Date: Mon, 03 Oct 2011 08:44:08 +0100
From: tom <amias09@fastmail.fm>
Subject: Brief Encouters  Chap 81

Brief Encounters - the ever continuing saga... eekkk!

First the mandatory warnings and disclaimers - basically don't read this if
the naughty sexual exploits of young teenage schoolboys do not appeal. The
characters depicted are fictional and not intentionally based upon any one
person... although, if you do suddenly find yourself in the middle of the
story just think how lucky you are!

This is ostensibly a work of fiction, albeit with a few memories from my
own school days plus some of the many invariably unspoken fantasies which I
and my "best friends" would only ever rarely admit or allude to when we
were at that very special, trusting and certainly innocent age.

Today, it's very hard to imagine what it was like without the internet to
immediately help conjure up fantasies based on images, webcams, stories or
chat. Our sex lives were entirely dependant upon a very fervent imagination
and thus being able to create our own fantasies usually based on friends
and what we saw happening beneath the desk or in the changing rooms! I make
no excuses for the fact that underwear features prominently in this story,
because quite frankly it did, it was a very visible and tangible connection
between us and our ever developing fascination with sex! It's important to
remember that other than the very rare sexual extrovert, we never dared
mention the subject because we were just too embarrassed and nobody
understood what was happening to us anyway!

You might call it a story about the age of discovery - usually in bed - or
if you shared a bedroom with a brother, then discovery would be in the
bathroom!

Do note, at the time of writing the story itself is not finished and for
better or worse, it has now turned into a work of some length but I will
regularly post updates and there are more than enough pages written to keep
it going! Nifty require a text file so if the formatting or punctuation go
slightly up the creek you now know why! And, also during the writing for
various reason I have had to change character names, so I hope for
continuity they are now correct!

Finally, I hope you enjoy it and please, please do let me have any comments
or suggestions and for some of you I it might even jog a memory or two,
three if you are lucky... I would be intrigued to learn!

Tom email: amias09@fastmail.fm

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I'll try the graphic again!

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Chapter 81 – Art reaches the crossroads


"It's a pair of old swimming trunks that were left here, sorry it's the
best I can do."

Mr Hawkins sat down on the bench opposite sounding rather wearied by the
whole episode, his free period now ruined, he looked over at the clothes
Art had been wearing. "I'm sorry, it's all there is. But can't wear those
can you?"

"I `spose not." Art shook his head avoiding looking directly at clothes or
teacher.

"D'you think they'll fit?"

Art didn't know, all he did know was that his erection was going up not
down and definitely not helped at the thought of wearing somebody else's
swimming trunks. What was wrong with him? No matter how dire the
circumstances he always had an erection! How could he possibly put the
things on in that state and in front of his teacher. Mr Hawkins wasn't
being awkward or anything like, it had been long day and seemed to be
getting even longer, he had simply sat down without thinking of causing any
embarrassment to Art at all.

"Sir... Sir," ask Art quietly, how awful was this, "could you.. could you
turn away?"

"Oh, of course," Mr Hawkins stood up and moved away, "I'm sorry didn't
meant to embarrass you, I just wasn't thinking."

Art turned his back to him, dropping the towel he pulled the green trunks
up. They were probably at least one size too big and the reason they had
been left in the changing room was now obvious, they were worn out, the
elasticity of the fabric long departed. Without his erection there was some
hope, with his erection it was a gamble, but at least he was covered up for
the moment.

"Are you decent yet?"

"Sort of.." standing on one leg Art was desperately trying to pull his
trousers up, the wet patches on his legs clung to the trousers to
considerably reduce progress.

"Good. Now what are we going to do with you then?" Mr Hawkins wanted some
closure and was hoping to send Art back to his lessons sounding and looking
a little happier. Instead, on turning he saw Art teetering precariously on
leg, his other foot caught in the trouser leg and totally unaware that his
erection had escaped from the side of the ill fitting trunks.

"Will you please just sit down, right now."

"Wot?" replied the one legged Art sounding puzzled.

"For gods sake will you get that thing covered up!"

It was the last straw. There was no mistaking what was being referred to,
after looking down he collapsed on the wooden bench before bursting into
tears.

