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From: "Gymnopedies" <gym@SoftHome.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} A Christmas Story (t/t)
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Date: Mon, 22 Dec 2008 09:10:02 -0500
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Copyright of this story is retained by the author and it should not be
reposted to any newsgroup or website without permission. Any form of
commercial use is strictly prohibited without the express permission of
the author. The author can be contacted at gym@softhome.net

The usual disclaimers apply: don't read if you are prohibited by
location, are under legal age, or if you are likely to be offended by
explicit descriptions of gay sex. The story is pure fiction and is not
based on any actual events.


A Christmas Story
by
Gymnopedies


London. Christmas Eve. The pavements of Oxford Street heaved with last
minute shoppers jostling each other as they raced against time to
secure that final essential purchase before the brightly lit stores
with their gaudy window displays closed their doors for the holiday.
Electric toenail clippers for Uncle Harry, guava scented bath oil for
cousin Sarah, that special gooseberry flavoured liqueur that Granddad
was always going on about; vital things without which Christmas would
become an absolute misery for all concerned. So many people, so many
misplaced priorities, no time for anyone or anything that existed
outside of their own tiny over commercialized microcosm. No time for a
cold, miserable, lonely young boy.

Timmie made his way slowly through the crowds. It was 5 o'clock and it
was dark and already the air had a frosty crispness that caused his
breath to condense in a grey fog in front of his face. It was going to
be a cold night and it was time to be thinking about where he was going
to spend it. He knew a place, but he would have to get there soon or
there would be no space left, even for someone as small as himself.

Timmie Holden was thirteen and he was homeless. Nowhere to go and no
one to care.

It hadn't always been that way. Until a few weeks ago he had had a
home, of sorts anyway. He had lived with his mother in a tiny one room
bedsit on the top floor of a decrepit old building in one of the more
run down parts of this great city.

Jennifer Holden had been a heroin addict. Timmie had watched her change
from a loving, caring mother into a shell of what she had once been.
Towards the end there had only been one thing that mattered to her and
that one thing certainly wasn't Timmie. There was nothing she wouldn't
do in order to obtain her regular fix. The bedsit had been visited by a
regular stream of men; some furtive and seemingly riddled with guilt,
some rough looking, some smartly dressed, but they were all there for
one thing and one thing only; Timmie's mother was selling her body to
obtain the money she needed for drugs. There would be a knock on the
door and Timmie knew that it was once more time for him to make himself
scarce. He'd lost track of the number of hours he'd wandered the dark,
cold streets on his own, trying not to think about what his mother was
doing. He would return sometime in the early hours of the morning to
find her on her back on the bed, her eyes open but glazed over and
saliva running from the corner of her mouth, lost in some psychotic
world the boy didn't even dare think about. Then, one evening, about
four weeks ago, Timmie had heard the knock and immediately grabbed his
threadbare old jacket ready to make himself scarce, while his mother
quickly did what she could in an almost hopeless attempt to make
herself halfway presentable. The visitor was a man, probably in his
fifties, balding, overweight and smartly dressed. As the man came in,
Timmie made to slip out of the open door, but the stranger anticipated
this and quickly closed it, leaning his heavy body against it. He
looked the youngster up and down in a way that sent a shiver down
Timmie's spine.

"I feel like a bit of a change today. How much for the boy?" he asked,
as if he were enquiring about the cost of potatoes at the local
supermarket.

Jennifer had shaken her head. "He don't do it," she said, her words a
little slurred.

The man wasn't so easily put off. "He'll do it. Anyone will do it for
the right price. I'll give you a hundred for him. But for that I expect
to be able to have him for the whole evening. I'd like to take my time
with this one. How old is he? He's a bit on the skinny side. Looks
about ten or so."

"He thirteen," Jennifer replied. There was a calculating gleam in her
eyes that Timmie didn't like the look of. "You can have him but it's
going to cost you two hundred."

The man laughed. "Two hundred pounds for the kid of a cheap whore?
Forget it. One hundred."

"He's virgin. You'd be his first," said Jennifer, slyly.

The man seemed to consider this. "Alright, one-fifty. But you stay and
watch."

"Done."

The man grabbed Timmie's arm and dragged him towards the bed. "Come on
boy, you're mine for the rest of the night. Come with Uncle Gordon."

Timmie was in a daze. This wasn't really happening; it was just a bad
dream. His mother had just sold him to some dirty old pervert. "I don't
want to," he heard himself say.

"Don't be silly, boy," said the man.

"No, I said I don't want to. I won't do it." Timmie started to struggle
but the man's grip on his arm tightened painfully. Almost by reflex,
Timmie balled his free hand into a fist and drove it hard, straight
into the man's groin.

The man collapsed like a pole axed pig, curling into a ball on the
floor and making strange grunting noises.

Not stopping to think, Timmie was out of the door and down the stairs.
He hadn't even paused to grab his jacket, which had fallen to floor
during the struggle.

It was two days later when Timmie had finally returned to the bedsit.
He was starving hungry and frozen to the bone, having spent the last
two nights curled up in shop doorways. Cautiously he pushed the door
open and glanced inside. His mother was alone in the room, in her usual
position the bed. Timmie crossed over to her and touched her arm. It
was cold.

She'd overdosed on the heroine; Timmie found the used syringe on the
floor by the bed. Whether the overdose had been accidental or
deliberate he didn't know and if he were honest with himself he didn't
care. He covered her body with a sheet, pulling it up over her face
because that is what they always did in the movies. A quick search
turned up two five pound notes hidden under some dirty clothes in the
bottom of a drawer, but nothing else at all of even the slightest
value. He pocketed the money, then without a second glance he left the
bedsit for the last time.

