Date: Sat, 21 Dec 2002 20:52:11 -0000
From: Gymnopedies <gym@softhome.net>
Subject: A Christmas Story

The usual disclaimers apply: don't read if you are prohibited by location,
are under legal age, or if you are likely to be offended by explicit
descriptions of gay sex.

Gymnopedies December 2002
gym@softhome.net


Author's note: This story is dedicated to my online friends. Thanks for
being there guys. Have a great Christmas.


A Christmas Story
-----------------

London. Christmas Eve. The pavements of Oxford Street heaved with last
minute shoppers jostling each other as they raced against time to secure
that final essential purchase before the brightly lit stores with their
gaudy window displays closed their doors for the holiday. Electric toenail
clippers for Uncle Harry, guava scented bath oil for cousin Sarah, that
special gooseberry flavoured liqueur that Granddad was always going on
about; vital things without which Christmas would become an absolute misery
for all concerned. So many people, so many misplaced priorities, no time
for anyone or anything that existed outside of their own tiny over
commercialised microcosm.

No time for a cold, miserable, lonely young boy.

Timmie made his way slowly through the crowds. It was 5 o'clock, it was
dark and already the air had a frosty crispness that caused his breath to
condense in a grey fog in front of his face. It was going to be a cold
night and it was time to be thinking about where he was going to spend
it. He knew a place, but he would have to get there soon or there would be
no space left, even for someone as small as himself.

Timmie Holden was thirteen and he was homeless. Nowhere to go and no one to
care.

It hadn't always been that way. Until a few weeks ago he had had a home, of
sorts anyway. He had lived with his mother in a tiny one room bedsit on the
top floor of a decrepit old building in one of the more run down parts of
this great city.

Jennifer Holden had been a heroine addict. Timmie had watched her change
from a loving, caring mother into a shell of what she once was. Towards the
end there had only been one thing that mattered to her and that certainly
wasn't Timmie. There was nothing she wouldn't do in order to obtain her
regular fix. The bedsit had been visited by a regular stream of men; some
furtive and seemingly riddled with guilt, some rough looking, some smartly
dressed, but all there for one thing and one thing only. Timmie's mother
was selling her body to obtain the money she needed for drugs. There would
be a knock on the door and Timmie knew that it was once more time for him
to make himself scarce; he'd lost track of the number of hours he'd
wandered the dark, cold streets on his own, trying not to think about what
his mother was doing. He would return sometime in the early hours of the
morning to find her on her back on the bed, her eyes open but glazed over
and saliva running from the corner of her mouth, lost in some psychotic
world the boy didn't even dare think about. Then, one evening, about four
weeks ago, Timmie had heard the knock and immediately grabbed his
threadbare old jacket ready to make himself scarce while his mother quickly
did what she could in a hopeless attempt to make herself halfway
presentable. The visitor was a man, probably in his fifties, balding,
overweight and smartly dressed. As the man came in, Timmie made to slip out
of the open door, but the stranger anticipated this and quickly closed it,
leaning his heavy body against it. He looked the youngster up and down in a
way that sent a shiver down Timmie's spine.

"I feel like a bit of a change today. How much for the boy?" he asked, as
if he were enquiring about the cost of potatoes at the local supermarket.

Jennifer had shaken her head. "He don't do it," she said, her words a
little slurred.

The man wasn't so easily put off. "He'll do it. Anyone will do it for the
right price. I'll give a you hundred for him. But for that I expect to be
able to have him for the whole evening. I'd like to take my time with this
one. How old is he? He's a bit on the skinny side. Looks about ten or so."

"He thirteen," Jennifer replied. There was a calculating gleam in her eyes
that Timmie didn't like the look of. "You can have him but it's going to
cost you two hundred."

The man laughed. "Two hundred pounds for the kid of a cheap whore? Forget
it. One hundred."

"He's virgin. You'd be his first," said Jennifer, slyly.

The man seemed to consider this. "Alright, one-fifty. But you stay and
watch."

"Done."

The man grabbed Timmie's arm and dragged him towards the bed. "Come on boy,
you're mine for the rest of the night. Come with Uncle Gordon."

Timmie was in a daze. This wasn't really happening, it was just a bad
dream. His mother had just sold him to some dirty old pervert. "I don't
want to," he heard himself say.

"Don't be silly, boy," said the man.

"No, I said I don't want to. I won't do it." Timmie started to struggle but
the man's grip on his arm tightened painfully. Almost by reflex, Timmie
balled his free hand into a fist and drove it hard, straight into the man's
groin.

The man collapsed like a poleaxed pig, curling into a ball on the floor and
making strange grunting noises.

Not stopping to think, Timmie was out of the door and down the stairs. He
hadn't even paused to grab his jacket, which had fallen to floor during the
struggle.

It was two days later when Timmie had finally returned to the bedsit. He
was starving hungry and frozen to the bone, having spent the last two
nights curled up in shop doorways. Cautiously he pushed the door open and
glanced inside. His mother was alone in the room, in her usual position the
bed. Timmie crossed over to her and touched her arm. It was cold.

She'd overdosed on the heroine; Timmie found the used syringe on the floor
by the bed. Whether the overdose had been accidental or deliberate he
didn't know and if he were honest with himself he didn't care. He covered
her body with a sheet, pulling it up over her face because that is what
they always did in the movies. A quick search turned up two five pound
notes hidden under some dirty clothes in the bottom of a drawer, but
nothing else at all of even the slightest value. He pocketed the money,
then without a second glance he left the bedsit for the last time.

He didn't cry for his mother. He'd done all his crying long ago. Besides,
that wasn't his mother laying there in the bedsit; as far as he were
concerned, his mother had died when she first started her love affair with
the drugs. Since then he'd been living with a stranger. If he'd been in any
doubt before, her actions of two days previously had confirmed it. His
mother would never have sold him for sex.

