An English Teen, Circumcised in the USA - 9. Painting by Numbers

An English Teen, Circumcised in the USA

by Riley Jericho

Painting by Numbers

Lying in bed and waiting patiently, Simon heard the clunk of the front door as the the rest of the family closed it behind them on their way out. There would be a scribbled note from his mum on the kitchen table, but he'd already picked up enough of the conversation drifting up the stairs to know they were all heading for the mall.

Ears attuned to the familiar sounds, he heard the van move off the drive a couple of minutes later. Even though his room faced the garden, he could still pick out the diminishing roar of the engine through the open window as they pulled away down the street. He knew he had plenty of time so didn’t hurry.

In fact, making himself wait only heightened the anticipation.

Throwing back his sheets, he stretched and thought about food. The smell of perked coffee had been drifting up from downstairs, reminding him he was hungry.

However, eating wasn't the first thing on the agenda by any means, and he slipped out of bed to go relieve an overfull bladder. As he peed, the reflection in the bathroom mirror revealed the slim fourteen-year-old. The fair hair that both he and Luke had when they were kids had darkened over time to a mousy brown and was kept neatly trimmed to fit school regulations. He preferred it like that, anyway.

He stuffed his undiminishing woody back inside his dark blue PJ bottoms, which unless it was chilly were often all he wore to bed. After flushing and washing his hands, he wandered downstairs to get something to eat and drink while at the same time double-checking that he wasn’t being misled, and that he really was alone.

On the table, as he'd expected, was the note that had been left for him. It read, 'Me, Dad and Luke gone to the Mall food shopping. Will be about an hour'.

Simon smirked. Normally when it came to hours and minutes, you could set your watch to his mum’s impeccable timing—just not when it involved supermarket shopping. He reckoned the note gave him at least ninety minutes—probably more if the traffic was slow.

More than enough time!

He couldn't be bothered with a glass and slaked his thirst direct from the big plastic milk bottle that he’d lifted from the fridge as he prowled the downstairs spaces, calling out once or twice. He'd kept on his PJ bottoms, just in case.

Filling a bowl with cereal, he took it back upstairs to his room, putting his head into each of the other bedrooms on his tour.

Absolutely sure that he was completely alone, he demolished half the bowl of cereal before going to gather what he needed. Opening the door to his built-in wardrobe, he fished out the hot water bottle. He carried it into the bathroom, where he ran the water until it was hot before filling it from the tap.

The slow build-up brought the return of an expectant tightness in his PJs, and he stripped them off, leaving them on the bathroom floor. Taking a towel from the rail and the bottle of liquid soap from the side of the bath, he returned to his bedroom. Confidant that there was nobody in the house but him, he didn’t bother closing any of the doors, and even opened the blinds to let in plenty of daylight.

More recently, he'd discovered how much he enjoyed the unfettered freedom of being naked when he was alone like this in a warm, empty house, without the worry of anyone barging in his door uninvited or thinking him weird. Maybe what he was doing was weird, but who cared, and anyway, it wasn't something he ever planned to do in the locker rooms—not looking like this! Perched on the edge of his bed, he studied his five inches of unconfined, Mr. Happy.

Five? His faced screwed up in grudging concession. Okay, he could judge ruler measurements well enough to guess it was only four and a half. Still, four and a half inches wasn't bad for a fourteen-year-old, was it?

He pushed his finger against his shaft to bend it, and when he let go, it sprang back without hesitation, standing up hard and leaning forward a few jaunty degrees off vertical. To be exact—and that was important—twenty- eight degrees, measured with a protractor.

He called it awesome!

He pushed at his dick again, and it fought back on its tight spring. He smirked with satisfaction—when it got stiff, there was no half-hearted about it! He loved the straight, yet slightly forward-leaning shaft, though that tended to make it harder to hide in PJs! More than once, he’d ended up under the cover of a cushion watching TV in an evening in the lounge after a bath!

