Date: Wed, 12 Oct 2005 09:04:29 -0400
From: parrafan <parrafan@ureach.com>
Subject: The Clinic

The Clinic
a story by parrafan

DISCLAIMER: This story is fiction. The author (me) does not
promote or recommend any illegal activities. This is adult
material, unsuitable for minors.

DEDICATION: This story is dedicated to all the volunteer surf
life savers who patrol Australia's beaches in the summer,
without pay, in their tight red speedos. Great job, fellas.

A REQUEST: If anyone reading this knows where Leaf's digital
photo site has gone since being banished from the Castle, I
would dearly love to hear from you. As a reward, I'll even fit
your name into my next story (a la Stephen King).

* * *

The Clinic

My old man died when I was in my final year of high school. It
wasn't sudden - he had been crook for donkey's ages. He lingered
for years in a hospital bed, then at the end, his last few
months were spent in a hospice run by some ancient nuns.

Because we all had time to prepare - me and my mother, brothers
and sister - when he finally snatched it everyone had a general
feeling of relief more than sadness.

He had spent his final three weeks saying goodbye to all of us.
My turn came just before my final Year 12 exams - great timing,
eh? After telling me he had always loved me (which I suppose I
already knew), he told me what he thought was the secret to a
happy adult life. He said it had got him through all the rocky
parts of his marriage to Mum, my sister's divorce, his younger
brother's (that's my Uncle Phil's) bankruptcy, even the cancer
that finally caught up with him.

"Mate", he said to me - and he was the only person I tolerated
calling me that - "the secret to being happy as an adult is to
find something you truly enjoy, a hobby or whatever, and figure
out how to get someone to pay you for doing it."

"That's it?" I thought. "That's his earth-shattering secret?" I
felt like telling him that I would be surprised if anyone would
pay to let me pull on my dick, which was about the only hobby I
had at the time. Or watch boys. That was my other hobby. The two
sorta went together. Hand-in-hand, you might say.

Well, if no-one was going to pay me to wank, they sure weren't
gonna line up to throw money at me for perving at the Nippers at
their Surf Carnivals. That is the absolute, A1, all-time perfect
place for boy-watching in this country. You can keep your
amusement arcades, your shopping malls, your public pools and
gymnasiums - for a great day of perving there is nothing that
can compare to an Aussie Junior Surf Life Saving Carnival. It
even beats nude beaches and naturist clubs - because at those
venues it's considered rude to stare. Repeat offenders are
quickly shown the door. But at a Nipper Carnival, looking at the
competitors is what you are supposed to be doing. After all, if
you attended a footy game, you'd be expected to watch the
players, right?

How can I list all the many superior aspects of the Nipper
Carnival? The individual events are usually divided by gender,
so you don't have to be distracted by any girls (eww!). Nippers
range in age from 8 to 14 years - well there's Paradise right
there! The event is held on a public beach (all beaches are
public in Australia) and there is no admission charge - although
you are commonly stung for a raffle ticket or a donation during
the day. All the boys wear Speedos - surely the greatest
invention of the twentieth century. If you attend a Carnival at
the beginning of the season, say around October, the boys are
sometimes wearing last year's Speedos -need I say more?

A Nipper Carnival can sometimes resemble military manoeuvres:
you will hear a loudspeaker direct competitors to marshal at a
designated area, and boys will come tumbling out of everywhere,
like Hamelin's rodent population, to line up and wait for names
to be checked off and for officials to prepare surfaces. While
they wait, the boys patiently sit on the sand in rows and chat.
This is where their Speedos betray them - if you are a twelve
year old boy wearing only a skimpy cozzie, rubbing shoulders and
legs with similarly clad boys on either side, hot sun beating
down on you, a bare back in front of you, the kid behind you
trying to stick his big toe in your bumcrack, adrenaline racing
around your body in preparation for your event, well, it would
be decidedly unnatural to remain flaccid.

Most of the boys have their favourite event. The better swimmers
prefer the open water events, swimming out to the buoys and back
to shore. Taller boys like the beach sprints, because their long
legs give them an advantage over 100 metres. Smaller boys excel
at flags, because they can rise out of their prone position on
the sand, turn quickly and sprint 15 metres to the flag (a 30cm
piece of garden hose jammed into the sand) faster than their
bigger, clumsier agemates. And finally, for the boys who are
good looking but useless at sports, there is always the
march-past.

I discovered Nippers two years after I was too old to actually
be one. Curses! My first Nipper Carnival was such an eye-opener
that I began thinking of my life in two halves: pre-Nipper (the
wasted first sixteen years of my life) and post-Nipper (a
glorious two years of watching boys on the beach). In Sydney,
where I live, you can catch a Nipper Carnival at some beach or
other every weekend from November to March, except for a few
weeks over Christmas (school holidays). Some weekends, you are
spoiled for choice, there are so many carnivals on offer.

Of course, I never actually followed through on any of my
desires for young boys. I was as timid as a rabbit, that was the
main reason. Opportunity, too, never came knocking - even though
at a Carnival you are surrounded by hundreds of almost naked
boys, they always go about in pairs or groups, and their parents
are never too far away. Fear played a big part: what if the boy
I chose didn't respond, or worse, ratted me out? And of course
there was the ever-present worry about the legal side: all a boy
had to do was point the finger at you and your life was ruined.

As a result, all of my amorous conquests of young boys took
place in my head (the big one, not the little one). Ever since I
was about sixteen, my dreams and fantasies have been populated
by a neverending swarm of willing, gorgeous, uninhibited eleven
and twelve year old boys, who liked to do to me everything that
I wanted done, who accepted my every suggestion and thrilled at
my every urge. No flesh-and-blood boy could ever be as
compliant, as adventurous, yet as affectionate, as the boys in
my dreams. All I had to do was see a boy at a Nipper Carnival
for five minutes, to memorize the details of his physique, and I
knew that he would be mine that very night. I could almost taste
the sea spray on his lips as I enjoyed his incorporeal body in
my bed.

So I never actually got it on with a real boy, is what I'm
saying. I completed my final exams, matriculating with a
moderately good pass. Not quite good enough to study Medicine,
which was my first choice. Nor did we have enough money left in
the family after Dad's illness (and my sister's divorce, and my
uncle's bankruptcy) to allow me to enrol in Medicine at a
private Uni. The next option was a Bachelor of Science in
Medical Technology. The advantage was, it only took three years
(compared to six years plus a year's residency for Medicine);
the disadvantage - well, I was eighteen: who thinks of
disadvantages at that age?

* * *
I threw myself into my studies. Over the next three years I
learned all there was to learn about radiography, blood
sampling, barium meals, biopsies, ultrasounds, and the machines
that assist in all of these tests. You name it, I practiced on
it. My specialty was skin blemishes. One of our lecturers told
us, towards the end of my first year, that the next boom
industry in Australia was going to be the detection and
treatment of skin cancers. Australia has the highest rate of
death from melanoma (a type of skin cancer) per head of
population of anywhere in the world. That's understandable when
seventy percent of the population live less than an hour's drive
from the coastline. Lying on the beach soaking up lethal doses
of ultraviolet radiation is a national pastime, like Cricket.

During my three years at Uni, I maintained my interest in the
Surf Life Saving movement, in particular its junior branch. I
joined the Photographic Club at Uni so that I could have an
excuse to take snapshots of the boys I saw at Nipper Carnivals,
but the mood in many Western countries, including Australia, has
changed over the last few years. Not so long ago, it was
considered amusing and harmless to have naked photos in your
possession of your own or other people's children, for the
purpose of embarrassing them on their 21st birthday, or wedding
day. Not any more. Nowadays it is almost a hanging offence to
produce a camera anywhere near a beach, even if you only want to
photograph a wave or a sandcastle. Photo technicians who develop
rolls of film have taken it upon themselves to be society's
moral watchdogs, and will readily lag you to the boys in blue
(after taking your money, of course) if any of your photos
includes any person, clothed or not, under the age of
take-your-pick. If you have the temerity to bring a digital
camera to a beach, well, that's prima facie evidence that you
are up to no good.

I quit the Photo Club when I got bored with snapping countless
sunsets and bowls of fruit. Happily, my desire for photographic
keepsakes of beautiful boys was somewhat sated by the discovery
of some excellent websites which specialized in speedo-clad
boys. Oh, to live in Europe, where apparently a boy's scantily
clad body is not a thing of shame but proudly displayed on any
beach or boardwalk. But if I lived there, I'd have to give up
Cricket. Too much to ask. Better to wait for good pics to appear
in certain newsgroups and websites (where are you Leaf?).

