Chapter One

I fully expect to reach thirty, look at twenty-somethings and think about what a loser I was in my twenties, but that’s for later amusement. At this point in time, there’s this odd fascination I have with the awkwardness of adolescence. Observing my little brother and his friends is akin to picking at the proverbial scab; you know it’s wrong, it’s painful and yet it’s undeniably addictive.

It’s his sixteenth birthday party, Saturday night, and our parents have conveniently enough agreed to go camping so he can have an interrupted night of booze and teenage sex. They were never this lenient with me, but owing to the fact that I enjoy both men and women, my staunchly homophobic father is inclined to let my younger brother, Dane, get away with more than most kids his age in the hope he’ll stick to women.

‘I'm like, so wasted,’ A pubescent girl exclaims, her shiny blonde hair sweeping over her face in a shimmering wave. She’s pretending to hobble, falling dramatically all over her girlfriends, her tiny denim skirt showing off spindly teenage legs and a flash of her ass, a red satin thong wedged up between cheeks too perfect for life. Nestled amongst the zits and the weight problems and the uncertainty there are always people like this girl; perfect, desired and adored. The future doesn't matter to this girl; for now she's a goddess and I hope for her sake she enjoys it while it lasts.

I return to my beer, debating whether it's a better idea to retreat to the sanctity of my room or watch over my younger brother and his increasingly inebriated schoolmates. Deciding I look like a twenty-two year old wanker with nothing better to do but stare at fifteen year olds on his Saturday night, I head off to my room. It's only nine-thirty, but I have my television in there and if anything's going to get broken, it's going to break regardless of my presence. I've long since learnt that only rarely are older siblings viewed as authority figures, and not being the type of man that commands respect from young males, I'm only going to make a dickhead of myself by drinking with kids.

Unfortunately for me, there are two kids fucking on my bed. Instinctively, I apologise and shut the door quickly.

'There might be someone in there,' a wigger, walking down the hallway, points out.

'You wanna get them out then?'

'Whatever,' he retorts, heading to the bathroom. 'Don't get cut over it.'

I spent my teenager years unsuccessfully trying to make my parents feel like idiots and now this moron has succeeded where I've failed. Irritated, I head to the lounge room to mentally bitch, grabbing chips and dip on the way. There's no one inside except for one other guy, sitting and watching television and I barely give him a second glance as I flop onto my mother's pristine flower-patterned recliner.

'Sorry,' he apologises, holding out the remote. 'Everyone's pissed.'

'And you're the little teetotaller?' I inquire, amused at his attitude.

'Why drink when you can smoke?'

'Who knows?' I reply dryly, taking the remote and flicking through the channels. Save for several bad Friday night movies, there's nothing on. I ask my teenaged companion if he minds watching a DVD. He shakes his head silently and reaches over, taking a handful of my chips.

We watch Lawn Dogs, a movie I've seen a million times and will never get tired of, but my gaze keeps drifting towards my companion. He's only six or seven years younger than me, but I can assure you kids sure as hell didn't dress like that when I was at school. He's wearing chunky black boots with silver laces, heavy industrial-stained jeans held up around his ass with a black, metal-studded belt and a tight, black cotton shirt. No jewellery but he does wear eyeliner, strategically smudged, and his lips appear to be artifically glossed. His left eyebrow is pierced, but it's his face itself that's intriguing. He has a wide face, with a nose that doesn't look caucasian, although he's definitely white, smokey grey-green eyes and short medium brown hair which is strategically gelled into a spiky mess. It's not a beautiful face, but it's a captivating one even if it doesn't exactly 'fit' his body, which is a little too sleek for his head.

'Victor,' Dane yells out, stumbling into the room. ''Ave you seen me cunt of a brother?'

Victor points in my direction, smirking. 'He's there shithead.'

'Mike,' Dane laughs boisterously, falling over the bowl of chips. 'Oh shit man, can you clean that? No, no, wait, that wasn't what I was gonna ask. What I want...what we need is more booze.'

The correct answer is 'you shouldn't be drinking'. Actually, the 'correct' thing to do would have been to prevent them from drinking at all, but I don't need to look like the staid, boring, loser elder brother any more than I already do. It's ridiculous that I think this way, because normally I don't give a shit about what people think of me, but with Dane it's different. He's my brother, and I'm young enough to remember what it's like to be embarrassed by your family.

'Take this gay cunt with you,' Dane laughs, pointing to Victor. 'He can help you carry it all. We need a looooot of fucking booze.'

'Okay,' Victor agrees, standing up.

Victor's acquiescence surprises all of us. Dane gives me a pointed, drunken look and drags me into the kitchen. 'We want vodka, right? Whatever you can get for fifty bucks, and if there's change, get Coke. But, like, with Victor, we call him gay 'cause he's gay, not cause he's a faggot. So don't hit on him. Don't say fucking nothing to him, Mike, 'cause that's seriously gonna be uncool for me if you do.'

‘Beware the creepy bisexual,’ I whisper sardonically. ‘I like to suck the bloooood of innocent young schoolboys.’

Dane gives me a filthy look. ‘You’re such a loser.’

‘A loser who’s agreed to buy your alcohol,’ I point out archly.

My younger sibling sighs and slumps against the fridge. ‘Just for one fucking night, Mike, I want to be a normal kid. I don’t want to be your brother tonight, I want this to be my party. No hearing about how smart you are, no worrying about you being like you are. Not tonight. Please.’

‘Deal,’ I agree, scooping up the mass of change and notes he’s collected. ‘I’ll bring back your grog and then go out. If you can keep your friends from fucking in my bed while I get dressed that is.’

‘Sorry,’ he apologises. ‘Well, uh, I’m gonna get back out there, okay?’

‘It’s sweet,’ I reply, watching him stumble out the door, feigning drunkenness and being greeted with a cheer.

He’s so different to me, even though we share the same two parents, the same genes. I was never that loud, never held parties, rarely even went to anyone else’s. There was that horrible incident when I was fourteen and pashed my best mate, you see. I avoided certain death only because everyone thought I was too pissed to realize Thomas was a male. Truthfully, the only realisation I was too pissed for was that kissing your same-gender crush was, as Dane would put it, ‘uncool’.

Victor is waiting out the front of the house, smoking a cigarette and staring calmly at the night sky. He’s ugly in this fascinating way, yet has more confidence in himself than ninety-nine percent of kids his age. Not arrogance, although there’s a touch of that in him, rather it’s the calm certainty of self-acceptance.

We live on two acres of land, but we’re only five minutes from suburbia so the trip should only take twenty or thirty minutes. Making conversation with a teenager, without sounding old and crusty, is going to be difficult though.

‘Go the van,’ he teases archly. ‘Let’s see if we can hit sixty.’

‘I’m an electrician, I need a van,’ I retort dryly. ‘Care to disclose your normal mode of transport?’

‘I catch the train, man,’ he grins. ‘Or I walk. Or skate. Or scoot. Sometimes people even give me lifts.’

‘The excitement must never stop.’

His teeth are slightly yellowed, probably from all the smoking he’s doing, but his smile is great. The smile is flashed several more times on the journey to the bottleshop, amidst conversation that's more...mature...than I would have expected from such a young kid. In short, he isn't the worst conversationalist and away from his peers, he's not as intent on giving me hell.

At the bottleshop we buy three bottles of vodka, one of bourbon and a carton of Bacardi Breezers. The cost exceeds fifty dollars, but I guess that no matter how much he annoys me at times, Dane's still my brother. I love the guy to bits and if another fifty dollars is going to make his birthday better, it's a small price to pay.

On the return trip, we stop at a 7-11 and buy Coke and orange juice and cigarettes. Victor buys a Mars bar and the moment we’re in the van, offers me half. I decline as politely as one can when a teenager asks if you want to share his chocolate with him.

‘Sorry, force of habit,’ he replies, flushing brilliant red. ‘I have eight younger brothers and sisters. I’m used to sharing.’

‘Shit,’ I exclaim. ‘There are nine of you?’

‘Ten,’ he corrects wryly. ‘I have an older sister, but she’s married. We’re, uh, really mostly half-siblings. My mother’s had a lot of partners.’

When you come from a two-parent family, always having known financial and familial security, it’s impossible to imagine the ‘other side’s’ experiences. I’m also unbelievably curious as to what it was like growing up with so many siblings.

‘It wasn’t too bad,’ Victor replies when I voice my question. ‘My mum’s on the pension though and we live in housing commission. Sometimes it’s fun and sometimes it’s fucking frustrating. I think Mum’s pregnant again, so that’s not good, but at least none of the men are around.’

I try not to look too surprised. As I glance sideways at my companion, Victor raises his eyebrows slightly. ‘Is it my turn to ask a question?’

‘Shoot.’

Victor’s brows furrow as he considers his question. He turns the radio down and lights a cigarette. ‘Is it true you like men?’

‘Men and women,’ I reply gruffly, remembering my promise to Dane and hating myself for breaking it. I’m not even entirely sure why I confessed to Victor. Maybe it was the sincerity in his question, and the feeling I have in my pit of my stomach that his curiosity in no way related to gathering ammunition to use against my brother.

‘Oh,’ he remarks, drawing on his cigarette. ‘Well, I only like men.’

He says it so easily, and I’ve become so accustomed to the fact that there are a lot of bi/homosexuals wandering around Brisbane that the significance of his confession is lost on me for a few seconds.

‘I see,’ I reply, trying not to grimace with uncertainty.

‘I’m not kidding,’ Victor advises solemnly. ‘Can you pull over please?’

I drive a few hundred metres up the road until we’re at a deserted stretch before pulling over. I turn to Victor expectantly, waiting to find out what it is he wants to say. Honestly, he’s starting to make me feel a little uncomfortable; I’m bad with advice, and if he wants some hints on men he’s really barking up the wrong tree.

‘Can I kiss you?’ he asks nervously, his gaze darting between his cigarette and my face.

I’m single, true, and I find him attractive, yes, but he’s also jailbait with a capital J. I’ve never been one to fantasize about schoolboys, firstly because I don’t tend to find them particularly attractive on the whole and secondly, because they’re too immature for me. There have been the odd fantasies about nubile young flesh, replete with rapid orgasms and the intensity of teenage emotions, but on the whole I’ve always looked for a partner from my own age group.