He shaft stood over a few bushy pubes, which he was pleased to see were thickening up a lot more now; not brilliant, but they could be worse. Poor Danny Gillespie, who had one of the last birthdays in the school year, still hadn't got more than a few stray hairs!

Completely aroused, his dick shouted for some action, but he ignored it for the moment and took his time—which he still had plenty of—examining himself. Apart from around his bum and bits, his skin wasn’t too pale, even though it hadn't got the benefit of any summer sun, yet. Time spent on the lake had seen to that. His belly was flat and he couldn’t see his ribs anymore. He’d filled out a lot over the last six months. Flexing his arms and squeezing his muscles, there was definitely something to be seen—if you looked hard. Mmmmmm…. Maybe he should train more, he mused—perhaps go running and do exercises every morning when he got up?

He looked behind himself to check his bum. There wasn't much to say other than it was milky white and still there.

Taking his joystick in two fingers, he manipulated the loose skin. He’d managed to extract plenty from Luke the previous evening, who’d been keen to tell Simon about some condition called phimosis—something which Luke apparently had. “It’s when you can’t pull back your foreskin to show the head’, Luke had said. “If you have the same thing, Mum says you might need to be circumcised, too.”

In your dreams, asshole!

Simon had another go at pulling down the skin in the way Luke had explained. Worryingly, it again seemed to get stuck at the end in the way Luke had said was a problem. He frowned as he took stock of what that might mean. There was still no way he was having any surgery. He’d just keep his head down on this one, he decided. Nobody needed to know. Moving on, he rubbed himself a few times, and a smile of satisfaction replaced the frown. It worked fine enough for him!

He went back to his bed and took both of his pillows, positioning them lengthwise on top of each other. Then he draped the towel over the pillows, to keep them clean. Finally, he positioned the hot water bottle on top of the mound.

Taking the bottle of liquid soap, he squirted it liberally onto the rubber bottle, spreading it over the textured surface until it was slippery and ready to receive him. He opened the window blinds wider to let the sun—of what was a beautiful spring day—warm his back, and took a moment to turn on his CD player for some background music.

He was ready now, and with an empty house, he intended to take plenty of time without feeling the need to be quiet!

On impulse, he crossed back through to Luke's room. On the bedside table was a small booklet—the one with pages filled with images of guy's dicks—that Luke had picked up from his visit to the doctors. Simon wanted a closer look at that, though not for any medical reasons! He also folded back his brother’s sheets and lifted his pillows.

His erection was chomping at the bit, and he followed it back through the bathroom to his own room, where he used the extra pillows to build up the mound. After dressing his stiff wanger with a further covering of soapy liquid, he swiftly mounted on top of the bottle. Partly filled with hot water, he sank into the soft slick rubber. The temperature was just right, and he sighed as he began to move against his make-do lover.

He'd discovered his Hottie (it was what his mum called it, and the term still made him snigger) by accident when she’d popped the bottle into his bed one night after he'd been dead-legged on the football field.

They used to have hot water bottles all the time in England for when it was cold, and she would often place one in their beds a few hours before bedtime. It took the chill off and gave him something to snuggle against. Thinking about how he used one these days, he couldn't help but smirk remembering the one he'd had when he was young. Warm and fluffy, it had its own special cover in the shape of a cute green monkey. If the monkey could see him now, the poor creature might have been quite shocked!

On that more recent night, once his aching leg had succumbed to warmth and several Tylenol, he'd been a bit horny. During the small hours, he’d started humping the bottle experimentally—and had been delighted with the outcome! Now, getting comfortable, the four thick pillows raised the sensual mound high as he straddled it. Gently at first, he moved against the rippled, but slick, surface. The heat emanating through the rubber warmed the union, and he grunted in satisfaction.

The first few times he'd done it like this, the feelings had been so intense that he'd squirted almost immediately. But with time and patience, he’d become a practiced lover, and could make himself last quite a while if he wanted to. Often he would lie in bed striped naked after everyone else had gone to sleep, positioned astride the pleasurable mound, making slow love to it as he read a book or listened to music.

