In Safe Hands - 6. Chapter 6

In Safe Hands
by Riley Jericho

Chapter Six

"Turn over, Hon," Rose murmured.

That night, after all the kids were in bed and hopefully asleep, the two of them were enjoying the first opportunity on this holiday, to get some privacy! The bedroom door was locked, though dressing gowns were near to hand, just in case. You just never knew with Natty. She could come tapping at the most inopportune of times.

The bedroom was adequate enough. The double bed was spacey and comfortable and the en-suite had been a pleasant surprise; they hadn't had one of those for a while! The room was dimly lit, with just one small bedside lamp, located in the corner. That night, it and was enriched with candlelight and the smell of vanilla and cinnamon.

Vanilla and Cinnamon - it always reminded him of Christmas, mused Benedict as he obediently turned and repositioned himself.

Rose's hour-long sleep during the afternoon had done her the power of good, and she had prepared the room. Then she’d prepared him too, stepping into the shower with him during his usual pre-bed wash routine. Soap in hand, she’d washed him gently before working him with a mixture of oil and water, relaxing him.

Later, as he lay face down on the bed, she had given him an in-depth, full-body massage, bringing him to the point of complete relaxation. He would do the same for her. It would take time, but he’d learned from her that that was what good sex was all about!

When they'd first met, in his mid twenties, he'd been a bit green when it came to the bedroom. Having been brought up in a strict catholic household, nobody was allowed to talk about what went on behind that door. For a young, but fast growing teenager, he got the idea that it was dirty and sinful unless you were married; and that definitely include masturbation! Even in the nuptial bed, he’d been given the impression that you kept the light off, fumbled, made babies, and that was it!

It was hard to shake that kind of indoctrination.

He’d never really followed through with the church thing and, at college and beyond, had gone through a few girlfriends; several of which had turned into sexual relationships. It had seemed great at the time and he’d enjoyed the sex as much as the next person. As far as he could tell he was pretty good in bed. Looking back, he realised that those encounters were all pretty bland and traditional, the primary goal often being to get to the end as quickly as possible!

On the other hand, what he'd learned from Rose was that patience paid BIG dividends!

So, as their dating had progressed from dinner and a movie, to the night when she drew him down over her in the bed, she’d been accepting and patient with him. Taking his humble offerings without putting him down, she slowly taught him other ways for them to enjoy each other. Ways that could be much more fulfilling, might take many hours, but could bring massive rewards!

She had prepared well and, that night, the room was deeply suffused with the rich smell of the scented candles that he’d found already burning when he came to bed. Soft music played in the background.

"Comfy?" Rose murmured. The towels covered the pillows, but not much more, and the sheets were already picking up oil stains. He guessed she would have to wash them in the morning. Not that it would take long for them to dry in the hot dry air of southern Spain!

“Did I tell you that Manny is an artist?” Benedict sighed, thoroughly enjoying her hands.

“Several times, Hon,” she smiled lightly, beginning to work up his legs with the pads of her thumbs. Eyes closed, he smiled too. He knew he’d already told her, but couldn’t help revisiting it. To find someone with Manny's gift, willing to teach, was a godsend. Even over the few hours they’d talked by the pool, he’d learned so much.

“I might ask him if he’d be willing to make a painting of us as a family. Pay him for it, of course.”

“That’s a nice idea. Something different, before all the kids grow up.”

That reminded him of something else but, before he could get it out, he groaned softly as she drove the oil into the smooth skin at the base of his arousal. Sound was another aspect of the complete honesty and sensuality that she had drawn out of him.

“Did that hit the spot?” Rose Carter smiled with satisfaction at her beautiful smooth man.

Like many—if not most—of the Latino girls of her generation, Rosa del Torro Valdez started shaving early. Almost as soon as puberty hit and her pubic bush began to develop. All of her friends at school did the same, and even her own mother seemed to expect it of her, bought her good blades and taught her how to avoid ingrowing hairs and razor burn. It was extremely unusual to share the school showers—where the girls did much swapping of beauty tips as well as updates of the currently available young men—with girls who still held onto their pubes. Most would even bring a bic razor with them, and smooth down as part of their regular grooming, whilst they chatted. If you forgot your razor, you could always borrow one from a friend!

Eventually, out of school and earning some money, she made that familiar state of smoothness, permanent.

Benedict, on the other hand, entered the relationship with a huge hairy light brown bush. Some months in, it went under the chop! Literally! She did what all women do—at least ones from her cultural and family background—and embarked on the making of her man.