Well aware of what could be misconstrued by touching the boy in that
situation, even to innocently comfort him Mr Hawkins sighed and sat on the
bench opposite.

"What's it all about?" he asked quietly, now prepared to write off the rest
of his free period, "I promise I won't say anything, please tell me what's
the problem? I can help."

The floodgates opened, after the day's numerous traumatic events it all had
to come out. In between sobbing and sniffing Art tried to explain that he
couldn't help it, he always had an erection and was unable to leave it
alone.  Somehow it seemed so easy to explain to this very sympathetic
teacher who genuinely appeared to understand his predicament, more than he
ever thought possible. However, on Mr Hawkins part it was far more than he
really wanted to know, putting him in an invidious position.

"Well," Mr Hawkins drew a deep breath and was at something of loss. This
was a job for Art's father, although possibly a little truth might help
prepare the ground, "you can't go through life masturbating when you feel
like it, let alone coming to school to start doing it and ending up looking
like this can you?"

More tears and much shaking of the head. The crossroads had finally been
reached, Art realised couldn't go on the way he was.

"What about your parents, would..."

That was as far as the question got before being frantically interrupted by
Art who look terrified at the suggestion, shaking his head and waving his
hands in panic.

"No, no.. no, not me mum! No!"

"Well, What? We've got to do something." Mr Hawkins looked at his
watch. "And quick!"

Art was a pitiful sight, tear stained face, his hands were clasped firmly
across the front of the swimming trunks, shirt partly undone and his
trousers tangled up around his shoes. It really didn't look as though he
could take much more.

"Come on, what about your dad then?"

"Me dad.. maybe, he's luvly. He knows wot I'm like." looking up he
nervously bit his lip in an attempt to hold back more tears and nodded.

"I'd like to speak to him, not just send him a note." Mr Hawkins stood up
and walked over, he put a hand on his shoulder. Art was trembling, he
slowly turned and looked up, Mr Hawkins smiled. "Would you agree to that?"

"Yer, `spose I do," sniffing he nodded, tears fell down onto his hands,
"'cause we gotta do something ain't we?"

"Yes. You've realised, at last! Good!" Mr Hawkins smiled, "Look you need
some help to sort yourself out. I don't think what you need is a
bollocking, will you trust me?"

Art nodded again then with some trepidation asked the question that worried
him the most. "Wot, about, about the headmaster?"

"Oh no, definitely not. Just you make sure he doesn't see you like this for
the rest of the afternoon. We need to get you sorted out and I really don't
think caning is the answer."

Blinking Art rubbed his eyes trying to see through the mist of tears. This
teacher really did care a great deal for his young charges, somebody else
had said he did.

"Right, I'm going to write a note to your dad and ask him to contact me,
now don't worry." squeezing Art's shoulder reassuringly he turned to walk
towards his small office. "I'll do that right now so you can get dressed
without being embarrassed. Then for heavens sake wash your face in cold
water, but get a move on."

Art did his best to smile through the tears and nodded. He always seemed to
be nodding.

Face washed, hair patted down and dressed as best as he could, with the
blazer yet again fully buttoned it looked as good as it was going to
get. He had even taken the precaution of tucking the lime green trunks well
down inside his trousers so they couldn't be seen if the fly burst open
accidentally again and comments were passed!

"Is that it then?" Mr Hawkins came out, he smiled and looked him up and
down, holding an envelope, "The things I do for you boys! Now don't loose
this and give it to your father, all I've asked is that he contact me as
I've had an idea about something, there's nothing about what you have been
up to, all right?"

"Sir, uumm ..I.." he looked as though he was about to burst into tears
again.

"No, don't! Don't say anything! Or you'll be crying again!" he
smiled. "Just get out."

Art visibly clenched his fists, nodded and took a very deep breath before
reaching down for his bag.

"Just hold on," said Mr Hawkins, "look it's Friday, do you want me to send
you home early and you can miss the last lesson?"

"No, no." stuttered Art. A lovey idea but then his mother would want to
know why he was early. "I be alright."

"Well go on then," Mr Hawkins smiled again and pointed to the door, "the
bells going in few seconds anyway."

