Twelve Months
by Adam Northgate


Chapter Three: April

“Adam. Are you listening to me?”

I’m aware of a faint drone. I’m eating toast and Nutella, it’s 7:30am and my mum, as usual, is talking at me rather than to me. I’ve been trying to zone out. My head has been so full of stupid thoughts these last couple of weeks that I’ve been finding hard to function.

“Adam!” She more or less shrieks. For fucks sake…

“What?” I grunt.

“What do you think? I really would like you to think about it and tell me what you think. I can’t make every decision about everything for you, you know.”

What the hell is she talking about? I really should have grasped at least something from her droning, but looking at my phone and eating my toast just about fills up my available head space on this damp Spring morning.

Since Simon and me whacked ourselves off and got off with each other, my head has been mashed. My mum was so quiet in the car on the way home I really thought she must’ve fathomed what went on two floors above her head. Her eyes were red and puffy, my sister could do nothing right and bore the brunt of her temper, and me? Well I got the silent treatment. Which was fine by me. By the time we were on the way home I was shaking inside, the speediness of events having caught up with my brain and cranked my nerves up to eleven.

Anyway, she calmed down. Mum. Some days she’s OK, some days she’s really quiet and red-eyed. Those days I do whatever she asks me to, sometimes she doesn’t ask, and I just do what needs to doing.

Shit. I kissed Simon, and we got naked and jacked off with each other and… And what? And I’m gay? And he’s gay? I’m bi? He’s bi? Fuck it. I don’t know. I don’t want to know. It happened. He wanted it, not me. I was just going along with it, for him. Missing his brother. His dead brother. We held each other. His arms around me, mine around him. He’s texted me a few times. Just seeing if I’m OK, talking about school crap, nothing major.

“ADAM!” Full-on madwoman.

I literally jump three inches off the dining chair and drop my last half slice of muddied brown toast. It hits the carpet, Nutella side down.

“Shit!” I never swear at home. “What!?” She means business now and is bearing down on me, her eyes filling up with watery tears.

“Please talk to me. I need you to be involved in this family now. You can’t just ignore this, I want your input. Now your… “she seems like she is on the edge of saying something else but just trails off and goes upstairs sniffing loudly.

I check the time on my phone. Crap. 7:55. The fluff covered Nutella looks vile so I drop it back on my plate and grab my bag. Opening the front door I yell up the stairs that I’m going and as I don’t get a reply so I just go.

Ten yards from home I remember it’s PE today… of course it is, it’s drizzling. I sprint back to the house and thunder up the stairs two at a time to my room, and grab the bag which holds my kit and a towel. Has been holding my games kit from last week. Last week, when it pissed down with horizontal rain and I got filthy on the cross country run. Normally mum would’ve ventured into the pit and rummaged around, found it and washed it. Not this week.


School is just school. It’s my exams this year, so we’re not really doing any new work, just going over what might come up in the exams. Up until… up until it happening, I was fine. A photographic memory comes in really handy when you’re revising. So I’m not really paying much attention to anything, anybody nor my work now.

“What about you Mr Northgate?” Wait, what? “Ah, welcome back to us Mr Northgate,” sniggers roll around the desks surrounding me. I’m awake enough to hear a sotto-vocce “bell-end” from the desk next to mine. Zoned out, again.

“What is your opinion as to the major contributors to the erosion of the coastline on the East of England, Adam?” Mr Holt. He knows what he’s doing. Knows I won’t have the answer ready. Knows my head is full of crap that isn’t physical geography. Knows I wasn’t listening. Knows about…

“Erm…” Some kind of noise escapes my lips.

“Quite, Mr Northgate. Quite. Anyone else?” Twenty faces smirk at me, and I decided to ride it out and just sit there like it’s nothing.

They all know. I came back about a week after. Some of the lads mumbled something and didn’t look me in the eye. Some of the girls made out they cared, hugged me. Patted my arse while the pretended to rub my back through my blazer. That slapper Charmaine Green squeezed it. I’m sure of it. ‘I’m so sorry Adam…’ She breathed in my ear hole while groping me. Every break time she’s rubbing herself up some sixth form lad in the corridors.

My face is redder than a very red thing that’s been painted red. Head down. My phone vibrates in my trouser pocket sending minuscule shock waves round my thigh and into my groin. No time this morning for anything to make my sixteen year old, morning hard-on recede, other than the coolness of the bathroom and the even cooler water from the shower head. It refused to play the game and go down even enough for me to piss.