He adjusted himself to get comfortable and began a measured rhythm so he wouldn't pop too quickly as he reached for the circumcision booklet to add to his feast. It came down to this: he liked guys. He knew that made him different, but he tried not to let it bother him. He jerked off all the time, but ever so often, he really liked the more full-body contact he got with the Hottie. Jerking was okay, but this was better. Who cared if it was unusual? Maybe everyone did it, he’d decided. Anyhow, he wasn't doing anyone any harm, so what did it matter?

The booklet stimulated him, as did the texture of what he was riding. Rhythmically, as he slid backwards and forwards against the seductively slippery rubber, his mind’s eye led him, as it often did, to Toby Skerrit.

* * *

Just over three quarters of an hour later, showered and fed with a second bowl of cereal, Simon hit the switch set on the wall. The garage door shuddered and grunted. The grunt turned into a deep groan, and then, laboriously and noisily, it began to roll up and out of the way. As it reached the end of its track, it screeched and went still, exhausted by the short workout. He pulled his bike out from underneath Luke’s and wheeled it onto the drive.

He left the garage door open—just like the garages of almost every house around them that morning. It was perfectly safe. Of course he knew the code that could be tapped into the outside console to close it after he'd passed through. It was just a number, and he never forgot numbers. Still, why bother?

Their house was down one of the many side roads of their subdivision—located at the end, on the big turning circle. It was a nice spot, and the wide circle adjacent to them was ideal for skateboards, roller blades and street hockey. The neighbourhood was waking up, and he waved to Mr. Fernandez at 1330, who was washing his car on the driveway. They themselves were No. 1320.

He never really thought about it anymore, but when they first moved here, he’d always wondered where all the missing houses were.

In England, houses were odds on one side and evens on the other—and never a missing number. Here—for some unknown reason that made no sense—house numbers went up in tens. What was the point of that, he wondered, if there was actually no room in between them to squeeze in a few more?

He pushed off on his bike, and slipped off the concrete driveway.

"Good morning, Simon!" Fernandez offered a cheery wave.

"Hello Mr. Fernandez!" Simon put his foot down opposite the Fernandez drive out of politeness, and returned the greeting.

"How's school? Doing well?"

Simon grinned. Fernandez always asked the same question. "Yes sir. I hope so." Simon’s answer was always the same, too. In fact, school had never been a chore for him, and he had something of a reputation for being a bit of a swot, excelling in most subjects.

Not everyone did.

He realized quite early on when he started at the Academy, that just because kids paid a lot of money to be there, it didn't mean they were brainy. In fact, for some, their parents were wasting a WHOLE LOT of money!

For him on the other hand, none of it seemed overly hard—especially math. Math was numbers, and numbers were important. You could trust numbers. They always did what you expected.

It still didn't answer what happened to all the missing ones in their street! It had irritated him almost as much as light switches. It should have been a straightforward binary operation. Ones and Zeros. On and Off. Okay, they did that, but what person in their right mind would decide that on was up? It should have been simple. Flick switch down to turn on, flick switch up to turn off. It made perfect logical sense—yet somehow, America had got that simple little choice upside-down!

Fernandez beamed and seemed satisfied his young neighbour was on the right track in life.

On the strength of it, Simon pushed off to make his way over to Toby’s house. Freewheeling down the gentle grade, he drifted unhurriedly through their subdivision and finally made it out onto the main highway. Turning left would take him further along the valley and up to where Ryan Alexis lived, but he swung a right, and down to the lights.

It wasn’t too far to Toby’s. Left at the lights, across the next junction, and then it got steeper as he climbed up the side of the valley, up the tree-lined, winding road. The last bit was quite steep, and he stood up on the pedals, punching them with practiced muscles to get over the final incline. Two hundred yards further on the left, he bumped onto the short driveway and dropped his bike against the wooden front porch.