For a man who had a huge gift for understanding people and getting the best out of them, Benedict Carter was, in many areas of life, a shy introvert. In that way, their eldest son definitely took after him, rather than herself! But, over several years, his confidence had grown as she patiently dismantled the destructive and deeply embedded values that had impacted his sexuality. Values that, through his restrictive catholic upbringing, had defined him as a teenager and then left him emotionally stunted. Whilst she and her girlfriends had had years of getting used to the human body, comfortable with each other and talking frankly about sexuality, he had had none of that. And was the worse for it.

As his confidence grew in the bedroom, it grew—as she knew it would—in the boardroom too, and his career really took off as his leadership skills and sense of purpose strengthened.

And that hairy bush?

She got him to trim it at first, which was fine by him and, he admitted to her, it did look better. Then one night, prior to a long oily massage, she actually shaved him!

Completely!

The young Elliott was fast asleep and Rose had joined her husband in the shower one night. She took the wet and dry shaver he used daily on his chin in the shower. Playfully, she started buzzing his chest, rubbing soap over him so the hair came away cleanly. Admiring her handiwork she'd worked south, having already decided what the outcome was going to be! So, as he was also clearly enjoying the ride, she had begun removing it all from his belly button downwards.

You wouldn't, he had gasped though, quite excited, she got the impression he expected she would!

Trust me, Hon, you look magnificent, she had murmured, as he visibly grew in stature and ended up completely smooth. But by that time in their relationship he knew he was in safe hands—and wasn’t disappointed by the night ahead!

In fact, he enjoyed it so much, he tended to use the shaver quite frequently - and not just for his chin!

That had been a long time ago. What she did know, was that the key to a good sex life wasn’t whether you shaved or not. The key was a good partner, and she sure had that in Benedict Carter! And, with her, he definitely was in good hands!

Arched over the stack of pillows, he was potent and virile; the phallus extending up and curved out from his smooth oiled groin.

Few men had a perfectly straight penis. That had been another regular topic of conversation with her posse of teenage girlfriends wherever or whenever they flocked together; often in the school showers, the dance floors or at the beach. Information about boys was always meant to be a shared resource, and many a young man would have been horrified to hear that the shape and size of his manhood, and his performance in bed was being evaluated so frankly.

How the hell else was a girl meant to find out about sex?

What all were agreed on was this: while a guy might proudly parade a thin, straight dick like some porn star, it was a lot less than satisfying for a girl when inside. Give them a nice thick bendy one any day, they would giggle – one that had curves that would press against the side and bring a lot more sensations!

When they first started dating and she’d finally got him into bed, Benedict had been delightfully embarrassed about his dick, because it had a bend in it. Unusually it bent the other way to what many would think was normal – though the girls all agreed that there was no such thing as normal.

For him, instead of curving up and in towards his belly button, or even to the side, it curved the other direction – up and out away from his body. She loved watching him swing up to his final position, turned and looking forward, like a graceful swan neck. Soft, he would hang thick and heavy. Engorged, he would rise to his full length and thickness, bending forward like an inflamed and incensed cobra, ready to strike!

* * *

Afterwards, as they snuggled comfortably together, Benedict recalled something he’d been holding at the back of his mind. What was that…? Oh yes – that was it…

“I had an interesting talk with Elliott the other day…”

“Mmmm…” Rose stirred, sleepily

“He was telling me he wants to go to school.”

She turned slightly in bed. “Really?”

“Aha, that's what he said. What do you think?”

“It’s nice to see him and Miguel getting on so well,” she conceded.

Benedict knew his son well enough, to understand what she meant. “He’s not had many friends over the years has he." He opened his eyes and grinned. “Certainly not ones that get to call him ‘Ellie’ after just a few days!”

She laughed. "What do you think of Miguel?"

Benedict shrugged. "He seems a nice enough kid. Why do you ask?"

Rose pursed her lips, trying to organize her thoughts, but then shook her head and sighed. "It doesn't matter..."

Benedict let it go. He knew that, whilst she woudln’t like the idea of losing Elliott to some unknown school, perhaps he needed that environment now. Maybe more than she needed to keep him close and nurture him.

“Perhaps it’s time,” she conceded. "He needs more, and he’s getting to clever for me anyway.”

“Too clever for you?" Benedict murmured. "I don’t believe it!” Reaching around her, he drew her close as they dropped off to sleep.