‘I only kiss men who’re old enough to grow chest hair,’ I tease forcefully, turning the key in the ignition. ‘You find someone your own age, okay?’

‘Wait,’ he orders desperately, grabbing my arm. He’s shaking as he leads my hand under his shirt, both hands gripping it as he slides it up his chest.

‘See?’ he whispers nervously. ‘Chest hair.’

He’s not lying. There’s not much of it, just a few coarse strands, but he has more than some twenty-year olds I’ve slept with.

He licks his lips anxiously as he holds the palm of my hand against his chest, the noise of the running van sounding distant in my ears. His cigarette dangles from his lips, smoke drifting into his eyes and making them water but he seems relucant to let go of me.

‘Give me that,’ I demand, retrieving my hand and taking the cigarette from his mouth.

‘Please,’ he appeals desperately with the conviction of youth as I stub out his smoke. ‘I’m not sure I’m going to be able to tell anyone else about this and I want to know what it’s like. I’m only asking you for one night. Please, please do this with me.’

There’s something about Victor that leads me to think that he won’t have as much trouble coming out as he thinks. He has the self-assurance, and the maturity, it’s simply a matter of amalgamating his emotions and realizing it has to be done, and that to force a relationship with a woman would be only be cruel to both parties. Try as I might though, it’s going to be incredibly difficult to explain that to some at his stage of life.

‘Please,’ he repeats, holding my gaze. ‘I swear to God, I won’t regret this tomorrow. I don’t normally have to beg, either, but you’re not giving me much choice.’

Doesn’t ‘normally’ have to beg? I raise my eyebrows at him questioningly.

‘I have a girlfriend,’ he explains. ‘I’m not a virgin. Not that way, anyway.’

We stare at each other for a few seconds before he reaches over and rests his hand on my shoulder. I, stupidly, turn the ignition off, and he takes this as the sign that I’m willing to suck face with him. His lips press against mine, soft and sticky with lip-gloss, the pressure increasing as he tries to nudge my lips apart. Finding himself to be unsuccessful, he reaches down and unclips his seatbelt, shuffling closer to me and pressing the orange button, thus freeing me from my own safety restraint.

His hands rest on my chest as he continues to kiss me, his eyes fluttering open to catch me staring at him. It’s the way he raises his eyebrows, in this cheekily suggestive way that relaxes me. I listen to him moan approvingly as his tongue slips inside my mouth, wondering how much of a kiss he’s expecting. This is certainly taking a little longer than I expected, and then there’s the other worry of somebody driving past and wondering what it is we’re doing. Out here, people are inclined to stop and ensure that you’re not stranded and what I don’t need is anyone pulling over to find me with a teenager on my lap.

It’s Victor that breaks the kiss, his lips wet and a saliva trail binding us together. It’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen; his pink gloss smeared over his chin, his breath rapid and the physical evidence of the act obvious. Unthinkingly I grasp his biceps, sucking and biting at his lips, demanding more. He responds hungrily, revealing a previously restrained eagerness, his hands roaming under my shirt and over my hips before working their way to the bulge in the front of my jeans.

‘ We should go in the back,’ he murmurs between kisses, ‘and fuck’.

It takes me a second to decide. I take the key out of the ignition, lock the doors and we climb over the seat to the back, shifting my toolboxes and equipment to either side. I have old towels and jumpers in the back and we form a makeshift pillow with them. I’m seriously counting on any passers by thinking this is merely a van parked on the side of the road now that I've all but given consent to sex.

We take off our shoes before Victor turns his attention to my shirt, carefully unbuttoning it, his mouth pressed to each inch of skin he slowly exposes. I wonder what this intriguing creature sees in me, and whether he’d planned on seducing me at the beginning of the night. I’m not an interesting looking person; I’m a few inches shy of six foot, with dark blonde hair and lightly tanned skin, ordinary blue eyes and an average face and body.

He eases me shirt over my shoulders and lays me down, his fingers nimbling unzipping my jeans. It’s amusing and seductive to watch him work, a look of intense concentration on his face as he focuses on pleasuring me. He doesn’t let me move without his consent and I feel his lips press against my lower stomach while he drags my jeans and boxer briefs down to my thighs. His mouth moves lower as he slowly slips my clothing ever downward, stripping me so that while he’s fully dressed I’m naked.

‘Hey, hey, hey, that’s not fair,’ I whisper, noting his brilliant grin. ‘Come here.’

I sit up and pull him closer, helping him remove his clothing. The body underneath is nice, masculine and more adult than child, with a fine sprinkling of hair on his chest, a dark trail leading down from his bellybutton to the thicker patch of hair below and his legs and ass nicely shaped. The head of his hard-on is wet with pre-cum, and an image of him masturbating flits through my mind. With all those siblings it must be done quickly and furtively, probably in the shower - an erotic thought in itself.

We lie down alongside each other, erections rubbing up against each other needfully, until a V8 screeches past, it’s occupants flinging empty beer bottles at what they believe to be a parked van. Both of us pull back in sudden fright, before placing the noise and smiling sheepishly.

‘I’ll get a condom,’ I murmur. ‘How far do you want to go?’

Victor shrugs. ‘I’m happy to be fucked.’

My wallet contains three condoms and a single-use satchet of lubricant. It confirms what I was thinking; Victor's going to be fucking me, not the other way around. Not only do I want him feeling uncomfortable for the rest of the night, but the little lubricant available probably won't be enough for his first time. With speed borne out of much experience, I rip open the foil packet and roll the first condom over Victor. He smiles up at me, looking a little nervous, as I hand him the lubricant.

'Do you know what to do?' I ask, remembering that this is his first time with a male.

'Lube up, poke my fingers up your ass for a while and when you're loose enough, fuck you?' he suggests.

'That's it in a nutshell,' I agree, wondering why it is I'm about to let myself be fucked by a teenage virgin with a crass way of describing anal sex.

He carefully spreads a little lubricant in the palm of his hand before looking up at me nervously. I realise he wasn't so much being unintentionally crude but protecting himself in case he had the entirely wrong idea. I smile gently and pull him onto the floor with me, leading his hand between my thighs. The expression of intense concentration has returned to his face as he softly strokes my entrance, cautiously inserting a finger. When his digit comes into contact with my prostate I inhale deeply, my toes curling at the shock of sensation that's swept through my body.

Victor smiles shyly, inserting another two fingers and scissoring them back and forth, sliding in and out, preparing me with more skill than I imagined teenaged virgins possessed. I return his smile and nod slightly, signalling that I'm ready to progress. He wipes his hands on a towel and reaches for the satchet, squeezing out the remainder and coating his erection. He looks at me expectantly, waiting for advice.

'Lie on your back,' I request, kneeling over him and pushing him back. His expression is one of lustful anticipation, his kohl-lined eyes roaming over my body, drinking in what must be his first full-length view of a living, breathing, naked man. With his hands resting gently on my hips he bites his bottom lip and nods his head, intimating he wants to be kissed. We caress each other for a few seconds before I position myself over his hard-on, gripping it in one hand and impaling myself upon him.

The rhythm commences, my thighs taut as I thrust onto him, rising a little and thrusting him into me again. His eyes are shut and his face wears the pained expression of a man trying to hold back premature orgasm while my hand works my dick, sliding up and down as he screws me. After only a dozen or so strokes he groans quietly, wrenching me up and down as he involuntarily reaches climax. I allow him to guide me through his release, slowing down to my own speed without acknowledging his orgasm as my own climax mounts. It takes but seconds for the waves of pleasure to sweep over my body, his dick sweeping my prostate with every movement and semen splattering over my stomach. It's been over a year since I was with a man, but Victor's inexperience entirely fails to reduce the heady recklessness of the experience, and the fascinated look he wears only serves to strengthen my release, making it impossible not to cry out.

With closed eyes my movements draw to a halt, my partner silently handing me one of the old jumpers behind his head. As I ease myself off him and we scrub away at the evidence of our lust, I realise that I may just have done the stupidest thing to date in my life. He's so young, and it would have been better for his first lover to be a more permanent partner, someone who could fully appreciate the gift of his virginity. As it is, I'm grateful that he fucked me, not the other way around, and that he still has this innocence to offer a boyfriend. That may sound an archaic way of thinking, but I still believe that there's something sweet in giving yourself for the first time to your life partner.

He leans over and kisses my cheek, his face flaming red. In return, I fling an arm around his shoulders and draw him near, kissing the top of his head.

'Thank-you,' he mumbles, sounding embarrassed. 'It's better now because I know what it's like.'

'You'll have better lovers,' I whisper, stroking his hair. 'I used to think I'd never be able to tell anyone. Then, when I got older, I realised it was better for everyone if I told the truth. I could only lie to everyone for so long.'

'I won't have girlfriends,' he replies heart-wrenchingly. 'That way I won't be lying to anyone but myself.'

'Victor,' I start, tilting his head towards me and kissing his reddened lips. 'Trust me. Don't deny any man a dick that seems to be magnetically attracted to prostates.'

He laughs softly and plants kisses all over my face, his arms around my shoulders. 'Sorry,' he murmurs. 'I didn't think I'd ever have the chance to do this.'

'Hmm, you...'

We're interrupted by the ringing of my mobile. It's Dane, screaming down the phone at me in his faux-inebriated voice, demanding I return with his alcohol or he's going to fucking kill me. His voice is loud enough for Victor to overhear and as my sibling berates me, his friend collects his clothing and quickly dresses, turning my own clothes out the right way and handing them to me as I conjur up a lie about running into an old friend of mine.

Five minutes later we're both fully dressed and driving towards my house. As we enter the driveway, I stop and hand over a business card. 'You know, if you ever want to talk to anyone...' I offer, wondering why it is I now view myself to be worthy of the position as advice-giver. Perhaps it's simply because I like Victor, and don't want to see him live in fear for the rest of his life, but regardless of what I think, it's too late to take the card back.

'Cool,' he smiles, as though he was holding not my business card but some secret, coveted holy grail of knowledge. 'I'll do that, okay?'

'Okay,' I agree, driving up to the house. As we approach, we're greeted by hordes of screaming kids, demanding we unload the alcohol pronto.

Victor gives me a secret, shy smile before grabbing several breezers and heading into the mass of youth, apparently utterly unaffected by our actions.

Chapter Two

‘I broke up with Natasha,’ Victor remarks.