The faded wooden door was ajar, probably to let a draft through, though the external mosquito door was shut—not that the battered netting had much chance of excluding the bloody things! From the sounds emanating the house, Grace Skerrit, Toby's mum, was vacuuming the hallway. He liked her. There was no Mr. Skerrit, but that didn’t feel out of place in their home.

She spotted him through the open door.

"Hello, Simon!" Grace gestured with a smile, welcoming him inside. "He’s in the studio.”

Simon grinned, and then hesitated, a particular memory playing across his mind. He still recalled the day—about a year ago—when he’d unknowingly trespassed into the room that Toby used as an art studio at their house.

That Toby Skerrit was an art genius was fairly well accepted at school, and in the art block, quite a number of his creations festooned the walls. At home, he continued his passion, and the spare bedroom had been set up as a personal studio. Over the years they’d been friends, in the company of his best friend, Simon had been in there plenty of times.

That particular day, however, had been different.

Simon had been at a loose end, and with the door open and Toby in another part of the house, he’d just wandered in there. But when Toby found him doing what he called 'trespassing'—exploring and looking at Toby’s artwork without permission—he’d literally exploded. It had been horrible.

Simon never seen Toby so pissed, and it had scared the shit out of him. He tried to apologize—though he couldn’t really see what he’d done wrong—but Toby just kept lamming into him. Then Simon had got angry too—and upset—and had stalked out of the house, fuming. Anger had turned to tears, and he’d cried all the way down the hill.

They didn't speak for days.

It had been nearly a week later before Toby finally came and apologized. Even then, it was difficult for Simon to trust him again, and it had taken weeks to get their friendship back on track. But both of them had missed it, so they got there eventually.

Even now, that room still made him cautious. As Simon hesitated on the doorstep, he noticed a fleeting disappointment cross her face. She probably knew what he was thinking.

“I’ll just call him for you, if you want," Grace offered. He nodded, and she backed up the hallway with her vacuum, calling down the corridor that led off to one side. “Toby…Simon’s here!”

Toby poked his head around the doorframe of his studio a cheery grin on his face. “Hiya, Si!” He rubbed at his freckled nose. “I’m just working on something. You need to see it…come on...”

Grace stood to one side to let him pass by, and Simon flashed a grin at her, the worries of the last moments already forgotten. If he’d have looked back as he hurried down the corridor, he would have seen a smile of relief.

Toby’s studio was a big part of his world, a place where he created, and Simon stood in the doorway, eyes trying to pick out what might be new. Color was everywhere, and it was a complete mess—at least to him it was. To Toby it was pure heaven!

Half-finished projects lay everywhere, though he knew Toby wouldn’t discard something he was working on—even if it took months to complete. There were probably walls, hiding somewhere behind all the pictures pinned on them. The ceiling? Well, Toby had already started to paint directly onto that; his Michelangelo, he liked to call it. In fact, Simon had quite expected to find Toby idiotically—and dangerously—balancing again on the stepladder!

So he was surprised to see the table cleared of some of the junk, and a stool set next to where Toby had been working that morning. A painting was set on the table-top easel. The work of art wasn’t large, but when Simon stepped up to look, the breath caught in his throat. He recognized it immediately.

“Bloody hell, it’s amazing!" He turned quickly to the still-open door, hoping that the sound of his cussing hadn’t made it out into the corridor. "How did you do it?" he asked, more quietly this time. And when? Reverently he reached out towards the image of his sailing dinghy, painted on thick art paper with watercolours.

"Careful!" Toby muttered, reaching out quickly, though without irritation. "It's still a bit wet."

That explained the 'when', then.

Even though Simon knew Toby had only seen the boat a couple of times, he could tell immediately that the reproduction was technically perfect. But what made it so powerful was the outpouring of energy and vitality that assaulted him.

The single occupant was pitting himself against strong winds, pushing the craft to its limits against the forces of nature; forces that lifted the dinghy out of the water and threatened to overturn it. The young sailor was laughing for the pure joy of it.