Since then, Timmie had managed to survive on the streets. He spent the days
begging and the nights in a vain attempt to keep some kind of warmth in his
body. Now here he was, on a cold, frosty Christmas Eve, no hope for the
future and only bad memories in the past, completely alone in the world
with no one to care whether he lived or died.

Moving into a slightly less crowded side street he found a reasonably quiet
spot up against a wall, and carefully checking that no one was paying him
any attention he put his hand into his pocket and pulled out his 'earnings'
for the day. Four pounds and thirty two pence. Almost a whole pound more
than he had made yesterday; obviously the fact that it was Christmas Eve
and the season of goodwill had made people extra generous! Trying not to
feel too downhearted he put the money back into his pocket. He was going to
have to be careful how he spent it; he suspected that it would be slim
pickings for the next few days as it wasn't likely there would be so many
people around to beg from. About a week ago a man had pushed a ten pound
note into his hand, telling him to go and get himself something warm to
eat; Timmie had never thought he could ever feel such affection for a
complete stranger, but seconds later the man was gone, disappearing into
the ever moving stream of people, never to be seen again. Timmie had never
been one for praying, but that night, as he curled up with a full stomach
he said a short prayer for that kind-hearted stranger.

Moving as quickly as he could, he forced his way through the mass of
anonymous faces, heading for a shop where he knew he would be able to get
some food that would hopefully last him for a couple of days. He past a
stand where a man was selling "Jumbo Sized" hot-dogs and had to force his
feet to keep moving, the hot, delicious smell of the cooking meat and
onions torturing his empty stomach. He knew he could afford to stop and buy
one, but at two pounds it would make a serious hole in his pocket and
however "Jumbo Sized" it happened to be, one hot dog wouldn't keep his
stomach full for very long.

He reached the grocery store just before closing time. It was the cheapest
store in the area, so Timmie almost always bought his food there. He
hurried around the shelves selecting items, calculating in his head to make
sure he didn't spend more than he had available. A couple of packets of
biscuits, a large bottle of cheap lemonade, three small, cold meat pies
which had been reduced in price in order to sell them before the store
closed and two apples. That would leave him with just over a pound left
over for emergencies. The man operating the cash register helped him load
his purchases into a plastic carrier and Timmie handed over the money. Just
as he was about to leave the store the man called him back.

"Hey, just a minute."

Timmie looked around, wondering what the man wanted, scared he was about to
be accused of doing something wrong. The man was hurrying towards him.

"You forgot this," said the man, holding out a large bar of chocolate.

"That's not mine. I didn't buy that," said Timmie eyeing the bar
hungrily. He couldn't remember when he had last tasted chocolate.

"Yeah, I know," the man smiled. He pulled open Timmie's bag and dropped the
chocolate inside. "Merry Christmas," he said, then turned and went back to
his cash register.

"Merry Christmas," said Timmie, his dirty face splitting in a happy,
grateful grin.

It seemed colder than ever when Timmie returned to the street. There was
already signs of ice on the pavements and he felt the sharp coldness on the
sole of his foot through the large hole in the bottom of his shoe. A few
minutes after leaving the grocery shop he was negotiating the dark alleyway
that led to the rear of the nightclub where he was hoping to spend the
night. It was small, narrow cul-de-sac, almost invisible in the near pitch
darkness; you could walk straight past it if you didn't know it was
there. In one of the brick walls was a ventilation duct for the club's
heating system; warm air would be blowing out of the duct while the club
was open, which should be until at least the early hours of the morning.

As Timmie approached the ventilation duct he could just make out what
looked like a dark pile of rags on the concrete floor. Someone else had
already chosen this spot to spend his Christmas Eve. That was ok with
Timmie, he was used to sharing his sleeping places with the other residents
of the streets. The main thing as far he was concerned was that there was
still a vacant space right next to the duct. He sat down, making himself as
comfortable as possible against the hard wall, taking pleasure in the
slight warm draft that blew across his face.

"Good spot, this." The voice, old sounding but well spoken came from the
pile of rags.

"Yeah, at least it's nice and warm," Timmie replied. "Though it gets a bit
noisy when the club gets going."

"Ah, I don't mind a bit of noise," said the voice. "Besides it can't be as
noisy as underneath the railway bridge where I usually sleep. Have you got
a name?"

"Timmie," said Timmie, taken a little by surprise. He'd seldom even spoken
to other street dwellers and none had ever asked him his name before.

"Timmie? Not Tim? Bit old for 'Timmie' aren't you?"

"It's what my mum used to call me before..." he trailed off. He was going
to say before she became a heroine addict, before she stopped being his
mother, but the last part of the sentence couldn't get past the lump in his
throat. He swallowed the lump angrily, annoyed with himself for feeling
these emotions. It was a long, long time since he'd let himself cry and he
wasn't about to give in to it now.

"Oh, I see," said the voice, as if understood what the boy was
thinking. "In case you're interested, I'm Nick."

"Pleased to meet you, Nick," Timmie mumbled, more out of politeness than
anything else.

"Likewise."

There was a long silence, during which Timmie listened to the sound of
traffic flowing up the street on the other side of the building. Suddenly
there was the sound of violent coughing and the boy could see the pile of
rags shaking.

"You ok?"

"I've been better," Nick replied, weakly. "This cold doesn't do my old
chest any good."

"Move closer to the heat," Timmie suggested. "There's plenty of room for
both of us."

"You don't mind?"

"No. Besides, you were here first."