One of my favourite mind-games while attending a Nipper Carnival
was "Spot the Woody". You'll never guess what that entails, so
I'll explain. Some carnivals have to start as early as 8 am, to
fit in all the events. Boys and their parents often had to
travel several suburbs to attend, so they sometimes booked in at
a local motel overnight to ensure a refreshed, early start. As a
result, these boys landed at the beach not long after sunrise,
and only minutes out of bed. Needless to say, opportunities for
seeing the front of a boy's speedo stretched out by his youthful
pencil were at their peak first thing in the morning. Once I
even had the pleasure of overhearing a conversation between what
I assumed were a boy and his father (or a very lucky uncle). To
them, it may have been mundane, but to me it was highly erotic:

Man: "Leave it alone". Looks at the surf.
Boy: "But it's uncomfortable". Rubs the front of his speedo.
Man: "If you rub it, it will only get harder". Looks out to the
horizon.
Boy: "No-one's watching". Looks around furtively, then tries to
push his hardening dicklet downwards inside the tight swimsuit.
It springs back up.
Man: "Told you. Just let it be, and it will go down". Puts hands
in pockets and looks up at clouds.
Boy: "I can't just leave it now, it's right up!" Forces hands
behind back, pushes hips out a little.
Man: "Try thinking of the worst thing you've ever seen. That
might work"
Boy: "This morning I walked in on Mum while she was sitting on
the toilet. Can I think of that?" Fondles dick one last time.
Man: "Yeah, but don't tell her". Looks at a sailing boat beyond
the breakers.
Boy: "I think it's working. Can we got to Macca's for lunch?"
Turns face to man.
Man: "Only if you beat Zane in flags". Boy scampers off. Man
sighs.

* * *
In my third and final year at Uni, we were each expected to line
up a stint of three months' internship with a working
practitioner. I was lucky to get a position with a bloke who
lived and worked in my beachside suburb of Marooka. His clinic
was a two story building in the main drag, consulting rooms
downstairs and residence upstairs, with an external staircase
off the street to the flat above. He worked the business with
his wife (who took the female clients). It was the ideal
arrangement - after observing our clinical practice for a month,
Jack and his wife took themselves off on a long-promised ocean
cruise, leaving me and Janette (a girl from my class who was
also undertaking her practicum) to run his shop for him. It was
a small clinic - Jack didn't even employ a receptionist. Jack's
wife took female clients from 9 until noon (Janette was happy to
carry on that tradition) and I saw the male clients from 1pm
until 4pm. We certainly weren't overworked.

All that changed when the Government decided to add "Skin Cancer
Checkup" to its National Health Schedule of Benefits. In plain
English, that meant that due to intense lobbying pressure from
the medical establishment, every Aussie now had the right to
have one twenty-minute consultation at a skin clinic per year to
inspect for signs of skin cancer, the tab to be picked up by the
national health benefits scheme, known as Medicare. That, in
turn, meant that members of the public could get a skin
technician (such as me) to have a look at that worrying mole,
blemish or sunspot, paid for out of the public purse. No more
putting it off because of the cost of a consultation. Jack's
practice blossomed. Hell, it practically exploded. From seeing a
dozen clients a week six months ago, by the time he and his wife
returned from their Pacific cruise Janette and I were up to two
dozen walk-ins a day. Sadly for me, the clientele was almost
exclusively in the over-60's age bracket.

I honestly expected Jack to be happy with the upsurge in
business. But like many professionals in their mid-fifties, Jack
and his wife (having had a little taste of retired living) were
aghast at the idea of having to do so much work when they
already had more money than they could ever spend. Within weeks
of their return, Jack had leased the skin care clinic to me and
Janette (we formed a strictly business partnership for the
purpose) and had purchased a new mobile home and disappeared
down the highway with his wife, determined to see the whole of
Australia in style, catching up on decades of annual holidays
never taken.

As a result, Janette and I were the only ones in our graduating
class who already had their own practice waiting for them when
our courses finished. I left home and took up residence above
the clinic, while Janette had her own flat in the next suburb.
We continued Jack's custom of mornings for females and
afternoons for males, and for two people who rarely saw each
other, Janette and I got on quite well. I'm sure many married
couples know exactly what I mean.

 I had been continuing my excursions to various beaches over the
three summers of my BSc (Uni in Australia runs from March to
November, our summer is December to February. Pretty neat, eh?).
My local watering hole of a Friday night was the Marooka Surf
Life Saving Club. I gradually became known to the bar staff and
to the older lifesavers as a 'regular', and somehow drifted into
an easy familiarity with the bigwigs of the Surf Club, including
the Surf Club Captain, a guy only a couple of years older than
me with a build like one of those male strippers. In fact it was
Mike, the Club Captain, who thought of the idea that would
eventually change my life.

Surf Clubs in Australia are always on the prowl for new ways to
gather sponsorship money. Running a surf club isn't cheap, and
even volunteer labour ends up costing money. After a big scare
in the insurance industry in Australia a few years back, when
several huge insurers went to the wall, premiums for public
liability insurance went through the roof. Idiots (some of whom
were tourists to this country, sad to say) were visiting
Australia's beaches, ignoring the directions of the lifesavers,
swimming outside the flags, getting into difficulties, then
suing the Surf Club and the Local Council and their motel and
anyone else they could think of for millions when they had the
inevitable accident or fatality. Volunteer surf life savers at
some Clubs, who previously had paid an annual membership
subscription of around ten dollars, were being asked to fork out
five hundred dollars a year for the privilege of rescuing the
ignorant and ungrateful from Australia's sometimes treacherous
surf. Not surprisingly, the Government (at all levels) just
wrung their hands and bleated catchphrases like "market forces",
"uncertain times" and walked away from the problem. It was left
to people like Mike to retain members, maintain services to the
surfing public and keep the tradition of Surf Life Saving alive
and strong. He collared me in the Bar one Friday night, a month
after Janette and I had taken the clinic over from Jack.

"Maaaate", he drawled as he slapped me on the back, nearly
knocking me off the barstool. "How's tricks? Getting any?"

This was his standard greeting. He was acquainted with so many
supporters of the Club that he just called them all "Mate" to
cover his appalling memory for names. It annoyed me but I
tolerated it. I brought him up to date on the Clinic's
favourable economic position.

"Keeping my head above water", I answered. Sort of a lifesaver's
joke.

"Mate, have I talked to you yet about sponsorship?" Mike never
let a chance go by.

"No, but you can buy me a beer and soften me up first", I
replied with a grin.

"Right! Beauty!" He called over to the barman. "Two schooners of
Light, thanks cobber!" When the tall frosty beers arrived, I put
him out of his misery.

"Look, Mike, I think you've got a beaut  little club here, and
as a local businessman" (I smiled to myself inside - imagine, me
a businessman at 22!) "I'd like to support it, in a modest way,
like. What did you have in mind?"

"You run that skin clinic, don'cha", he began.

"Yeah, me and my business partner", I concurred.

"And the Govey just put you lot on the Benefits List, didn't
they? So you can Bulk Bill your consultations to Medicare?",
Mike continued.

"Ye-es", I conceded.

"How does this grab you for an idea: The Club puts up a big sign
on the Sponsors Wall advertising your clinic. And for every
person who goes along to you for a checkup, and mentions the
sign, you sling the Club a dollar. You bill Medicare, we get a
buck a throw, you get more business coming in the doorway, its a
win-win!" His enthusiasm was contagious. I tried not to look too
keen.

"This isn't illegal or anything, is it? I mean it's not like a
kick-back or anything?" I asked, trying to look worried. Of
course, I knew already that it wasn't illegal; sporting clubs
all over Australia have similar deals with businesses, all quite
legitimate. As long as the clients were genuine and not
fictitious, it was all on the up-and-up. Good record keeping was
all that was needed.

"Illegal? Maaate! Would I do that to you? We'll send the Nippers
along too of course, boost the numbers".

Now he really had my attention. The clinic only ever attracted
very infrequent visits from children, who always had to be
dragged there by fretful mothers worried about little Johnnie's
mole or little Mary's beauty spot. Mike was effectively
promising me that every boy in the Surf Club (and every girl,
too, but Janette could worry about that) would visit my clinic
once a year for a skin checkup. I had to put my hand on the bar
to steady myself from falling over in sheer delirium.

"When's a good day to send the grommets along? Do you want them
all at once, or one at a time? Maybe they should go by age
groups?" Mike was already thinking ahead. I was already
salivating but trying not to show it.

"Maybe you could send the smallest age group you've got first, I
mean the one with the least numbers, so I can ease my way into
it. I don't have much to do with kids", I added, hoping to sound
convincing.

"How about the under thirteens, there's only five in the boys'
side and four in the girls. Your offsider does the girls,
doesn't she?", Mike asked.

"My business partner, Janette, yes, she does all the female
scans, in the mornings. If the boys are in a group, you can send
them around straight after school on Monday. I usually close at
four, so as long as they arrive by then I can do the whole
group", I suggested. "The girls can make appointments and come
in with their mothers in the mornings".