* * *

Elliott awoke with a start, disturbed by an unknown noise that he couldn’t quite place. He looked across to where Sam was sleeping, wondering if his brother had been talking in his sleep, or maybe snoring. Peering through the gloom, he'd no idea what time it was, but he’d slept a while. It certainly wasn’t morning.

He was hot. The ceiling fan did little to cool the still sultry night. And he needed a pee. Perhaps that had been what had woken?

Pulling back the sheets, he slipped out of bed and padded out of their bedroom and through to the bathroom. His dick was tight inside the briefs that he’d gone to sleep in – the same ones that he’d borrowed from Miguel, earlier that day.

With some difficulty he managed to force it down, just enough to get the contents of his bladder into the bowl. Once emptied, his package subsided. He wiped the tip with toilet paper and then washed and wiped his hands, comfortable once more.

Back in the room he and Sam shared, he slipped back into bed. The apartment was quiet, though he could hear the sounds of late night revelry, drifting up this second floor open window. Unwilling to pull the sheets back over himself, he lay in the gloom and tried to sleep.

And failed.

His skin hot returned the heat of the sun it had imbibed that day. Even with the fan blowing a cooling draft, sleep grew farther and farther away and he abandoned any notion of willing himself into oblivion. He let his thoughts drift...and they landed on Miguel.

He smiled to himself. It had been a good day. He would probably go out and buy that Cavatina guitar piece that Miguel had played, though something told him it was never going to sound the same off a CD. It was like being having to go through somebody else's holiday snaps. They always thought they were great, but you had to have been there to get the full picture!

He turned on his stomach to try to get comfy, bunching up the pillows and trying to find a cool spot, ending up more lying on top of them rather than just laying his head on them. At least it was comfortable.

Miguel.

He wondered what the two of them would do the next day. Cooking with Miguel? That made him smile. It might actually be quite fun. And shopping. Normally he hated shopping, but this might be different. It was bound to be, with Miguel. What would he buy, he wondered? Normally it would be whatever his mom decided. But…

What he would really like, he admitted to himself, would be some new briefs. Some like the ones he’d borrowed from Miguel. The ones he kept on for bed and was still wearing now. They were great, but it probably wouldn’t happen, even if he got to choose his own clothing. Having never ever gone to a store and chosen underwear before, he couldn’t imagine being brave enough to try it tomorrow. Especially in company.

He moved slightly and became aware that he was beginning to swell again. It’s these briefs, he told himself. He pushed slightly against the pillows, to be rewarded by a teasing jolt that shot up from his groin. That was what the problem was, he decided. The reason he couldn’t sleep. It had been…he thought back…actually he hadn’t jerked since the morning of the day they had left to travel to the airport.

Damn - that was a long time for him!

He moved against his filling erection and, stretching with the tingling pleasure, pushed again and again, rocking himself into the soft pillows, until he was fully stiff.

Then there was a noise and Sam stirred in the bed just across from him. He froze and waited. Sam grunted and turned on his side, towards the wall. After a few moments, the light breathing was replaced by the sounds of a deeper sleep and Elliott knew it would take a lot to wake him.

He turned over onto his back at last and, along one side, let the sheet loosely cover him. Bending one knee up, he eased the tightness in his groin and his hand drifted down. Having your younger brother sleeping in the same room had its issues when you were a healthy teenager, and he hesitated.

It was the white that did it.

Light from the bathroom—left on, so that Natty could find the toilet in the night—filtered under the door, and the sensual white briefs were clearly visibly in the soft gloom. His fingers drifted to touch them and, at that point, he knew he needed to go the whole way, otherwise he was never going to get back to sleep! He would just have to do it as quietly and discreetly as he could.

It had been more than a year ago—in fact, just after they’d arrived in the UK—that he’d been first caught, masturbating, by his dad. Aged twelve, he’d been doing it secretly, and furtively, for at least six months. Why it went wrong that day was because he wasn’t familiar enough with their new house, to be on top of who was where at any particular time!

He’d assumed he was alone, but had got the shock of his life when his dad pushed open his bedroom door, to find him kneeling on his bed, leaning slightly against the wall with his trousers and underpants down at his knees. It was right at the moment when he'd spurted onto the towel, laid out in front of him!

Horrified, he’d stared at his father as his dick continued to twitch and dribble, before jamming the towel in front himself and crouching down protectively on his bed. It was akin to closing the stable door after the horse has bolted.

To say his dad had also looked a little surprised, would be an understatement!

“Oh – sorry Sport,” he'd finally murmured, and quickly left.