“Undercutting, Sir,” Focus. That’s should keep him happy for another ten minutes.

I sneak my hand into my pocket and feel the hardness of my phone against the softness of my untoned thigh muscle and the back of my hand brushes against my soft cock, nestled safely in my Calvin trunks, as usual, lolling to the left. Furtively I turn the phone to face me and click the side button. A text. From Simon. A photo. A pale, slim hand with perfect fingernails, wrapped around a pale, perfect dick with a vibrant mauve helmet. Oh my fucking God. I let out an involuntary gasp.

“Sorry Mr Northgate? Anything else to add?” Sarcasm must have featured highly in his teacher training manual.

I make the gasp into a more plausible cough. And put my free hand up to my mouth. Forty eyes are once again swivelled in my direction. What the hell has today got against me? Can’t I just be invisible again, like I have been for the previous four years at this school?

Once the eyes are again on Holt, I sneak another furtive glance at the simmering screen in my lap. Fucking hell. Simon. Just what the hell is that for? A mini earthquake occurs in my palm and some text now appears across the top of the milky scene, a neat caption.

“Take two at the weekend? Mum and dad away! S X”

“ADAM NORTHGATE, GET OUT,” Suddenly there’s a lot of noise, both inside my own head and in reality.

My head snaps up and I drop my phone from my lap to the floor, where it lands in the space between my desk and the next. Old Holt is giving me the death stare from the whiteboard. Full-on, eyes boring into me. Smoke coming from his hairy ears.

“If you’re that interested in whatever it is on your phone, Mr Northgate and you do not have the courtesy to listen to what I am saying, then you can get out. Go!” His diatribe is backed up with muted cheers from the rest of them. Wankers.

Astonished, I stand up, picking up my notebook and pen. It’s then I remember I dropped the phone, I look down but it’s gone from its landing place on the faded carpet tiles. I am now frantic, my flaming face a willing partner to my ears which are beginning to glow like hot embers glued to the side of my head. Did I close the text? Did I? Did I close the fucking text? Fucking text. Simon fucking dick pic. What the…?

I spin round to check the other side of my desk, no it was deffo the left. I feel a rough hand grab my left wrist, and spin round again like an idiot. Ed Miller, sat at the desk next to mine, is looking at me, holding out my phone. Which thankfully has a black sleepy screen. He still has hold of my wrist, and is offering me the phone with his other hand. He’s really looking at me. He blinks his long eyelashes and lets go of my wrist. I take my phone and more or less run from the room to the noise of Holt giving them a lecture on paying attention, wasting his time, wasting opportunities – all the usual bollocks.

Miller. He always sits near me. We aren’t mates, so why does he always sit there, I’m wondering as I walk the corridor heading generally towards the gym. Is he anyone’s real mate? He just seems to hang around with whoever will put up with his loud voice, constant swearing and boasting about shagging whoever it is this week. Yeah right Ed, you’re at it with someone different every week. Lucky you. Yeah, lucky you, Miller.

As I sit on the bench outside the gym I fish out my phone again and open the text app. There it glows. Milky white, foxy pubes, smooth fingers, perfect half moons on perfect nails on perfect fingers. So close I can see silken hairs on his knuckles. I feel my cock twitching and… Ugh! My cock is twitching. Should’ve had a wank this morning Adam, I think angrily. And I am angry. Angry. Angry. Angry!

“WTF Simon??? Aren’t you at school like I am? Why are you sending me that??? You fucking weirdo!!” I smack out the letters. Ping. It goes.

My hands are shaking slightly. Why is everyone so keen on shouting at me today? My mind spools back to this morning, at home, to madwoman mum yelling. What was she going on about? Something falls out of a dusty nook in my hormonal teen brain into my consciousness. Oh yeah, the holiday. She wanted to know what I thought about the holiday. Nutjob-headcase Simon’s mum Emma had suggested we needed a break, away somewhere. Yippidy doo. A fortnight cooped up 24-7 with my idiotic sister AND my mum, visiting model villages and castles. Perfect. Just what any self-respecting nearly 17 year old boy wants to do for two weeks. I draw my feet up onto the bench and rest my chin on my knees. My eyes settle on the scuffed, dull leather of my school shoes. They’ve not seen a whiff of polish since…

A low hum and a tremble in my pocket snaps me out of it. Digging around in my pocket once more I retrieve my iPhone and open the message. Simon.