And that was how I came to meet Xavier.

* * *
You know how some situations or people are a 'disaster waiting
to happen'? I suppose I was a love story waiting to happen. My
fondest wish, to see scantily-clad pre-teen and early teen boys
was about to come true - in spades! And I was to be paid for it!
Dad's secret formula for happiness returned to mind. It was
about to be made a reality!

I paced up and down the length of my flat for most of Monday
morning. I could hear the muffled, indistinct sounds beneath me
of Janette conducting her scans on ladies and girls. At 1pm, the
office became my domain. Three retired gents wandered into the
clinic in the course of the afternoon to have me inspect
blemishes on their arms or faces. I was fidgety. I sneaked
glances at the wall clock every two minutes. I sweated.

At quarter to four, the door burst open and four brash teenagers
stormed inside. Another boy followed, then Mike brought up the
rear, like a sheepdog penning the wayward ewes. The four boys
who arrived with such clamour made themselves at home. They were
the sort of self-assured, almost arrogant types who are at ease
in any situation. The fifth boy looked like he wished he was in
a quiet corner of a library somewhere a long way from my clinic.
Mike introduced the boys to me.

"Okay, here's our under 13 bunch, these four rowdy blokes are
Josh, um, Brett, er, that one's Goofy's little bro, he's...",
Mike faltered.

"Daniel", the boy who was apparently Goofy's brother, identified
himself.

"Yeah, right, Daniel, and this one's...um" Mike stopped again.

"Ashley", the fourth boy stated, rolling his eyes. Mike's
poverty of memory was well known.

"And this one reading your magazine is Xavier", Mike concluded.
"I remember him 'cause he had to explain to me how to say his
name. You just have to pretend the X is a Z". The boy in the
corner peeked over the top of the copy of "Who Weekly" that he
was reading, so I didn't get a proper look at him right then.

"Okay boys, you do what Tony, er, Mr Collins says, and come back
to the clubhouse when he's finished with you", Mike advised
before escaping out the door.

"Thanks, Mike", I yelled at his departing back. "Okay, fellas, I
guess you know why you're here - a basic skin scan takes about
15 minutes, longer if you've got moles or freckles. Do you want
to go all at once, or one at a time if you're shy?"

The four boys were anything but shy, as they demonstrated by
unbuttoning their long sleeved white sun shirts. The fifth boy,
the one Mike had named Xavier, remained in his chair. He seemed
to be hiding behind that magazine, I thought.

Shirts hit the floor, quickly followed by shorts. The four boys
had an easy familiarity with each other, as they showed by
joking around with each other even though all they stood up in
was their speedos. I felt strange, in that this was the moment
that I thought my whole life was leading towards, standing
within one metre of four boys who looked like a junior version
of the Olympic 4 x 100 metre freestyle relay gold medal winning
team, all within touching distance. Now that the moment had
arrived, I felt empty. Maybe it was sensory overload. Too much
of a good thing. These were not really the boys I had lusted
over. These were teenagers, not boys. I performed the scans on
them, finding nothing of note, and they picked up their clothes
and dressed, leaving as a group, laughing and winding each other
up as they joked their way out the door. That left Xavier.

"It's your turn, uh, Xavier, if you're ready", I called over to
the boy behind the magazine. He stood up, carefully placing the
glossy book on my end table.

"Do you want to take your shirt off?" I asked, tentatively.

"I don't think so", he whispered in reply.

I detected a good deal of shyness in this boy, but I didn't want
to make a big deal of it, so I said "Okay, no need for your
shirt off yet, how about if I start with the parts that are
already uncovered?"

He gave me a startled look, as if I could already see a legion
of skin complaints from five metres away without even trying. He
edged towards me carefully.

"Not many people realize that the commonest areas of skin cancer
are the backs of the hands-" I began, taking his smaller,
delicate hands in mine, lifting them to my face and looking
carefully at the backs of them, "-and the ears", I continued,
lowering his hands to his sides. I turned the boy sideways to me
and lightly ran my fingertips over his left ear. Rather than get
off my seat I swivelled the boy through a half turn and
inspected his other ear.

"Hands and ears check out OK, Xavier. Do you want me to
continue?" The lad just nodded and began to unbutton his shirt.
A lot of lifesavers favoured a loose fitting, long-sleeved shirt
nowadays, to wear in between events.

"I'll just get my bionic eyes, Xavier, don't go away". I had a
pair of magnifying goggles which looked a bit like the 'bionic
eyes' that Lt Geordi LaForge wore on Star Trek. I thought they
looked cool, and I expected Xavier to think likewise.

"What're those for?", he asked, jerking his head in the
direction of my cool specs.

"Oh, these old things? All the better to see you with", I
retorted, thinking myself exceedingly witty.

The tiniest of smiles flitted across his lips. "You don't look
like the Big Bad Wolf to me", Xavier cheeked me back. I smiled,
happy that I had established a limited rapport.

"Hold still now, while I examine every minute detail of your
back", I instructed. I ran my fingers over the whole of his
back, a routine which helped me keep track of which parts I had
already checked. Unlike the other boys, Xavier had kept his
shorts on. When I turned him around to commence inspecting his
chest, I saw a flush rise in his cheeks.

"I- I have to go now", he stammered, reaching for his shirt and
starting for the door. A pity, I thought, he was quite a
pleasant boy. I was to discover just how pleasant he was over
the next few weeks.

* * *
I closed up the shop and climbed the stairs to my flat above.
Monday. It was too early in the week to go to the Surf Club for
a few beers, so I poured myself a glass of claret and put my
feet up. These three and a half hour work days could really take
it out of you.

Just as my cuckoo clock chirped six, I heard a knock at the
door. It startled me a bit, because I had never had a single
visitor to the flat since moving in several months ago. It
occurred to me that maybe someone was looking for old Jack or
his wife. Or maybe it was Janette. Consequently, when I opened
the door and found Xavier standing there, I was momentarily
speechless.

"Hi...uh, Xavier", I eventually said. My surprise must surely
have been evident on my face.

"Hi", he replied, adding nothing further, standing patiently.

"Um, er, come in, won't you?" I eventually offered, remembering
my manners. The boy walked in and stood in my small living room
/ parlour / TV room / study.

"My mother left me a note to say she would be back at seven
thirty tonight", Xavier stated. Well, I guess that explained why
he wasn't in his own home, but it didn't quite explain why he
was in mine. Before I could suggest that maybe he'd better go
home and wait for her, he caught me off guard again.

"Do you play chess?" Xavier inquired, looking around my small
abode as if hoping to spot a chess set lurking somewhere.

"Uh, sure, yes, I play. Do you?", I responded, without thinking.
I guess he took this as an invitation, because he seated himself
and suggested we have a game right away. I was still a bit off
balance at having a twelve year old boy unchaperoned in my
private rooms in the evening to explain to him that single men
simply do not play chess, or indeed any games, with boys that
they have only just met that day in their homes when their
parent clearly does not know where they are. But his face looked
so innocent, before I knew what I was doing I had retrieved the
chess set from its place in the cupboard and set it up in front
of him. Xavier took a pawn of each colour and offered me his
closed fists to choose one. I selected White, and proceeded to
play my usual mediocre game. Xavier, however, played quite a
skillful game, and even a chess dill like me could see that he
was toying with me towards the end.

After he checkmated me, he stood up and smiled, saying "Thanks
for the game. I'll go home now", and made for the door. He let
himself out, leaving me to sit in front of a demolished White
army, wondering what the hell just happened.

* * *
Tuesday afternoon saw Mike bringing the under nines, thirteen of
them, for their sunspot checkups. They were cute, I suppose, in
a childish sort of way. No erotic interest from me, though.
Maybe I was turning straight? It took me from two thirty to
nearly six p.m. to get through them all, and I dragged myself up
the stairs to my flat having turned in my busiest day on the job
so far. Just as the cuckoo was chiming, I heard a knock at the
door. Surely not again?

But there he was, when I opened my door. Xavier. He smiled at me
and stepped into my room without waiting for my invitation this
time. I was a bit miffed at this, as I believed strongly in good
manners. But before I could formulate a remark to convey my
annoyance at his boldness,  I saw that he was beginning to
remove his shirt. I panicked.

"Uh, Xavier, what- er...what are you doing?". Pretty weak, I
know.

"I remembered, the other day when you checked my back, you never
did my front", he replied smoothly.

Only because you ran out before I could, I thought ruefully.
"All my equipment is downstairs", I warned.