"Sir.. thannnk.. thank.." was as far as Art got on reaching the door, he
rushed out the tears forming yet again in his eyes spoke volumes for the
gratitude he felt.

By the time the lesson bell had rung for the last time that week Art had
more or less recovered his composure outwardly, if inwardly he was still
feeling distinctly fragile. Recovered that was, to the point where those
around him thought him as normal as he ever was and by spinning a rather
implausible tale of insects flying into his eyes to account for rubbing
them he just about got away with it.

It was slow walk to the bus stop. Intentionally slow. Ian's trousers were
still only held up by the zip and Art desperately want to get home before
any further disasters befell him. Nigel was as ever by his side acting as
his anchor, who though having had had a very emotional day himself was
almost on the point of crying when he heard how kind Mr Hawkins had
been. The group Art, Nigel, Martin and Ian were rather subdued as they
waited for their various buses, it was gradually sinking to all of them
that they couldn't continue at school as they or it wouldn't be long before
they were all in deep trouble, particularly as Art now had note for his
father.

"Oi, don't forget you gotta help me with me big room tidy up tomorrow
morning like you promised." said Nigel in an attempt to change and brighten
the conversation.

"No, I ain't forgot, anyway.." Art managed a weak smile, "the way that it's
going at home you'll be helping me do my room next weekend! I think me
mum's building up for another fuckin' explosion!"

"But why not? Be a laugh, you'll have helped me so I'll help you. We'll
beat her to it!"

Nigel slapped him playfully on the bottom.

"Wot?" Art looked puzzled at first and then his face lit up. "Oh! Got it,
you means, I'll just tell her we're doing it next weekend anyway?"

"Right. If that's wot you wants." Nigel smiled back. "Then I can see where
you've hidden your cumrag!"

"Fuck off, anyways I don't know wot a cumrag is!" Art finally grinned,
sounding more like his old self, "Hey, but would you? Really, help me?"

Standing there listening Ian suddenly felt very lonely, he looked across at
Martin who was staring at the pavement deep in thought, his fingers moving
in his pockets. His thoughts were running between having neither father nor
brother and the intense feelings that were building for his friends.

"Course I will you silly bugger," Nigel smiled, the watery eyes gave away
his true feelings, he blinked. "just fuckin' said so didn't I?"

"Then I could uumm, I mean, I'll tell mum today that we're gonna do it next
weekend, can't I?"

Nigel felt the full force of one of Art's special smiles, he crumbled
inside as Art continued. "Then if this note thing with dad is all right,
y'know as well... well, I'll be looking really in her good books won't I?"

Blinking rapidly, Nigel nodded. Somehow he managed to hold back from
grabbing Art and hugging him. Nonchalantly he wiped his face with the back
of his sleeve.

"Is we still meeting at the shed, tomorrow afternoon then?" interrupted
Ian, hoping to change the subject. Like Martin he was getting affected by
the intense display of friendship. "To check it out, y'know like we said?"

"Yer, course we gotta check it out." Nigel took a deep breath and tried to
compose himself, he winked at Art. "Why not, sounds like it's our last free
afternoon together for a bit anyway."

"So wot you gotta check then?" asked Martin casually without looking up.

"Fuck all to do with you!" Art poked him in the ribs. " `cause you're with
the fuckin' opposition, that's all your little mates. You'll be having yer
hands up their little shorts holding their little willy's while they plays
with you, you dirty fucker! I knows you!"

Martin blushed, his cock was already pointing upwards in his pale blue
Y-fronts. It was all true, exactly what he was planning to do, that was if
in anticipation he hadn't already wanked himself into a coma!

Without warning suddenly Art dropped his bag and leant over to wrap both
arm's around his back and then firmly hugged him. Martin turned scarlet,
Art merely whispered in his ear. "We all love you, you knows that!"

"Oh fuck! Wot's wrong with us all? "

Ian's voice was cracking, not sure if he had overheard correctly. He turned
his back towards them almost on the point of crying only to find seconds he
was also being firmly held by Art, now standing behind with his arms draped
around him and something hard pressed against his buttocks.

"And we all loves you as well!"