His smoky grey-green eyes meet mine as he awaits my reaction. What he seeks is approval, but I’m not so sure how to give it without sounding as though I want him to be alone for his teenage years.

It only took him three days to call me. He called on Tuesday night, asking how I was and if he could speak to me. Having already offered my company, there was no way and I could refuse, and thus it’s now Wednesday night and we’re sitting at a New Farm café together. He wanted to talk to me as far away from home as possible and understanding his reticence to discuss his sexuality in an area where friends and family might stray, we made the rather long drive to the other side of the city.

‘Mike?’ Victor prods. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m devastated?’

A grin spreads across his face and I laugh, realizing he didn’t want advice on how to cope, he simply wanted to share the news. He’s realised my misunderstanding though, and finds it amusing, much to my embarrassment.

‘Are you?’ I ask gruffly.

‘No,’ he smiles. ‘I’ll miss the sex, but, um, it was better with you. Obviously.’

He flushes bright red, staring down at the table as he remembers Saturday night’s speedy orgasm. When he starts laughing at himself, I find it impossible not to join in, until we’re cracking up laughing at something that ordinarily isn’t that funny. A few people give us puzzled stares as we try and calm down and stop ourselves from laughing like hyenas. Perhaps it’s me that’s laughing like a hyena, because Victor has a terrific laugh, the sort that makes other people smile when they hear it. The moment we walked into the café, heads turned, simply due to Victor’s age – around ten years younger than the youngest other patrons – and his peculiar looks, which make him stand out in a neighbourhood where even most adults struggle to look unique.

‘You could let me have some more practice,’ he suggests quietly. ‘I think I could do a lot better next time.’

A sexual relationship with a sixteen year old isn’t what I’m seeking. On the other hand, what did I think Victor would want from me? I’m too old to be a friend, there’s not much advice I can offer him, and I don’t doubt he’s as aware of these facts as I am. What Victor wants is sex and I’ve unwittingly volunteered myself by taking him out tonight. Giving him my contact details was incredibly thoughtless and as I berate myself for my lack of foresight, he gently kicks me under the table.

‘It’s your turn to fuck me,’ he mouths.

It’s the second time his mischievous, cheeky side has broken my willpower. The look taints his personality with a more….mature, I suppose….attitude towards sexual activity, reassuring me that he’s in this for fun and nothing else. After all, how could I expect a sixteen year old to develop feelings for a crusty old man? What I need is to stop worrying about how this is affecting him an instead enjoy what’s bound to be a brief, sexually-charged affair. I have no special someone in my life, I’ve recently left a stressful, twelve month relationship and it’s time to leave responsibility on the shelf for a while and have a little fun.

‘Suck my dick,’ I mouth back archly.

He laughs out loud, shaking his head at me and pushing his coffee aside. Grabbing his arm, I pull him out of the café, mindless of what anyone thinks. He holds my hand as we make our way to the side-street where I’ve parked my unfashionable van, his other hand holding a cigarette and his teeth revealed in a grin. He’s wearing the same dark denim jeans he wore on Saturday, with a faded black hoody, his fingernails are painted bright blue and the kohl and lipgloss are again present. He looks so fuckable it’s not funny, but it’s only when we’re in the van that we realize we have nowhere to go.

‘Maybe somewhere out of suburbia?’ he suggests.

Fucking in the back of the van isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world and besides, sex is better when you’re in a good, large bed and you’re guaranteed no interruptions.

‘Hotel,’ I argue, driving into the CBD. ‘I’ll drop you off while I book in. We’ll need lube and condoms, because I don’t have either with me.’

‘Um, okay,’ Victor agrees, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

I glance over at him as I fumble with my wallet whilst trying to manoeuvre through inner-city traffic. ‘You don’t want to do this?’

‘No, I, like, want it,’ he replies quickly. ‘It’s, uh, I’ve never been to a hotel before. Hell, I’ve only been to the city a few times in my life.’

I should have known this already, judging by his age and the relative poverty of his home life, but when you’re twenty-two and accustomed to Brisbane life, it’s easy to forget.

‘Oh,’ I reply. ‘Well, I’ll leave you here and pick you up here so you don’t get lost. You can come with me if you want, but I don’t particularly want it bought to anyone’s attention that I’m about to be sodomized by a teenager, y’know?’

‘Shit yeah,’ he replies, smiling and accepting the fifty dollar note offered for the purchase of contraceptives. I drop him off, organizing to come and pick him up in half an hour, protectively watching him walk away, his stride uncertain and his school bag slung over a shoulder.

Midweek accommodation isn’t particularly cheap, but sometimes you have to splurge and have a little fun. Besides, my sojourn at the parental nest – which has so far lasted five weeks – has really put a dampener on my sex life. I’ve actually known men who both live with their parents and take their pick-ups home, however were I to try this with my parents, my life expectancy would be seriously reduced. Fucking strange men in the bedroom next to my parents is the last thing I’m going to try, and with Victor, I’d rather the relationship be hidden, for everyone’s sake.

Victor is sitting at a bus-stop when I arrive, a convenience store bag resting on his lap. It’s quite late at night, around eight o’clock, and I suddenly realize he’s going to have to be dropped off home in an hour or two.

‘I’ve called my Mum,’ he explains when I ask him when he needs to be back. ‘I told her I might be staying at a friend’s house tonight. She’s cool with it. Anyway, here’s your change.’

He hands over the change, plus a receipt, as though he needs to prove he didn’t hold back some of the change for himself. It’s odd that he does this, but not wanting him to feel uncomfortable, I leave the matter alone.

The hotel lobby is thankfully busy, and the concierge entirely fails to see us as we head to the lift. A smile slowly spreads across Victor’s face as we enter the room, and he places the shopping bag and his backpack down, inspecting the view from the window. He turns to face me, gesturing for me to come closer and admire the view of the Brisbane River with him.

‘I feel like I’m having an affair with a married man,’ he grins, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting his head in the crook of my neck. ‘The only problem is I’m decked out in Mickey Mouse boxers, not a lace teddy.’

‘You’re gonna be decked out in nothing soon,’ I retort, tugging at his jeans.

He has to hobble to bed, his jeans around his thighs, to remove his black boots, and at the same time he gestures for me to strip off. His eyes dart over as I sit next to him, carefully removing my clothing and piling it on the bedside table. Nude, he’s a study of teenage insecurity, his shoulders hunched and his cheeks red. It takes me a few seconds to remember that on Saturday night we could only see the shadowy outlines of each other’s figure, whereas tonight we’re completely on display, flaws and all. At twenty-two, I’m no longer as paranoid about my looks, but Victor’s young and despite his emotional maturity, he still retains the adolescent urge to cover his body.

‘Come here,’ I request, standing up and taking his hand. He takes my hand cautiously, and follows me to the window, trying to turn so that as much of his body as possible is hidden from my view.

‘Stand here,’ I whisper, holding him in the front of the window. ‘You’re fucking gorgeous. Let everyone in Brisbane see what I’ve got for tonight.’

He laughs under his breath, turning to face me, his arms around my neck. ‘It’s one way glass. Otherwise there’s no way in fucking hell I’d let you do this.’

Slightly embarrassed by my actions, I shrug and kiss him. He responds without hesitation, his sticky lips against mine, his erection pressing into my groin. Slowly I try and kneel down, but Victor keeps pulling me up, refusing to let me stop kissing him. Bemused, I firmly hold his arms to his side and drop to my knees, nuzzling his dark, neatly trimmed pubic hair. Ignoring his protests and reaching out for his cock, I take it into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the head, tasting the unusually salty pre-cum.

‘Mike, like, stop that okay?’ he requests, pushing on my shoulders. ‘I can’t do that. I’ve tried with different girls and it just doesn’t happen for me.’

‘You’ll come,’ I argue confidently, returning to his erection.

He gives me but a few seconds grace before squirming out of my grasp and backing himself against the window, putting as much distance between us as he can. The fear and insecurity that lurks in his eyes is the catalyst for one of the worst guilt trips I’ve experienced; he truly looks as though he’s scared that I might force him to receive fellatio.

‘I’m sorry,’ he apologises, staring at the carpet, his hands crossed over his crotch. ‘Um, if you want it, I’m happy to do you, but I don’t like….I can’t do that. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t. It just….’

I interrupt his rambling with a shrug and a tentative smile. ‘It’s okay. It’s your body, right?’

His relief is instantaneous. ‘I’ll still do you,’ he offers hurriedly. ‘It’s really my own stupid problem that I don’t get off on it.’

‘You could have a bath with me,’ I grin, stepping closer and gently moving his hands so they’re no longer covering his crotch. ‘Do you want me to carry you?’

Victor smiles and ducks his head, taking one last glance out the window. ‘I’m pretty heavy.’

I take it as my cue that he doesn’t mind and as he wraps his arms around my neck, and his legs around my waist, I grasp his thighs, smiling into his gorgeous eyes. He rubs one hand against my chest as I stumble to the bathroom, bowing his head into an awkward position and kissing my nipples, his warm breath against my skin incredibly aphrodisiac.

‘I’m gonna flog all the fancy soaps,’ Victor remarks, piling them onto the bathroom vanity. ‘I’ve never had the opportunity before and seein’ as I might not have it again for a few more years, I’m gonna take advantage of it.’

I laugh as I adjust the water to the correct temperature. ‘You do that, but don’t steal the towels. I learnt the hard way that they charge you for those.’

‘You’re such a loser,’ he laughs, scooting past me. ‘As though you’d steal a fucking towel.’

I feel like a dickhead for a second, until common sense gets the better of me and I remember what I was like at his age. Not quite like Victor, he’s got a touch of arrogance to him that I can’t recall having, but he’s also a lot more exciting than I am. I wasn’t as reckless at his age; I wouldn’t have tried to seduce an adult, I wouldn’t stay in a hotel with a relative stranger – even if my parents were as lax as his mother apparently is – and I surely wouldn’t try and tease someone six years my senior. There are the similarities between us, though; the discomfort with our nude figures, the easy embarrassment and the rapid orgasms that strike at the most inopportune moments, and I suppose I feel a little empathetic towards him, even if I don’t entirely understand him.