The pile of rags shuffled closer until they were nearly touching, the man
sitting just on the other side of the duct from the boy. As Timmie's eyes
adjusted he could begin to make out the mans face against the darkness. He
looked old, though how old Timmie wouldn't have liked to guess, he could
have been eighty, but then again he might only have been fifty, from
looking at his lined, unshaven face it was impossible to tell. His eyes
appeared kindly though; as they looked at the boy they seemed to twinkle in
the darkness.

"That's better. You're a good looking young man."

"Thanks." Timmie quickly looked down, unused to compliments. "You hungry?"
he asked.

The man smiled. "You know that anyone living like we do is always hungry."

"I've got some food, you can have some if you want."

Nick's smile widened. "I would guess that you've little enough food for
yourself. If you share it with me then you may end up being very hungry
before you get the chance of any more."

Timmie shrugged. He knew than man was right. He only had a little over a
pound left in his pocket and there might not be much chance of getting
anymore tomorrow. And even if he did get some more money he would still
need to find a shop that was open on Christmas day. "I'd like you to share
it," he said.

It was the best meal Timmie had eaten in a long time. They had one of the
pies each and split the third between them, washing them down with the
lemonade and finishing off with the apples. As they settled down to share
the chocolate, Timmie found himself chatting happily with the old man as if
he'd known him for years. Before he had realised it, he'd told Nick all
about his life over the past few years. His mood became more sombre as he
described how his mother had descended into drug addiction, though he
remained completely unemotional as he explained how had returned to the
room to discover her dead.

"That's a sad tale," said Nick, shaking his head. "It's a cruel world that
will subject a youngster to such trials." Then he appeared to brighten
up. "Best not to dwell on the past. It's Christmas and it's a magical
time. If you could wish for something for yourself, what would it be?"

The answer to that one was easy, Timmie had gone over and over this in is
head during the past year or so, and twice as often since he'd been living
on the streets. He looked straight into the old man's eyes as he
replied. "I'd like to be part of a family. Nothing special, just an
ordinary family with a mum and a dad; I never had a dad. And I'd like to
live in a proper house instead of being out on the streets or living in
just one dirty little room. And I'd like a brother, a big brother, someone
I could play with and talk to and who would look out for me all the
time. And we could do things together, all the family, go for days out and
all the things that families do, and my brother would show me how to ride a
bike and use a computer and maybe teach me how to swim and we'd spend all
our time together and we'd tell each other all our secrets and tell each
other jokes and make each other laugh and we'd share a bedroom and we'd be
best friends. That most of all, we'd be best friends." It started off
slowly but was soon coming out in a rush, one word falling over the next as
Timmie gave voice of his dearest and most precious dreams. Then he
remembered where he was and what his life was really like. "But it's no
good wishing for those things," he said, bitterly. "This is what I've got
and it's not about to change." He shook his head to brush away the
gloom. "What about you, Nick? What would you wish for?"

Nick gave a sad laugh. "There are lots of things I want. Tonight I'd just
like to keep warm."

They were quiet for a while and Timmie found himself growing sleepy. "I
think I'm going to try and get some sleep, Nick, while there's still some
heat. They turn it off when the club closes so it'll be cold later."

"That's a good, idea, son. You get some sleep while you can."

Timmie closed his eyes. Nick had just called him 'son' and it had sounded
really good. He wished he were really Nick's son, or maybe his grandson. He
slowly drifted away to sleep.




It was dark and quiet when Timmie woke, and most of all, it was cold. The
club must have closed long since as there wasn't even a trace of warmth
coming from the duct. He glanced around and saw that he was alone, Nick had
gone. He was sorry about this, he'd liked the old man. Maybe they would
bump into each other again sometime. Damn, it really was cold, he could
feel the bite of it right through his clothes. He was shivering and he
huddled himself tighter into a ball.

The minutes seemed to stretch out into long miserable hours as the
temperature fell still further. Timmie could see the stars twinkling
frostily in the narrow rectangle of sky far above, so pretty yet at the
same time so heartless. He couldn't feel his feet and his hands were
starting to go numb. He considered getting up and walking around to get his
circulation moving but couldn't seem to find the energy. His lethargy grew
worse, soon he didn't even have the strength left to shiver. He felt
himself growing sleepy once more.  "Is this what it's like to freeze to
death?" he asked himself. "Am I dying?"

"Don't fight it," said an oddly familiar voice inside his head. "Just let
go."

"But I don't want to go like this, all on my own. I'm frightened."

"Don't be frightened, Timmie," said the voice. "You're not on your own. I'm
with you. Stop fighting it and let yourself go."

"You'll stay with me?"

"Yes, I'll stay with you."

"You promise?"

"I promise."




For a while Timmie floated in warm darkness; it was nice not to be cold
anymore. The voice had stopped speaking, but he could still feel it as a
comforting presence, close by.

"Is this what it's like to be dead?"

There was no answer.

"Please talk to me. What's happening to me?"

"Don't be afraid Timmie, we're almost there."

"Almost where? What do you mean? Are you taking me to heaven?"

The voice gave what sounded like a soft, kindly chuckle. "Heaven means
different things to different people," it said. "I can't take you there, I
can only set your feet on the path; it's up to you to find the way. Some
people never find it. Now, we've arrived at our destination."

Timmie realised that everything around him had changed. He was now standing
up and he could feel something soft under his feet through the hole in his
shoe; carpet! He was indoors. He was still surrounded by darkness, but
gradually he found that his eyes were adjusting and he began to make out
details. He was in a bedroom. A real bedroom, not some tiny little bedsit
like the room he'd shared with his mother. The carpet on the floor was
thick enough to sink into and there were drawers and cupboards and even a
desk with a computer on it. After the sparse existence he'd endured, the
boy stared open mouthed that anyone could live in such luxury. Someone was
sleeping on the nearby bed and Timmie inched closer, holding his breath. It
was a boy, older than himself, his face peaceful and relaxed. He lay on his
side, one pale, bare arm and shoulder outside of the bedclothes. Timmie
found himself putting out a hand to touch the boy and quickly restrained
himself.