“Alright, alright. Sorry, yeah at school. Just thought you might like to come over for the weekend. M&D going Edinburgh. Had fun didn’t we? Let me know. Sorry. It was just a pic. Not as if you’ve not seen it b4 ;-)”

Inside the building behind me a bell sounds three times and breaks me out of my reverie, staring at the small screen in my hand. Involuntarily I swipe up, revealing Simon’s dick pic again. My tongue wets my dry lips, on hormonal autopilot. A shuffling noise and the distant hubbub of voices approaching makes me start and I bury the phone back into my trouser pocket. The lads for PE come around corner of the building, chavvy Ed Miller leading the way, a shambling group of less than keen teenage athletes.

I open the door to the changing rooms and my senses are assaulted by the earthy, acrid soup of teenage boys, mud, damp, grass and way too liberally applied, cheap aerosol deodorant. I chuck my bag down on the decked bench top and look up to find Ed Miller looking at me from behind his fringe of dark brown hair. A minuscule tilt of his head backwards and it’s over, he turns back to his rucksack to find his kit, dropping a pair of scruffy Nike trainers onto the damp tiles of the floor.

What the bloody hell was that about? Ed Miller is a complete tosser. I was pretty surprised he gave my phone back half an hour ago, his reputation as dodgy is well-earned as far as I’ve heard. My iPhone on the street-corner black market was worth money to him. But he gave it back. And now he’s acknowledging me. Mind you, the whole fucking school knows who I am. Why did they have to announce it in assembly?!

“Right lads, you know the route, up by Harper’s Farm, back through Sykes Lane and through the Park, back here. GO.” Flint, the rock-hard PE teacher disappears back to whatever filth he’s looking at in his tiny office and we troop outside.

The sky is leaden and threatening and it’s not exactly warm in my shorts, rugby jersey and socks and trainers. Some of the fitter lads sprint off and I start out at a stately jog, leaving behind the fatter, slower boys. Minding my own business. Trying to be invisible. The drizzle starts on the rutted track towards the edge of the farm and the bare ground turns to mud in what seems like ten seconds. I seem to have lost the rest of the class, the sprinters knocking themselves out are probably half way back by now while the real fatties are gasping half a mile behind me. I’m somewhere in the middle. Average. There’s a squelching behind me. I turn round and look over my shoulder. Fucking Miller. Again. He’s going ever so slightly faster than me but it’s making him slide about in the softening mud. The squelching gets louder and he’s soon level with me.

“Alright,” he pants, once again tilting his head back, maybe it’s a tic? His ragged trainers and shins are spattered with mud, like mine.

I can’t recall him ever speaking to me before, and now I’m worried about what he wants. My mind flits back to my phone. I just look at him, a question mark on my face. My heart is pounding under my slightly too small rugby shirt. It stinks of damp, mud and me, it really needed to be washed after last week. I can’t help it. I turn my head to the left and look at him, both of us now jog-walking, each step sending mud spatters to the left and right.

“Yeah. Why?” I manage to say, despite exertion and apprehension.

“Your phone. Was OK was it?” He doesn’t look at me, concentrating on placing his muddy feet in the rut. “After hitting the deck in geography. I mean they’re expensive to replace.”

Ah, so that’s it. He IS going to rob my phone. Sell it in town to some other chav lad mate who’ll use it for drug dealing, and then I’ll get arrested as it’s still registered to me. Shit.

“Fine, thanks.” And I think I need to get back before he does, get to my trouser pocket and make sure it’s still there. I pick up my pace and pull away from him, sending a spray of mud in my wake.

Ed matches my pace, now back at my shoulder. He turns and smirks. Runs his hand through the matted, damp hair that covers his eyes and pushes it back, revealing deep green eyes and those dark, long, long lashes.

“What?” I’m pissed off now. I just want to run. Run away. Not stop until it goes away.

“I saw it.” He says, eyes fixed on mine.

Oh my fucking holy shit. HE SAW IT. A wrecking ball swings through my head, shattering my fragile ego at being slightly ‘better’ than Ed ‘The Chav’ Miller. He saw it. He SAW it. Simons cock photo. Ed Miller saw a text on my phone of my mate’s cock. We’ve now come to a standstill on the filthy farm track. Now just what am I going to do? Miller is a total piece of shit. He’s going to blackmail me. He’s going to put it round the school I’m a homo. That I’m a perv. I’m… I’m a… He is just standing there, looking at me. The drizzle slowly dripping from the hem of his shirt and shorts, down onto his hairy thighs, mud-spattered shins and shit-caked trainers. He is looking right at me. For a few, horrible moments I am stunned into both silence and immobility.