"That's okay, I can wait till you get them. My mother wont be
home until eight tonight", he assured me. That wasn't what he
was supposed to say - he was supposed to apologize for pestering
me after working hours. He seemed to have no conception that
adults have lives outside of their business contacts with
children. But it would be ungracious of me to kick him out now,
and for me, that's the cardinal sin. I nodded to him, slipped
downstairs to my office and collected my bionic specs.

Returning to my flat, I immediately felt the charged atmosphere
which results from having a boy clad only in a speedo in one's
parlour.

"You didn't have to take your shorts off as well", I began, but
on seeing his crestfallen face I corrected myself. "But that's
okay, it'll make it easier, I can do your legs as well". Xavier
brightened up again. I made a mental note to be more careful
about my witty remarks, this boy seemed to be a bit fragile in
the emotion department.

I did my routine with his chest, necessitating touching him from
shoulder to waistband. He had big flat nipples, but no other
signs of pubescent development that I could see as yet. As I
inspected his torso I tried to engage him in conversation, much
as a dentist or a barber might.

"So, how do like being in Nippers?", I started, feeling my way
across his tummy.

"It's okay, I guess. My mother makes me go. It gets me out of
her hair on Sunday mornings", he replied in a matter-of-fact
way. I sure wasn't expecting that.

"What about your Dad, does he support the idea?", I floundered.

"My father lives in Melbourne with his new wife. He left three
years ago. I've never been to his house." Another dispassionate
statement of fact. I was beginning to regret opening my mouth.

"But you must have friends in Nippers, surely? Those other boys
who came in with you on Monday?". I was clutching at straws.

"They're okay, but they're not really friends. They all go to
Marooka High School. I go to St Andrew's. They...well,
they're...sort of...different to me", Xavier tried to explain.

"How so?", I urged, trying to keep him talking. I was beginning
to warm to this boy.

"It's hard to say", he struggled.

"Well, can you give me an example of how they are different?", I
persevered.

"Um, well, a couple of weeks ago, after training, we were all in
the change rooms. Josh was looking in the mirror and had his
fingers in his mouth. I asked him if he was flossing. He laughed
and said 'yeah, my girlfriend's pussy hair makes the best dental
floss', and all the other boys started laughing as well. I
didn't understand. Why would anybody use cat hair for dental
floss? That's so unhygienic!"

I was dumbfounded. I sincerely hoped that Xavier was not
expecting me to explain his team-mate's remark about pussy hair
to him. Lucky for me, I had finished my scan and said that he
could get dressed. He thanked me and slipped out the door after
dressing himself, leaving me to another solo night.

* * *
Wednesday was the turn of the under tens, 11 scallywags who
thought they were on some kind of treasure hunt, the way they
inspected every piece of equipment in my clinic. None of them
even gave me the slightest reason to adjust my trousers. Funnily
enough, as I looked at each one, I was noticing in each of them
some feature that Xavier also possessed. One boy had the same
turned up button-nose as Xavier; another boy had his prominent
clavicle. Here I found a deep navel, just like Xavier's; another
boy had Xavier's close cropped auburn hair. It took until twenty
past four to finish their scans and get rid of them.

Xavier showed up at five thirty. I was almost not expecting him,
after all I had completed the inspection of his skin. In another
way, I was dreading an evening without his visit, without being
sure why. My face lit up when I opened the door to him, and his
also lit up in response.

"Can we play a game?", he asked shyly, as soon as he was in the
room.

"Sure", I replied. "Chess?"

"Um, no, you're not very good at that. I was thinking a
different game", he answered coyly.

"Well, you tell me what it is, and we'll play it", I suggested,
rather rashly.

"It's called the Aeroplane Game. My uncle showed it to me".

"Uh huh", I ventured. "How do we play?"

"Well, it's a bit silly, really, and maybe I'm too old for it. I
haven't played it since I was little. It's okay if you don't
want to", he answered cagily.

"No, come on, I said I would, now how does it go?". He had me
hooked.

"Okay. Since I'm smaller, I get to be the aeroplane. You're the
pilot". That seemed clear enough, except that Xavier began
taking his shirt off. I reached for my own shirt buttons and
gestured to him.

"Er, do I...?", I queried, indicating my own shirt.

"No, the pilot stays dressed", he answered, as though that were
obvious. After shedding his shirt, Xavier surprised me by
slipping his shorts down to his ankles and stepping out of them.
He only wore a pair of plain sky blue cotton underpants, a
couple of sizes too big on his lean hips. Before I could protest
(afraid that he might go even further), he got down onto all
fours on the rug.

"Okay, now you bend over next to me", he instructed. I did so.
"Put your left hand on my chest". I followed his direction. "Now
put your right hand up between my legs". My startled reaction
made him amplify his last statement. "It's okay, it's not
naughty because I've got my undies on".

"Er, who told you it wasn't naughty, Xavier?", I whispered.

"My uncle", he replied simply. "Now, make sure you don't drop
me. You have to say the words that I say. Ready?"

"Uh huh", I confirmed. Those were about the only words I was
capable of speaking at that stage. Through his chest my left
hand could feel Xavier's heartbeat. My right hand was up between
his legs in what footballers call a 'squirrel hold'. I could not
detect any of the aircraft's 'components' with that hand, as he
was squeezing it with his thighs.

"Contact!", Xavier declared.

"Contact", I repeated, then nearly fell on top of him as he
flung both arms outwards. Obviously they were his 'wings'.

"Chocks away!" he yelled.

"Chocks away" I repeated, and almost lost my balance again as
Xavier lifted his knees off the rug and straightened his legs
out parallel to the floor.

"Take off!" he proclaimed, and I finally understood how the
Aeroplane Game was played.

"Take off!" I echoed, lifting him up to my waist and walking
around the room in a circular path. Xavier supplied the sound
effects as I dived, yawed and tilted him for a few circuits of
my tiny parlour. It was the sort of game that a six year old
would enjoy. Because Xavier was a lot bigger than a six year old
I quickly grew tired, so I reluctantly called out "Landing gear
down!"

He dropped his knees to the doggy position, but his arms were
still out.

"Flaps down", I called, and he dropped his arms to a vertical
aspect and settled onto the floor in roughly the same
configuration as he began.

"Phew!" I exclaimed as I rescued my right hand from his crotch
and collapsed onto the lounge. Xavier stood up smiling at me,
then sat alongside me. "Soft drink?" I suggested, heading for
the kitchen.

"Yes, please", he replied, toying with his shirt.

We finished our drinks in silence, upon which Xavier stood up,
preparing to dress. "You know what?", he asked.

"Tell me", I replied.

"I think I like you. Thanks for the drink, and for the aeroplane
ride. You're a good pilot." He gave an enigmatic smile and said
"Have you recovered yet?".

"Recovered?", I responded stupidly. Why do I keep giving him
these great openings?

"My uncle used to need a few minutes to recover before the
Helicopter Game", Xavier answered. Was that a smirk on his
innocent face?

"Helicopter game?" I echoed foolishly.

"Thanks, I 'd love one!", Xavier grinned, dropping the shirt he
had been holding. He climbed up onto the couch and held his arms
out, standing in a cruciform shape. "One hand on my chest!", he
called, allowing me a few seconds to comply. "Other hand in
my...er...where my legs join", he ordered, and I was a little
more eager to co-operate.

"Liftoff!", he declared, and quickly catching on (for an old man
of 22) I raised him off the couch above my head and slowly
twirled him around like the rotors of a chopper, one hand
centred on his sternum, the other...well, the other hand was
right back where it was a few minutes earlier, grasping
Xavier's...undercarriage.

A few twirls was all he needed. He thanked me again, dressed,
and left. Not for the first time, I wondered what the hell was
going on.

* * *
Thursday saw the arrival at the clinic of the elite under 14
squad for their scans. After the nippers complete their
fourteenth year, they are eligible to join the senior
lifesavers. Marooka SLSC had seven boys in the under 14 age
group, all strong athletes. If you had asked me their ages, I
would have guessed they were in their late teens, but I've
always been a terrible judge of ages. None of them reminded me
of Xavier. I hustled them through their scans as quickly as
decency allowed, shut the shop then raced upstairs to await my
afternoon visit.

Five thirty came and went. Six o'clock arrived and passed
without a knock. I was onto my third glass of vino when at six
fifteen I was alerted to a soft knocking at my door. I managed
to get the glass down without spilling any wine on my rug, and
strode to the door. Xavier's shy smile greeted me and I felt a
flood of relief surge through me. I had been worried that he
might turn shy after the Aeroplane and Helicopter Games.

"Hi Xavier, come in", I greeted him.

"Hi Tony", he replied cheerfully, stepping past me into the
flat.

"You remembered my name!" I exclaimed.

"I remember everything about you", he answered.

I thought I would test him, so I turned my back on him and
challenged "Okay, what colour are my eyes?"

"They're sort of blue-green", he replied confidently.