"His name is Ryan," said the voice. "He's fifteen and this is his home."

"Why have you brought me here?" Timmie asked, his eyes glued to the boy's
handsome face.

"Because I wanted you and Ryan to meet. The two of you have a lot of things
in common."

"We do?"

"Yes, you do. Like you, Ryan is a very unhappy boy."

Timmie glanced around the room. "How can he be unhappy when he lives
somewhere like this?"

"Anyone can be unhappy, Timmie. It doesn't matter whether he lives in a
palace or in cardboard box on the street. Yes, Ryan's family are quite well
off, but that doesn't stop him being lonely."

"Doesn't he have any friends?"

"Oh, yes, he has friends. But there's no one special, no one he can share
his secret with, no one who would understand."

"He's got a secret?"

"Yes, Timmie, he's got a secret. Just like you do. In fact it's the very
same secret."

Timmie went quiet. How could the voice know about his secret? He'd never
told anyone about it. He was about to ask the voice about this, but he felt
an emptiness in the back of his mind; the voice had gone.

Ryan had started to stir. As he awoke he rubbed his arm across his eyes
sleepily, then, as if sensing that something wasn't quite right he reached
out and turned on the bedside lamp. Seeing Timmie he suddenly sat bolt
upright, leaning back against the bed headboard. "This is too weird!" he
muttered to himself.

Feeling the beginnings of rising panic, Timmie tried desperately to think
of an excuse as to why he was in this boy's bedroom in the middle of the
night. The truth certainly wouldn't work; he was freezing to death in a
dark alleyway in the middle of London when a voice in his head transported
him here; wherever here was. Not likely. Anything at all would be more
believable than that! The sheer strangeness of the situation was enough to
dispel his panic and suddenly he realised he felt quite calm

"Too weird," the boy repeated, looking a little scared, but not as
frightened Timmie would expect him to be, given the circumstances.

Timmie couldn't help but notice that now that the boy was sitting up in
bed, the bedclothes had dropped down leaving his entire upper body
exposed. He had a really nice body, slim and smooth, and the way his brown
hair flopped down over his green eyes was really cute. "Hi, I'm Timmie," he
said, for want of something better to say.

"Yeah, I know," said Ryan, a slight frown on his face. "The voice in my
dream told me."

"You heard the voice as well?" Timmie sighed with relief. Perhaps his own
story wouldn't sound so strange after all.

"Yeah. You're Timmie and you're thirteen. The voice said he wanted us to
meet because we had things in common."

"That's what he told me, too." Timmie took a step forwards and cautiously
sat down on the edge of the bed. He decided he might as well be completely
honest and gave Ryan a quick account of how he had arrived there.

"You mean you don't have a home?" asked Ryan, disbelief written on his
face. "What about your parents? Did you runaway?"

Timmie shook his head. "My mum is dead. I've never had a dad."

"I'm sorry," Ryan reached out his hand and put it on top of Timmie's. "It
must be awful living like that."

"It is." For the next few minutes Timmie explained about life on the
streets, how he had to beg for money for food the fight to find somewhere
warm to sleep at night.

Ryan listened sympathetically, then in his turn told Timmie something about
his own life. He told how he lived with his parents in this large
house. They were really nice and he loved them a lot, but they both worked
so hard and never seemed to have much time for him. And sometimes he felt
quite lonely; there was no one that he could really talk to. What he had
always wanted more than anything was a brother, someone who would be there
all the time. Unfortunately something had happened to his mother and she
couldn't have any more kids.

They chatted back and forth for a while, sharing their experiences. It was
like they had been friends for ages rather than just being thrown together
in this strange way in the middle of the night.

"Timmie, can I tell you something? Promise you won't be offended?"

"I promise. What is it?"

Ryan wrinkled his nose. "You don't smell very good."

"I know, I'm sorry," said Timmie, embarrassed. He knew that Ryan was
right. In fact he suspected the smell was a lot worse than the other boy
was letting on; living with it all the time he'd gotten used to it. "There
aren't that many places to get cleaned up where I live."

"I guess not," said Ryan. "Look, if you want to grab a shower or something,
I've got my own bathroom, it's just over there." He pointed across the
room. "I know you're a bit smaller than me but I'm sure I've got some clean
stuff that you could wear."

"I don't know." In truth Timmie would have loved the chance of a shower,
but if he were to start getting undressed then Ryan would see just how
dirty he really was.

"Hey, come on, I now it's not your fault you're in that state." Ryan had
got out of bed and moved closer to sit next to Timmie.

Ryan was wearing a pair of red shorts, nothing else, which gave Timmie a
great opportunity to have a good look at his body. The Younger boy was a
little surprised at his own reaction at being so close to the scantily clad
teenager. He suddenly felt quite nervous and his heart had started to beat
faster. "Well, I guess it would be ok," he said. He got up and walked over
to the door Ryan had indicated. "Through here?"

"Yeah, you go ahead, I'll see if I can find something for you to put on
afterwards."

The door opened onto a small tiled bathroom containing a shower, toilet and
wash-hand basin, all coloured in dark blue, a couple of matching towels
hung on a rail on the wall. Timmie closed the door behind him and started
to quickly pull off his clothes. He tugged off his shoes and grimaced as he
saw the filthy state of his feet; he didn't have any socks, they had fallen
apart after the first couple of weeks of continuous wear. His jacket and
pullover came off next, followed by his jeans leaving him in just his
t-shirt and underpants. His briefs were in a terrible condition; at one
time they had been pale blue, but they were that colour no longer. He'd
tried to wash them out a couple of time during his four weeks on the
streets, using the sinks in public toilets, but he hadn't been particularly
successful. They were stained and full of holes and the smell of sweat and
stale urine was awful. He quickly hooked his thumbs into what remained of
the waistband, pushed them down, he was about to step out of them when the
door opened and Ryan came in.