“Miller… I… Don’t… I mean, Ed…” I jabber, trying to return his steady gaze, but his eyes now seemingly lower, finding something more interesting to stare at around the hems of my now soaked, double-dirty shorts.

“So, yeah,” He now looks back up at me the beginning of a smirk across his pink lips, and we are standing close enough for me to see a shadow across the top one, under his nose… He’s shaving? Bloody hell. I stand, shivering while waiting for the onslaught, but Miller just makes to carry on with his run.

“Wait! Miller! Ed!” I am now desperate to get it over with. To know what fresh ton of crap will be landed in my lap. I want to know. I want it. He stops, and turns, his left hand down the front of his muddy shorts, pushing up the bottom of his scarlet rugby short, exposing a dark trail of hair. Suddenly he looks guilty, pulls his hand out and turns back and jogs off at a faster pace.

Fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck it!

My stomach is in a sudden, uncontrolled knot, and I double up in pain. How can this all be happening to me? Now. Today. Then. This can’t be how my life is going to be, can it? I sink down to my haunches and hug my knees, the pain in my belly sharp and fierce. I must look a complete wreck in filthy PE kit, smeared in mud, stinking of teen sweat. I scream into my knees, tasting the earthy rain when I inhale. When I open my eyes I can see the toes of two disgustingly muddied trainers. I pull my head up and my eyes are assaulted by once-white football socks, now a shade of cat-shit brown, and a pair of firm, hairy calves, liberally smothered in mud. Miller. He must have turned back again and seen me cowering, now he’s ready to pounce.

“Are you OK, Adam?” He called me Adam?

“What. Do. You. Want. Miller?” Still crouching, our eyes are now level, because Ed is too. I wipe the back of my hand across my face, I must look like a snotty toddler.

“Are you alright, mate? I thought I heard you..?” Bizarrely he seems genuinely concerned and reaches out towards me with a massive hand. Subconsciously I notice the dark hairs along the back of it. I flinch as his hand comes towards my face, but lands on my left shoulder with a thud that knocks me off balance and I tip over backwards into the mud, falling onto my arse.

“Shit! Sorry.” he says, concerned again, “I didn’t… What? Wait. I wasn’t going to smack you, you twat.” Nice of him. But I can see from those gorgeous eyes that he means it. Gorgeous eyes.

“Ugh, for fucks sake!” Without thinking I put both my hands out to steady myself and they sink into the filth, so now my hands are covered in mud as well as my backside, my trainers, my legs… “What Ed? What do you want from me? The phone? Take it. Just leave me alone.” I can hear my own voice teetering on the edge of breaking, I’m 12 again…

“What?! I don’t want your bloody phone. Unless there’s more to look at on there…” This last sentence half-whispered. He looks down at me, his hand squeezes my shoulder. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He’s looking down at me. At my shorts, and my legs.

“Huh?” I finally manage.

“I, erm…” His turn to be struck dumb. “I saw the pic on your phone.” He looks at his feet. “Nice mate.” He looks up into my astonished face. “Really nice.” His cheeks are coloured. Or is it a reflection of his jersey? In this gloom, unlikely.

“You saw the dick pic.” I see no point beating around the bush anymore. It’s getting plainer by the second. “You saw it. And you think it’s nice?” I cannot believe I am talking to Ed Miller at all, let alone about cocks. “It’s not mine.” I blurt. Why did I say that? Much more weird to have someone else’s on my phone, I mean if it were mine I could say it was for my girlfriend… Yeah right.

“Oh…” Disappointment. Really? What the hell…? He looks back down at my midriff.

“Can you let go? My fucking arse is covered in mud,” I stagger back upright as he loosens his grip on my shoulder.

“Sorry Adam. I’m sorry about your kit, you’re pretty filthy now,” Again with the concern, and again it seems real. He seems real. Where did the chav-lad go? He is talking more like me, the bravado and attitude seems to have washed away in this godforsaken weather.