Art slowly released Ian, wiping the sleeve of his blazer across his face he
turned to pick up his bag and stood by Nigel again. After the stress of the
days events all four were undoubtedly feeling the strain and trying to make
an effort not to show too much raw emotion for each other.

Nothing was said for what felt like several minutes, nothing needed to be
said. Nigel was as emotional as any of them, as ever he seemed to rally
round first. Wiping his eyes on the back of the sleeve of his blazer he
looked lovingly at Art.

"You bastard. You're mixing up likes and loves!" he said quietly, wiping
his eyes again. "Wot would we do without these blazers!

"I'm sorry.. but I ain't," Art was barely audible, "I love you all, I
do. Today made me see that. Oh, oh fuck! I'm so fuckin' sorry, I'd mean to,
to..."

"Please shut up!" Ian bit his lip and continued to blink.

Martin, with no father and also an only child was confused. Having
admitting to his own strong homosexual tendencies only days before he
didn't know what he wanted other than an immediate and desperate need for
some physical attention. A long hug would suffice.  Overwhelmed by his
emotions, cheeks wet with tears he looked longingly at Art, the boy that
had been the catalyst of his sexual liberation. He wanted him physically
right then and there.

"Art, don't say no more." croaked Ian. "Please, we all knows wot you
means. Just fuckin' shut up."

"Yeah, that sheds gonna be a big surprise," said Nigel after a minute
attempting to lift the mood and carry on with the conversation where it had
left off.

"Yer, `tis." added Art, wiping his face yet again. "You'll be all right
Mart there, don't fuckin' worry."

Red eyed Martin looked back at Art, knowing he had to be in the shed with
Tom and his friends. The flicker in his eyes said it all. Art felt a tingle
run up his spine.

Nigel was pretty well tuned in to all the unspoken feelings. He looked
between Art, Ian and Martin. He smiled. He Blinked. They all knew and were
treating each like the family they never had.

"Well then Mart," Nigel cleared his throat and having noted the activity in
the trouser pockets, "don't you dare fuckin' let on to Tom any of that,
that we're gonna surprise 'em, will you?"

Still choked emotionally and unable to reply, Martin shook his head and
continued to blink.

"Or.. or.. or I'll have to put me cock up your ass and split you in half!"
he pointed to the obvious trouser pocket movements. "Just fuckin' look at
you now, don't you dare cum in them little blue pants `cause yer mummy
won't like it!"

"Fuck you! You bastards!"

Thoroughly embarrassed, but plainly loving the attention Martin smiled as
more tears welled in the corners of his eyes.

"Uum.." Ian started to say something but stopped.

For Martin there was no escape, he knew had to innocently accompany Tom,
Alex and all the rest on the Sunday afternoon and take his chance with them
as to what Art had planned.

All of a sudden from nowhere Simon appeared at high speed and crashed into
Art and threw his arms around him. The older boys looked in astonishment.

"Wot the fuck is it now!" muttered Nigel.

"Oh fuck!" said Ian under his breath having been reminded yet again of all
the fun of having a younger brother. Why didn't he have one?

"Fuck me kid, wot's doing?" said Art after getting his breath back. "Wot's
happened now then? is you alright?"

"No," came the muffled reply from somewhere inside Art's blazer, "not me,
it's you innit. Is you alright?"

"Wot he means is, he's been dead worried about you since dinner." said Tom
who had now rather breathlessly appeared with Alex in tow. "When you was
taken off by Mr Weaver."

"Oh, don't fuckin' tell him that." Simon's muffled voice came from
somewhere in Art's chest.

"Oh, fuckin' hell!"

Art blinked and looked at Nigel, moments later Ian and Martin also caught
Art's eye. Simon obviously cared very much. Marin winced and Ian tried to
turn away but couldn't, he wiped his eyes with his sleeve. The heartache of
being an only child was laid bare to both.

"Fuck! You stupid little bugger. Oh fuck! Fuck!" said Art clenching his
fists in a desperate attempt to control himself. "You've fuckin' started me
off again!"

Nobody said anything, Simon burrowed onto Art and felt something wet drop
in his hair, Art was indeed off again.

"Fucking assholes!" Martin turned away to wipe his eyes. No father, no
brother, nobody to hug him.

