anti-climax. I went back to my studies and tidying up the garden in preparation for winter.

Tom and I went down to London for the sentencing. The prosecution read out victim statements from a number of the victims, including one from me. In mine I said how James Halmdean had messed up my sex life and that caused problems with my personal relationships. When all the statements had been read the prosecution asked for the maximum sentence, which was life. The defence put forward arguments for mitigation but in the end, James Halmdean was sentenced to thirty-five years; Mike and Dean got thirty years each respectively.

The witness support officer at the court told me that it meant they would probably end up serving more time than they would have done on a life sentence.

You might wonder what happened to the others, like Phil. Some gave themselves in to the police and got away with lesser sentences, most about ten years. A couple of fled the country and are now subject to extradition proceedings. Phil, though, was never charged. It turned out he himself was a victim – effectively a sex slave, one who turned Queen’s evidence.

A few days later James Halmdean was found dead in his cell; he had hung himself. When the news broke, I felt empty. It was if I was being denied something. He had escaped the punishment that had been set out for him.

A few weeks later Maddie phoned me and asked if I would meet her at the small village of Upper Haresford, which sits on the border between Oxfordshire and Berkshire. She also told me that Phil would be there. I was a bit reluctant to go but in the end Tom persuaded me to. We drove down the following Saturday.

When we got to the address she had given us, it turned out to be Miss Jenkins’ house. The old lady greeted us at the door and showed us through to the living room. Maddie was there seated on a sofa with Neal, the boy we had met at the garden centre. On the opposite side of the fire place were two easy chairs. Phil was seated in one; in the other was a male who looked about my age but gave the impression of being quite a bit older. He had piercings in his nose and lips plus studs in his ears.

“This is Samuel Finklestein,” Miss Jenkins stated, introducing us. Then she indicated Phil. “Leo, you know Ian Mackpiece, though under a different name.”

“I thought his name was Phil?” I stated.

“That,” Ian said, “is what that bastard Master James called me. He made me answer to it.” Ian then went on to tell his story. At times I felt sick listening to it; it brought back memories that I wanted to avoid. However, hearing Ian talk about things put the events into a very different perspective. It seems that James Halmdean had made a business of picking up young men, breaking them emotionally and mentally until they were under his total control, then selling them for either prostitution or sexual slavery. Apparently, he made quite a bit of money from his activities.

Ian told us how the operation worked. How young men were either picked up off the streets or targeted on websites. James Halmdean had looked for certain key phrases like ‘alone’ or ‘lonely’ that indicated likely targets. Then he would set about indoctrinating them and alienating them from their friends and family. After that, is was a fairly simple task for him to break any inhibitions or restraint that they may have had.

I started to see exactly how I had been manipulated. The thing that became clear was that I was not weak or stupid. James Halmdean had been a master manipulator. Miss Jenkins stated that he would have made a marvellous conman. At that comment I laughed and kept on laughing. The image of James Halmdean as a conman filled me with amusement.

Tom asked me what was so funny? I explained. Soon they were are laughing. Laughing at James Halmdean.

Ian finished his story. Then Miss Jenkins explained why she had asked both Ian and me to be present at this meeting. It turned out we were the only victims of James Halmdean whom she knew how to contact and she wanted our input into things.

She informed us that James Halmdean’s property had been sold off at auction under the Proceeds of Crime Act. She had purchased the house as she wanted to do something with it as a memorial not just for Michael but all the other boys and young men who had suffered at the hands of James Halmdean. However, she wanted to know what we, the victims, thought should be done with the place.

“Burn it to the ground,” I stated, without really thinking.

“That would be a waste,” Ian said. “It is actually a nice house, once you get away from what’s on the ground floor and in the cellar.”

“Those we can get rid of,” Samuel said.

“They already have been disposed of,” Miss Jenkins assured us.

“What it should be is a place that is the complete opposite of what it was used for,” Maddie stated.

We talked it over for a good two hours. A lot of different ideas were floated but no decision was made. It was about six weeks later that Maddie phoned me to say that Miss Jenkins had given the property rent free to a charity that provided support to homeless gay and lesbian teenagers. The idea was to turn it into a hostel to provide them with a place of safety. Somehow it seemed a right and a fitting memorial to Michael and the others. I phoned Tom with the news.

In the same phone call Maddie also told me she had become engaged to Neal. They were to be married when she finished university.

Tom came home with a bottle of champagne and said we should get drunk. In fact, we just got well and truly merry with Aunt Alice joining in the celebration. After the second glass she looked at Tom and told him that he needed to take care of me. He picked me up and carried me up to our flat. Unfortunately, the romance was broken by the fact he had to put me down to open the door, so I picked him up and took him to our room. Once in bed I made love to him. We went very slowly, but I was determined, and he was not only gentle but loving and patient when I took him into me. I knew I was not a wimp, I was in control of things and had decided what I needed to do.

In the end, I knew that with Tom’s help, I’d overcome what Master James had done to me, and I felt a great sense of relief. I felt whole again, I felt loved. I had a full life ahead of me, and I was ready to live it, with Tom at my side.

* * *