"I've found you a pair of shorts and a shirt you can have," said the older
boy. Then he noticed Timmie was naked from the waist down. "Oops,
sorry. Didn't think you'd have your clothes off yet."

"It's ok," the boy replied, actually far more embarrassed about the state
of his briefs than he was about Ryan seeing his dick. He stepped out of the
briefs then pulled the shirt over his head and dropped it to the
floor. However, noticing the intense way the fifteen year old was staring
at his now completely naked body, his hands automatically went down in
front of his cock and balls as he tried to keep himself from blushing.

"You sure you're thirteen?" asked Ryan, wide eyed.

"Yeah, of course I'm sure. How could I not be sure about something like
that?. Just 'cos I haven't got a home doesn't mean I'm stupid."

"Yeah, sorry, silly question. It's just that you're not... you know... very
big for thirteen. I mean, when I was thirteen I had hair and everything, or
at least I'm pretty sure I did, and you look to have hardly any. And you're
so thin."

"You'd be thin if you were hungry all the time," said Timmie,
defensively. "And I can't help it if I haven't got much hair yet. You've
got no right to be looking anyway."

Ryan's face reddened at the rebuke. "I'm sorry," he again apologised. "I
didn't mean any of it in a bad way. I was just a bit surprised that's
all. There's nothing wrong with your body, really, I mean it. I think you
look really good. Well, you know what I mean." He was speaking quickly,
obviously flustered.

"So you've got loads of hair then, have you?" asked Timmie, still feeling
like he'd been subjected to unfair criticism.

"Well, I wouldn't say loads exactly, but I got some hair, yes."

"Let's see it then."

"What...?"

"Come on, you've had a good look at me, so it's only fair that I get to
have a look at you."

Ryan hesitated for a second as if unsure what to do, then his eyes down on
the floor he slowly pushed down his shorts until they were almost to his
knees before nervously raising his gaze to meet Timmie's.

Timmie just stared. The first thing he realised was that Ryan sure was nice
to look at! He did indeed have hair, a dark patch of it around the base of
his uncut penis. Also, Ryan's cock made his own seem tiny; Timmie suspected
that the older boy had the beginnings of an erection. The youngster allowed
his hands to drop to his sides, once more allowing his own private parts to
be seen.

Ryan responded to Timmie's openness by pushing his shorts the rest of the
way down and stepping out of them. He took a nervous step towards the
younger boy.

"No, don't." Timmie moved backwards until he was pressed up against the
shower cubicle door. He hung his head, his face burning with shame. "You
shouldn't get too close. You were right," he mumbled. "I don't smell too
good."

"It doesn't matter," said Ryan, gently. "It's not your fault. Besides, a
shower will soon fix that." He put his hand on Timmie's shoulder and moved
the boy out of the way before opening the shower door and turning on the
water. "Just give it a second, it heats up pretty quick." He put his hand
under the spray, testing the temperature. "That should do it, hop in."

 Timmie stepped under the steaming streaming water and it was unable to
hold back a sigh of pure pleasure. Who would ever have believed that water
could feel so good. "Where's the soap?" he asked.

"Here, use this. It'll make you smell nice." Ryan handed him a tube of
shower gel.

Soon Timmie was rubbing the rich lather across his skin. He felt better
already and he wasn't even half done. He could make out Ryan's smiling face
watching through the steamed up panels.

"Want me to come in a scrub your back for you?" the older boy grinned.

"If you want," Timmie replied, happily, without even thinking about what he
was saying. The shower door opened and suddenly it was very crowded in the
small cubicle. Ryan had squeezed in and stood with his chest pressed up
against the back of Timmie's shoulders."

"I was only joking when I offered to scrub your back," said Ryan into
Timmie's ear, "I never expected you to say yes."

"I don't know why I did," Timmie replied. "It just sort of came out."

"You want me to get out?"

Timmie shrugged. "No, you're all wet now anyway so you may as well
stay. Though it's gonna be a bit harder getting washed with us both in
here."

"Better let me help then."

Before Timmie had chance to either agree of disagree he felt Ryan's hands
rubbing the soapy lather across his chest, pushing his own hands out of the
way. He had this vague feeling that it wasn't quite right for another boy
to be touching him in this way, but it did feel so good. Besides hadn't he
had fantasies similar to this often enough? Not in quite these
circumstances, true, but when he'd been on the streets he'd often dreamed
of meeting an older boy who would love him and take care of him. Not for
the first time since this strange episode had started, he wondered if it
were really happening or whether it was just some extremely vivid dream;
was he still lying frozen in that alleyway? His thoughts were suddenly
interrupted as Ryan's hands began to travel a little lower, down across his
stomach and his heart gave a lurch as the older boy's fingers briefly
brushed against the base of his dick.

That had felt amazing, that brief touch. Had it been an accident or had
Ryan done it on purpose? Timmie wanted Ryan to touch him down there again,
in fact he wanted the older teen to touch him all over. He caught hold of
Ryan's wrist. This had to be a dream anyway, so what the hell? It was his
dream, so he could do whatever he wanted. He pushed Ryan's hand downwards,
until the boy's hand was resting on his cock.