He didn't cry for his mother. He'd done all his crying long ago.
Besides, that wasn't his mother laying there in the bedsit; as far as
he was concerned, his mother had died when she had first started her
love affair with the drugs. Since then he'd been living with a
stranger. If he'd been in any doubt before, her actions of two days
previously had confirmed it. His mother would never have sold him for
sex.

Since then, Timmie had managed to survive on the streets. He spent the
days begging and the nights in a vain attempt to keep some kind of
warmth in his small body. Now here he was, on a cold, frosty Christmas
Eve, no hope for the future and only bad memories of the past,
completely alone in the world with no one to care whether he lived or
died.

Moving into a slightly less crowded side street he found a reasonably
quiet spot up against a wall, and carefully checking that no one was
paying him any attention, he put his hand into his pocket and pulled
out his 'earnings' for the day. Four pounds and thirty two pence.
Almost a whole pound more than he had made yesterday; obviously the
fact that it was Christmas Eve and the season of goodwill had made
people extra generous! Trying not to feel too downhearted he put the
money back into his pocket. He was going to have to be careful how he
spent it; he suspected that it would be slim pickings for the next few
days as it wasn't likely there would be so many people around to beg
from. About a week ago a man had pushed a ten pound note into his hand,
telling him to go and get himself something warm to eat; Timmie had
never thought he could ever feel such affection for a complete
stranger, but seconds later the man was gone, disappearing into the
ever moving stream of people, never to be seen again. Timmie had never
been one for praying, but that night, as he curled up with a full
stomach he said a short prayer for that kind-hearted stranger.

Moving as quickly as he could, he forced his way through the mass of
anonymous faces, heading for a shop where he knew he would be able to
get some food that would hopefully last him for a couple of days. He
past a stand where a man was selling "Jumbo Sized" hot-dogs and had to
force his feet to keep moving, the hot, delicious smell of the cooking
meat and onions torturing his empty stomach. He knew he could afford to
stop and buy one, but at two pounds it would make a serious hole in his
pocket and however "Jumbo Sized" it happened to be, one hot dog
wouldn't keep his stomach full for very long.

He reached the grocery store just before closing time. It was the
cheapest store in the area, so Timmie almost always bought his food
there. He hurried around the shelves selecting items, calculating in
his head to make sure he didn't spend more than he had available. A
couple of packets of biscuits, a large bottle of cheap lemonade, three
small, cold meat pies which had been reduced in price in order to sell
them before the store closed and two apples. That would leave him with
just over a pound left over for emergencies. The man operating the cash
register helped him load his purchases into a plastic carrier and
Timmie handed over the money. Just as he was about to leave the store
the man called him back.

"Hey, just a minute."

Timmie looked around, wondering what the man wanted, scared he was
about to be accused of doing something wrong. The man was hurrying
towards him.

"You forgot this," said the man, holding out a large bar of chocolate.

"That's not mine. I didn't buy that," said Timmie eyeing the bar
hungrily. He couldn't remember when he had last tasted chocolate.

"Yeah, I know," the man smiled. He pulled open Timmie's bag and dropped
the chocolate inside. "Merry Christmas," he said, then turned and went
back to his cash register.

"Merry Christmas," said Timmie, his dirty face splitting in a happy,
grateful grin.

It seemed colder than ever when Timmie returned to the street. There
was already sign of ice on the pavements and he felt the sharp coldness
on the sole of his foot through the large hole in the bottom of his
shoe. A few minutes after leaving the grocery shop he was negotiating
the dark alleyway that led to the rear of the nightclub where he was
hoping to spend the night. It was small, narrow cul-de-sac, almost
invisible in the near pitch darkness; you could walk straight past it
if you didn't know it was there. In one of the brick walls was a
ventilation duct for the club's heating system; warm air would be
blowing out of the duct while the club was open, which should be until
at least the early hours of the morning.

As Timmie approached the ventilation duct he could just make out what
looked like a dark pile of rags on the concrete floor. Someone else had
already chosen this spot to spend his Christmas Eve. That was ok with
Timmie; he was used to sharing his sleeping places with the other
residents of the streets. The main thing as far he was concerned was
that there was still a vacant space right next to the duct. He sat
down, making himself as comfortable as possible against the hard wall,
taking pleasure in the slight warm draft that blew across his face.

"Good spot, this." The voice, old sounding but well spoken came from
the pile of rags.

"Yeah, at least it's nice and warm," Timmie replied. "Though it gets a
bit noisy when the club gets going."

"Ah, I don't mind a bit of noise," said the voice. "Besides it can't be
as noisy as underneath the railway bridge where I usually sleep. Have
you got a name?"

"Timmie," said Timmie, taken a little by surprise. He'd seldom even
spoken to other street dwellers and none had ever asked him his name
before.

"Timmie? Not Tim? Bit old for 'Timmie' aren't you?"

"It's what my mum used to call me before..." he trailed off. He was
going to say before she became a heroin addict, before she stopped
being his mother, but the last part of the sentence couldn't get past
the lump in his throat. He swallowed the lump angrily, annoyed with
himself for feeling these emotions. It was a long, long time since he'd
let himself cry and he wasn't about to give in to it now.

"Oh, I see," said the voice, as if understood what the boy was
thinking. "In case you're interested, I'm Nick."

"Pleased to meet you, Nick," Timmie mumbled, more out of politeness
than anything else.

"Likewise."

There was a long silence, during which Timmie listened to the sound of
traffic flowing up the street on the other side of the building.
Suddenly there was the sound of violent coughing and the boy could see
the pile of rags shaking.

"You ok?"

"I've been better," Nick replied, weakly. "This cold doesn't do my old
chest any good."

"Move closer to the heat," Timmie suggested. "There's plenty of room
for both of us."

"You don't mind?"