We shower together, erections tight against our stomachs, Victor’s hair gel washing away to leave fluffy, clean cropped hair which looks exceedingly childish. He scowls as he catches sight of himself in the mirror and wipes away his streaked eyeliner before going to get his back-pack and rummaging for his make-up. His school uniform is also in his bag and I wonder, curiously, if he told anyone where he was going.

‘Nope,’ he replies, squinting at himself in the mirror, a towel wrapped tightly around his waist. ‘What would I say? That I’m going to fuck Dane’s older brother? Yeah right,’ he scoffs. ‘I’d be dead before I fucking knew it.’

There’s no acne on his back, the lucky little bastard, and there’s none on his face, either. He has a beautiful complexion, and his skin is smooth and soft, yet not at all feminine. He gels his hair and reapplies his make-up, and although I think it's a waste of his time, if he feels more comfortable 'made up' I'm not going to argue.

'You look shit hot,' I lisp at him as he turns to me. 'Honey.'

'You're a cunt,' he retorts, pushing me out of the bathroom. I allow him to push me back a few steps at a time until I'm lying on the bed, watching him climb over my lap.

'You should fuck me,' I suggest. 'Let your first proper boyfriend be the first to fuck you.'

'Mmph,' he snorts, leaning down and kissing me. 'I was planning on fucking you anyway. Has anyone ever told you you have a great ass?'

His mood has swung so rapidly so many times in the past few hours that I'm often caught off guard. Right now, however, I know exactly what he wants, and scoot off the bed collecting the KY and the condoms.

He fucks me several times that night, in several different positions, and in the wee hours of the morning we wind down with a mutual masturbation session. The mini bar is almost empty and we're both half-drunk, smoking and laughing and taking the piss out of each other.

'So, you're like my fuck buddy now?' Victor asks at seven the next morning when I'm driving him to school, both of us dressed in crumpled clothing and sporting dark under eye shadows.

'Yeah,' I agree, no longer minding the age difference. 'No problems.'

For the following six weeks, I picked up Victor twice a week and we'd go somewhere quiet - normally out bush, because we both found the perpetual risk of being caught to be something of a turn-on - and he fucked me. He always wore the same pair of jeans and the same boots, applying his eyeliner and lip-gloss and never saying a word about a long-term relationship.

His level of skill increased and he learned how to hold back on orgasm, or - if he was feeling particularly lascivious - resurrect his erection and climax two or three times in a fuck session. No oral, because he reasserted his feelings of discomfort whenever I raised the subject, and I tried not to give in and fuck him, always reminding him he should save that for someone more special than me, but this afternoon he demanded I take him, and I must confess I gave in and did so. We had to try a few positions before he found one he was comfortable in, but the sex itself was fantastic and he didn't seem to regret what we'd done. Afterwards we indulged in a lingering kiss, and he smiled peacefully, nestling his head in my chest. Truthfully, we nearly dozed off, but caught ourselves at the last moment and I drove him home for the last time.

I'm moving out this weekend, and living half an hour from the family home is a mutual, convenient excuse for ending the relationship. It was good - great, actually - while it lasted and I found I quite liked the kid. He's incredibly intelligent, a straight A kid despite his less than desireable homelife.

I visited his home once, learnt that he lived in a house that was so messy and disorganised it was basically a pigsty, and left with a bad taste in my mouth. His mother frequently leaves him and the other, older, siblings in charge of the young children while she escapes to the pub, or to visit friends, or heads off to God alone knows where. Victor, I got the impression, found it rather embarrassing for me to see his home life, but there was no choice in the matter; we'd just finished screwing when I received a call on my mobile from his sister, Charlene, requesting that he come back home because the children were driving her insane and she had an assignment due in the next day.

His siblings were advised I was a friend and didn't question anything, although Tai and Aaliyah asked me if I had chocolate. I laughed, because they're four and six respectively, but Victor was infuriated and told them not to be stupid and annoy adults. The mind-blowing aspect of his family is this; despite their mother's carelessness, the children seem to have a self-respect, and desire for normality, that has no real roots. Where they drew the inspiration to regularly attend school, and wear clean clothes eludes me, because from what I've seen, most children who grow up in such derelict environments grow up to be entirely unselfconscious, always slightly dirty and with no expectations for the future other than a steady stream of welfare payments.

It's currently ten pm and I'm sitting in the loungeroom, watching television with Dane. Trying to sound casual, I ask him about Victor.

'Vic?' he repeats, bemused. 'He's okay. His family's way povo but the kids are sweet I guess. He studies every lunch, but he's not really nerdy, y'know? He's cool but he's gay as.'

'How long have you been friends?' I prod cautiously.

'Why are you so interested anyway?' he asks, a look of disbelief on his face. 'I don't give a shit about your friends.'

'Just curious,' I shrug.

'You're so weird,' he replies resignedly. 'Although all the teachers say to say hello. You know the deal, they still think you're a God and I'm gonna be exactly like you. What a fucking joke.'

'Dane, watch that mouth of yours or it'll get a soaping,' our mother interrupts, hands on her hips.

Dane and I exchange weary looks, rolling our eyes at each other.

I'm grateful that the affair with Victor is over, and that rumours never reached Dane's ears. Only now can I appreciate how much shit Dane and Victor would have received if their schoolmates had found out about the relationship and only now can I see how foolish I was. The schoolyard is generally a homophobic place and I shouldn't have been messing around with kids.

No regrets though. I think both Victor and I gained something from the experience.

Chapter Three

‘And so my search for the sort of woman who’ll agree to go camping with my family continues,’ Paul sighs, cutting himself a slab of camembert. ‘For fuck’s sake, I thought women wanted commitment. Going camping with us is like a sign of commitment, so what’s their problem?’

I can’t help but grin at him. Paul leans over, whacking me on the arm and commandeering the cheese board I’d purchased from the deli down the road less than half an hour prior. Tonight is my housewarming-dinner-party-thingy, to celebrate my moving out of the family nest once more and into the relative luxury a one-bedroom inner-city apartment offers. It’s a nice place to live; spacey, airy and with more entertaining room than I know what to do with. It's been two weeks since I last saw Victor, and it's also been two weeks since I last engaged in sexual activity with a partner, although hopefully that will shortly change. Celibacy was never my strong point.

Paul was my first boyfriend and is now my best mate. He was the friend of a friend when I first met him, and although our relationship didn’t work out, we never lost contact. He’s always been there for me, and I try my damndest to be there for him. Approximately a year ago he decided he was primarily seeking a woman, for reasons of children and personal preference and ever since, he’s been trying to find someone of suitable for marriage, with limited amounts of success.

‘Maybe you should have a break,’ I suggest, spearing an olive with a toothpick. ‘Don’t they say that the moment you stop looking, you find the right person?’

‘Probably because you’ve given up hope and take whatever comes along,’ comes the grumbled reply. ‘And when you stopped looking, you got an adolescent, punky-whatever fuck buddy. Some of us have occupations that prevent us from indulging in sexual relationships with sixteen year olds.’

Paul’s a high school art teacher, although judging from what he’s previously told me, he’s never had the urge to sleep with any of his pupils. Rather, the only urge he experiences is that to murder adolescent boys who throw clay at the ceiling and spill expensive paints with reckless abandon.

‘Victor wasn’t bad,’ I argue. ‘It was good while it lasted.’

Paul shakes his head at me. ‘You’re the last person I could imagine having a torrid affair with a teenager. What on earth did you two talk about?’

‘Stuff?’ I suggest. ‘I’m not sure. He was a pretty smart kid, he wasn’t boring or anything.’

‘You were lucky,’ Paul advises. ‘I don’t know why you weren’t terrified of him falling for you. God, teenage boys and their emotions. I was listening to some women at this café this morning, talking about the propensity of nineteen year old men to write letters of undying love to their girlfriends, and making their loved ones wince at their words. You know, I always thought I was an original, sensitive male, when I wrote those letters. Whoever knew I was really nothing more than a statistic?’

I smile despite myself, remembering writing five-page letters of romantic prose, declaring myself smitten and conveying my intention to spend the rest of my life with them. Not to Paul, of course, because I was terrified of being too emotional around my first boyfriend and having him think I was an emotional wreckage, but to my first two girlfriends, Caitlyn and Rebecca. In hindsight, I’m not surprised they ended the relationships shortly after I began bombarding them with reams of bad clichés and evidence of my near-obsession.

‘Maybe the reason he didn’t fall in love was because you always get so uptight with men,’ Paul remarks. ‘You always hide what you feel from your boyfriends. For heaven’s sake, you are a man, you should know that we’re not all insensitive, callous bastards.’

‘I don’t do that,’ I mumble, turning my attention away from the conversation and towards the piles of mescaline lettuce and shaved roast beef that I’m supposed to be turning into a salad.

‘Mike?’ Paul asks disbelievingly.

‘I know,’ I sigh. ‘I’ll have to work on that.’

We exchange a quick smile before I start working on combining the salad dressing.

‘I do the opposite,’ Paul adds, out of the blue. ‘I want them married to me before they can say ‘boo’. I want a mortgage and babies and a dog from the pound that barks until the neighbours go crazy. The problem is that women are inclined to want to be in a relationship for longer than three months before they receive a proposal.’

I take a quick glance at Paul. So that was the reason Monica ended the relationship, thus devastating Paul more than he thinks he’s letting on.

‘I’m twenty-five and I act like a teenage boy,’ he grins wryly. ‘Thank God Victor was a teenage boy with the maturity of a twenty-five year old.’

My housewarming dinner party of sorts begins well. My friends and their partners are all familiar with each other, there are no major personality clashes and Sandra and Roger’s eighteen month old daughter, Missy, is playing happily on the floor in between clambering for adult attention. She’s a cute little girl, and I deeply suspect she’s the catalyst for Paul’s almost tangible need to have a child of his own, but it’s Charlie that Missy favours, and it’s Charlie who spends the most time playing with her.

Charlie’s actually her uncle; single, gay and waiting for the day when Queensland allows single homosexuals to adopt. There was once talk of Sandra – his sister – having his eventual partner’s child, but Sandra’s basically sterile following cysts, ectopic pregnancies and a host of other medical problems, so Charlie’s settled for involved unclehood. I’m watching the two play, and thinking that it may not be an altogether bad thing that children won’t be soon forthcoming to him, because Missy’s so jealous of her Uncle, so determined that nobody else can have his attention for more than five seconds, that bringing in another child would probably devastate her. Sometimes, when you’re drowning in a sea of impossibilities and dashed dreams you really need to search for the positives, no matter how minor they may be.