Tom moved to be closer to Alex, they almost touched. Equally affected Ian
stared blankly up the road making a huge effort to keep his eyes wide
open. He swallowed hard before announcing in a voice that sounded as though
it were about to crack in half that a bus was now visible in the
distance. It didn't matter what bus it was, it was merely a signal to
compose themselves and jealously covet the strength of the bond that had
been inadvertently exhibited between Art and Simon.

"That's enough kid, now fuck off!"

Art did his best to feign pushing Simon away. Pretending to smooth his hair
he managed to yet again wipe the tears away and turned to look up the
road. Simon knew it was an act and for his part looked rather embarrassed
that his show of affection had been witnessed by so many and the emotions
it had produced. He rubbed his eyes and turned to stare at the oncoming
bus, Tom stepped over and stood by him.

"Don't be afraid to show you love him," he whispered in Simon's ear as he
blinked away the tears, "I would and, we all wishes we had a brother like
him."

Simon turned to look him in the face. It was hopeless, the tears had
already started. If it hadn't been for the older boys he would have freely
embraced him.

"Art," called Nigel after clearing his throat, "yer lucky, it's your bus
first."

"Fuckin' right."

Picking up his bag he wiped his face yet again and wondered if it had been
noticed that he had been crying! Simon didn't look much better and they
both hopped smartly onto the platform to bolt upstairs before there were
any more fond farewells.

As the bus rumbled off down the road Ian watched Nigel going into full big
brother mode and putting an arm around Martin who now seemed unable to stop
crying, the lack of either father or brother had that afternoon certainly
hit him hard. Holding onto him, Nigel glanced around and finally caught
Ian's eye, he nodded first towards Martin and then towards Tom and
Alex. They were just staring at the tarmac, like Martin each caught up in
thoughts of what it would have been like to have a brother. Then Ian
suddenly smiled and nodded in acknowledgement of Nigel's unspoken request,
he moved over to stand behind Tom and Alex and whispered between
them. Nigel of course had remembered Martin's strong proclivity and
attraction towards Tom and Alex, would they act as younger brothers to him?
It was plain that they all needed somebody at that moment, Ian included.

Moments later a very relieved Nigel was able to release Martin and step
back a few paces to stand beside Ian. Martin was now flanked by his two
surrogate younger brothers, he didn't care that they were all somewhat
bleary eyed and neither did any of them care that they were holding each of
their hands.

"He likes 'em don't he? He said he did." said Nigel quietly. "Is you
alright, `cause you ain't got no bothers either have you?"

"Looks like they do too, look at 'em. Does the age really fuckin' matter?"
Ian sniffed and rubbed his eyes. "He ain't got no dad nor nothin' has
he. Poor fucker."

"No. It can't be much fun can it?" Nigel blinked. Never had he thought the
day would turn out to be so emotional, he felt exhausted. "So come on, wot
about you?"

"Me, I'm alright, well alright as I'll ever be. I don't fuckin' know to be
honest." Ian's voice started to falter again. He sniffed. "At least me dads
talking to me now, that's really something innit?"

"I `spose," Nigel sounded rather flat, "hey, could I.. well, could I.. no,
oh fuck. I need, I want.. oh fuckin' hell. Can I.."

"Wot the fuck are you on about you silly sod?" Ian smiled. "You do whatever
you wants, I don't care."

"Come here," Nigel pulled on his arm and leaned back against the hedge,
"you see it's been a long, funny day and... and, feels like I've been doing
all the work. Y'know like keeping Art goin' and all that. So, would you
just.."

"Just wot," Ian was still smiling and could feel his heart beating, "go on,
just fuckin' ask me, please!"

"I want you, to, to.." Nigel sniffed, "to, sounds silly, but just hold me
hand, that's all! Just hold me hand... really tightly, please."

Silently, Ian obliged not knowing what to say.

"See," Nigel sniffed again, "I really likes Art but, he wears me out."

"D'you really mean likes or loves?" asked Ian. "Art was right when he said
love wasn't he?"

"Fuck! I `spose so."