"No. Besides, you were here first."

The pile of rags shuffled closer until they were nearly touching, the
man sitting just on the other side of the duct from the boy. As
Timmie's eyes adjusted he could begin to make out the man's face
against the darkness. He looked old, though how old Timmie wouldn't
have liked to guess, he could have been eighty, but then again he might
only have been fifty, from looking at his lined, unshaven face it was
impossible to tell. His eyes appeared kindly though; as they looked at
the boy they seemed to twinkle in the darkness.

"That's better. You're a good looking young man."

"Thanks." Timmie quickly looked down, unused to compliments. "You
hungry?" he asked.

The man smiled. "You know that anyone living like we do is always
hungry."

"I've got some food; you can have some if you want."

Nick's smile widened. "I would guess that you've little enough food for
yourself. If you share it with me then you may end up being very hungry
before you get the chance of anymore."

Timmie shrugged. He knew than man was right. He only had a little over
a pound left in his pocket and there might not be much chance of
getting anymore tomorrow. And even if he did get some more money he
would still need to find a shop that was open on Christmas day. "I'd
like you to share it," he said.

It was the best meal Timmie had eaten in a long time. They had one of
the pies each and split the third between them, washing them down with
the lemonade and finishing off with the apples. As they settled down to
share the chocolate, Timmie found himself chatting happily with the old
man as if he'd known him for years. Before he had realized it, he'd
told Nick all about his life over the past few years. His mood became
more somber as he described how his mother had descended into drug
addiction, though he remained completely unemotional as he explained
how had returned to the room to discover her dead.

"That's a sad tale," said Nick, shaking his head. "It's a cruel world
that will subject a youngster to such trials." Then he appeared to
brighten up. "Best not to dwell on the past. It's Christmas and it's a
magical time. If you could wish for something for yourself, what would
it be?"

The answer to that one was easy, Timmie had gone over and over this in
is head during the past year or so, and twice as often since he'd been
living on the streets. He looked straight into the old man's eyes as he
replied. "I'd like to be part of a family. Nothing special, just an
ordinary family with a mum and a dad; I never had a dad. And I'd like
to live in a proper house instead of being out on the streets or living
in just one dirty little room. And I'd like a brother, a big brother,
someone I could play with and talk to and who would look out for me all
the time. And we could do things together, all the family, go for days
out and all the things that families do, and my brother would show me
how to ride a bike and use a computer and maybe teach me how to swim
and we'd spend all our time together and we'd tell each other all our
secrets and tell each other jokes and make each other laugh and we'd
share a bedroom and we'd be best friends. That most of all, we'd be
best friends." It started off slowly but was soon coming out in a rush,
one word falling over the next as Timmie gave voice of his dearest and
most precious dreams. Then he remembered where he was and what his life
was really like. "But it's no good wishing for those things," he said,
bitterly. "This is what I've got and it's not about to change." He
shook his head to brush away the gloom. "What about you, Nick? What
would you wish for?"

Nick gave a sad laugh. "There are lots of things I want. Tonight I'd
just like to keep warm."

They were quiet for a while and Timmie found himself growing sleepy. "I
think I'm going to try and get some sleep, Nick, while there's still
some heat. They turn it off when the club closes so it'll be cold
later."

"That's a good, idea, son. You get some sleep while you can."

Timmie closed his eyes. Nick had just called him 'son' and it had
sounded really good. He wished he were really Nick's son, or maybe his
grandson. He slowly drifted away to sleep.




It was dark and quiet when Timmie woke, and most of all, it was cold.
The club must have closed long since as there wasn't even a trace of
warmth coming from the duct. He glanced around and saw that he was
alone, Nick had gone. He was sorry about this; he'd liked the old man.
Maybe they would bump into each other again sometime. Damn, it really
was cold; he could feel the bite of it right through his clothes. He
was shivering and he huddled himself tighter into a ball.

The minutes seemed to stretch out into long miserable hours as the
temperature fell still further. Timmie could see the stars twinkling
frostily in the narrow rectangle of sky far above, so pretty yet at the
same time so heartless. He couldn't feel his feet and his hands were
starting to go numb. He considered getting up and walking around to get
his circulation moving but couldn't seem to find the energy. His
lethargy grew worse. Soon he didn't even have the strength left to
shiver. He felt himself growing sleepy once more. "Is this what it's
like to freeze to death?" he asked himself. "Am I dying?"

"Don't fight it," said an oddly familiar voice inside his head. "Just
let go."

"But I don't want to go like this, all on my own. I'm frightened."

"Don't be frightened, Timmie," said the voice. "You're not on your own.
I'm with you. Stop fighting it and let yourself go."

"You'll stay with me?"

"Yes, I'll stay with you."

"You promise?"

"I promise."




For a while Timmie floated in warm darkness; it was nice not to be cold
anymore. The voice had stopped speaking, but he could still feel it as
a comforting presence, close by.

"Is this what it's like to be dead?"

There was no answer.

"Please talk to me. What's happening to me?"

"Don't be afraid Timmie, we're almost there."

"Almost where? What do you mean? Are you taking me to heaven?"

The voice gave what sounded like a soft, kindly chuckle. "Heaven means
different things to different people," it said. "I can't take you
there, I can only set your feet on the path, it's up to you to find the
way; some people never find it. Now, we've arrived at our destination."