“Sorry about your Dad.” The words tumble out, quickly. Oh. My. Fucking. God. I begin to jog, to get away. I can’t think straight anymore, Miller falls into step alongside me, my now muddied shorts smearing against his hip, he’s that close. He means it. I can tell. He’s normal. And he’s one of the very few who has looked me in the eye and said he’s sorry. Maybe Ed Miller isn’t a grade one shit. I turn my tear streaked face and increasingly filthy, stinking, grubby body towards him, to look him directly in those deep green eyes. I need to know if he really does mean it. Yes.

“Thanks Ed.” And he smiles at me. That’s enough. I pull my face into a shape that’s somewhere between a grimace, sneer and smile and pick up the pace.

Something has passed between us that I cannot fathom. Miller puts his hand down his shorts waistband and rearranges his junk. I’ve seen the chavs in town doing it. That’s their thing. Always playing with themselves. Miller doesn’t seem to be aware of my staring, and it’s over in a couple of seconds, but his damp shorts are now clinging to his body, outlining what’s going on down there. Why did I look. Why have I noticed that? Five minutes ago I was afraid of him, now I’m checking out his goods?

We spend the next fifteen minutes jogging back towards the school. Some of the time we concentrate on the increasingly muddy and wet ground under out feet – I really don’t want to get any muddier than I already am – and some of the time we talk about video games, lessons we hate, teachers we hate more and what’s on TV tonight, him moaning about no football being on, me pretending to agree.

By the time we get back to the gym changing rooms, it seems almost everyone else is back already, even some of the lardy-arses. How the hell did they get back before us? Surely I would have seen them go past me on the way? Ed Miller and I go to our respective benches and as I sit with my back to him, trying find my trainer laces under the brown gloop, I can feel him looking at me. I sneak a furtive glance over my shoulder and immediately wish I hadn’t inhaled at the same time, this rugby shirt stinks to high heaven. Ed instantly bends down to undo his trainers too. He was looking at me. I knew it. My mind is spinning and not just from the acrid assault of testosterone and sweat that’s invaded my nostrils. He said he liked Simon’s dick pic. And what the bloody hell was going on at the farm? Now he’s staring at me like a nut-job. Halfway back to school he promised me he would keep it to himself, what he found on my phone. I actually stopped in my tracks when he said that, skidded to a halt at the end of that sloppy farm track and nearly fell on my arse again. He just looked at me and simply said ‘I won’t’ and carried on jogging.

I can hear the showers running and the smell of wet mud, sweaty lads and Lynx Africa is creating a heady atmosphere in the changing rooms. I manage to pull off my mud-caked trainers and miraculously find a carrier bag in the murky depths of my kit bag to put them into. Around me some of the others, who have managed to stay questionably clean despite the weather and cross-country route, are horsing around and making plans for their evening. PE being the last lesson means we can go straight home, no one bothers hanging around for the final bell. Miller joins in the banter and I can hear him talking loudly about getting pissed on Saturday at someone or another’s place.

I am deliberately taking my time, because I know what’s coming. There is no way I can get out of it this week. My kit stank before I even put a foot outside an hour earlier, that, coupled with the fact I have Christ knows what smeared over me from my stupid tumble on the farm track, I now smell rank, my lower legs, hands and lower arms are streaked and spattered too and so it has to happen. I step out of my shorts and see that they are now comprehensively covered in muck front and back.  Looking down my flat chest I can’t believe my eyes, because my once black trunks are also, somehow, smeared with mud too. How the actual fuck…? Inwardly I scream, outwardly I sigh loudly and make a small grunting noise. This attracts the attention of Miller who is standing by his bench, his equally dirty shorts and rugby shirt on the floor by his still filthily-socked feet. As I look over he sits down on the wooden slats and rolls the long football socks down and pulls them off. My mind is propelled at great speed back to Simon’s bedroom and him taking off my own socks. I feel a stir in my boxers and quickly turn away just in case.

“Adam.” It’s Miller. Shit. Shit. Shit. He saw me looking at him… It’s suddenly only his voice I can hear.

I turn round again, my cock now safely shrivelled to half it’s normal state due to the fear of embarrassment. Ed just points to the door sized hole in the wall that leads to the showers and does that head-tic, nod-shake thing of his again. Right. He’s showering. I need to shower. There really is no more putting it off. The last of the lads from the class just left and old Flint scarpered as soon as we all got back. Miller and I, barely in the room when Flint told me to shut the door behind us when we’d changed and walked out.