"It’s so perfect!” Simon could already see it was him. Lost in wonder, he twisted his head. “It's really incredible. Thank you!” And he meant it.

Later, as they sat up in the tree house, all Simon wanted to talk about was the picture, though he knew Toby well enough to know he didn’t mind one bit. As they sat on the rough remnants of carpet and dangled their legs over the wide opening, he had SO many questions. Is it finished yet? When did you start it? How long did it take? How did you remember the detail? And….

“Why don’t you come up to the lake with me again?” he pleaded. “We could sail it together. I’m sure you’d like it if you gave it another chance?”

Toby shrugged. “You know why…”

“But it doesn’t have to be,” Simon persisted. “I could help you…you could learn…”

Toby shook his head, and dropped his eyes, unable to disguise a slight sense of shame. Even with the life vest, they both knew it had spooked him. “I can’t help it…I just can’t swim, Si. I love what you can do, with your skill an’ all, but I can’t do it.”

Simon tried not to let his disappointment show. “It’s okay—I mean there’s no way I could paint like you do, and that one of the boat is incredible. I could never do that!” He tried to appear encouraging, but it masked a gloomy demeanor as the dream disintegrated—that secret fantasy, in which the two of them were going to spend happy hours together on the water, evaporated into nothingness.

He couldn't help himself. They were friends, best friends, but any hope he and Toby might enjoy a shared experience on the water —with the possibility that it could turn into something else—was living in dreamland.

* * *

Luke and his parents got back from the mall around midday, and, unless someone had raided their garage and left the door wide open, Simon had clearly gone out.

"You'd think the kid was born in a barn!" Slamming the van door with a grunt, Geoff shook his head. He waved to Hector Fernandez who was out washing his car that morning. "Morning Hector! Great day for it." He meandered over to be sociable, leaving Luke and his mum to lug in the shopping. Inside, a note on the table, from Simon, indicated where he'd gone.

Great—so what the hell was HE going to do all day now? And no Ryan either because of the bloody Army cookout!

It turned into a slow afternoon. While Luke had no iPhone as yet, he did use his MacBook after lunch to knock off a little of the homework that had been mounting up for that weekend. What else was there to do? Simon had bogged off and Ry was at the army cookout. He even called Todd, and could have gone round there, but the Quinces were going out too.

It was slow and tediously boring, and he took a break after an hour and logged into Facebook to catch up with the real world. A few new friend requests were sitting waiting—most of which he didn't know, so ignored. Except one. It looked like Owen Kear had found him.

He accepted and PM'ed a quick note to the Welsh teen. He was tidying up his inbox when the 'online friends' list blinked. A message popped up.

[DAMONJ] "Hi Luke —are you there?"

[LUKE SUMMERS] "Hey Damon!"

Luke tapped enthusiastically. There were more than a few people with whom he would make a quick excuse to escape from a tedious chat. Damon wasn't one. The guy seemed keen to talk, and like a comfortable pair of jeans, they easily slipped back into their previous discussion.

[DAMONJ] "Sorry I bombed out on you the other week. Parents wanted something."

[LUKE SUMMERS] "Nuff said. Know what you mean —was just worried I'd pissed you off or something."

[DAMONJ] "Nope—it's cool."

It was a good day for Luke—a great day, in fact! Like a puppy whose tail wagged in excitement, he just wanted to tell someone about it. Maybe it was impulsive, but he didn’t really care. Fingers played the keyboard quickly.

[LUKE SUMMERS] “OK, cool. So—you told me something about you...now here's something about me, if ya wanna know?"

[DAMONJ] "Oooo...I love kiss and tell!"

[LUKE SUMMERS] "LOL! Stop coming on to me!” A week ago, he wouldn’t have dared say such a thing, but now it seemed okay, and he knew he could get away with the teasing fun.

[DAMONJ] "ROFL! You wish!"

[LUKE SUMMERS] “So, you do have three guesses at what my secret is...."