Timmie realised that everything around him had changed. He was now
standing up and he could feel something soft under his feet through the
hole in his shoe; carpet! He was indoors. He was still surrounded by
darkness, but gradually he found that his eyes were adjusting and he
began to make out details. He was in a bedroom. A real bedroom, not
some tiny little bedsit like the room he'd shared with his mother. The
carpet on the floor was thick enough to sink into and there were
drawers and cupboards and even a desk with a computer on it. After the
sparse existence he'd endured, the boy stared open mouthed, amazed that
anyone could live in such luxury. Someone was sleeping on the nearby
bed and Timmie inched closer, holding his breath. It was a boy, older
than himself, his face peaceful and relaxed. He lay on his side, one
pale, bare arm and shoulder outside of the bedclothes. Timmie found
himself putting out a hand to touch the boy and quickly restrained
himself.

"His name is Ryan," said the voice. "He's fifteen and this is his
home."

"Why have you brought me here?" Timmie asked, his eyes glued to the
boy's handsome face.

"Because I wanted you and Ryan to meet. The two of you have a lot of
things in common."

"We do?"

"Yes, you do. Like you, Ryan is a very unhappy boy."

Timmie glanced around the room. "How can he be unhappy when he lives
somewhere like this?"

"Anyone can be unhappy, Timmie. It doesn't matter whether he lives in a
palace or in cardboard box on the street. Yes, Ryan's family are quite
well off, but that doesn't stop him being lonely."

"Doesn't he have any friends?"

"Oh, yes, he has friends. But there's no one special, no one he can
share his secret with, no one who would understand."

"He's got a secret?"

"Yes, Timmie, he's got a secret. Just like you do. In fact it's the
very same secret."

Timmie went quiet. How could the voice know about his secret? He'd
never told anyone about it. He was about to ask about this, but he felt
an emptiness in the back of his mind; the voice had gone.

Ryan had started to stir. As he awoke he rubbed his arm across his eyes
sleepily, then, as if sensing that something wasn't quite right he
reached out and turned on the bedside lamp. Seeing Timmie he suddenly
sat bolt upright, leaning back against the bed headboard. "This is too
weird!" he muttered to himself.

Feeling the beginnings of rising panic, Timmie tried desperately to
think of an excuse as to why he was in this boy's bedroom in the middle
of the night. The truth certainly wouldn't work; he was freezing to
death in a dark alleyway in the middle of London when a voice in his
head transported him here; wherever here was. Not likely. Anything at
all would be more believable than that. However, the sheer strangeness
of the situation was enough to dispel his panic and suddenly he
realised he felt quite calm

"Too weird," the boy repeated, looking a little scared, but not as
frightened as Timmie would expect him to be, given the circumstances.

Timmie couldn't help but notice that now that the boy was sitting up in
bed that the bedclothes had dropped down leaving his entire upper body
exposed. He had a really nice body, slim and smooth, and the way his
brown hair flopped down over his green eyes was really cute. "Hi, I'm
Timmie," he said, for want of something better to say.

"Yeah, I know," said Ryan, a slight frown on his face. "The voice in my
dream told me."

"You heard the voice as well?" Timmie sighed with relief. Perhaps his
own story wouldn't sound so strange after all.

"Yeah. You're Timmie and you're thirteen. The voice said he wanted us
to meet because we had things in common."

"That's what he told me, too." Timmie took a step forwards and
cautiously sat down on the edge of the bed. He decided he might as well
be completely honest and gave Ryan a quick account of how he had
arrived there.

"You mean you don't have a home?" asked Ryan, disbelief written on his
face. "What about your parents? Did you runaway?"

Timmie shook his head. "My mum is dead. I've never had a dad."

"I'm sorry," Ryan reached out his hand and put it on top of Timmie's.
"It must be awful living like that."

"It is." For the next few minutes Timmie explained about life on the
streets, how he had to beg for money for food the fight to find
somewhere warm to sleep at night.

Ryan listened sympathetically, then in his turn told Timmie something
about his own life. He told how he lived with his parents in this large
house. They were really nice and he loved them a lot, but they both
worked so hard and never seemed to have much time for him. And
sometimes he felt quite lonely; there was no one that he could really
talk to. What he had always wanted more than anything was a brother,
someone who would be there all the time. Unfortunately something had
happened to his mother and she couldn't have any more kids.

They chatted back and forth for a while, sharing their experiences. It
was like they had been friends for ages rather than just being thrown
together in this strange way in the middle of the night.

"Timmie, can I tell you something? Promise you won't be offended?"

"I promise. What is it?"

Ryan wrinkled his nose. "You don't smell very good."

"I know, I'm sorry," said Timmie, embarrassed. He knew that Ryan was
right. In fact he suspected the smell was a lot worse than the other
boy was letting on; living with it all the time he'd gotten used to it.
"There aren't that many places to get cleaned up where I live."

"I guess not," said Ryan. "Look, if you want to grab a shower or
something, I've got my own bathroom, it's just over there." He pointed
across the room. "I know you're a bit smaller than me but I'm sure I've
got some clean stuff that you could wear."

"I don't know." In truth Timmie would have loved the chance of a
shower, but if he were to start getting undressed then Ryan would see
just how dirty he really was.

"Hey, come on, I now it's not your fault you're in that state." Ryan
had got out of bed and moved closer to sit next to Timmie.

Ryan was wearing a pair of red shorts, nothing else, which gave Timmie
a great opportunity to have a good look at his body. The Younger boy
was a little surprised at his own reaction at being so close to the
scantily clad teenager. He suddenly felt quite nervous and his heart
had started to beat faster. "Well, I guess it would be ok," he said. He
got up and walked over to the door Ryan had indicated. "Through here?"

"Yeah, you go ahead, I'll see if I can find something for you to put on
afterwards."