* * *

For Elliott, the humiliation was excruciatingly intense, and his world collapsed that morning. He felt so bad. Ashamed. So scared, that he almost vomited. He hid in his room, expecting the worst.

What would the worst be? A serious smacking? The disappointment, and anger, of his parents? A visit to a doctor maybe - for an operation, or some tablets that would make him stop jerking. Could they do that?

Either way, the list of punishments would be endless.

Finally, he sneaked downstairs and out into the garden, where a cold and gloomy British spring morning, matched his mood. He kicked a football around, waiting for the hammer to fall. And it did – or at least he guessed it was about to, when his Mom called from the kitchen door.

“Elliott?”

Pretending he hadn’t heard her, he skulked behind a tree.

“Elliott,” came the call again – more than loud enough this time for him to be able to ignore.

“What?” He hung with the football, behind the tree.

“Can you come in for a bit?”

“Why?”

“Dad wants to have a talk with you, that’s all,”

OH FUCKING CRAP – THIS WAS IT...

He didn’t know what else to do. He felt sick to his stomach, but did what he was told. In the kitchen, he couldn’t look his Mom in the eye and just stared at the fridge, waiting for it to begin.

“He’s upstairs in your room.”

That was it then. In his room – where it had happened – and where he would be dealt with. Heavily, he climbed the stairs, stepping along the landing with a growing sense of foreboding until he stood at the open doorway. His father was sitting on the bed, waiting.

***

Rose had watched Elliott carefully as he’d come indoors and made his way upstairs. Benedict had definitely made the right call. After telling her what he’d just observed, she had counselled that they don’t make a scene about it. “Maybe it’s best just to leave it, and not embarrass him any more than he has been?” she'd proposed.

Benedict shook his head. “No – I can’t leave him like this. I know Elliott – he’s going to be really confused right now. Not saying anything will just make it worse. Let me talk to him.”

As Rose watched her eldest son climb the stairs in turmoil, she was confident her husband would do a good job.

***

“You’d better close the door, don’t you think,” said Benedict. He motioned Elliott to come and sit next to him. He did, and perched uncomfortably on the edge of his bed, keeping as much distance as he dared from his father, and stared at the floor. His ears and the back of his neck were burning red.

Benedict took a deep breath. He just couldn't IMAGINE what his son must be feeling right now. God, it was hard enough becoming a teenager, without suffering the humiliation for being caught with your trousers down, doing what every teen did, but none admitted! He hated to think what his own father would have done to him, if he'd been in Elliott's shoes. Maybe that’s why he felt so strongly about approaching it differently with Elliott.

There was no need to explain what they were both there for. “Elliott – firstly I just wanted to apologize – I’m really sorry for bursting in on you like that.” Elliott didn’t reply at first, but the flush on his neck deepened as he stared into the carpet, fearfully. “It’s OK, you know,” tried Benedict, not knowing how to break into this.

Hunched over, it looked like Elliott had gone catatonic. “I thought that you...” It was all he got out, before tailing off.

“Come here you,” Benedict murmured, quickly moving up alongside his son and wrapping an arm around him. “Let me guess. You thought that I would be mad at you… that I might tan your backside and maybe even force you to see a counsellor?” He'd have laid a bet that his own father would have done that - after making his tell all in the Confessional, that is!

"Something like that.” Elliott looked shocked, and Benedict could tell that was EXACTLY what he had thought! "I'm really sorry, Dad. I won't do it again!" Maybe he honestly believed that he would be able to stop the habit, though Benedict could see he was still missing the point.

“Son – nothing could be further from the truth and, to be honest, I wish my own Dad had been able to talk to me like this, when I began masturbating about your age.”

Elliott flushed again at the use of the word. Benedict, successfully, tried not to grin. Their boys may have been home-schooled, but they knew stuff. Rose had done a ‘facts of life’ module with Elliott and Sam – much to their amusement, he remembered. However, the work sheets they'd had to complete, though they had plenty of facts, probably did nothing to convey how incredibly GOOD playing with yourself, actually felt!

“You used to….” Elliott still couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Masturbate. Yes. And it’s OK to use the word,” Benedict grinned. “It’s not going to kill you, or make you go blind!” With that, a small smile crept onto his son’s lips at last, and he knew they were making headway. “All guys do it. To be honest, Elliott, I’d be more surprised if you weren’t!”

“Really?” He could tell his son was taken aback.

“Yes, really. It’s how boys, who are becoming young men like yourself, discover about sex.”

“Sex?”

“Yes – sex,” replied Benedict calmly. “It’s what happens when you find out how to ejaculate,” he added.