[DAMONJ] "You have secrets? Does ya Mom know?"

[LUKE SUMMERS] “Asshole! Are you guessing or not?"

[DAMONJ] "Okay, okay. Three guesses? Well, we were talking about being gay—but you did say that wasn't your thing, so strike that. How about this....you're a girl??"

Luke laughed out loud.

[LUKE SUMMERS] "LOL! Nope—last time I looked, definitely not girl!! I'm shocked you could think that!"

[DAMONJ] "He-he. Okay. I figure then, you're either a rich orphan, or royalty?"

[LUKE SUMMERS] "Is that one guess, or two?"

[DAMONJ] "One—they're obviously related!"

[LUKE SUMMERS] "Cheat! Wrong...and wrong! You're on the wrong path completely. Here's a clue. It begins with C, and is something I'm having done soon."

There was a pause.

[DAMONJ] "Frontal lobotomy feels right...and maybe you can't spell? That's not a guess, by the way."

Another pause and Luke just waited, enjoying the game.

[DAMONJ] "I'm stuck. Having some crowns on your teeth is my best shot, though a bit weak..."

Luke grinned as he typed the reveal.

[DAMONJ] "OMG! Circumcised? Fucking hell! Really?"

[DAMONJ] "You weren't done as a kid like everyone else?" Damon added, following immediately with another text.

[LUKE SUMMERS] "Nope—they hardly do it in the UK."

[DAMONJ] "Wow, why not? Yueeeww—that's weird! LOL! I don't know what's worse...straight or uncut!"

[LUKE SUMMERS] "Hey! I've plenty of friends who are both!"

[DAMONJ] "Their loss—kind of blows away you being a girl though!" and he added a smiley and a grin. "So what brought this on?"

Luke decided to mess a bit.

[LUKE SUMMERS] "I'm Jewish."

[DAMONJ] "Like hell you are!"

[LUKE SUMMERS] "How would you know?"

[DAMONJ] "Because none of your Facebook friends have Jewish names, lame-o! It's unlikely."

Oh...that was pretty astute.

[LUKE SUMMERS] "Ok, I'm not Jewish. Actually I've got some medical thing that means I need it doing—but they only discovered that at the checkup…I don’t mind though, I’ve wanted to be done for a while.”

There was a pause

[DAMONJ] “Why?”

A single word, and now Luke felt awkward, because it highlighted that he could have this conversation with a kid in New York, but was far too self-conscious to mention it to his best friends nearby. He shrugged. Wasn't that the point?

[LUKE SUMMERS] “I dunno—mainly because it's more normal for guys here in the States."

[DAMONJ] “Yowch - rather you than me!”

[LUKE SUMMERS] “Why d'ya say that—I mean you're cut too, I'm guessing?" He squirmed at the awkwardly intrusive question. However, Damon didn't seem put out.

[DAMONJ] “LOL—of course I am. I just mean that I was done as a kid—I don't even remember it.”

[LUKE SUMMERS] “Yeah, well, personally I think I still prefer it, anyway." He stirred subtly, beginning to sense the effect the conversation was having on him; sex and circumcision were becoming intertwined. He moved on his chair slightly and became aware that he was a little stiff. And it wasn’t his back that was affected!

[DAMONJ] "So when's the big day?"

[LUKE SUMMERS] "Soon—a few weeks."

Luke stared at the screen, trying to imagine what Damon was like behind the few pictures he posted of himself. To ease the tightness, his hand drifted to his jeans and he pulled at the faded blue denim. It suddenly felt quite stuffy.

[DAMONJ] "Cool...trust me, I know what I'm talking about. You're doing the right thing. If it's what you want, then I'm sure you'll look really great when it's done! I guess it's too much to ask for pictures?" It came with a shocked-looking, wide-eyed smiley.

[LUKE SUMMERS] "Yeah—you wish!"