The door opened onto a small tiled bathroom containing a shower, toilet
and wash-hand basin, all coloured in dark blue. A couple of matching
towels hung on a rail on the wall. Timmie closed the door behind him
and started to quickly pull off his clothes. He tugged off his shoes
and grimaced as he saw the filthy state of his feet; he didn't have any
socks, they had fallen apart after the first couple of weeks of
continuous wear. His jacket and pullover came off next, followed by his
jeans leaving him in just his t-shirt and underpants. His briefs were
in a terrible condition; at one time they had been pale blue, but they
were that colour no longer. He'd tried to wash them out a couple of
times during his four weeks on the streets, using the sinks in public
toilets, but he hadn't been particularly successful. They were stained
and full of holes and the smell of sweat and stale urine was awful. He
quickly hooked his thumbs into what remained of the waistband, pushed
them down, he was about to step out of them when the door opened and
Ryan came in.

"I've found you a pair of shorts and a shirt you can have," said the
older boy. Then he noticed Timmie was naked from the waist down. "Oops,
sorry. I didn't think you'd have your clothes off yet."

"It's ok," the boy replied, actually far more embarrassed about the
state of his briefs than he was about Ryan seeing his dick. He stepped
out of the briefs then pulled the shirt over his head and dropped it to
the floor. However, noticing the intense way the fifteen year old was
staring at his now completely naked body, his hands automatically went
down in front of his cock and balls as he tried to keep himself from
blushing.

"You sure you're thirteen?" asked Ryan, wide eyed.

"Yeah, of course I'm sure. How could I not be sure about something like
that? Just 'cos I haven't got a home doesn't mean I'm stupid."

"Yeah, sorry, silly question. It's just that you're not... you know...
very big for thirteen. I mean, when I was thirteen I had hair and
everything, or at least I'm pretty sure I did, and you look to have
hardly any. And you're so thin."

"You'd be thin if you were hungry all the time," said Timmie,
defensively. "And I can't help it if I haven't got much hair yet.
You've got no right to be looking anyway."

Ryan's face reddened at the rebuke. "I'm sorry," he again apologised.
"I didn't mean any of it in a bad way. I was just a bit surprised
that's all. There's nothing wrong with your body, really, I mean it. I
think you look really good. Well, you know what I mean." He was
speaking quickly, obviously flustered.

"So you've got loads of hair then, have you?" asked Timmie, still
feeling like he'd been subjected to unfair criticism.

"Well, I wouldn't say loads exactly, but I got some hair, yes."

"Let's see it then."

"What...?"

"Come on, you've had a good look at me, so it's only fair that I get to
have a look at you."

Ryan hesitated for a second as if unsure what to do, then his eyes down
on the floor he slowly pushed down his shorts until they were almost to
his knees before nervously raising his gaze to meet Timmie's.

Timmie just stared. The first thing he realised was that Ryan sure was
nice to look at! He did indeed have hair, a dark patch of it around the
base of his uncut penis. Also, Ryan's cock made his own seem tiny;
Timmie suspected that the older boy had the beginnings of an erection.
The youngster allowed his hands to drop to his sides, once more
allowing his own private parts to be seen.

Ryan responded to Timmie's openness by pushing his shorts the rest of
the way down and stepping out of them. He took a nervous step towards
the younger boy.

"No, don't." Timmie moved backwards until he was pressed up against the
shower cubicle door. He hung his head, his face burning with shame.
"You shouldn't get too close. You were right," he mumbled. "I don't
smell too good."

"It doesn't matter," said Ryan, gently. "It's not your fault. Besides,
a shower will soon fix that." He put his hand on Timmie's shoulder and
moved the boy out of the way before opening the shower door and turning
on the water. "Just give it a second, it heats up pretty quick." He put
his hand under the spray, testing the temperature. "That should do it.
Hop in."

Timmie stepped under the steaming streaming water and it was unable to
hold back a sigh of pure pleasure. Who would ever have believed that
water could feel so good. "Where's the soap?" he asked.

"Here, use this. It'll make you smell nice." Ryan handed him a tube of
shower gel.

Soon Timmie was rubbing the rich lather across his skin. He felt better
already and he wasn't even half done. He could make out Ryan's smiling
face watching through the steamed up panels.

"Want me to come in a scrub your back for you?" the older boy grinned.

"If you want," Timmie replied, happily, without even thinking about
what he was saying. The shower door opened and suddenly it was very
crowded in the small cubicle. Ryan had squeezed in and stood with his
chest pressed up against the back of Timmie's shoulders."

"I was only joking when I offered to scrub your back," said Ryan into
Timmie's ear, "I never expected you to say yes."

"I don't know why I did," Timmie replied. "It just sort of came out."

"You want me to get out?"

Timmie shrugged. "No, you're all wet now anyway so you may as well
stay. Though it's gonna be a bit harder getting washed with us both in
here."

"Better let me help then."

Before Timmie had chance to either agree or disagree he felt Ryan's
hands rubbing the soapy lather across his chest, pushing his own hands
out of the way. He had this vague feeling that it wasn't quite right
for another boy to be touching him in this way, but it did feel so
good. Besides hadn't he had fantasies similar to this often enough? Not
in quite these circumstances, true, but when he'd been on the streets
he'd often dreamed of meeting an older boy who would love him and take
care of him. Not for the first time since this strange episode had
started, he wondered if it were really happening or whether it was just
some extremely vivid dream; was he still lying frozen in that alleyway?
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted as Ryan's hands began to travel
a little lower, down across his stomach and his heart gave a lurch as
the older boy's fingers briefly brushed against the base of his dick.

That had felt amazing, that brief touch. Had it been an accident or had
Ryan done it on purpose? Timmie wanted Ryan to touch him down there
again; in fact he wanted the older teen to touch him all over. He
caught hold of Ryan's wrist. This had to be a dream anyway, so what the
hell? It was his dream, so he could do whatever he wanted. He pushed
Ryan's hand downwards, until the boy's hand was resting on his cock.