For a second, Ryan froze, obviously surprised by Timmie's direct
action. But only for a second. Then Timmie got his wish, Ryan's hands were
indeed everywhere. Timmie's small cock was soon standing up straight and
hard under the other boy's touch. The thirteen year old sighed and squirmed
as he felt his foreskin pulled back and Ryan's soapy fingers rubbing over
the sensitive swollen head. Then a real surprise as one of Ryan's hands
slid round his back and down between his arse cheeks. Even in his dreams no
one had ever touched him down there. Automatically he lifted one leg a
little to allow his cheeks to be parted more easily and felt Ryan rubbing
the lather across this most private of places. He groaned as he felt one of
the boy's fingers pressing against his hole then gave a gasp of surprise
and suddenly tensed as the tip of the soapy digit slipped up inside.

"Sorry," said Ryan, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"'It's ok," said Timmie. "It didn't hurt, I just wasn't expecting it. It
feels nice."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Timmie forced himself to relax as Ryan's fingertip moved in and out of him
a few times then slid a little further in."

"How's that?"

"Good." The sensation of Ryan's finger in his arse was further enhanced by
the slow massage his cock was receiving from the boy's other hand.

"Let's get rinsed off and get out of here," Ryan decided. "We'll be a lot
more comfortable on the bed. That's if you want to of course."

"Yeah, I want to." Was it a dream or not a dream? At this moment it really
didn't matter to Timmie. This was the best he'd ever felt in his entire
thirteen years.

It took a couple of minutes for Ryan to wash away the last of the soap,
then he opened the cubicle door and they both stepped out into the
bathroom.

As Timmie turned to face the other boy, he saw Ryan's erection for the
first time, in all it's rock hard glory. "It's so much bigger than mine,"
he said, his eyes wide. He looked up into Ryan's face and was surprised to
see the older boy was actually blushing.

"No one's ever seen me hard before," Ryan explained, quickly. "It feels
strange us both stood here with our dicks hard, looking at each other."

"Yeah," Timmie smiled. "No one's ever seen me hard either, and no one's
ever touched me down there like you just did. Can I touch yours?"

"If you want."

Timmie put out his hand and a little nervously wrapped his fingers around
Ryan's hard shaft. He gave a quick laugh. "It feels warm and sort of soft,
but hard at the same time. Why's it sticky at the end?"

"That's precum," said Ryan. "It comes out of the end when you get really
turned on, like I was when I was touching you in the shower. Haven't you
ever had precum come out of your dick when you play with yourself?"

Timmie shook his head. "I don't think so."

Ryan looked at the younger boy strangely. "You can shoot can't you?"

"I don't know." Timmie dropped his head, now blushing himself.

"Don't you ever jerk off?"

"I sometimes rub myself, at night," Timmie confessed. "But I've never shot
anything out of the end."

"You've never had an orgasm?"  Ryan asked, an amazed look on his face.

Timmie shook his head. "I don't think so."

Ryan suddenly grinned. "Boy, are you in for a surprise!" He grabbed two
towels off the rail, draped one around his own shoulders and approached
Timmie with the other.

It felt nice, being towelled dry. The towel was thick and soft and Timmie
just stood there and let Ryan get on with it. He had vague memories of his
mother drying him like this many years ago, but that made him start to feel
a little sad and so he quickly stopped thinking about it.

When they were both properly dry, Ryan replaced the towels on the rail and
taking Timmie by the hand he led him back into the bedroom. He then paused
for a second, and picking Timmie up he carried him across to the bed.

"What are you doing?" Timmie giggled.

"I'm going to show you what you've been missing," said Ryan. He lay the boy
gently on the bed. Placing his head on the pillow. "Put you arms up behind
the pillow. That's it. Now open up your legs. Now all you need do is lay
there and let it happen."

Timmie felt very exposed, lying naked on his back with his legs spread
open. At the same time he had to admit that it felt strangely exciting
knowing that Ryan could see every bit of him; he especially liked the fact
that Ryan had taken charge of him and was telling him what to do. He
wondered what the older boy had in store for him; he felt a slight nervous
fluttering in the pit of his stomach, but it was a nice sort of
nervousness, he found he wasn't scared at all and had complete trust in
Ryan not to hurt him in any way.

Ryan leaned over the bed and lowering is head he very lightly touched his
lips to Timmie's chest. For the next few minutes he moved around the
younger boy's upper torso gently kissing and licking Timmie's velvety soft
skin.

"Ooh," Timmie gave a soft moan of pleasure as Ryan licked across one of his
nipples then blew gently over the saliva covered nub.

"Was that good?" Ryan looked up, grinning.

"Yeah."

"Thought it might be. I read about it in a story and it sounded pretty
cool."

"You mean you've never done it before?"

"Nope, most I've ever done before is jerk off. I'm making this up as I go
along." Ryan got up and moved to the bottom of the bed where he crouched
down between the thirteen year old's legs. His eye's flicked up briefly to
meet Timmie's, he gave a slightly nervous smile, then he lowered his head
and ran his tongue along Timmie's dick.

Timmie gave a gasp of surprise and lifted his head up off the pillow so
that he could see what was happening.

Ryan's soft tongue was moving over every inch of the younger boy's cock and
balls, causing the younger boy to wriggle and squirm as he experienced
sensations he'd never felt before.

"Lift you legs up," Ryan instructed. "Put your hands behind your knees and
pull them up towards your shoulders."

Timmie suppressed an embarrassed giggle at the thought that Ryan's face was
just inches away from his bum hole. He was sure he could feel the older
boy's breath against his sensitive ring. Then the unthinkable happened;
Ryan's head bobbed down and Timmie felt the fifteen year old's tongue
licking at his arse. Needles of pleasure pricked at his skin over his
entire body and he began to gasp and moan. He'd never imagined that someone
touching his anus could feel so fantastic. Then he remembered what Ryan had
done to him in the shower. "Are you going to put your finger in there
again?" he asked, a tremour in his voice.