“Ejaculate?”

“Yes, ejaculate," he replied patiently, rolling his eyes. "Are you just going to repeat everything I say? It’s what happens when you squirt! Weren’t you listening when Mom did the Sex-Ed module?”

“Listen? You must be kidding,” grinned Elliott. “I was too busy thinking about sex!” At that, both of them burst out laughing!

Downstairs, Rose heard the laughter, and knew it was going to be all right.

“Okay,” continued Benedict. “I’m going to assume I don’t need to tell you basics about the birds, the bees and where babies come from?” He ignored a pained look from his son and kept going. “So, as I was saying, when you masturbate, it’s your way of finding out about sex without having to involve anyone else.”

“Masturbate. It’s like a bit of a weird word.” Elliott spoke it, this time with a little less embarrassment than before. It was clear he was enjoying this now and wanted to know more.

Benedict shrugged. “People call it other things, as you probably already know – many of which can be quite crude. But there’s nothing wrong in calling it what it is.”

“When did you start?”

“About your age. I was masturbating three or four times a week through my teens.” Benedict cringed inwardly. Maybe that was a little too frank!

Elliott was shocked and it made him flush again. “That much?”

“OK, maybe I was a little excessive – though I knew some guys who admitted they were usually did it three or four times a day.”

From the shocked look on his son’s face he got the impression he was nowhere near that record!

“It looked to me like you’ve got a technique sorted out…”

“DAD!” squeaked Elliott.

“Oh – stop being so prudish! Let me give you some advice. Take your time. When you masturbate, it’s a time for you to explore.”

“Explore?"

“Don’t start that again! Yes, explore. Find out what you like. Sex is meant to be enjoyed, whether it’s alone or with someone else. Not rushed! Just relax and enjoy it. Your Mom taught me that.” He winked, playfully. “Oil or hand lotion is nice – but don’t mess up the sheets!”

“DAD! That’s way too much information!” Elliott looked to the door. “Does she know?” he added nervously, perhaps wondering if he would he have to face all of this again.

“If you mean does Mom know that you’ve started masturbating? Yes, I told her that I’d accidently disturbed you. Like me, she’ll tell you that that a boy like you will not just WANT to masturbate and ejaculate, your body will tell you pretty frequently that you NEED it. It’s completely natural and normal.”

“Oh...” replied Elliott. Probably none of this was anything like he’d expected.

“What we WILL do is get a lock put on your door, so that you can make sure nobody walks in on you unexpectedly!”

Elliott grinned foxily. “Was I doing it right?”

Benedict was unperturbed. “Go ask your mother!”

Five minutes later, after his dad had given him a hug and left, he’d stayed in his room, thinking for a bit. Then he’d gone downstairs. In the kitchen his Mom was stirring a pan at the cooker, and he went straight to the sink to run a glass of water. He smiled when he felt her arms close around him from behind.

“Is everything alright sweetheart?” she murmured. There was no need to clarify what she meant.

He’d never felt as safe in those hands as he did right then, and pulled her arms tight around him. He could tell that she knew everything and was glad she did.

“Thanks Mom, it’s good.” Happily, he snuggled back into her. What had seemed like the crappiest day, had turned out to be the best day of his life!

* * *

His dad had been true to his word and the following day he’d gone out, bought, and then installed a simple bolt that would ensure his own personal space, and keep his siblings at bay.

That night he’d been shivering in anticipation as he’d drawn the bolt across and undressed, ready to take his dad’s advice and explore. Now he no longer had to worry about getting busted, it was a completely different journey of finding out what he liked. No longer hurried and sordid, but exciting and fulfilling. At complete peace, knowing that his parents knew and understood what he was doing. The strange thing was, over the next weeks and months, he found the need to masturbate become less rather than more, because of it.

But he needed to jerk now, Sam or no Sam!

Without hurry, he began touch his arousal, sighing in pleasure at the familiar feelings. One thing he always liked was to look as well as touch, and he threw off the thin sheet completely, and was surprised at how pleasurable it was to make the briefs – Miguel’s briefs – part of his sexual experience.

Taking his time, he explored them with his fingers. Nicely visible in the gloom, he fingered under the waistband and slipped his fingers in at the sides to search for his penis. Bending his legs comfortably, he began to lightly massage the shaft, with delight.

Unexpectedly, and completely from left field, the thought came. Did Miguel masturbate?