Paul, Sandra, Roger and I stare in fascinated horror as Missy retrieves from her mouth a half-chewed piece of Turkish bread and shoves it in between Charlie’s lips, telling him she’s ‘sharing’.

‘Jeez Missy that’s disgusting,’ Roger reprimands, his face green. ‘Charlie mate, I don’t know how you swallowed that.’

‘I frequently ask myself the same question,’ Charlie agrees, kissing his niece’s forehead. ‘That bread wasn’t too bad in comparison.’

I’m too busy snickering to realize someone’s at the door until Elaine leans over and rests her hand on my forearm.

‘You have a visitor,’ she mouths.

A visitor named Victor, to be precise. Juxtaposed against men and women ranging in age from their early twenties to their mid-thirties, he looks incredibly young. I’m not really sure what to do or say; I thought it was clear that the relationship of sorts was over, and his intrusion at eight-thirty on a Saturday night is a little disconcerting.

‘Excuse me,’ I offer, giving Paul a quick glance.

He pulls me down quickly, alarmed. 'Is that Victor?’

‘Unfortunately,’ I breathe, watching a knowing, regretful look cross my mate’s face.

Having him show up like this, unannounced and unwanted, I feel incredibly ashamed of him. He’s young and poor and the expression on his face was one of anger and accusation, both emotions raw and easily visible, and I’m embarrassed for him, because I don’t think he understands he has anything to be embarrassed about. He simply doesn’t comprehend that he doesn’t ‘fit’ my life plan and that what we had was fun and not to be taken seriously. As hard as it is to lead him outside to the entrance to the block of units, and explain to him that he needs to go home, it must be done. There’s probably going to be a lifetime of short, brief affairs ahead of him and hard lessons need to be learnt. Trying to force love into a sexual relationship is generally a huge no-no; he truly can’t grow into an adult who believes he can coerce a pick-up into having a relationship with him when the game plan has already been clearly laid out.

He’s clad in his dark jeans, a studded belt and a white singlet. With it, he wears eyeliner and lip gloss and his fingernails are painted in blood red paint, there’s a marijuana leaf pendant hanging from his leather necklace and his boots now have Union Jack laces. He looks so peculiar, he’s such a weird looking boy that I can never make up my mind as to whether I find him ugly or attractive, but before I have a chance to think about what I'm going to say, Victor speaks.

‘I'm sorry,’ he apologises. ‘I didn’t know you had friends over.’

‘Victor,’ I begin, suddenly overwhelmed by the task in front of me. It would be easier if I didn’t feel anything towards him, but he really reminds me of what I was like at his age, and in a flash I know that he doesn’t need to be told; he already is embarrassed and perhaps it would be easier if he thinks over the consequences of his actions at home.

‘Maybe tomorrow?’ he asks hopefully, fiddling with the straps of his backpack. ‘Um, I can understand I’m probably not dressed right for your friends, and you might not…. I don’t know, you might not have told them….’

‘Look, Victor,’ I start, in a burst of courage. ‘It’s over. I thought you understood that.’

Some expressions are too painful to describe, they just strike so deep into your heart that you’re humiliated for the human race, knowing that we have to feel and display certain emotions. Victor reaches into his pocket, retrieving a cigarette and lighting it, carefully shielding it from the wind and drawing deeply on it.

His eyes are reddened, but he’s not crying as he meets my gaze, his hand shaking as he continues to draw on his cigarette. ‘Okay. Well, um, can I borrow your john for a second, or is it okay to like, piss in the bushes?’

‘Can’t you wait until you get home?’

The coldness of my voice surprises even me, and it hardens Victor, wiping the sorrow from his face and replacing it with coldness.

‘I caught the train here,’ he replies evenly. ‘I walked from the train station because there aren’t any buses, so it’ll be a while before I get home.’

He walked from the nearest train station? That would have been a two or three kilometre trek, and he made it without any certainty that I would even be home. Hell, I don’t even know how he knew where I lived.

‘Okay,’ I agree, sighing. ‘Come on.’

He follows me up to the unit, not meeting anyone’s gaze as I lead him inside, showing him where the bathroom is. A long tube of ash is forming at the end of his cigarette as he tries to maneuver past Missy and I numbly watch Jacob reach over with an ashtray, holding it in front of a shyly grateful Victor.

‘Matt’s taking a leak,’ Jacob advises, as though Victor were just another guest at the table. ‘You might want to wait a minute or two.’

‘Oh,’ Victor replies slowly. ‘Um, maybe I’ll sit down and wait then?’ he asks, looking to me for approval.

‘Yeah, whatever,’ I agree in a faux-relaxed voice.

My heart’s pumping and I’m not sure what to do and how to do it without coming across entirely unnatural. Everyone’s giving me pointed looks, demanding to know who Victor is and what he’s doing here. Paul, and only Paul, knows about my affair with the under-aged youth. Victor’s sitting on the couch uncomfortably, pointedly inspecting a painting, when Missy decides to say hello. She toddles over to Victor and lays her hands on his knees, smiling up at him.

‘Hello,’ he whispers, grinning at her and pretending to bite her nose. ‘You’re gorgeous.’

Paul gives me a pointed look.

'He has nine siblings,' I mouth. 'Remember?'

Paul shakes his head at me, intimating that he has no advice to offer in the situation. I glance around the table, drinking in the expressions of my guests, gauging their thoughts. Sandra, Roger and Charlie are carefully observing Victor's interaction with Missy, Elaine, Ria and Thomas look angry, disgusted, Jacob appears more bored than anything and Paul's tense.

'Okay little buddy, I have to go now,' Victor whispers to Missy as Matt exits the bathroom, the latter's eyes roaming over the former curiously.

The moment the bathroom door's shut, Matt leans over the table, attracting everyone's attention.

'You didn't?' he asks mischievously, nodding his head towards the bathroom. 'I'd have thought he was a little young for you. Where'd you find him?'

'He's one of Dane's friends,' I mumble, my gaze flicking from face to face. 'It was just a fuck buddy relationship. Or so I thought.'

'You're in trouble now,' Matt grins. 'Shit. Is he gonna be going home?'

'Yeah,' I reply, making my decision. 'I'm going to drive him to the train station in a second, if you guys don't mind.'

'Why would we mind?' Ria inquires coldly. 'You really shouldn't have touched him Mike. All you fucking men, always thinking there's no goddamn consequences to your actions.'

'Whoa, settle Ri,' Matt retorts. 'You don't know the story, so don't start making judgement calls. God alone knows you've made enough bad ones.'

The argument ceases as Victor exits the bathroom, Missy immediately wrapping her arms around his legs. He gently pulls her off and hands her to Elaine, obviously neither knowing nor caring who Missy's mother actually is. He doesn't look at anyone as he picks up his backpack and walks to the door, and I follow him wordlessly, gesturing helplessly to my companions before shutting the front door behind us.

'Fuck off,' he hisses. 'I'm going.'

'I'll give you a lift to the station.'

'I don't need a fucking lift.'

We stare at each other helplessly, Victor's gaze cold and unflinching. I'd forgotten the dirty looks teenagers were capable of, looks that can make you feel as small and insignificant as a pile of dog shit, and just about as welcome. The hushed voices of my guests filter through the night, interrupted by Jacob and Matt's laughter and our gazes instictively move towards the light emanating from my windows.

Victor's nothing to be ashamed of. The only reason I feel shame when I rest my gaze upon him is because of my own guilty conscience. He was flying blind in his very first male/male relationship and I took advantage of the situation, always excusing the possibility of him developing feelings under the bullshit reasoning that he couldn't possibly fall in love with me. Even though I'm not fully aware of the degree to which he likes me, or even if he does like or love me, I suspect he does; were he simply after a relationship, I'd expect him to be bouyantly flying into his next relationship, searching for the sort of man he truly wants to be with. He has the sort of personality that suggests that if he wasn't truly interested in me, he wouldn't have bothered making the long and arduous journey to my residence.

'Get in the van,' I request tiredly. 'It's too late for you to be out.'

'I've been out later,' he retorts, but he follows me to my garage nonetheless.

Neither of us comment as we get in and back out, no words or glances exchanged until we're halfway to the station and I take a quick peek at my companion. He's smoking and blindly staring out the front window, his eyeliner smudged and his lip gloss almost worn off. It's going to be late by the time he arrives home, extremely late; he'll need to commute to the city, and then out to Kingston, and the journey's bound to take him over an hour. His house is half an hour's walk from Kingston station and I really don't enjoy the thought of him walking around such a rough neighbourhood, upset, in the middle of the night.

'Where are you going?' he asks as I do a u-turn and head in the opposite direction.

'I'm taking you home.'

'Oh. Thank-you.'

His acquiescence surprises me, but when I throw him a puzzled look, he merely raises his eyebrows questioningly. Embarrassed, I continue driving, fumbling for my own cigarettes as Victor chain smokes in silence.

'Why did you fuck me?' he asks hollowly as we wait at a set of lights.

'Because you asked me to.'

'I see,' he replies, fiddling with his seatbelt. 'Well, you know how you always told me to wait for someone special? That's why I asked you to do it. That's why I thought you might.... I don't know.... maybe want more than sex.'

My heart sinks at the realisation it was the fucking that led him to believe I had feelings for him. I'm furious with myself, because I gave an act a meaning it didn't naturally have, and then I turned around and abused his naivety, inadvertently - although very, very recklessly - intimating that I wanted him. An awful sensation spreads throughout my stomach as the full consequences of my actions hit; he must have waited for me, in his usual place, the Tuesday after I thought I'd ended things.

'I was going to call, but I asked Dane and he said you were fine,' Victor adds quietly. 'I remembered your address from your lease. I saw it when I was out with you last and thought maybe you were just settling in, or were waiting for me to make a move.'

'I'm sorry.'

He nods, not trusting himself to speak as he draw on his cigarette. He starts to cry, rubbing furiously at his face and swallowing frequently, his cigarette becoming something of a God to him as he struggles to compose himself. Unable to ignore his grief, confusion, whatever-the-fuck-it-is-he's-feeling, I pull over and wait for him to hurl abuse at me.

'Please keep driving,' he sobs, leaning forward and burying his face in his arms.