"Ha. That was too easy." I turned back to him and waved him into
a chair. "Okay, um, what clothing was I wearing the day your
team came for your scans?". I didn't even know myself, but I
wanted to hear what Xavier would say.

He sat still for just about three seconds, then stated "You had
on a pale blue long sleeve chambray shirt, fawn trousers, tan
leather belt, and black shoes. I couldn't see your socks".

I felt quite taken aback, like a person who has just had the
contents of their wallet described to them by a mentalist at the
theatre. I sat down in the other seat and smiled at him. I
thought he was comfortable enough in my company by now to stand
a modest interrogation. "So," I began, "what brings you here
this evening?".

"I wanted to ask you a question. My mother is out again and
won't be back until seven thirty", he added, by way of
explanation.

"All right, but I get to ask you a question back. Deal?". Xavier
nodded.

Xavier's question was surprising, to say the least. "Are you
allowed to have more than one best friend?", he ventured.

I wished he had asked me something simpler, like 'Who wrote the
book of love?', or 'How many roads must a man walk down?'. I
thought I would put on a bit of a demonstration of "man thinking
seriously" by getting out of my chair and folding my arms,
slowly pacing up and down my small parlour. Xavier watched me
the whole time.

After a few laps I made a tentative beginning. "I suppose most
people, in their minds, think of all the people that they
encounter in their lives and have cordial dealings with, as
'friends'. Maybe these should be better termed 'acquaintances'.
Then there is a smaller group of people we think of as 'good
friends' or 'close friends'. These are people that we might
invite to dinner in our homes, or maybe telephone when we are
feeling low. Then I guess there is a very small group of people,
maybe even just one or two, whom we might describe as 'lifelong
friends', or 'friends through thick and thin'. They are people
that we would do anything for, even give our lives, if
necessary. They are our 'best friends', and yes, I think you can
have more than one at a time. Though probably not more than two
or three. I hope that answers your question, Xavier?"

The boy nodded and smiled. After I resumed my seat, he said "You
can ask me one now". I realized that we appeared to have drifted
into an informal game of Truth or Dare, although this did not
feel like a game, and there was no playful 'dare' element. It
felt more like emotional striptease. But it was my 'turn' so I
was determined to make the most of it.

"Tell me how you found your best friend", I asked the boy.

"I've got two best friends, I think, so I'll tell you about the
first one", Xavier began. "At school, I'm in the choir, because
I can sing pretty good, I guess. The first choir practice this
year, a boy in the class below me was told to stand next to me.
We stand on these kind of tiered benches-"

"A choirstand?" I interrupted him.

"Yes, it's metal and has, um, five levels. I stand in the very
back row. Grant was told to stand next to me, I had never met
him before. When he got next to me, his hand bumped mine when he
turned to face the front. So I bumped his back. He bumped mine
again, to get me back, so I bumped his again, only harder. Then
I was afraid the choir teacher would catch us hitting each
other, so I grabbed his hand, to stop him. He didn't pull away,
he just let me hold his hand the whole practice".

"Did you see him after school?", I asked, hoping to hear juicy
details of this juvenile romance.

"No, he gets a different bus to me. But the next week, at choir
practice, he was already standing in the back row when I got
there. When I stood next to him, he grabbed my hand right away,
and he held it right through practice. I never see him at
lunchtime because he's in Year Six and I'm in Year Seven. We've
had, um, five practices now, and we always hold each other's
hand. The choir teacher can't see us because we do it behind the
back of the boy in the fourth row. I think he's my best friend,
but I'm not sure. I've never held hands with anyone before".

I didn't want to sound judgemental, so I just refrained from
commenting about his wordless friendship. I had the feeling,
though, that Xavier was trying to tell me something, or maybe
ask for my approbation. I waited for him to continue. He didn't
disappoint me.

"Do you remember when you gave me a skin checkup on Tuesday?"
Xavier started.

"Yes I do; it was the continuation of the examination I gave you
on Monday, when you came with your clubmates", I replied.

"Well, my mother says I'm a bit hyp-...er, hypa-" he struggled
with the word.

"Hypoglycaemic? Hyperactive?" I offered.

"What's the word that means you keep thinking you've got other
people's diseases?", Xavier explained.

"Hypochondriac?" I supplied.

"That's it. My mother thinks I'm a hypochondriac, but it's
better to be safe than sorry, that's also one of her sayings. I
know you checked me twice already, but could you look at a mole
I've got?", Xavier asked, standing up.

"Sure, Xavier, moles are my bread and butter", I replied,
producing a really horrible mental image. "I'll go get the
bionic specs".

"Oh, I don't think you'll need them," he assured me. "It- they-
are really easy to see".

"Well, I hope they're not too easy to see, because that would
mean that I've already missed them twice", I joked. "Where are
they?"

"I think I better show you", Xavier replied, pulling his tee
shirt over his head. A little shimmy and his shorts fell around
his ankles. He stepped out of them, now wearing only his Marooka
SLSC speedos. His slender fingers pulled at the white cord which
secured the sheer nylon swimsuit, undoing its knot.

"There's one here", he whispered, pulling the front of his
cozzie so far down with his thumb that I thought I had died
right there and then. I knelt, shakily, in front of him, to
bring my eyes to the level of his crotch. It also meant that I
was closer to the floor if I fainted. I couldn't see his
genitals, only a pale expanse of groin with a little black spot
about half an inch from the base of where I guessed his penis
must be. I ran my finger over the tiny spot but couldn't detect
any contusion or blemish of the skin surface. Usually a mole is
slightly raised from the surrounding skin.

"That one seems benign, but we'll keep an eye on it, in case it
changes size or colour", I advised. "Any more?"

"There's another one here, on my bottom", Xavier stated, turning
around and pulling the back of his speedo down. I gasped, as
Xavier's perfectly shaped right bottom cheek appeared from
behind his speedo. He pulled the garment right down to the top
of his thigh, but only exposed the one buttcheek. I could see
the spot straight away - it looked like the twin of the one in
front, a pinhead-sized black spot. I carefully felt it, and the
surrounding perfect skin of his bottom, when Xavier shocked me
for a third time.

"There's one on this side too", he said, pulling the other side
of the cozzie down, exposing his whole bottom to me. Wrenching
my eyes off the vision of his crack, I saw a third mole-like
spot. I palpated it with fingertips (and the surrounding area,
for reference) and began to be suspicious. Three identically
coloured, sized and shaped spots all in places the sun doesn't
usually shine? Without any corresponding malformation of the
skin surface? I carefully pulled Xavier's speedo back up, then
turned him around to face me. His speedo made a little pointed
ridge in front, suggesting a modestly sized erection. Xavier
seemed untroubled by letting me see it.

"I'll need to check the textbooks, Xavier, just to make sure of
what I've seen, but I don't think there's any immediate worry.
Moles usually only require constant monitoring rather than
treatment. Were you thinking of coming around tomorrow
afternoon, maybe, and I can check them again for you - maybe we
could...play a game of something, even?"

Xavier's grin brightened up his whole face at that, and as it
was getting close to the time he said his mother was returning,
he quickly pulled up his shorts and slipped his tee shirt over
his head. "See ya", he called, as he skipped to the door and
out.

After watching the door shut, I took a minute to clear my head.
If I was reading the signals correctly, and there was no
guarantee of that, then I had just survived an attempted
seduction by a (surely) virginal twelve year old boy. My problem
now was, how to make a believable response to the three little
felt-pen marks that Xavier said were moles? I decided to sleep
on it.

* * *
Friday afternoon saw me scanning the fifth and final batch of
Nippers for the week. Luckily, there were only 9 under eights,
or I would have been driven insane by their questions. Instead
of heading off to the Club straight after the last boy was out
the door, I raced upstairs to await Xavier's visit. I think he
must have had the clinic under surveillance, because he arrived
only five minutes after me.

"Hi Tony", he greeted me as I opened the door. He stepped past
me and on into my small parlour.

"Hi Xavier, good to see you here early", I responded.

"My  mother comes home at eight tonight", Xavier advised. I
don't quite know when it happened, but Xavier's advice about his
mother's movements somehow changed from being simply informative
into being somehow conspiratorial.

"Do you want me to check your moles first?", I asked innocently.
I had decided to find out just how far Xavier wanted to let me
go, or whether I was just misreading the whole thing.

"Oh, a funny thing happened about those", he answered. "When I
got home, I had a shower, and the moles just washed off. I must
have got some Texta on me somehow".

That certainly put me in my place. I had neglected to prepare a
backup plan, but luckily Xavier saved me.

"Um, Tony?", he began. "Er, what do boys do on sleepovers?".

I blinked at him stupidly. "Sleepovers?", I echoed like an
idiot.