For a second, Ryan froze, obviously surprised by Timmie's direct
action. But only for a second. Then Timmie got his wish, Ryan's hands
were indeed everywhere. Timmie's small cock was soon standing up
straight and hard under the other boy's touch. The thirteen year old
sighed and squirmed as he felt his foreskin pulled back and Ryan's
soapy fingers rubbing over the sensitive swollen head. Then a real
surprise as one of Ryan's hands slid round his back and down between
his arse cheeks. Even in his dreams no one had ever touched him down
there. Automatically he lifted one leg a little to allow his cheeks to
be parted more easily and felt Ryan rubbing the lather across this most
private of places. He groaned as he felt one of the boy's fingers
pressing against his hole then gave a gasp of surprise and suddenly
tensed as the tip of the soapy digit slipped up inside.

"Sorry," said Ryan, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"'It's ok," said Timmie. "It didn't hurt, I just wasn't expecting it.
It feels nice."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Timmie forced himself to relax as Ryan's fingertip moved in and out of
him a few times then slid a little further in."

"How's that?"

"Good." The sensation of Ryan's finger in his arse was further enhanced
by the slow massage his cock was receiving from the boy's other hand.

"Let's get rinsed off and get out of here," Ryan decided. "We'll be a
lot more comfortable on the bed. That's if you want to of course."

"Yeah, I want to." Was it a dream or not a dream? At this moment it
really didn't matter to Timmie. This was the best he'd ever felt in his
entire thirteen years.

It took a couple of minutes for Ryan to wash away the last of the soap,
then he opened the cubicle door and they both stepped out into the
bathroom.

As Timmie turned to face the other boy, he saw Ryan's erection for the
first time, in all its rock hard glory. "It's so much bigger than
mine," he said, his eyes wide. He looked up into Ryan's face and was
surprised to see the older boy was actually blushing.

"No one's ever seen me hard before," Ryan explained, quickly. "It feels
strange us both stood here with our dicks hard, looking at each other."

"Yeah," Timmie smiled. "No one's ever seen me hard either, and no one's
ever touched me down there like you just did. Can I touch yours?"

"If you want."

Timmie put out his hand and a little nervously wrapped his fingers
around Ryan's hard shaft. He gave a quick laugh. "It feels warm and
sort of soft, but hard at the same time. Why's it sticky at the end?"

"That's precum," said Ryan. "It comes out of the end when you get
really turned on, like I was when I was touching you in the shower.
Haven't you ever had precum come out of your dick when you play with
yourself?"

Timmie shook his head. "I don't think so."

Ryan looked at the younger boy strangely. "You can shoot can't you?"

"I don't know." Timmie dropped his head, now blushing himself.

"Don't you ever jerk off?"

"I sometimes rub myself, at night," Timmie confessed. "But I've never
shot anything out of the end."

"You've never had an orgasm?" Ryan asked, an amazed look on his face.

Timmie shook his head. "I don't think so."

Ryan suddenly grinned. "Boy, are you in for a surprise!" He grabbed two
towels off the rail, draped one around his own shoulders and approached
Timmie with the other.

It felt nice, being towelled dry. The towel was thick and soft and
Timmie just stood there and let Ryan get on with it. He had vague
memories of his mother drying him like this many years ago, but that
made him start to feel a little sad and so he quickly stopped thinking
about it.

When they were both properly dry, Ryan replaced the towels on the rail
and taking Timmie by the hand he led him back into the bedroom. He then
paused for a second, and picking Timmie up he carried him across to the
bed.

"What are you doing?" Timmie giggled.

"I'm going to show you what you've been missing," said Ryan. He laid
the boy gently on the bed, placing his head on the pillow. "Put you
arms up behind the pillow. That's it. Now open up your legs. Now all
you need do is lay there and let it happen."

Timmie felt very exposed, lying naked on his back with his legs spread
open. At the same time he had to admit that it felt strangely exciting
knowing that Ryan could see every bit of him; he especially liked the
fact that Ryan had taken charge of him and was telling him what to do.
He wondered what the older boy had in store for him; he felt a slight
nervous fluttering in the pit of his stomach, but it was a nice sort of
nervousness, he found he wasn't scared at all and had complete trust in
Ryan not to hurt him in any way.

Ryan leaned over the bed and lowering is head he very lightly touched
his lips to Timmie's chest. For the next few minutes he moved around
the younger boy's upper torso gently kissing and licking Timmie's
velvety soft skin.

"Ooh," Timmie gave a soft moan of pleasure as Ryan licked across one of
his nipples then blew gently over the saliva covered nub.

"Was that good?" Ryan looked up, grinning.

"Yeah."

"Thought it might be. I read about it in a story and it sounded pretty
cool."

"You mean you've never done it before?"

"Nope, most I've ever done before is jerk off. I'm making this up as I
go along." Ryan got up and moved to the bottom of the bed where he
crouched down between the thirteen-year-old's legs. His eyes flicked up
briefly to meet Timmie's, he gave a slightly nervous smile, then he
lowered his head and ran his tongue along Timmie's dick.

Timmie gave a gasp of surprise and lifted his head up off the pillow so
that he could see what was happening.

Ryan's soft tongue was moving over every inch of the younger boy's cock
and balls, causing Timmie to wriggle and squirm as he experienced
sensations he'd never felt before.

"Lift your legs up," Ryan instructed. "Put your hands behind your knees
and pull them up towards your shoulders."

Timmie suppressed an embarrassed giggle at the thought that Ryan's face
was just inches away from his bum hole. He was sure he could feel the
older boy's breath against his sensitive ring. Then the unthinkable
happened; Ryan's head bobbed down and Timmie felt the fifteen-year-
old's tongue licking at his arse. Needles of pleasure pricked at his
skin over his entire body and he began to gasp and moan. He'd never
imagined that someone touching his anus could feel so fantastic. Then
he remembered what Ryan had done to him in the shower. "Are you going
to put your finger in there again?" he asked, a tremor in his voice.