Was Miller naked? I don’t know. He was standing up though and my blazer was hanging on the peg obscuring his body, I just saw his meaty shoulders and his head. And his green eyes. Once again I look down at my pants. If I went in with them on I could wash the mud off. Just how did I get mud down the front of my pants, the back I could understand. But then they’d be wet, and I’d have to go home commando. That could get interesting, my junk rubbing against the polyester of my hideous school trousers on the way back. Another twitch from behind the dirtied, taught cotton. Fuck it. The sound of water gushing snaps me out of this internal debate.

I peel the black trunks down my thighs and reveal just how filthy my legs are. Against the rest of my lower half, the area covered by my trunks is quite pale, like a I’ve had a mud spray tan, albeit covered in my dark hairs. My feet too, are defined by a straight line where my socks stopped, although I can feel the grittiness and filth under my soles on the cold tiled floor of the changing room.

Walking over toward the showers I can see Miller through the steam. Naked Ed Miller. Arse facing me. Smooth and pale. Water cascades down his back, off his bum cheeks and hits the floor loudly. He’s not thin, but not fat, just solid. Not toned or built, just… Just, right. His shoulders are broad and I can see muscles and bones moving around beneath his skin as he faces the wall and rubs himself down. Head down. I spend a second too long paused in the doorway and he turns to face me, pushing the water from his face with both hands and flicking his hair back. He’s naked. Ed Miller is naked and looking right at me. Shameless. He seems to have a kind of sixth sense. Ed knows when I’m looking at him, even though he can’t see me doing it. He also seems to have been endowed with even hairier legs than me and those hairs continue up into a thick bush, which reduces to a dark river towards his ‘inny’ belly button and then re-emerges into a trickle up his chest where a light, shadowy delta spreads between his dark nipples.  I determinedly fix my eyes on the top of his head.

“Fuck me, needed this today. That wasn’t nice out there. I got so muddy, nearly as bad as you!” he says and blatantly looks me up and down. I’m as naked as he is but instinctively covered my cock and balls with my hands when he turned and saw me standing there, taking him in.

I shiver a little, but I don’t know why, it’s far from cold with all the steam. I walk along to the shower head farthest from Miller. There are six lined up along the wall, he’s at 3, I head for 6. I say furthest, if we both put our arms out, we’d be able to hold hands. I detest communal showers. Who the fuck thought it would be a good idea to have teenage boys showering together at school? Probably some pervy PE teacher. I notice Flint always legs it before the steam rises, mind you everyone knows what he gets up to in that tiny office of his, among the forgotten stinking footie socks, basketballs and miniature traffic cones.

Normally I can manage to keep clean enough not to need one. Some lads seem to be drawn to getting dirty, and Miller is usually one of them. In the winter, him and his cronies are always the muddiest off the pitch from football, rugby, or like today, cross country. His voice is usually one of the loudest, echoing off the plain white tiled walls when one of his mates says or does something he finds funny or he can pounce on to make a joke of. Not today though. Just us two. Just us. Mind you he seems to actually enjoy team games, especially rugby. I jam my hand onto the tap and cold water floods over my body, and I yelp like a girl. My now uncovered cock and balls faces the wall and disappears into my body with the shock of the torrent of slowly warming water.

“You alright now then?” Ed raises his voice, I jump out of my skin, and open my eyes. I’m not sure why I’ve got them shut.

“What?” I don’t look at him. I focus on my feet and the drain hole, which is encircled by a few black hairs. Jesus.

“I mean earlier. You were… I mean, when I stopped and spoke to you. On the farm track.” Ed doesn’t appear to be able to get a complete sentence to emerge. “I duuno.”

“Miller, I’m fine.” I concentrate on trying to sluice off the collected dirt and debris from my calves and keeping my back to shower head three, I bend over to rub my hands down my legs.

“You didn’t seem fine when I turned back.” Louder. “You seemed worried, and a bit upset?” His voice is louder.

Upright again I turn to the left and Ed Miller has moved to stand right beside me. He jabs at the push button tap and water erupts from overhead. My left hand moves unconsciously to my cock, to shield it from his eyes. He is brazenly just standing there, pushing the water back through his hair, just like before. Until now, until these past few minutes, naked minutes, I’d not noticed. Suddenly the shower above him stops.

“So?” He turns to face me, his hands on his hips. His stomach is not flat. There is the merest hint of a belly under the now darker, matted, wet hairs.