"Yes, my friend from the choir, Grant, invited me on one
tomorrow night, and my mother said I could go. I've never been
on one. What usually happens?"

"Well, there's lots of things boys might do", I answered,
stalling for time while I racked my memory for my own
recollections. "Usually, boys stay up very late, sometimes even
all night"

"Really? All night?", Xavier gushed.

"Lots of junk food, you know, potato chips and stuff, are
consumed. Scary or sexy movies might be watched. Boys often tell
ghost stories or..." I could see Xavier listening intently.
Maybe this was my way in? "...sometimes sexy stories". I watched
for a reaction. Xavier was rapt.
"They might, er, tell dirty jokes, or have a farting contest, or
play strip poker". Xavier giggled, a sound like tinkling metal
windchimes. "They might, um, build a fort, or-"

"How would they build a fort inside a house?", Xavier
interjected.

"I could show you, if you like. We could build one right here",
I offered.

"Can we? Now? Please, Tony?" the boy almost begged.

"Sure. You get all the pillows off the lounge, I'll get some
blankets and torches. And a mattress." A few minutes of interior
engineering later, and Xavier and I had built quite a
serviceable little fort, if I do say so myself. I gave Xavier
one of the torches and held back the blanket door for him to
enter. We crawled in and lay alongside each other, fooling
around with the torchbeams like they were light sabres (yes,
complete with the vwoom, vwoom sound effects).

"Is strip poker what I think it is?", Xavier suddenly asked.

"I guess so. It's really just a way to get your friends to take
off their clothes so you can...uh, do stuff later", I answered.
Both our voices had dropped to a low whisper. Xavier put his
torch down and pulled his tee shirt over his head. He looked at
me expectantly, so I pulled mine off as well. We threw our
shirts out the makeshift door, then Xavier raised his hips and
slid his shorts down. His undies came down as well. I felt I had
no choice but to join him, regretting only that it was too dark
inside the fort, with both our torches now turned off, to see
anything.

"What kind of stuff do they do when they're...uh...naked?"
Xavier pressed. It seemed easier for him to talk in the relative
darkness of the fort.

"Oh, well, sometimes boys will compare dick sizes, maybe feel
each other, that sort of stuff",  I replied, a tremor in my
voice. Only our breathing could be heard.

"Um", started Xavier, breaking the tense silence, "do you...want
to- to compare?"

"More than anything in the world", I breathed. Xavier's arms
were at his sides, as were mine. With just a little movement of
my hand, I found his wrist, picked it up, and lowered his hand
carefully onto my dick, which was throbbing in time with my
racing heartbeat. Xavier gave a little "Oh!" when his hand
touched its hot surface, but his slim fingers wrapped around my
modest girth and gave a little squeeze. Now it was my turn to
gasp. "Ah! Gently!", I coaxed.

"Sorry, Tony. It feels so...so..." Xavier hunted for the right
word.

Big? Enormous? Huge? Xavier could have used any of these words,
but instead he said "...alive!".

"Can...can I hold yours?" I squeaked.

"Oh, yes please, Tony", Xavier sighed, squeezing me very
tentatively again, causing pre-seminal fluid to drool out of my
tool onto my stomach. I pulled my arm out from under Xavier's
arm, and, hazarding a guess as to where his organ might be,
lowered my hand to his groin.

The most enormous feeling of satisfaction filled me as I cupped
his hot genitals in my slightly damp palm. As I made contact, I
felt Xavier flinch just a tiny bit, but as I carefully grasped
and groped his tool and scrotum he settled down. Xavier's dick
felt like a hot pencil, thin and around three and a half inches
long, if my hand in the dark was any guide. His ballsack was
smooth and hairless, although I could feel one or two strands of
hair around the base of his cock.

"Do...we compare them now?", I heard a whispered voice breathe
beside me.

"Yes", I replied simply. I felt a heaviness between my hips but
ignored it. "Just sort of roll on your side towards me, and I'll
do the same". Xavier squirmed around to face me as I did
likewise towards him. I could feel Xavier's breath on my throat
as he wriggled closer to me in the darkness and warmth of the
fort. I felt Xavier's hand align my rigid dick alongside his own
hot tool, and the thought raced through my mind "We're touching
our dicks together". Unfortunately, that was all it took. With a
gasp, my prick exploded, shooting three big jolts of sperm all
over Xavier's belly. He gasped too, and that made me call out in
surprise again.

"Sorry, Xavier, jeez, I'm sorry, look, I'll clean you up, it's
alright, it won't hurt you", I babbled, not realizing that
Xavier was blurting out his own apologies.

"It's my fault, it's all my fault", he kept repeating. "I didn't
mean...I wanted..."

I reached outside the fort for my tee shirt and pulled it back
inside, swabbing at my ejaculate on Xavier's tummy. All I could
think of was that I had scared him off, my first best chance
with a real live boy and I had screwed up royally and that I
would never experience what I most longed for.

"I think I better go home now. My mother will be home soon",
Xavier said in a small voice. He crept out of the fort, now that
I had finished wiping off his tummy, and I crawled out after
him. He stood, still naked, still powerfully erect, his head
bowed, and began to apologize again.

"I'm really sorry, Tony", he said to the floor. "I always mess
things up. I wanted us to be friends and now you'll hate me.
I'll go now".

"Wait!" I called. "I don't understand how you could think that
we're not friends any more". I was on the verge of tears - the
pain of losing Xavier was exacerbated by the horrible notion
that he thought he'd done something wrong, when it was me, my
body betraying me, that had caused it all. I held his upper arm,
lifting his chin with my spare hand to face me.

"Well," he tried to explain, "men are only supposed to...to
do...that...with ladies, aren't they? And I made you
do...it...with me. You must hate me now. This always happens-"
he stopped as a sob choked his voice.

I pulled him close to me and hugged him fiercely. My dick had
wilted somewhat but Xavier's was still throbbing and hard. I
could feel it against my thigh but it wasn't really a sexual
feeling. I stopped grabbing his back and held his head in my
hands, still half holding him to me with my elbows against his
shoulders.

I looked into his deep hazel eyes. "I'm not letting you go until
you repeat after me: 'This was not my fault'", I ordered.

"But...but it-" he stammered.

"Uh-uh-uh! What did I just say? Repeat after me", I ordered
sternly.

"This...was not my fault", Xavier whispered.

" 'I did nothing wrong here today' ", I prompted.

"I- I did nothing wrong...here today", the boy recited.

" 'Xavier and Tony are still friends' ", I urged. I felt his
body relax against me (at last) as he repeated my last words.

"Xavier and Tony are Best Friends", Xavier echoed. I released
him, watching the boy as he gathered his clothes and dressed
himself. When he finished, I held out my arms for another hug (I
had slipped my shorts back on) and clasped the gangly boy to me
as he squeezed my waist.

"Xavier, tomorrow is Saturday. No school. There's still lots
more I want to tell you about sleepovers, so you'll be ready for
Grant tomorrow night. Will you come back tomorrow morning and
see me?" I would have got down my knees and begged if I thought
it would help, but before I had to degrade myself, I heard
Xavier's voice, muffled by my chest.

"I'll tell my mother I'm going to the beach. All day. And Tony?"

"Yes Xavier?", I answered.

"Today was great".

I ruffled my fingers across his close-cropped scalp and laughed.
"You ain't seen nothin', yet, kid", I declared, and smiled at
him, letting him go. He skipped to the door, his feet barely
touching the floor. Before he disappeared out of my life again,
he turned in the doorway and smiled.

"Tomorrow, can we play fort again, Tony?", he asked cheekily,
but before I could answer he closed the door behind himself and
was gone.

"Shit!" I thought to myself when it sunk in that I was alone
again. "Poor kid didn't even get off. Mental note to self: Make
up for it tomorrow big time". I made myself some pasta and ate
it while watching TV for a few hours before turning in. I didn't
even bother deconstructing the fort.

* * *
I tried to capture the fleeting images of the dream as I lay in
bed early Saturday morning. In the dream, Xavier and I were in
someone's back yard, building a fort up in a big poinciana tree.
I could hear the hammer he was using to pound in some nails.
Whack! Whack! Whack! The banging of his hammer got inexplicably
louder as the dream's images grew disjointed. That wasn't right.
Then sunlight hit my eyes through the window as the banging
intensified. "Tony! Tony!" I heard my shouted name accompany the
banging and realized it was a flesh-and-blood Xavier, not a
dream Xavier, pounding at my door. Shit! What time was it? I
pulled on a pair of boxers that I keep under my pillow in case
of emergency and scuttled to the door.

"Are those your pyjamas?" was the first thing the early bird
said, pointing at my floral shorts and giggling a bit as he
stepped past me into my flat.