Maybe it was the talk of circumcision? Maybe it was the realization that he was talking to someone who was interested in guys? Maybe it was just because he hadn't cum for a while, but he felt just the tiniest bit horny!

Yesterday, he'd held off because of nervousness about the appointment. Today, he’d felt like it wouldn’t be right, and, that morning had arrived at some bizarre conclusion that he’d be letting himself down by jerking off! Out of respect for his doomed foreskin, he'd decided it would make sense to stay off it, until the op was done. Now, the logic of that evaded him, and his resolve began to waver.

Leaning back on his chair and facing his MacBook screen, he let the idea take shape until it was hard and uncomfortably tight in his jeans. Following a few tentative rubs through the material, his breathing quickened as something in him shouted for action.

He wondered what to do.

Simon had gone over to Toby's, but even though all was quiet in the house, his mum and dad were somewhere around—and for God's sake, Damon was right there in front of him! But he needed this bad now, and kept toying with the idea—or maybe it toyed with him. He stared down at the substantial bulge, feeling the pressure every time he shifted slightly in the chair. Should he? Shouldn't he?

On a knife edge, he sat up and his hand moved as if to take hold of the mouse again. The move brought a subtle change to the charged moment that was gripping him, and that moment almost passed. Then, his minds-eye touched on an image of pure white with a light, silver-grey waistband; a boy with soft brown skin and eyes was watching him.

As Luke’s hand moved, it shifted direction and drifted within the vicinity of his stomach as he wondered what it would have been like to touch that soft brown skin that the guy had offered. He reached under his own tee and rubbed his midriff, lightly.

The physical caress was like a jolt of electricity for Luke. As soon as his fingers drifted further down and touched the zip, it was already over. Once he was tugging to open the zip, it was inevitable and he couldn't stop it—he couldn't even slow down long enough to go over and lock the door!

A small, irrelevant, voice muttered in the background. 'This is stupid! What are you doing?' But any resistance had now gone. Trying to keep at least a wary ear for anyone on the stairs or landing, he gave up the struggle and pushed both the jeans and his loose boxers down onto his legs. It would be quick. No one would know. He shuddered as he finally touched himself.

Oh, God, that felt soooo good!

Pleasure emanated from his groin and washed over him, and he shifted again in his seat, pushing his underwear further down. He so wanted to ditch the jeans and boxers completely, but another part of him (with an unlocked door feet away) screamed about the stupidity of such risk-taking. This way, reason pleaded, if there were a noise on the stairs, it would still be possible to yank up his jeans and hide the evidence.

He studied his dick, seeing it erect for the first time since he’d received his diagnosis. It looked exactly like it always had. The skin was loose around the top, though he didn’t pull down hard on it, like the doctor had. It was straight, and leaned forward at a nicely jaunty angle. If he’d known anything about lube, he would have said he didn't need it. Even in the shower he didn't use soap to make it slippery. His foreskin didn't retract, but there was still plenty of slack for what he needed.

He carried a normal, medium-brown, bushy undergrowth. A light fuzz was beginning to sprout upwards, but nothing much on his balls.

Even before reading the pre-op instructions, he’d wondered about trimming and had been sorely tempted, but didn't care to draw any more attention to what was already—as far as he was concerned—an eyesore. Rocking his fist methodically, his breathing quickened, and with it, he gave himself over to what would only take a few moments.

The familiar signs began to appear, so he slowed down and closed his eyes, wanting to make it last—and as he did so, the wall of darkness behind his lids came to life. Appearing in his mind's eye, there they were; the three of them were joining forces and drawing around him. Not in a malicious way, but trying to guide him, direct him—urging him to let go.

The first one was simple and pure; a white covering with a silver-grey waistband, and eyes that kept turning to him. The second, the tanned strength of Ryan Alexis, floating in the water on a hot summers day, and the third, the boy from New York, waiting and watching just the other side of his screen.