It takes me a few seconds to think. 'Vic,' I request, gently, cautiously, touching his arm. 'It's not what you think it is.'

He props his face up on his hands, his elbows on his thighs and glances towards me. 'Yeah, it is, y'know?' he replies unevenly, smiling bitterly. 'Like, I didn't really like you when I first met you. You were like, I don't know, trying to hard to be a teenager again, but then you got used to me and....that was it, y'know?'

I swallow with more than a little difficulty. 'It wasn't my intention to mislead you.'

He snorts softly. 'I kinda know that. I just fell for you anyway.'

He wipes his face again and smiles weakly at me. 'I'm really sorry.'

'Me too,' I apologise. 'Look, just come back and spend the night at my unit, okay? We can have a talk about this tomorrow, but....'

'....no relationship expectations,' he interrupts. 'I know that. Look.....' he trails off for a second. 'Okay, yes. I mean, thank-you. That would be good.'

'I'm really sorry,' I apologise.

'Don't be,' he smiles bravely. 'I was just stupid. You've gotta learn the hard way sometimes, right? And I'm sorry for embarrassing you in front of your friends. Really, I am. I shouldn't have interrupted.'

'It was a case of joint stupidity,' I confess. 'But you're a good kid Vic. One day you're going to find a man who knows how to appreciate you.'

I find I can't read the meaning behind the smile he gives me. It's so knowing and certain that I simply can't imagine what thoughts are running through his mind as we return to my unit, mentally exhausted and ready for sleep.

Inside, Paul is the only occupant, and he sweeps past us as we arrive, advising us that everyone's gone home.

'No one's angry,' he mouths as Victor shuffles past us. 'It was boring without you. Everyone said to say thanks.'

I grin at him as he heads outside, grateful that he's stuck around and understood my fears. He's the best mate in the world, and as he slips out the door, I give thanks to unknown Gods that I'm friends with someone so fantastic, and that he feels I'm worthy of his friendship. Sometimes I do such stupid shit, make such bad calls and hurt people so badly that I wonder why it is he sticks by me, but whatever his reasons, I'm more grateful than he'll ever know. I'm still staring after him, amazed at my fortune to have such a great mate, when Victor interrupts.

'Would you have a spare pillow?'

'Uh, sure,' I reply, tearing my gaze away from Paul's hatchback. 'Sorry.'

'No worries,' he replies evenly. He meets my eye as I turn around, his smudged eyeliner making him look terribly innocent. 'It's fine Mike. I understand, okay? And I want you to know that I....appreciate this. It might sound stupid, but you know, I really appreciate you taking the time.'

It's his maturity that shames me. It's the fact that he can forgive me, when I doubt I would have been able to forgive him had the tables been turned and I stare at him in awe.

'Mike?' he repeats, a hint of a smile on his lips. 'Pillow please.'

Chapter Four

He’s still asleep when I wake up the next morning, his body curled into a foetal position and facing the back of the couch. The blanket is pulled firmly over his shoulders, his hair is messed up and he looks so young and defensive that a fresh wave of guilt hits me.

He wakes up as I’m making my morning coffee, rubbing at his eyes as he pads into the kitchen. I remember the night we stayed at the hotel, waking up the next morning in a mad rush, not thinking of anything other than my need to drop off Victor and get to work on time, never appreciating how adorably innocent he looks in the morning, with sleep-softened skin and messed-up hair.

‘Are you making breakfast?’

‘Eventually,’ I reply, yawning and trying my hardest not to stare at him, because the last thing I need right now is to mislead Victor, or hurt him more by falling into bed with him. ‘I think there’s frozen waffles in the freezer, if you want to pull them out.’

‘I’ve never had waffles before,’ he confesses, heading to the freezer. ‘Are they all they’re cracked up to be?’

‘I think so.’

Victor accepts the coffee offered and we head outside to smoke and drink on the balcony while our waffles defrost. There’s something seductively cosy about drinking your morning coffee and smoking with someone, or perhaps I simply associate the gestures with happier times; periods in my life where I had a steady partner and enjoyed these morning rituals, but whichever way I look at it, I realize that in some sad, sick way, I’m glad Victor stayed over. My guilt of fifteen minutes ago is completely gone and I instead revel in the company of my teenaged brother’s friend.

‘I’m gonna make those waffles,’ he remarks as he stubs out his cigarette. ‘Do you eat ‘em with ice-cream?’

‘And syrup,’ I reply. ‘It’s in the cupboard.’

Toasting frozen waffles isn’t difficult work and Victor manages the task effortlessly. We eat inside, my companion studiously eating in between grinning at me.

‘You have ice-cream on your nose,’ he comments, leaning over the table and wiping it off before I have a chance to react. He makes no move to sit down, and with fascinated horror I watch him lean down and kiss me.

It’s impossible to resist him. I know that what I’m doing is wrong on so many, many, levels, but I’ve enjoyed the simplicity of the morning so much and I’m so relaxed in his company that returning to bed to make love seems like the next natural step. By rights this morning should have been difficult and uncomfortable, perhaps plagued with accusations, but instead I’m seeing the side of Victor I saw during our brief affair and although I don’t love him, I have a degree of fondness for the kid.

He pushes our plates aside and crawls over the table, not breaking our kiss, clambering into my lap. Remembering the comfort of touch, my hands slide over his body, drinking in the warm smoothness, my fingers tracing his ribs and nipples, the latter hardening into little red peaks.

‘We should be doing this in bed,’ I mumble, pushing him off my lap. ‘Come on.’

We walk to the bedroom, shutting the door behind us, Victor sitting on the edge of the bed, something akin to a smirk on his face. Amused, I jump on the bed and lay behind him, forcing him to turn around, mock-glare and straddle me. He holds my arms to the pillow as he leans down for a kiss, his satin-covered erection brushing against my stomach in the process.

Forcing myself from his grip and holding him in my arms, I shift him onto his back, gently rubbing his hard-on. Those smoky eyes of his stare into mine as his arousal mounts, my hand sliding in the flap of his boxers and gripping his cock, masturbating him slowly and in the style he seems to prefer. My hand works it’s way lower, fondling his sac, my fingers gently untangling the pubic hair and teasing it’s way back to his perineum.

My own pajama pants are removed as I work, his skillful hands sliding over my newly bare ass as he assists me in maneuvering out of my clothing. The favour returned, our hard bodies join, our legs entwined as his tongue thrusts into my mouth and his body arches against mine needfully.

‘Slow,’ I whisper, disentangling myself and kissing my way down to his crotch. ‘Is this okay?’

He smiles patiently at me. ‘We’ve been through this before Mike.’

I roll my eyes and lounge alongside him, my fingers toying with his chest hair. ‘If you have a problem with coming in someone’s mouth, don’t worry about it. That sort of thing gets me off, okay? I like sucking cock.’

He flushes red, confirming I’ve correctly guessed his problem. ‘How did you know that was it?’

‘Paul,’ I reply gently. ‘We were talking about it last night.’

‘Oh,’ he replies, giving me a cautious look.

From under the bed I retrieve a few porn mags, flicking them open to the pages that depict oral sex. Sitting alongside Victor, I stroke his cock as he considers the images, hoping he’ll be turned on sufficiently to reach climax through fellatio. There’s one image he seems a little more interested in, but when I catch his sideways, embarrassed, gaze, he quickly turns the page.

‘You know you’re going to have at least one boyfriend who’ll want to sit down and watch skin flicks with you, don’t you?’ I tease him.

‘No,’ he smiles disbelievingly.

‘Yes,’ I argue. ‘Now give me that.’

I throw the magazines under the bed and crawl into between Vic’s legs once more, flinging them over my shoulders and nuzzling his groin.

‘Mike?’

‘Mmmm?’

‘Can we do this in the shower please?’

Bingo, he wants it. I don’t even care if he manages to climax this time; it’s enough that he’s willing to give it a go and I scoot out of bed, pulling him into the bathroom. I’ve a fair idea how he wants to do this; after all, it was all scripted out in an A4 colour photograph so I turn on the water and pull Victor’s body against mine. I try not to stare as he cleans himself, but there’s something terribly arousing in the way he hurriedly washes, his hands moving down between our bodies and his face stained with embarrassment.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbles. ‘Um…’

I cut him off with a kiss, forcing my tongue into his mouth and smirking as his eyes widen with surprise. Pushing him against the shower wall, kissing and nipping his skin, lowering myself to my knees, I take his cock is in my mouth, my tongue swirling around the head while I listen to his gasp, his hands resting on my head as he attempts to steady himself.

He’s enjoying it this time, swallowing and breathing rapidly, his hips gently thrusting forward, his urgency increasing as I start to masturbate myself with the same rhythm I’m using on him. I peer up to find him watching me through heavy-lidded eyes, a small smile playing on his lips.

He swallows again, and strokes my forehead. ‘This is good,’ he whispers. ‘I’ll tell you when I’m going to come.’

Immediately I cease my actions and stand up. The expression of disappointment on his face is exactly what I wanted to see, and it’s impossible not to laugh.

Victor smiles uncertainly before breaking into uncomfortable laughter. ‘Mike, that’s not fair. I thought I might actually….you know…’

‘Totally fucking lose it,’ I interrupt hoarsely, holding him against the wall and mauling him shamelessly, rubbing my hard-on against his stomach in an attempt to gain some relief, my hands massaging his ass, wanting to fuck him almost more than my mind can comprehend. He’s too much for me sometimes, hesitant and yet horny, eager and yet sometimes reticent, semi-skilled and learning more and more every time we play together.

On the journey to my knees, which is interrupted by much touching and kissing of his body, I grab the soap and coat my index finger with the milky glycerine mix and gently part his legs.

‘Mike,’ he mewls as I find his prostate. ‘Don’t that or….um….Mike….’

‘Shut-up,’ I mumble through a mouthful of his cock, painfully aware of my own, un-stimulated erection, and turned on beyond measure by the response my actions are triggering.

‘Mike, I’m gonna come,’ he cries, resting his hands on my head.

Automatically I increase the pressure and within seconds he’s groaning and thrusting into my mouth, his back arched and his thick, salty cum shooting into my mouth. His cries are aphrodisiac to me as his young, lithe body struggles both to fight and enjoy the power of orgasm without thrusting too much to make me uncomfortable, his caution both a marvel and a relief to me.

