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‘You’d better answer it’ Colin’s tone was uncompromising. Lorimar didn’t want to get the door, and when he opened it he took only seconds to recognise the pale figure of Rupert, and recall the day he’d seen both Colin and him at the sauna. The visitor looked Lorimar up and down contemptuously, ‘I need to see my brother’ Lorimar was shocked at the revelation but said nothing and turned, leading the way in; Rupert moved swiftly past him into the bedroom. Colin was hurriedly dressing, b

Rupert was stunned. The news he’d just overheard was literally incomprehensible. It was one thing to discover his father had another child, but that he, Rupert, had come to know that son - and so intimately – well, that was pretty overwhelming stuff. Three times he tried to call Colin, but without success. Finally he texted, ‘Hi Col. Are you OK? I’m so worried for you. Please get back to me’ Rupert sat down on the bed and awaited a reply, but none came. He gazed abstractedly around Malcolm

Malcolm ‘The Truth at Last’ Rupert and Colin drove into the city, grabbed a burger and fries and considered what to do next. They decided to wait until Colin’s Mum and Nan were in bed before showing up at home, so that meant hours of aimless driving around. Rupert had nothing to say and seemed abstracted. When Colin asked him what they should do about the car he just shrugged. The Blenkinsops lived in one of the rougher parts of town and Rupert’s Range Rover was worth more than every oth

Malcolm ‘A Boy’s Best Friend’ Colin remained pretty cool as they drove into the courtyard of Baggett Manor. Rupert parked up and jumped from the Range Rover. ‘Where’s your aunt today?’ Colin asked ‘Oh she’s up in Northumberland for a few days, shooting pheasants and slaying wildlife generally’ Colin detected that Rupert was scoffing at his aunt but he wasn’t wasting too much emotion on the animals either. They entered the house through a heavy ancient door into an intensely da

Malcolm ‘An Odd Couple’ Rupert had never felt anything like it. His only previous sexual experiences comprised knocking as much seed out of himself as he could, as often as possible. This usually had the effect of a quick hit and a mildly sore shaft. Now he was feeling altogether different. The bare wooden slats of the bench pressed on an area between his anus and scrotum that he’d completely overlooked. It was now buzzing, contracting, swamping him with delicious sensations as Colin stea

MALCOLM ‘Boys will be Boys’ Dave Heinz was one of Malcolm’s friends from university days, and they’d kept in touch ever since. Their relationship was the attraction of opposites; Malcolm had achieved little, Dave had done great things, and claimed to have circumnavigated the globe several times. But now Dave was coming home, retiring to his native Yorkshire, and he felt it was high time he paid his old friend a visit. When his guest arrived and parked up Malcolm couldn’t contain his ex

MALCOLM ‘A First Time for Everything’ Malcolm’s friend Roy held the teacup to his lips, paused and gazed into the steaming beverage. He analysed it, as would a wine taster. Yes, there were notes of dairy, chlorine and damp cloth but strangely nothing suggesting tea. ‘Bloody ‘ell, Malcolm, ‘ow many times ‘ave you used this poor soddin’ tea bag?’ ‘Well they make the teabags too strong, don’t they?’ whined Malcolm. Roy put down the cup in disgust, and looked at his old

MALCOLM’S big day out. Malcolm put down the binoculars and wiped the sweat from his brow. His garden backed onto the sports field of the local boys’ school - a great comfort to him - but today had been too much. The sight of all those muscular 16 year-olds tearing around with a rugby ball had upset his equilibrium. His hands were still shaking when the phone rang. It was the building society. ‘Hello. Is that Mr Malcolm Tripp? This is Terry Rowbottom from Yorkshire Friends of Mutual Gr

Chapter 2 Charity stays at home The waiter cleared away the dirty dishes, Roy patted his substantial stomach. 'Ee, bah 'eck, Aa dooo luv a tasty meal' he said lapsing into his Yorkshire monotone. Malcolm surveyed his old school chum across the dining table. Both men had reached that awkward point, encountered a million times a day all over Yorkshire: who's going to settle the bill? The waiter gazed impassively. He came from Newcastle, where people spend more on drink and enter

Colin's just an ordinary kid, except that he's gay and sells his body for a living. But when he bumps into the cheapest guy in Yorkshire his future changes. Fun and frolics involving a cast of ludicrous characters.

Malcolm glanced down at the kitchen table where his favourite magazine Young and Horsehung lay open. He flicked casually through the serried, fleshy delights, until a vague stirring in his pyjamas signalled that it was time to break from this penile perusal, and have breakfast. Unpeeling his banana, the old Yorkshire man reflected on how much his life had changed recently; he was now free! Free, but not at ease! Malcolm had been devastated by his parents’ shock decision to quit the family hom

First, I'm not on commission to them, but for those of you who are dead keen on this check out www.Ancestry.com. You get the first fourteen days free, usually enough time to hammer the US censuses and find out if your gt grandfather is Al Capone....