"Do you want me to?"

"Yeah, but lick it a few more times first."

"Ok," Ryan grinned. He used his fingers to pull Timmie's hole open then
pushed his tongue firmly against the tight muscle.

"Ooooh!" Timmie's whole body shuddered.

Ryan sat up. "Hang on a sec." He quickly moved to the bedside cabinet and
opening the drawer he rooted around under some books before producing a
small jar of vaseline. "Better use some of this. We had the soap in the
shower, so my finger went in easy, but without something to make it
slippery it'll hurt."

Returning to the foot of the bed he unscrewed the jar and applied a
generous dollop of the cold, greasy gel right onto Timmie's arse hole.

"Argh, that's cold."

"Don't worry," Ryan smiled. "It warms up really fast." He was already
pressing against the tight hole with his finger.

Timmie felt the older boy's finger tip slip inside him, just a little way,
then it came out again. This was repeated, a few times, each time slipping
in a little bit further. To start with it felt a little uncomfortable, but
soon he found himself starting to relax and then it felt great. Soon Ryan's
index finger was sliding easily in and out of his hole up to its full
length.

Keeping up his steady finger fucking, Ryan leaned over and took Timmie's
trembling dick into his mouth and began to suck on the swollen head.

Strange new sensations were flooding through Timmie's body. It was like
some sort of pressure building up down between his legs, a bit like when he
wanted to pee but somehow not quite the same. His hands were balled into
tight fists and he could feel his fingernails digging into his
palms. Suddenly the pressure gave way and he felt his dick start to throb
and his whole body begin to shake. It was like the best feeling he'd ever
had but a thousand times more intense; it thrilled and terrified him both
at the same time.

A few seconds later it was over. As he lay back, panting he dropped his
legs to the bed, aware of Ryan kneeling beside him, smiling. He put his
hand down to his dick then groaned and quickly let it go, it was too
sensitive to even touch.

"Don't worry," said Ryan, "mine used to be like that after I'd just shot a
load. It'll be ok in a little while. How'd you like your first orgasm?"

"It was brilliant. Is it always like that?"

"Sometimes it's better than others. By the way, you do shoot, I just got a
mouthful of the stuff."

"You mean cum?"

"Yeah. I only just managed to swallow it."

"I wish I'd got to see it," said Ryan, a little disappointed.

"If you want to see cum, than that's easy. After what we've just been doing
I really need to shoot."

Following Ryan's instructions, they changed places. Ryan lay on his back
and Timmie knelt beside the bed.

Timmie watched as Ryan took hold of his own stiff cock and began to move
his hand up and down it in long steady strokes. "Can I do it?" the
youngster asked, after watching for a few seconds.

"If you want."

"Great." Timmie wrapped his fingers around the hard shaft and began to move
his hand like he'd watched Ryan do. The older boy sighed contentedly and
put his hand behind his head, closing his eyes.

As his wrist moved up and down, Timmie watched fascinated Ryan's foreskin
uncovered and recovered the glistening head. He glanced up towards Ryan's
face. The boy still had his eyes closed. With his free hand, Timmie began
to lightly massage the older boy's chest, enjoying the feel of the smooth,
warm skin under his fingers.

Ryan's breathing seemed to have deepened a little and every so often he'd
shift his hips, wriggling them down into the mattress whilst moaning
softly. "Go a bit faster," he gasped.

Timmie increased the pace of his strokes. It made him feel good knowing
that he was doing something that was giving the other boy such pleasure.

Ryan's groan had increased and he was lifting his hips up from the bed in a
thrusting motion.

On impulse, Timmie leaned forwards and kissed the sticky tip of Ryan's
cock, then ran his tongue across the slit.

"Arghhhh!" Ryan's hip's gave an almighty thrust, his body tensed up and
streamers of cum erupted from his throbbing dick, the first splattering
across Timmie's face, the rest splashing down onto his own chest.

Timmie watched in awe as Ryan's orgasm subsided and the older teen settled
into relaxed stillness. He raised his hand to his cheek and wiped away some
of the sticky mess that was smeared there.

Ryan was grinning. "I didn't expect you to do that."

"I might not have done if I'd realised that you were going to try and drown
me."

"Sorry," Ryan laughed, but when I felt your tongue touch my dick that set
me off and then there was no stopping it. Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I guess. I need something to wipe my face with though. Can I use one
of those towels."

"Be my guest. They're ready for the laundry now anyway."

Timmie retrieved on of the towels and wiped himself and Ryan clean, then
returned it to the bathroom. When he got back, Ryan was just climbing under
the bedclothes. He held them open.

"Come on, get in."

It was only a single bed, but Timmie squeezed in beside the other boy and
Ryan let the blankets fall on top of them.

"I wish this were real?" Timmie sighed, snuggling up to Ryan.

"You don't think it is?"

"Do you?"

"It feels real, but I don't see how it can be.  Maybe in the morning we'll
wake up and everything will be as it was. Even if that does happen, this
has been the best Christmas ever."

"I wish you I could stay here with you forever," said Timmie, softly. "I
wish you were my big brother." It was a long time since he'd been in a warm
comfortable bed. This combined with the natural, relaxing after effects of
his first orgasm caused the predictable to happen. He drifted away into a
gentle sleep.






Timmie awoke with a start. He didn't know where he was. He was warm and
surrounded by soft sheets and there was someone sleeping next to
him. Suddenly it all came back to him; the events of the previous
night. He'd thought it was all a dream, but he was still here in this same
bed. Did this mean it was real?