Surely he had to, didn’t he? So, did he do it like this? Had Miguel maybe even jerked that night, in those rich dark-peach briefs he'd been wearing – the sibling of the ones he himself was playing with? If he had masturbated, had he kept them on when he did it, or did he take them off? How did he do it? Fast? Slow? Had it been good when he squirted? Did he make any noise when he came? Did he ejaculate much yet? Was it watery, or was it creamy, like his own?

Both hands gripping his shaft, Elliott groaned. Those were potent thoughts. He was rocking backwards and forwards now, his cock rock hard pushing hard into the soft cotton. He pulled down on his shaft firmly and retracted his foreskin, unhooding the sensitive glans of his penis. It was almost an agony of pleasure, but he rubbed it firmly against the inside of the material.

Oohhh, that was different, but a little too much!

His dad had always said ‘Find out what you like. Enjoy it.’

What if Miguel was doing it right now too - just like this? Elliot groaned heavily. He'd been trying to slow things down, but it was an explosive thought and drove him to increase the pace considerably.

He’d planned on doing it this way for a bit - jerking inside the briefs - before pulling himself out to ejaculate. He would then hold closed the tip of the foreskin while he pumped. Experience dictated it was easier to clean up that way. But, somehow, Miguel took over. It took one more thing before there was no turning back for Elliott Carter. No turning back in all kinds of ways, many of which he hadn’t expected.

He was getting quite out of control, more so than he’d ever been before. It was driving him at a pace that didn’t fit into his ‘take your time’ mantra!

He didn’t know many girls and anyway had never got much out of thinking about them as some kind of sex object to get off to. Other than his little sister (and that didn’t count) he’d never seen any naked girls – though, on a beach in Uruguay it could get pretty close to that! It’s not that he didn’t appreciate them, but he certainly didn’t have some secret stash of girly porn mags!

Instead, Elliott liked to concentrate mainly on his own feelings and what he could see in front of him, discovering places on his body that returned exquisite feelings. He’d thought he’d already climbed the summit, but Miguel was sweeping all that aside. The potently strong image of the dark-skinned Spaniard, flaunting dark briefs, captured him.

God, he was shockingly beautiful!

In his mind's eye, he made the switch and transferred that vision.

Looking down towards his groin again, he visualised Miguel. The one he was gripping became Spanish, and the white briefs with a warm grey band became deep dark peach with a black band. With mounting excitement, he found himself seducing the new boy. Having slipped his hands inside, he was quickly persuading him past the point of no return.

And he lost control.

There was no time to think about it logically. No time to decide if it was normal or even right. There was certainly no time to lift his dick out from inside the briefs and sanitize the impending explosion of jizz!

All he knew has that he was bringing Miguel off and, gripping himself hard, he pumped himself and rubbed his screaming glans hard against the enclosing cotton. And then he erupted, arching his back. shoving his feet deep into the mattress. With a shout that, afterwards, he hoped to God was only in his head, both he and the imaginary Miguel, came.

Simultaneously. Powerfully. Both ejaculated inside their underwear.

Inside those borrowed briefs it got so intense, he had to stop moving his hand. It became sticky and gooey as his jizz seeped through the thin material, making a large slimy wet patch. For long moments, he lay still, basking in the after-glow and trying to get his breath back.

All he could manage out of his overstrained mental state was. SHIT! What was that?

He sensibly put the question to one side and instead tried to address the problem of slimy underwear and a crotch filled with goo. What the hell should he do? He was still thinking about it, when he fell asleep and didn't wake again until morning, when his Mom shook his shoulder.

"Come on sleepy head, it's late. Sam's already been in the shower. You need to move it!"

It was only after she'd gone that, coming round and yawning, that he was relieved to find that, at some point in the night, he'd pulled the sheet over himself. When the coast was clear and he could hear the rest of the family's voices in the kitchen-diner area, he made a quick dash to the bathroom. Behind the locked door, he peeled the undies down to inspect the damage.

Surprisingly, even against the shade of white cotton, there was little to show. Everything seemed to have dried up in the night. Despite that, he washed the briefs under the hot shower, at the same time drifting back to the question that was still on hold, waiting for him.

But the morning didn’t feel like the night before, and time and daylight had put some distance between him and certain ‘aspects’ of his nocturnal activities. Not only did he not really have an answer to that question, he decided it didn't matter. He'd just needed to jerk, and had enjoyed it. There was nothing more to it than that. There was certainly no need to mention it to Miguel!

He dressed in his own stuff that morning. The wet briefs, he wrapped inside Miguel's white shirt, to be returned later with the shorts.