Between them, they were irresistible, creating for Luke a series of images and emotionally-charged feelings. The erotic internal slideshow played out, synchronized with some intense, physical sensations. With the warm room and full clothing, he was flushed, damp, and losing ground to the three. Throwing caution to the wind, he swiftly pushed boxers and jeans to his knees, and the urgings of the trio sent him over the edge.

Holding his breath and trying not to make any sound, he crashed into a full-body, experience. It was uncontrolled, and behind his tightly squeezed eyes, flashes of color came alongside a pounding that threatened to force air out of his lungs. By sheer willpower alone, he held the cry of pleasure in check. His head went back, and a mirror would have described his expression as 'anguished'!

Just in time, he remembered to pinch the end of the foreskin tight and the rhythmic pumping forced semen into a bulging containment at the end of his overlong foreskin. He felt the growing pressure bulge the tip, and rode the sensations, before finally taking a gasp of air.

Oh my God…! Though not quite shaking, he wasn't far off, and he leaned back into the seat, basking in the afterglow.

Reality kicked in. Still pinching the end of his foreskin, he hurriedly but one-handedly, pulled up his underwear and jeans. Moving to the bathroom, with his clothing still not fully in place, he let it spill into the toilet, before cleaning off the final drips with a tissue. Out of the mirror his face stared back at him, reflecting now a confusing mixture of shame and satisfaction. He wondered if, watching from a distance, those three guides were thinking the same as him.

* * *

Extract from Luke’s notes:

I remember returning to my bedroom and being unable to face my Mac, or the chat with Damon because of the niggling disquiet that accompanied what I'd just done. Disturbed by it, I just lay on my bed, burying my face in the cool pillow. The intense excitement had passed, leaving me alone with a sense of guilt and confusion.

The truth was, it was getting worse; getting out of control now.

Though we hadn't physically touched, I couldn't get away from the fact that I’d just had sex with another guy—several in fact—even if it had only just been in my head! And not some porn images either—real people. Two of them I even knew. One was my best friend, for God's sake!

The whole thing left me drained, both physically and emotionally, and as I lay there feeling quite low and even lonely, I dropped off to asleep.

* * *

It must have been about thirty minutes later when Luke woke and stretched. Time and rest had helped and he felt better—and a bit more optimistic.

After using the bathroom again (for more usual fluids), he returned to his computer to shut it down. There were still a number of messages left over from Damon before he'd also logged off.

[DAMON] "So, what do your friends think?"

[DAMON] "Hellooooo.....anyone there?"

[DAMON] "??"

[DAMON] "Hey—you seem to have gone. Hope you're okay—and hope it goes well for you...good luck with it..."

Damon had logged off and left, and Luke felt another wave of discomfort and dislocation, knowing something wasn't quite right.

Midway through the afternoon, with nothing better to do, he topped up the mower from the gas can, and began sweeping backwards and forwards across the lawn. His mum came out into the garden, too. With gloves and trowel, she started on the beds. It was nice to have the company, though it was impossible to talk above the din of the mower.

Several times as he passed nearby where she was weeding, he contemplated stopping, killing the engine, and taking her up on her 'we're here for you, if you need us' offer. Just to talk. Ask her advice. He slumped over the wheel even further, and shook his head as he drove on. It wasn't going to happen.

Later that evening, things brightened up and he went to the movies with Ryan. They often went on a Saturday night on a day Ryan been stuck at the army cookout all afternoon. Anything to get away from them all, Ryan had moaned when he’d called to say he’d be done by 6pm.

The film was okay, and Ryan was always fun to be with, but Luke still wished he had somebody he could talk to about the kind of stuff that was bothering him. But if he wasn't able to talk to his mum, there was no way he could say anything to Ryan! Stuff like that was just too risky, and a sure-fire way to mess up a friendship. And anyway, how did you tell your best friend that you just jerked off thinking about him?

He knew he was quieter than usual, carrying all those ‘questions-with-no-answers’ in his head. Whether Ryan noticed or not, he didn't push or press, but carried them both and steered them through the evening.

Luke loved him for times like that.