"Good morning to you too, Xavier," I greeted him, still a little
groggy and not entirely happy at being awoken at- I peered at
the cuckoo clock- seven thirty! Fair Dinkum! Half the day is
gone already, as my granny would have said. I finally registered
Xavier's half-serious question. "No, I don't wear pyjamas, I
just keep these under my pillow in case I have to answer the
door in the middle of the night". I gave him a meaningful glare
but he just laughed again. He looked over to the mishmash of
pillows and blankets.

"Great! The fort's still up! You wanna...?" Xavier inclined his
head towards it in an obvious invitation to pursue whatever we
were pursuing last evening.

"Just let me brush my teeth," I relented, slipping out of the
room as Xavier dropped his backpack on the floor and moved
nearer to the fort.

I had finished brushing and gargling (hoping to get lucky!) and
was starting out of the bathroom when I heard Xavier's muffled
voice call "Bet ya can't find me!". Well, surely I know my own
flat better than a twelve-year-old visitor, where could he
possibly hide? Still clad only in boxers, I made straight for
the entrance of the fort. Lying on the floor alongside the
blanket 'door' were a pair of shorts and a tee shirt that Xavier
had been wearing when he came in, and a pair of Marooka SLSC
speedos.

"I have you now, Skywalker!" I murmured in my best
basso-profundo impression of a James Earl Jones voice. I knelt
on all fours and pulled back the blanket curtain to reveal-
nothing! An empty fort! I blinked stupidly. At that precise
moment, I felt my boxers being pulled down from behind,
accompanied by a treble shriek of "Gotcha" from a very naked
Xavier, who, having pantsed me, leapt onto my back and rode me
into the fort like a bronco rider. "Giddyup!" he yelled, digging
his heels into my flanks as we both tumbled head first into the
darkness of our makeshift refuge.

I lay on my back in the fort, boxers still down around my knees,
trying to catch my breath, a chuckling Xavier lying alongside me
whispering "I got you good, Tony, admit it! Go on, admit it! I
got you good! Heh heh heh".

"Okay, I admit it, you got me good. Where did you learn that
trick?", I asked when my breathing had settled.

"From a book I read. It's the first time I ever tried it for
real. If you can make someone think you're somewhere else, that
makes it easier to conceal yourself. It's called 'midsection',"
he explained.

"Um, I think you mean 'misdirection'," I corrected him. "
'Midsection is... this!" I paused for a split second before
tickling his tummy mercilessly. He squealed with laughter and
begged for mercy all at once. I stilled my busy fingers, resting
a hand on his bare abdomen as we both recovered (again).

"Tony", Xavier's voice whispered in the dark stillness of the
fort, "when boys are having a sleepover, do they ever...kiss?"

Yet another question that I had not been expecting. "Well," I
began, "boys don't usually kiss in this country under any
circumstances. They do in some parts of Europe, though. Boys
here tend to think it's a bit gay. But sometimes, on a
sleepover, boys might kiss if they pretended they were just
practicing for when they have a girlfriend, or just to see what
it's like. It's very important not to try this unless you are
sure the other boy won't blab to everyone at school about you",
I cautioned.

"Do you think we...could practice...a bit?", Xavier whispered.

"Do I ever!" I replied enthusiastically. "Come up on top of me",
I ordered, and without hesitating, the naked twelve-year-old
climbed up onto my chest. I could feel his hard prong sticking
into my stomach, but before I could remark on it I felt his lips
brush past mine.

"What do I do?", he whispered.

"Whatever you like. Do what I do. Do what feels good," I
suggested, but there was no time left for advice as I clamped my
lips on his and sucked his tongue into my mouth. I felt a jolt
of shock pass through his body at this unexpected turn of
events, but he quickly recovered and began licking my teeth and
gums, pausing now and then to joust with my tongue. My hands
were not idle either, as they ran up and down his flanks,
squeezing his bottom at every pass. Xavier seemed not to know
what to do with his hands, so he settled for clasping my head.

We swapped spit for about five minutes (damn, was I glad I used
that mouthwash earlier!) before Xavier pulled his head away and
broke the seal of our lips. He panted for a few seconds before
exclaiming "Wow! Is it always that...intense?"

"Only between best friends", I assured him. He relaxed against
me, his body losing its rigidity, except for his tool, which was
still trying to drill its way through my stomach.

"Xavier", I began, "I'm starting to get worried that I'm giving
you the wrong impression about sleepovers. Sometimes the boys on
a sleepover just stay up late, eat pizza, tell dirty jokes and
go to sleep. There's no way of knowing if there's going to be
any...sexy stuff...happening. The biggest thing most boys your
age are afraid of is being labelled 'queer', and before you
suggest to any of your friends that you might be interested
in...exploring sexy things, you have to be absolutely sure they
won't spread stories about you around the playground. I guess
that's another way you can tell if a boy is your Best Friend. A
best friend might not always like what you say or do, or might
not want to join in, but he'll never tell on you. Sometimes a
best friend will even go along with something he doesn't like,
just to please you." I felt there was so much that I still
needed to tell Xavier, about sleepovers and best friends and
everything to do with being a boy, but before I could worry any
more, Xavier surprised me with a little speech.

"I don't care if what you and me do is queer, Tony", he
declared. "I know you won't tell on me. Anyway, Grant phoned me
this morning to say his mother was sick and the sleepover is
off."

"Oh, I'm sorry about that", I commiserated. "Maybe another
time?"

"He said we could try again next weekend", Xavier said
encouragingly.

"Well, that's good, isn't it", I reassured him.

"Yes", he returned, "it will give me another week to learn all
about sleepovers- from you!", Xavier declared. "You said
yesterday that boys get naked so they can feel each other. Can
we do that?" he implored.

"They do more than just feel, sometimes," I replied, chancing my
arm. "Do you want to try...everything?", I enquired hopefully.

"Does 'everything' include more kissing? I liked that!" he
enthused.

"Sure does!", I confirmed. I pecked him on the cheek a couple of
times, then rolled him off me so he lay alongside me again. My
hand took up its earlier position on his tummy, then meandered
downwards. "Can I touch you, Xavier? On your, uh, private
parts?"

"Sure, Tony. And you don't have to keep asking all the time.
Just do whatever ya want. I'll tell ya if I want ya ta stop. And
you're allowed to say 'dick' or 'penis' if ya want. I've heard
those words before", Xavier lectured me. That pretty much opened
the floodgates as far as I was concerned, but I was determined
to improve on yesterday's dismal performance. I bypassed his
hot, stiff little pencil and ran my fingers over his tight
nutsack before cupping it entirely. I felt each testicle between
my fingertips, rolling it around, rubbing a little. Xavier
sighed (with contentment, I hoped).

"Feels like you won't be in the choir much longer, Xavier. Your
balls feel pretty big to me. Maybe soon they'll start making
sperm, then your voice will break, and it'll be goodbye
childhood".

"How do you know I'm not already making sperms?", the cheeky boy
challenged.

"Just a guess. Almost no hairs down here, no pimples, no Adams
Apple, no leg hairs, no downy moustache, no-"

"Alright already!" Xavier interrupted. "No sperms yet." He
giggled.

"What's so funny?" I asked, moving my fingers up to his stiff
little tool. "Is your dick ticklish? Heh heh, that would make it
a dicklish, heh".

"I was just remembering when you spermed on me yesterday. I
didn't know it blasted out like that! I thought it kind of oozed
out, like lava out of a volcano".

"Well, sometimes volcanoes can be explosive, too", I replied. I
looked into his contented face in the fort's half-light as I
slowly rubbed the loose skin back and forth over his little
glans. "Time for more kissings?", I asked. Xavier's happy nod,
eyes closed, made me happy too. My mouth closed on his as my
busy fingers continued polishing his knob. It seemed like only a
minute, but it could have been longer, that I felt Xavier
grunting into my mouth. He sucked all of my tongue, or as much
of it as he could fit, into his mouth and began chewing on it,
not hard enough to hurt me but I certainly noticed it. I also
noticed his slim hips pushing up off the fort bed, driving his
prick into my hand. His grunting suddenly stopped, and he took a
deep breath in through his nose. His hips sagged back onto the
mattress. "That's for yesterday", I smiled to myself.

Xavier released my tongue, looking a little sheepish. A pale
blush rose in his cheeks as he came back to Earth after his
blastoff. I wondered whether a clever remark from me would be
appropriate, but decided against it. Instead I released his
willie and moved my hand up to his face, stroking it slowly. I
draped one leg over him, my thigh resting on his still stiff
penis. Nuzzling his throat I whispered sweet nothings in his
ear, along the lines of "that was the first of many, many
climaxes I want to give you my love", or some such nonsense like
it.

"That was good", Xavier whispered. I hoped his understatement
was out of modesty, because I wanted to give him a lot more
pleasure yet.