"Do you want me to?"

"Yeah, but lick it a few more times first."

"Ok," Ryan grinned. He used his fingers to pull Timmie's hole open then
pushed his tongue firmly against the tight muscle.

"Ooooh!" Timmie's whole body shuddered.

Ryan sat up. "Hang on a sec." He quickly moved to the bedside cabinet
and opening the drawer he rooted around under some books before
producing a small jar of Vaseline. "Better use some of this. We had the
soap in the shower, so my finger went in easy, but without something to
make it slippery it'll hurt."

Returning to the foot of the bed he unscrewed the jar and applied a
generous dollop of the cold, greasy gel right onto Timmie's arse hole.

"Argh, that's cold."

"Don't worry," Ryan smiled. "It warms up really fast." He was already
pressing against the tight hole with his finger.

Timmie felt the older boy's finger tip slip inside him, just a little
way, then it came out again. This was repeated, a few times, each time
slipping in a little bit further. To start with it felt a little
uncomfortable, but soon he found himself starting to relax and then it
felt great. Soon Ryan's index finger was sliding easily in and out of
his hole up to its full length.

Keeping up his steady finger fucking, Ryan leaned over and took
Timmie's trembling dick into his mouth and began to suck on the swollen
head.

Strange new sensations were flooding through Timmie's body. It was like
some sort of pressure building up down between his legs, a bit like
when he wanted to pee but somehow not quite the same. His hands were
balled into tight fists and he could feel his fingernails digging into
his palms. Suddenly the pressure gave way and he felt his dick start to
throb and his whole body begin to shake. It was like the best feeling
he'd ever had but a thousand times more intense; it thrilled and
terrified him both at the same time.

A few seconds later it was over. As he lay back, panting he dropped his
legs to the bed, aware of Ryan kneeling beside him, smiling. He put his
hand down to his dick then groaned and quickly let it go; it was too
sensitive to even touch.

"Don't worry," said Ryan, "mine used to be like that after I'd just
shot a load. It'll be ok in a little while. How'd you like your first
orgasm?"

"It was brilliant. Is it always like that?"

"Sometimes it's better than others. By the way, you do shoot, I just
got a mouthful of the stuff."

"You mean cum?"

"Yeah. I only just managed to swallow it."

"I wish I'd got to see it," said Ryan, a little disappointed.

"If you want to see cum, than that's easy. After what we've just been
doing, I really need to shoot."

Following Ryan's instructions, they changed places. Ryan lay on his
back and Timmie knelt beside the bed.

Timmie watched as Ryan took hold of his own stiff cock and began to
move his hand up and down it in long steady strokes. "Can I do it?" the
youngster asked, after watching for a few seconds.

"If you want."

"Great." Timmie wrapped his fingers around the hard shaft and began to
move his hand like he'd watched Ryan do. The older boy sighed
contentedly and put his hand behind his heads, closing his eyes.

As his wrist moved up and down, Timmie watched fascinated as Ryan's
foreskin uncovered and recovered the glistening head. He glanced up
towards Ryan's face. The boy still had his eyes closed. With his free
hand, Timmie began to lightly massage the older boy's chest, enjoying
the feel of the smooth, warm skin under his fingers.

Ryan's breathing seemed to have deepened a little and every so often
he'd shift his hips, wriggling them down into the mattress whilst
moaning softly. "Go a bit faster," he gasped.

Timmie increased the pace of his strokes. It made him feel good knowing
that he was doing something that was giving the other boy such
pleasure.

Ryan's groan had increased and he was lifting his hips up from the bed
in a thrusting motion.

On impulse, Timmie leaned forwards and kissed the sticky tip of Ryan's
cock, then ran his tongue across the slit.

"Arghhhh!" Ryan's hip's gave an almighty thrust, his body tensed up and
streamers of cum erupted from his throbbing dick, the first splattering
across Timmie's face, the rest splashing down onto his own chest.

Timmie watched in awe as Ryan's orgasm subsided and the older teen
settled into relaxed stillness. He raised his hand to his cheek and
wiped away some of the sticky mess that was smeared there.

Ryan was grinning. "I didn't expect you to do that."

"I might not have done if I'd realised that you were going to try and
drown me."

"Sorry," Ryan laughed, but when I felt your tongue touch my dick that
set me off and then there was no stopping it. Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I guess. I need something to wipe my face with though. Can I use
one of those towels."

"Be my guest. They're ready for the laundry now anyway."

Timmie retrieved one of the towels and wiped himself and Ryan clean,
then returned it to the bathroom. When he got back, Ryan was just
climbing under the bedclothes. He held them open.

"Come on, get in."

It was only a single bed, but Timmie squeezed in beside the other boy
and Ryan let the blankets fall on top of them.

"I wish this were real?" Timmie sighed, snuggling up to Ryan.

"You don't think it is?"

"Do you?"

"It feels real, but I don't see how it can be. Maybe in the morning
we'll wake up and everything will be as it was. Even if that does
happen, this has been the best Christmas ever."

"I wish you I could stay here with you forever," said Timmie, softly.
"I wish you were my big brother." It was a long time since he'd been in
a warm comfortable bed. This combined with the natural, relaxing after
effects of his first orgasm caused the predictable to happen. He
drifted away into a gentle sleep.






Timmie awoke with a start. He didn't know where he was. He was warm and
surrounded by soft sheets and there was someone sleeping next to him.
Suddenly it all came back to him; the events of the previous night.
He'd thought it was all a dream, but he was still here in this same
bed. Did this mean it was real?