“Yeah, sorry. I just thought… I’m OK.” I return his emerald stare. Water still cascading down me.

“I’m done Adam, see ya later, yeah,” The head thing again and he turns his well-formed, milky cheeks towards me and walks out, his right hand now occupied with something at his front.

I stand there for what seems like an hour, but in reality is just another couple of minutes, taking the opportunity of privacy to wash my arse off, as there is mud from my shorts dried on it and I do my smelly pits and round my balls too. The water stops and I return to an empty changing room. Ed Miller has finally left me alone. Mine is the only black blazer left hanging on the peeling metal racks and, apart from three odd socks and a single trainer, I’m alone. I dry myself off and put my uniform back on, screwing up the dirty boxers with my kit, I’ll chance a commando boner on the bus. The fly of my school trousers rubs against my dick as I zip up and I feel myself react. Fuck it. If I get a boner, I get a boner. Should’ve wanked this morning. I knew it.

As it turns out the journey home was dull, and my teenage dick was happy to stay lifeless, perhaps due to my emotional tiredness. As usual, I open the door, yell ‘I’m back’ and go straight to my room. I need to get some clean undies on and get out of this fucking uniform.

I kick off my increasingly scuffed shoes and they tumble under the bed, my blazer makes it to the back of the chair at my tiny desk before I feel the rumble of my phone in it’s usual place, my trouser pocket. For a moment, the vibrations travel along my cock and subconsciously I press it further over so it rests along my dick, sending pleasant signals right to my nuts. I fish out my phone, and holding it in my left hand undo my trousers with my right and click on the messages icon. My trousers fall to the floor in a black, man-made fibre puddle around my socked feet.

Two new messages. Simon – surprise, surprise – what is it this time, a pic of his arsehole, I think a bit harshly. And ‘unknown’, probably crap wanting to sell me phone insurance, or broadband.

I flick open the app with my thumb and absent mindedly take a pull of my dick, stretching it with my free hand. Simon’s text is asking me whether I’ve said yes to the holiday. Shit. I’ll have to face mum later and I’ll have to be mature and I’ll have to say yes. I can’t upset her like I did this morning again. Such fucking fun, a holiday with my mum and sister. And Simon…

I swipe up and Simon’s text disappears. My thumb touches the faceless icon for ‘unknown’.

Unknown – ‘Thought you might like to see mine, as you wouldn’t look earlier.’ There’s an attachment.

Ugh, could be a bloody virus or scam… Not the usual line of text attached to something like that though. Fuck it. My thumb swipes the pic icon. The screen flickers for a nanosecond and an image appears of a thick bush of dark, dark pubes and a thick, veined dick, wrapped in a fist, a pair of hairy and well-made balls underneath. What the fuck? Who? Two dicks on my phone… Who the?! My cock is still in my right hand and I can feel it firming up, my heart beats a little faster. That’s a serious cock, those dark hairs travelling down onto his thighs and up too… Hang on they’re… I pinch out the screen, enlarging the already substantial offering… They’re wet. Everything is wet, pubes, cock, balls, fingers, chewed nails. Wet. And the floor… those red floor tiles…

The phone shakes again in my hand, my cock vibrates in my other hand and it’s now rock hard, my balls pulled up tight. A thought flashes through my mind as I stand there, half naked, teen boy meat in one hand, phone in the other, still in my school shirt and tie and socks. My phone is still vibrating and like a twat I realise it’s a call rather than a text. ‘Unknown’. I need to answer. I’m certain of it. ‘Unknown’ needs to speak to me. I hover over the flashing green symbol. I swipe my other hand along my dick, and smear the bead of pre-cum with my thumb. My knees suddenly feel weak and flop onto the edge of the bed.

“Well?” Ed Miller says flatly. I feel a warm trickle over my knuckles.


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One Reply to “”

  1. I really enjoyed reading this chapter. It took my mind back to when I was at school, and showers after PE were compulsory. I loved seeing my school friends naked but was so shy and didn’t want anyone to see me naked. All the boys would shower facing the wall, so they weren’t showing off their cocks, and I remember no one ever had any soap, so we just wet ourselves and rub ourselves clean. If we were only sweaty, we would just dash in the showers, get wet and cover ourselves up as soon as possible.

    I would love to hear other peoples memories of those times. Were you shy and embarrassed, or did you enjoy showing off?

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