He opened his eyes. The first light of a clear dawn was already beginning
to force its way through the bedroom curtains. He looked around then sat
bolt upright in shock. There was someone standing at the foot of the bed.

Timmie's sudden movement had woken Ryan who fumbled with the bedside lamp,
eventually getting it turned on and flooding the room with light.

"Good morning, Timmie, Ryan." In the bedroom, standing watching them, was
an old man. he looked to be dressed in rags, but strangely they were clean
rags, not a spot of dirt in sight. His unshaven face with it's pure white
whiskers was smiling happily down at them.

"Nick?" Timmie instantly recognised the old man from the alleyway the night
before. "You were the voice in my head. You're the one who brought me
here."

"Yes, that was me," Nick nodded. "I was the one who spoke to both you and
Ryan."

"What are you doing here?" Ryan asked. "You haven't come to take Timmie
away again, have you?" He grasped old of the younger boy's arm as if he
were not about to let him go.

"That's up to you," said the old man. "Or rather it's up to both of
you. The night is nearly over and with dawn the magic will end. Before that
happens you have to decide."

"Decide what?" asked Timmie.

"You have to decide whether this is what you really want. You remember last
night, Timmie, when I asked you what you wanted more than anything in the
world? Well, this is as close as I can make it for you. The same applies to
you Ryan. I've tried to give you what you wanted most in the world. But I
want you both to think carefully because once dawn comes there will be no
going back."

Timmie opened his mouth to say "yes, this is what he wanted" the Nick
interrupted before he could speak.

"I said think carefully Timmie. I'm sure you've enjoyed spending this night
with Ryan, but it may not always be as good as this. Sometimes you'll
argue, sometimes you may even fight. You'll have to get used to living as
part of a family, that will mean rules, you'll no longer be able to just do
as you please. And you Ryan, you want a brother more than anything else,
but remember that if you get your brother you'll have to get used to
sharing everything. At the moment almost everything your parents do is
geared around you. If you have a brother that will change. Are you both
absolutely sure this is what you want?"

Timmie felt Ryan's hand in his own, squeezing so tightly that it hurt. He
nodded. "I'm sure. I want Ryan as my big brother. I want to be part of his
family."

Ryan immediately wrapped his arms around Timmie's chest and crushed him in
a tight hug. "I'm sure too. I want Timmie to stay with me forever."

"So be it," said Nick, with a wide smile. "Now, it's almost dawn and I've
much still to do." He turned away towards the window.

"Wait a minute," said Timmie, jumping out of bed, not in the least
embarrassed at his complete nudity. "Who are you?"

"I think you already know that," said the old man, looking back. He gave a
wink. "But I'm the real thing, not the pretend version who gives away
cheap, plastic presents in department stores."

"One more question," said Timmie, quickly, as the man once more moved
towards the window. "Last night, in that alleyway, I was dying wasn't I? If
I'd chosen not to stay with Ryan, would I be dead now?"

"That's two questions, not one," Nick smiled, his eyes suddenly sad. "Let
me reply by asking you one. Even if you had chosen not to stay with Ryan,
would you have wanted to go back to living like you were?" There was a long
thoughtful pause as he gently stroked Timmie's hair. "No, I didn't think
so." He stepped towards the window and seemed to disappear straight through
the wall. A second later there was a faint noise like a happy, distant
laugh and then something that sounded like "Merry Christmas". Then there
was silence.

Timmie and Ryan looked at each other, each seeing a mixture of fear,
excitement and total disbelief in the other's eyes. Timmie had the strange
feeling that the world around them had suddenly changed. He gasped in
amazement. The room now contained twin single beds, the new bed just a
couple of feet to the side of Ryan's.

Ryan climbed out his bed and walked over to an extra set of drawers that
hadn't been there before. He pulled one open. They were full of clothes. He
held up a shirt against himself. "This is too small for me," he said,
tossing it across to Timmie. "Here, try it on."

The shirt fit Timmie perfectly. As did all the other clothing in the
drawers.

"This is all very well, having a new bed appearing and all these clothes,
but I can't help wondering what's going to happen when mum and dad see
you," said Ryan worriedly. "Let's have a look downstairs and see what else
has changed, before they get up."

The two boy's quickly pulled on shorts, Ryan also putting on a shirt,
before they headed down the stairs. To Ryan, everything looked normal, but
to Timmie, of course, all this was new. The house looked to him almost like
a palace, with it large rooms and good quality furniture. The strange thing
was, seconds after seeing each room he had this strange feeling of
familiarity, almost as if he'd lived here all his life.

They made there way into the lounge. In one corner stood a large brightly
lit Christmas tree, beneath which were lots of carefully wrapped parcels
separated into two piles.

Ryan bent down and looked at the labels. "Timmie, come and look at this."

One of the piles was contained presents for Ryan, but both boys gasped as
they read the label on one of the parcels in the other pile.

"To Timmie, a very special son. All our love, Mum and Dad."

Timmie just sat a stared at the label. His heart thumping and a huge lump
in his throat. Then, up above the Christmas tree he noticed a framed
picture on the wall. It was a photograph of four people, two boys and a man
and a woman. The man and woman had their arms around the boys. He was aware
of Ryan stepping up close behind him and he felt the older boy's arms go
around him in a hug, similar to the way the man was hugging one of the boys
in the picture. The boys were himself and Ryan. And even though he'd never
seen the man and woman before, Timmie instantly recognised them. He'd known
them all his life. They were his mum and dad. For the first time in a very
long time Timmie allowed his deepest feelings to come to the surface. He
broke down and cried.


END


All feedback is much appreciated. I'd love to hear your comments on this
story or your ideas and suggestions for new stories. Email me at
gym@softhome.net or visit my website "Stories by Gymnopedies" at
http://gymnopedies.tripod.com