"You are one hot little firecracker, Xavier", I told him, and he
blushed again, smiling. "And I haven't even sucked on your
dicklish yet!" His smile broadened.

"Are you...going to- to suck on it?" he asked, as though afraid
that by voicing the question he would somehow make my words
vanish.

"I certainly am! But we've made our fort a bit hot and
uncomfortable - is it okay if we continue in my bedroom?" I
enquired lightly.

"On your bed?" he asked in wonder. I nodded. "Carry me?", he
begged, like a little boy.

"Try and stop me!" I replied, and hauled him out of the fort,
picking his enchanting naked body up into my arms. I held him
across my outstretched arms as though I was rescuing his limp
body from the surf, except that his arms clung around my neck.
We pecked on each other's lips as I carried him carefully down
the short hallway to my bedroom. I thought about just dropping
him on the bed, but there is a time for jokes and this wasn't
it.

Gently lowering his light frame onto my unmade bed, I settled
myself alongside him, hoping to resume proceedings from where I
left off. My own rampant tool was starting to ache from lack of
attention, but I expected that to resolve itself soon.

"Ready?" I asked the boy. He grinned and nodded his head. I
rotated around, bringing my head to his loins. He was stiff
again, his three-incher pulsing with his heartbeat. The
half-inch of foreskin at the top of his glans looked like a
candle wick, inviting me to snuff it out with spit. Xavier gave
a little gasp ("Oh!") as I enclosed his dicklish with my mouth.
I hoped Xavier, who in this position could see my stiff dick
pointing right in his face would get the message, but perhaps he
was shy. I couldn't blame him for that, recalling my dreadful
lack of control of yesterday. But I couldn't wait all morning,
so I pulled Xavier's hips over my face, putting us into a
classic sixty-nine position. As I slurped on his little weapon,
I felt his hand grasp mine, first squeezing, then licking my
pre-seminal fluid off my glans, then mouthing the whole head
just as I was doing to his.

Neither of us lasted long. I wanted to warn Xavier, I really
did, but I was otherwise occupied at the time, being valiantly
employed in keeping my eyeballs from being skewered by his
vigourously thrusting pecker. For a quiet boy, his hips go wild
when he reaches his climax! He seemed to tolerate my seminal
fluid spurting into his mouth as well, a quality I admire in a
boy. Who was I to talk, it was my first blow job from a boy, and
I was ecstatic!

We lay quietly for a few minutes, Xavier still lying on top of
me but heading in the other direction. I amused myself by
sucking his balls into my mouth and spitting them out like
orange pips, one after the other.

"Are you having fun?", he eventually asked, a bit sarcastically
I thought.

"Indubitably, my dear Xavier" I replied in my best haughty
voice. "Did you have fun?", I quizzed him.

"Come up here and I'll tell you", he replied, being cheeky
again. I rolled him off me and crawled up the bed. I pulled him
back onto me, face to face.

"Why do like me lying on top of you?", Xavier queried when he
had settled into a comfy position.

"I guess because that reminds me that you're real, not just a
nice dream I'm having", I answered honestly, slowly running my
fingertips up and down his spine. "Do I get to ask you one now?"
Xavier just smiled, so I continued.

"If you had the chance, would you like to do with Grant what we
just did?"

"Yesss", Xavier answered in a dreamy way without hesitating. "Do
boys ever...suck each other...on sleepovers?"

I pondered for a moment. "I don't think it happens all the time,
or even often, but I'm sure if the boys involved are determined
to make it happen, it will".

"Is that all they do?", Xavier asked, still in dream mode.

"W-e-ell, there is - one - more thing they might do. But only
the closest of friends would ever do this. And only after they
had gotten to know each other really, really well". I paused,
waiting for his response.

"Are - we - the closest of friends?" Xavier came back with as
his reply.

"I hope so", I answered cautiously. "At least, I know from my
side I couldn't be closer to anyone than I am to you right now.
And I don't just mean 'cos you are lying on top of me". I
squeezed both his bottom cheeks gently with both my hands to
emphasize my point.

"What is the 'one more thing'?" Xavier pressed.

Even after all we had experienced together, I still had a tiny
reservation about Xavier. Years of being frightened of never
finding happiness, maybe. So I was unable to come right out and
say what I wanted to his face. I pulled his head down alongside
mine, to whisper in his ear "really, really good friends
sometimes fuck each other".

"Is that all," Xavier answered in an offhand way. "My daddy
fucked me before he went to Melbourne to live".

I was lost for words for a moment. Was this the same boy that a
week ago didn't know what a pussy was? "Uh, gosh, did he? Did
your mother know about it?" I asked, not sure why I needed to
know.

"Yes, she came home early one day and saw us. That was just
before daddy left."

Well, that sure explained why Xavier never gets to visit his
father interstate. And in a way, I felt relieved. I had already
accepted the notion that Xavier saw me as a kind of
father-substitute, and I was happy with that. I felt even better
that I was not the first person to take his innocence, that
Xavier had already fooled around with his father (of all
people), and he seemed normal enough after the experience.

"It feels nice when you rub my bum", Xavier stated, wriggling
his hips under the relentless stroking of my hands.

"Well, you've got a nice bum", I replied. "How long do you think
you can stay today? Can you stay for lunch?"

Xavier looked a little sad. "No, I better go home for lunch. My
mother will be expecting me. She knows I didn't take any money
with me to buy lunch". The boy rolled off  me and wandered out
to the living room to collect his clothes and dress. Allowing
him a minute to do so, I followed him into my parlour.

"Is it okay if I come back after lunch?" he asked.

"I look forward to it", I assured him, and it wasn't just
courtesy. I really did look forward to it, I conceded to myself
as he let himself out the door.

* * *
My simple lunch of a Vegemite sandwich, a stick of celery and a
raw carrot had barely touched the sides. Damned diets! I had
gnawed the stub of the rabbit food down to the last half inch
when I heard the sound of a doorknock. Thinking it to be Xavier,
I dropped the carrot piece on the kitchen counter and nearly
fell over myself running to the door. Opening it, I saw Xavier,
but he was not along. Holding Xavier's hand was a slightly
smaller boy, with a devilish smile and angelic looks.

"Hi Tony", Xavier announced. "Can me and Grant play in the
fort?"

Xavier's question knocked the wind right out of me. I tried not
to look too devastated as I nodded and stood aside to allow the
two boys to enter the room. Grant's eyes lit up and his smile
grew as he saw the roughly constructed pillows, cushions and
blankets. The two boys ran the short distance to the fort and
crawled in. I seated myself on the lounge and felt sorry for
myself. Xavier was **my** friend - he was supposed to play with
me. I sat there and sulked.

It was their giggling that woke me out of my stupor of
self-pity. Xavier is a boy, I argued with myself. He needs to
play with other boys. It's a good thing that he can play in a
safe environment (like my flat), and if he needs to he can
always ask me stuff. I don't own him - friends don't own each
other. To him, I'm probably ancient, even though I'm only ten
years ahead in age. When I heard Xavier's voice from within the
fort in rather a loud whisper "Ow! Grant! Don't bite", I guessed
what they were up to. He's a fast worker, that Xavier. It took
him several days to seduce me, but his second conquest only took
him several minutes.

I was pleasantly surprised to see the two boys exit the fort,
bare bottoms first, still holding hands (did Grant think Xavier
was going to fly away?). They stood before me to ask yet another
unexpected question.

"Tony", Xavier began, "Grant wants to know what sperms taste
like". Grant blushed and nodded, his long darkish-blonde hair
falling in his eyes as he did so.

Time for a little payback. "Why don't you let him taste yours?"
I enquired politely.

"Very funny", Xavier retorted tartly. "Please?", he whined.

"Never let it be said that I failed to help a boy in need." I
relented, pulling my boxers down awkwardly as I was still
seated. "You can kneel down here if you like, Grant", I offered,
opening my thighs for the little bloke to settle between. Xavier
helped to position him, and soon another of my lifelong
fantasies was becoming reality. Being blown by a blonde boy
kneeling between my legs.

Xavier was not entirely left out either. After positioning his
friend, he knelt behind Grant and began humping him. I was not
sure if his dicklish was long enough to penetrate Grant's
cushiony bottom, but Xavier seemed to be enjoying it immensely.

It dawned on me that Xavier was sharing Grant with me. I
wondered whether I would have been as generous, in the same
circumstances. I twined my fingers in Grant's long locks and
slowed his bobbing rate down a little. Xavier watched me
manipulate Grant's head and smiled. He silently mouthed "I love
you" at me, and blew me a kiss, still humping himself up against
Grant's derriere. I mouthed "I love you back" and puckered up
likewise, my air kiss turning to a grimace of pleasure as
Grant's busy mouth sucked the juice out of my dick.

I felt on top of the world.

END

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