He opened his eyes. The first light of a clear dawn was already
beginning to force its way through the bedroom curtains. He looked
around then sat bolt upright in shock. There was someone standing at
the foot of the bed.

Timmie's sudden movement had woken Ryan who fumbled with the bedside
lamp, eventually getting it turned on and flooding the room with light.

"Good morning, Timmie, Ryan." In the bedroom, standing watching them,
was an old man. He looked to be dressed in rags, but strangely they
were clean rags, not a spot of dirt in sight. His unshaven face with
its pure white whiskers was smiling happily down at them.

"Nick?" Timmie instantly recognised the old man from the alleyway the
night before. "You were the voice in my head. You're the one who
brought me here."

"Yes, that was me," Nick nodded. "I was the one who spoke to both you
and Ryan."

"What are you doing here?" Ryan asked. "You haven't come to take Timmie
away again, have you?" He grasped old of the younger boy's arm as if he
were not about to let him go.

"That's up to you," said the old man. "Or rather it's up to both of
you. The night is nearly over and with dawn the magic will end. Before
that happens you have to decide."

"Decide what?" asked Timmie.

"You have to decide whether this is what you really want. You remember
last night, Timmie, when I asked you what you wanted more than anything
in the world? Well, this is as close as I can make it for you. The same
applies to you Ryan. I've tried to give you what you wanted most in the
world. But I want you both to think carefully because once dawn comes
there will be no going back."

Timmie opened his mouth to say "yes, this is what he wanted" but Nick
interrupted before he could speak.

"I said think carefully, Timmie. I'm sure you've enjoyed spending this
night with Ryan, but it may not always be as good as this. Sometimes
you'll argue, sometimes you may even fight. You'll have to get used to
living as part of a family. That will mean rules; you'll no longer be
able to just do as you please. And you Ryan, you want a brother more
than anything else, but remember that if you get your brother you'll
have to get used to sharing everything. At the moment almost everything
your parents do is geared around you. If you have a brother, that will
change. Are you both absolutely sure this is what you want?"

Timmie felt Ryan's hand in his own, squeezing so tightly that it hurt.
He nodded. "I'm sure. I want Ryan as my big brother. I want to be part
of his family."

Ryan immediately wrapped his arms around Timmie's chest and crushed him
in a tight hug. "I'm sure too. I want Timmie to stay with me forever."

"So be it," said Nick, with a wide smile. "Now, it's almost dawn and
I've much still to do." He turned away towards the window.

"Wait a minute," said Timmie, jumping out of bed, not in the least
embarrassed at his complete nudity. "Who are you?"

"I think you already know that," said the old man, looking back. He
gave a wink. "But I'm the real thing, not the pretend version who gives
away cheap, plastic presents in department stores."

"One more question," said Timmie, quickly, as the man once more moved
towards the window. "Last night, in that alleyway, I was dying wasn't
I? If I'd chosen not to stay with Ryan, would I be dead now?"

"That's two questions, not one," Nick smiled, his eyes suddenly sad.
"Let me reply by asking you one. Even if you had chosen not to stay
with Ryan, would you have wanted to go back to living like you were?"
There was a long thoughtful pause as he gently stroked Timmie's hair.
"No, I didn't think so." He stepped towards the window and seemed to
disappear straight through the wall. A second later there was a faint
noise like a happy, distant laugh and then something that sounded like
"Merry Christmas". Then there was silence.

Timmie and Ryan looked at each other, each seeing a mixture of fear,
excitement and total disbelief in the other's eyes. Timmie had the
strange feeling that the world around them had suddenly changed. He
gasped in amazement. The room now contained twin single beds, the new
bed just a couple of feet to the side of Ryan's.

Ryan climbed out his bed and walked over to an extra set of drawers
that hadn't been there before. He pulled one open. They were full of
clothes. He held up a shirt against himself. "This is too small for
me," he said, tossing it across to Timmie. "Here, try it on."

The shirt fit Timmie perfectly. As did all the other clothing in the
drawers.

"This is all very well, having a new bed appearing and all these
clothes, but I can't help wondering what's going to happen when mum and
dad see you," said Ryan worriedly. "Let's have a look downstairs and
see what else has changed, before they get up."

The two boy's quickly pulled on shorts, Ryan also putting on a shirt,
before they headed down the stairs. To Ryan, everything looked normal,
but to Timmie, of course, all this was new. The house looked to him
almost like a palace, with its large rooms and good quality furniture.
The strange thing was, seconds after seeing each room he had this
strange feeling of familiarity, almost as if he'd lived here all his
life.

They made their way into the lounge. In one corner stood a large
brightly lit Christmas tree, beneath which were lots of carefully
wrapped parcels separated into two piles.

Ryan bent down and looked at the labels. "Timmie, come and look at
this."

One of the piles contained presents for Ryan, but both boys gasped as
they read the label on one of the parcels from the other pile.

"To Timmie, a very special son. All our love, Mum and Dad."

Timmie just sat a stared at the label. His heart was thumping and he
had a huge lump in his throat. Then, up above the Christmas tree he
noticed a framed picture on the wall. It was a photograph of four
people, two boys and a man and a woman. The man and woman had their
arms around the boys. He was aware of Ryan stepping up close behind him
and he felt the older boy's arms go around him in a hug, similar to the
way the man was hugging one of the boys in the picture. The boys were
himself and Ryan. And even though he'd never seen the man and woman
before, Timmie instantly recognised them. He'd known them all his life.
They were his Mum and Dad. For the first time in a very long time
Timmie allowed his deepest feelings to come to the surface. He broke
down and cried.

**********

Feedback is encouraged and always much appreciated. Email me at
gym@softhome.net or visit my discussion board at
http://www.gymnopedies.info for loads more stories, news and previews.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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