‘Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,’ he swears, his words a rush and his face a twisted display of agony. ‘Harder.’

My tongue dives to the slit in his cock, lapping at his seed as my own pre-cum copiously coats my erection, my blood pulsing as Victor thrusts harder and harder, drawing from his climax the last few waves of pleasure.

When his climax has faded and I’ve released his cock, he sinks to the floor, an expression of awe on his face. I smile at him happily, lustfully, stroking his wet, dark hair and waiting for him to comment.

‘Thank-you,’ he whispers reverently, his fingers caressing my face. ‘Shit that was good.’

‘Uh-huh,’ I agree, kissing him chastely while leading one of his hands to my cock. ‘But now I’m so fucking horny it’s not funny.’

‘That’s a bad hint,’ he grins, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around my neck. He smiles at me, giving me his beautiful, elated smile, and leans forward eagerly for another kiss.

‘Bed,’ he whispers. ‘The water’s going cold.’

We don’t bother drying off; the weather’s warm and I’m too eager to bother with such trivialities, and we push the doona off the bed and roll in together. He smiles at me once more, as he kisses my chest, my stomach, and eventually, my hard-on. He works slowly, stroking my body, reaching up to play with my nipples and teasing his tongue along my perineum in between the languorous strokes that make up his style of fellatio. It would be fantastic at any time but now, right now I’m ready, I need to come and all I can think of is how nice he’d look on his hands and knees.

Fumbling for the lubricant, I heave him up onto my chest and give him a pointed look. Victor laughs and leads my hand to his erection, whispering that he, too, is ready.

‘You horny little bastard,’ I mutter.

‘Yep,’ he grins, affectionately stroking his erection. He’s more confident now, giving me knowing looks and only momentarily thrown as he’s literally thrown alongside me.

Surprisingly, his doesn’t comment as I spread his legs and run my tongue back from his perineum and over his entrance. It’s one of those acts that he obviously finds not only extremely arousing, but ticklish, and he jolts in between gasping and begging for more. His yelp as I force my tongue through the tight ring of muscle is gorgeous, so shocked and enthralled and lustful it is.

The tube of KY is flipped open and I warm a little in my hands, before carefully stretching my lover. His body is a tightly strung ball of sexual tension, twitching and thrusting under my touch, utterly and totally unashamed. At this point I doubt he cares who fucks him, as long as somebody does it properly and quickly, but I'm mindful that this is only his second time and don't rush any more than I can help.

Remembering his inexperience, I’m a little hesitant in asking him to move into the position I desire and pause for a few seconds, considering the alternatives.

‘Say it,’ he croaks, noticing my hesitation. ‘How do you want me?’

‘Hands and knees,’ I request, noticing his almost immediate smirk.

Nonetheless, he complies and we move into position, one of my hands resting on his ass, the other guiding my cock towards his entrance. He’s still incredibly tight but the penetration doesn’t seem to cause him any pain and it's only then do I remember I’m not wearing a condom. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. I can’t pull out, I’m too close to orgasm as it is, and after all, I tell myself, if Victor wanted it safe he would have said something by now.

I give an experimental thrust, then another, then a few more. I can't withdraw, it feels that damn good, he's still so tight and semi-virginal, his body clamped around my cock, providing unbelieveable stimulation. Continuing isn't the wisest idea, but I'm 99 sure I'm clean and I really doubt Vic would be carrying anything. The view of his body's fantastic, I'm horny as hell and when Vic makes a noise of concern, I again commence thrusting.

Within seconds orgasm is upon me and I'm gripping his hips, revelling in the assault of pleasure and thinking of nothing, nothing but how good it feels to be inside him and as my climax grinds to a halt, I sigh with satisfaction, stroking his hips as a sign of thanks. After easing myself out and cleaning up, I pull him onto my lap, kissing his cheek and grasping his cock. His whimpers increase in synchrony with his need, both of us staring down at my hand as it works his dick. He leans into my shoulder as he comes, his head thrown back and his eyes shut, a low moan escaping his lips as he shudders in my arms.

Afterwards, we clean him off and slide down onto the bed in post-coital bliss. His face is resting on my chest, and one arm lazily roams over my stomach, the gesture comforting and reassuring. At times like these it's incredibly hard to accept that it's over, because I fail entirely to see his immaturity, his adolescence and the inappropriateness of a relationship.

'Vic,' I whisper, stroking his hair.

'Yeah?'

I swallow hard as he props himself up on one elbow and stares at me. 'Do you still want a relationship?'

'Yeah,' he smiles, pressing his lips to mine. 'Are you going to give me a chance?'

'If you want.'

He smothers me with kisses, grinning excitedly and flinging his arms around me.

I must admit his excitement is contagious. As he bites my lower lip, easing his tongue inside my mouth, I wonder why it was I didn't want a relationship with him. Maybe it was just fear, or my refusal to see what was glaring me in the face, but either way, he's forgiven my bad behaviour and refusal to give him a chance.

Regardless of the consequences, I'm going to allow myself to enjoy the moment, and revel in the possibility of a loving relationship with Victor.

Chapter Five

Being the adult partner of a sixteen year old isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Victor’s moodiness is difficult to deal with, it’s frustrating not being able to go anywherewith him, and it’s almost impossible to explain to doubtful friends why it is you want to be with someone so much younger.

Elaine and Ria want nothing to do with me. In their eyes, it’s one small step off pedophilia and thus is unforgivable. The night that Ria coldly explained her and Elaine’s feelings towards the relationship was probably one of the lowest points in my life. I hate losing friends, hate the feel of the knife twisting through your heart as you realize you’ve cared for someone more than they cared for you, but what really bit was the insinuation; I bet you’d go younger if you could. I always looked at pedophiles as the lowest of the low, and now I was doubting myself, asking myself which age it was that made someone ‘safe’.

But although it was the women that caused the hurt, it was a woman who cured it. Sandra rolled her eyes and pointed out that if Victor was Vicky, there wouldn’t be a problem, and thus Elaine and Ria were being ridiculous. Sometimes her powers of logic drive me batty – although in a good way, because she’s one of my favourite people – but at times like these, it comforts me that she doesn’t see what I’m doing as wrong or immoral.

Paul, Jacob and Matt are bloody useless with the matter. Matt, in particular, finds the whole affair highly amusing and can’t stop asking questions; about our sex life, our social life and exactly how I plan on alerting Dane to the fact that I’m having a relationship with one of his friends.

Victor and I don’t get that much time together; certainly not the amount that I’m used to spending with new partners, what with his schoolwork and family and part-time job. He works on Saturdays, is required to be home most nights of the week and finally, seems determined to study as much as humanly possible. He’s an intelligent man, but it’s hard for him to study at home, and as he explains, you can’t look like you’re trying too hard in class or you won’t have any friends. His friends, of course, being another reason why his spare time isn’t always spent in my company.

Because of our infrequent time together, it’s more temptation than I can resist when I see Dane and Vic drinking a beer of my parent’s back patio one Saturday evening. I’d come over with the intention of visiting the old folks but when I realised they’d gone out to dinner, I accepted the beer Dane offered and went to sit with him and his ‘mate’ out the back. I’m not sure whether Vic or I were more surprised at the meeting, and when Dane heads inside to piss, he and I are all over each other, laughing and kissing and confirming we definitely hadn’t expected the other to be around.

‘Love you,’ he whispers, nuzzling my neck. ‘Fuck I’m horny. Can you say you’re giving me a lift home?’

‘No worries,’ I murmur, rubbing his jean-clad erection. ‘That feels good.’

‘This feels better,’ he retorts, maneuvering one hand down the back of my shorts. ‘Have I ever told you you have a great ass?’

‘Many times,’ I confirm, removing his hand and giving him one last kiss. ‘Dane’s gonna be out in a second.’

Victor sighs and offers me an extra, quick kiss. This last week he’s been more rampant in is desire, probably because we confessed our mutual love and desire to have a long-term, if not permanent, relationship. Such signs are always appreciated and when you know that your love is reciprocated it’s easier to be yourself and not worry about appearing too forward because the other person knows that it’s not only lust you feel towards them, but a much deeper, more intense emotion.

Vic flops into his chair, legs positioned to hide his hard-on, and lights a cigarette. He works as a waiter on Saturday’s and he’s still dressed in black slacks and a tight shirt, his nails are painted with glittery silver polish and his black boots now have fluoro green and yellow laces. He manages to make the mundane look out of the ordinary, and I wonder what the girls at school think of him. Truthfully, I wonder if any of the boys he goes to school with lust after him and if anybody’s ever caught him staring at them. Probably not on the latter point, he’s always so careful to hide his homosexuality, and he’s confessed once or twice before that he’s terrified somebody will find out before he’s ready to come out. He’s worried about losing friends and family, petrified about having to leave school early and on the whole, entirely not ready to deal with the consequences.

Dane doesn’t comment as he passes around new stubbies and lights a cigarette of his own. Together we sit, staring at the night sky, occasionally talking but mostly doing nothing but relaxing.

‘I need to get going,’ Vic remarks eventually.

‘I’ll give you a lift,’ I offer. ‘If you want.’

‘Sweet,’ he grins, raising his eyebrows slightly.

As we’re heading to around to the front, Dane wrenches my keys from my hand and throws them towards Victor, who catches them neatly.

‘I’m just gonna say something to Mike, right?’ he tells his friend.

‘Yeah, cool.’

Dane pulls me towards the front of the house and checks to see if Victor’s listening. He isn’t, he’s climbed in the van, the doors are shut and he’s getting himself comfortable.

‘Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?’ Dane demands accusingly. ‘I told you not to go near him and you didn’t fucking bother to tell me you were screwing him.’

‘How did you know?’ I ask, utterly in shock.

Dane gives me a contemptuous look. ‘The way you look at him. The way he looks at you. The way you ignore me and talk to each other. The fact that you smell like him. The fact that you just admitted it. Would you like me to go on?’

I gesture helplessly, reaching into my pocket for my cigarettes. I offer the pack to Dane, who accepts one with shaking hands.

‘You’re my brother,’ he remarks, staring down at his cigarette. His gaze rises and he meets my eye evenly. ‘And you’re fucking one of my friends. I don’t even want to think about this.’