Oooer. If I tried giving a ticket on the M25 I'd have 10,000 cars up my ass before I could get my pen out, LOL. I love Brock Glasscock, but I reckon I could see through him! Loved this sweet little opener. You have to sequel Leo and Brock......

I couldn't agree more; a sequel is most certainly required. Loved the carnage in this. I live close to the scene of a battle ( Towton, 1461, Wars of the Roses) said to be one of the most horrendous scenes of bloodletting in history, skulls crushed with halbards, bodies hacked about, then strung up on trees, and the Towton burn running red with blood for the whole Easter weekend. Lovely. It seemed like you were there! I hope Kian is going to taste the testosterone of his lover and boys quite soon. great work! (( Is this a typo?? “I just don’t want you risking your head is all.” 'that's all ))

'....scrotum dangling with the weight of heavy balls that nurtured a future Atlantean boy' Mmm. No disrespect to earlier chapters but I feel that your style is positively flowing now ( or maybe it's me trying to catch up with you!) At any rate you have created the world you sought and it's captivating and fearsome all at the same time. The necropolis' description was polished and breathtaking!

What I did next does me no credit at all. I wasn’t online then; few people were; and, like me, they used those Internet cafés which have largely passed into history. The place I used was located in a Victorian shopping arcade in the heart of the city, and sat between a sandwich shop and a cosmetics store; I can’t bring it to mind without recalling the aromas of chicken tikka and bath bombs, and to access the shop I’d usually have to step over a Big Issue seller or a busker. I minded nei

I'd heard of others coming unstuck with internet dating but I was too smart for that. Or so I thought.

London, 1939. War with Germany is approaching and a snow storm rages as an elderly Scottish politician boards the night sleeper train. But this is unlike any other journey he's ever done, or will do again!

THE WATCH The old man paid the cab driver, picked up his case then disappeared into the gloom of Euston railway station. Taking a paper from the news stand, he walked to the platform and found his carriage with all the ease of one who had done so many times before. As he made his way towards the welcoming warmth of his first class compartment, a voice called out behind him, ‘Evening Sir Archie, dreadful weather isn’t it? ‘It certainly is Ronnie. And how are you tonight?’ ‘I’m ver

I like this part. And this story is utterly depressing. I still read it, but I also watched Schindler's List...which is also utterly depressing. You sir, are a debbie downer. <== my blue face Bit like Vaughan Williams' 4th symphony, so unlike anything he'd previously written - he said 'I don't know if I like it but it was what I meant at the time'I was watching some TV programme and heard this poem being trotted out for the umpteenth time, so I decided to research it and was ( mildly ) interested that it had been hijacked by a later generation and misused. OK - not many laughs, but most of the story is a composite of happenings I've witnessed. Oh well! Back to Sir Chasm and his pleasure-seeking ring piece!( ps I'm on the case getting your accreditation what it should be!)

The university refectory was crowded. As he queued Dominic could see Selby sitting across from a girl with a pizza face, thick glasses and wearing a T-shirt with something on about Jesus: but she was getting up to leave. Without acknowledging the girl as she passed, Dominic took her place, opposite his ex, ‘Hi, who’s your new girlfriend? She’s a looker!’ ‘Don’t take the piss, Dom. That’s Carmel. She’s been really kind to me’ Dominic unwrapped his lunch but just pushed it around the plat

Alan watched, helplessly, as his new found man sank, sobbing. The news had sledge hammered Marc into the ground, ‘Everything I try to do I get knocked down. Then I get back up, over and over again, each time wondering why I bother. And it’s for this; everything leading up to the day when I’d be told I’m a dead man’ The medic was trained in counselling, but nothing prepared him for a situation in which he was beginning to feel he had so much invested. Kneeling in front of Marc, he put his h

There’s something to be said for knowing what you want: Selby did, and he always had. Right back to the time he was ten and his mother found him dressed in her clothes. ‘You need to choose, do you want to be a girl or a boy?’ Yes, those were her words; not very enlightened perhaps, but they hadn’t fazed her son. If he was forced to make a choice, he’d be a girl, and that’s what he told her. So often in life, we believe we don’t have a choice. In almost all cases we do. But it’s often un

Hedreamt he was weeping.Then he dreamt he was only dreaming. But as his fitful sleep evaporated, Marc woke to find he was indeed sobbing. Holding tight to knotted sheets, he blinked his way back to consciousness, to pain, and the realisation that nothing in our sleep matches the horror of real life. Getting up, he dressed, and walked out onto the balcony. The river slid past, silently, in oily blackness. Marc patted red eyes, and lit a cigarette. Was this his fault, any of it? Let’s be honest

Glen’s jeans, lying on the floor, burst into life as his mobile rang in the back pocket. ‘Christ, who the fuck’s that? Nice timing!’ Springing from the bed, the escort ran round and retrieved the phone from his pants. Checking the caller, he disappeared into the bathroom to chat. Dominic, his libido literally draining back into the depths of his body, slumped back on the bed, and gazed at the jeans Glen had just thrown down. How the boy longed to wrap himself in the pants, revelling in