"Right, so then I reckon we all loves him too then," replied Ian speaking
slowly in one last desperate attempt to hold onto his composure, "but, see
we loves you as well. Don't you, see you're like... umm.. like the big
brother we all wanted and never had. D'you understand, `cause you always
knows wot to do."

"Fuck!" hissed Nigel and squeezed Ian's hand as hard as he could. Ian, his
self control now gone began to openly cry. Past caring who noticed Nigel
pulled them together and muffled the sobs in the collar of his blazer. They
hugged, their growing erections separated by only by grey school trousers
and thin white underpants.


"Art," whispered Simon, "where d'you go with Mr Weaver then?"

Looking out the grimy bus window Art neither replied nor looked up, he took
a deep breath and as a reply Simon felt a hot, slightly clammy hand on his
leg. Unusually it didn't seem to be heading for the leg of his shorts, it
just took his hand and held it tightly, very tightly.

"Later kid," said Art very quietly, "not now, I can't. Later."

Trying not to move too much in his seat Simon craned his head a little to
look at Art's face, he was crying as he'd guessed. Where was the brother he
knew, the one full of life and jokes. What had happened.

"Well, but.." Simon, paused, "will you just tell me yer alright, then?"

Unseen, Art closed his eyes for a couple of seconds. "Yer, I'm
alright. Just don't say nothing for five minutes and I'll be OK."

Simon was perplexed, staring at the back of the seat in front of him he
wondered what trouble had Art got himself into now? Surely the rumours that
had been circulating since Mr Weaver had marched them out of the dining
hall couldn't really be true? Knowing such rumours were notoriously
unreliable he was rather loath to believe that a boy, wearing no trousers
and thought to be Art had been masturbating in front of a female teacher
and the rest of the class. Where the rumour sounded quite implausible as to
Art's involvement was that the boy was said to have and enormous cock, well
that bit certainly wasn't true, barely average was more like it!

The bus seemed to take forever. About halfway home Art finally looked up
and nudged Simon in the ribs.

"You gotta help me get in past mum." sounding worried he appeared to direct
his request to the back of the seat and not look at Simon. "She can't see
me looking like this, she'll fuckin' kill me, you know wot she's like."

"How?" Simon tried to look at his face, it was obviously red from
crying. "Wot's want me to do then?"

"You could go in first and say you got something in yer eye or that," he
sniffed, "get her to or something. Any fuckin' thing just to give me enough
time to get up the fuckin' stairs and change me fuckin' clothes."

"It's alright, I'll do it. I'll do something, but she just seems to know
when I'm telling porkies. " Simon realised that they were still holding
hands, he squeezed Art tightly.

"Fuck, you little sod." Art was determined not to blink, too late his eyes
were filling up again.

"Art," Simon couldn't contain his curiosity any longer he had to know, "is
these rumours right that you was the one that wot was wanking in front the
class?"

After pause Art violently shook his head, tears fell on the grey material
of his trousers and produced dark spots.

"So.." Simon waited expectantly. "Uumm.."

"Well, if you must fuckin' know." sitting up Art turned and looked him in
the face, he looked and sounded very distressed.

"Wot?" Simon looked shocked at his appearance and red rimmed eyes.

"See, I'd had a wank earlier, then I has to stand up in fuckin' class and
like a cunt I was wearing these fuckin' trousers and they fell down with me
pants! Me prick was still up and.. oh fuckin' hell ! So now you fuckin'
knows."

"Fuck!" Simon squeezed his hand again. "Sorry, I.., I didn't know.."

"Yer, well now you fuckin' do!" with that he buried his head in his hands
and mumbled. "Sorry, it ain't your fault, it's mine innit. Now Mr Hawkins
has given me note for dad."

"Wot? Why? Wot's he gotta do with it?"

"Don't you dare fuckin' tell mum, he's gonna have word with dad to see if
they can stop.. stop me... oh fuck.. fuck!" he spluttered through sobs.

Simon now on the verge of crying himself and didn't know what to do, he put
his arm around and pulled them tightly together.

"Art, tell me," he said quietly in his ear, "they want wot, wot do they
wanna stop?"

"They gonna try and help me stop me wanking, `cause I can't!" croaked
before Art dissolving into tears. Simon looked even more shocked.

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Chap 82 to follow