We both glance towards the van, inspecting the teenager who’s the catalyst for this rift with my brother. Dane and I used to be fairly close, as close as brothers born six years apart can be, anyway. He used to look up to me, once upon a time, and for a while, after I first came out, he hated me. We’d finally slid into an easygoing friendship of sorts when I went and blew it by having this relationship with Victor.

‘I’m sorry,’ I apologise. ‘I should have told you.’

Dane snorts disdainfully. ‘Like you’d ever tell me anything. What the fuck does it matter to you what I think, anyway?’

‘It matters,’ I reply awkwardly. Dane and I smoke in silence for a few seconds, searching for the words to say. I’m not entirely sure what’s up with him, but it appears something is, because normally he’s got twenty million things he wants to tell me.

‘I’m sorry,’ I apologise again. ‘I…. I know how you feel about homosexual relationships and….’

‘….when did you ever ask me what I thought of homosexual relationships?’ he snaps, interrupting. ‘When Mike?’

‘At your goddamn birthday you were having another of your homophobic shitfits over it,’ I retort, just as angrily. ‘Get over it Dane. You either don’t want to know about what I’m doing or you do, and I’m supposed to know what you want in every damn situation? Make up your goddamn mind and I might know where I stand, but right now, I don’t. And don’t you even fucking think of telling your school friends, because you’re the one always telling me not to let anyone find out.’

‘I don’t want anyone to find out,’ he spits. ‘Because I actually want to graduate Mike. I don’t want to be beat up or not have friends and I don’t give a fuck what you think about that, and I don’t give a fuck how homophobic it sounds. And you know what?’ he demands, almost yelling.

I shake my head imperceptibly, waiting for him to finish his tirade.

‘I have a right not to give a shit because I’m just like you,’ he hisses, glancing at the van to ensure Victor isn’t listening. ‘How the hell can I possibly be homophobic if I’m screwed up myself?’

He throws his cigarette aside as he finishes, his fury remaining but not longer unleashed; it’s now controlled and he’s ready to have the ‘proper’ argument with me, the one where we argue logically because he’s finished releasing his anger and that’s all that matters.

It’s not his rage that affects me though; it’s what he’s said. He’s just like me. I wonder to myself when he realised, if anyone knows and whom he’s had a crush on. My blood runs cold as the possibility of him having feelings for Victor arises.

‘Did you ever like Victor?’

Dane laughs stupidly. ‘No. Hell no. Shit, you think I’m angry because I want your boyfriend? No way, what I want is for you to talk to me again. I wanted you to ask me, so I wouldn’t have to say it. I want you to stop thinking you’re so much better than me.’

He seems embarrassed seconds after he’s revealed what’s bothering him, and he lights another cigarette, shrugging resignedly. ‘I don’t care Mike, but he’s not my friend anymore, so make sure he knows that.’

‘Dane,’ I plead. ‘You can’t stop being friends with him over that.’

‘Sure I can,’ he replies. ‘If you two get caught, you go to jail. I’m not being friends with someone who might get my brother locked up.’

The look he gives me makes me abundantly aware that he’s not going to change his mind.

‘And make sure you don’t tell him about me,’ he warns. ‘I’m not going to tell anyone about him, but I will if he finds out and tells people about me.’

I’m not sure whether to be amused or saddened by his demand. He shouldn’t have anything to fear in revealing his sexuality, but he does, and as he speaks, I remember the fears I had at his age. It’s easier to relate to Dane’s fears than Victor’s, because my brother and I think alike, we act fairly similarly in a lot of situations and we grew up with the same parents. He’s going to get the ‘I’m disappointed and disgusted’ talk from our father and any and every boyfriend is going to be ignored, whilst every girlfriend will be welcomed like they’re never seen him with a female before.

‘Deal,’ I agree. ‘I’ll come over and pick you up on Wednesday afternoon, okay? I’ll take you rock climbing.’

It’s a deal I know Dane can’t resist.

‘Cool,’ he grins. ‘I’ll take Mariah, too, if that’s sweet? She’s my new girlfriend.’

Sometimes Dane makes me crack up laughing. I’m so proud of him, too, for coming out because he felt he had to, not because he had a boyfriend and could no longer hide his sexuality. I’m not sure whether coming out to our parents will be easier or harder for him than it was for me, but I’m hoping it’ll be a breeze and my father will finally cease the bad jokes and distasteful comments.

‘She has really nice tits,’ Dane adds. ‘I’m working on getting her into bed though, so I can’t stare. You might enjoy it though.’

‘She’s sixteen,’ I point out dryly.

Dane’s eyes narrow. ‘That never stopped you before.’

‘That’s different,’ I argue.

Dane nods slowly and glances towards the van. ‘Do you, uh, love him or something?’

As I reply in the affirmative, Dane nods his head knowingly although what he could possibly know about love, at his age and with his level of experience, eludes me.

‘Well, I better get going,’ I suggest.

‘Yeah,’ Dane agrees. ‘Um, that doesn’t change anything okay? I don’t want to speak to him again.’

I can feel myself sigh with frustration. I understand that Dane feels that he needs to ‘protect’ me, but he’s truly only doing himself and Victor a disservice. I’m a big boy now, I can make my own decisions and I would have thoughtthat having a friend who understands male/male attraction would be beneficial, but obviously he’s determined to make a stand.

‘I’ll let him know.’

‘Thanks.’

Sometimes it feels like there’s so much going on that I’ll never be able to have a moment’s peace. There’s too much turmoil in my life, too many uncertainties and fears and regrets, too much, in summary, to want to think about.

Victor doesn’t question what I said to Dane, or vice versa, on the journey to my unit, he simply smokes and sings along to the radio and bitches about the ridiculous people who frequent the café where he works. He mimics the voices of Australian women who think it’s a sign of their class to assume a faux-British accent, pokes shit at rich, arrogant men and mercilessly teases every stereotype he comes into contact with. I tell him he’s terrible and he grins and retorts that if people didn’t want to be teased, they shouldn’t give him such a hard time.

Back at my unit we make love leaning over the kitchen table, Victor sucking on my shoulders leaving them marked with dark-red hickies. No condoms, because we’ve become totally lax and besides, we both agree that chances are we’re clean, we’re exclusive and it feels far too good without a latex for us to want to ruin the feeling. There’s this giddy sense of recklessness in doing it raw; as though neither of us care if we’re HIV positive because life without the other is unbearable. We should know better, we were raised with the knowledge of the virus and yet we know that, chances are, it’ll never be something we have to worry about.

Charlie gave me the business card of his doctor, whom he swore wouldn’t comment on Vic’s age, because apparently e he’s the sort of medical practitioner that puts the logic of AIDS awareness before the homophobic impulses of Queensland legislation, but we haven’t done anything about it. Sometimes what you know to be necessary and sensible is too boring and intrusive to be taken into account.

‘Do you mind if I stay the night?’ Victor asks, heading to the bathroom.

‘No.’

‘Sweet,’ he calls back, opening the bathroom door. He pauses, gives me an arch look and asks ‘are you going to have a shower with me?’

He likes to share showers, likes to wash me and then hand me the soap, requesting I return the favour. I don’t draw any great comfort from the ritual, but it’s obvious he does and thus his request is impossible to refuse.

Under warm water we stand, his back covered in soapy lather, my fingers digging into his skin, massaging his back and shoulders as I work and he occasionally groans in appreciation. He’s so much more comfortable with his body of late, no longer hunching over to hide himself, no longer covering his erection, no longer being too humiliated to wash his genital region in my presence. I’ve never been this close to another person, not so physically and spiritually intimate after such a short period of time.

‘You’re growing,’ I remark, amazed.

‘I’m sixteen,’ he teases. ‘I’m meant to grow. You better watch it Mikey or I’ll be taller than you.’

‘Cut if Vicky.’

He turns around, snickering, and places my hands on his back again. We’re both so terrible with hinting, but it’s when he wraps my hands around his waist and leads one down to his hard-on that I groan.

‘You’re the one that got me into the practice,’ he argues.

The only reason he became accustomed to climaxing twice was due to his rather rapid, initial orgasm. So much for slowing him down, all I really did was ensure he wanted it twice as much. Leading him to the shower floor, I push his head between my legs, delighting in the feathery strokes of his warm tongue.

‘Enough,’ he whispers after a few minutes, sitting alongside me and leading my hand to his cock. ‘Sit on my lap.’

Emotionally, I’m the more dominant partner, but in sexual matters, it’s Vic who determines the activity. He’s still learning a lot, about his and my bodies, positions and timing, but he’s an eager pupil and considerate lover as well as the more dominant. There’s a tenderness to his lovemaking that astounds me; I didn’t think someone his age would be capable of conveying emotion via sex, but Victor doesn’t only succeed, he makes it seem natural. He consummates our intimacy, if such a thing is possible.

We jerk each other off, his climax preceding mine by seconds, the semen quickly washed down the drain as the water pours down over our heads. Afterwards, we hug, his face buried in the crook of my neck and his hot breath against my skin.

‘I love you,’ he murmurs. ‘I’m cra-a-azy about you Mikey. One day, I’m gonna find a way to show you how much you mean to me.’

‘Just don’t me love letters,’ I reply, remembering my conversation with Paul.

‘Love letters?’ Victor snorts, sitting back and snickering. ‘Who the hell writes love letters?’

‘I did when I was your age,’ I admit.

He cracks up laughing, utterly uncaring of my feelings. ‘Shit you’re funny,’ he tells me, wiping his eyes. ‘Did you write about eternal love and how they have your heart and soul?’

I hate it when he guesses my most embarrassing secrets. Victor continues laughing at me, one hand resting on my knee as if to comfort me. When he’s finally done, he kisses and hugs me, telling me I’m cute when I’m embarrassed.

‘You’re so immature,’ I grizzle.

‘Sorry,’ he apologises, patting my leg. ‘I guess we’re just different people, y’know? I’m not really laughing at you, I’m laughing because I love you and you did such stupid shit and I don’t want to think about who you write to, y’know? Because it’s like remembering that you’ve been with lots of other people.’

‘I didn’t look at it that way,’ I admit, wrapping him in my arms. ‘I feel so old.’

Victor breaks into more laughter, despite me squeezing him quite firmly in an attempt to make him stop. Eventually he calms down and rests his head on my shoulder, his legs resting over the top of mine.

‘What did Dane say?’ he inquires.

I feel like absolute shit as I stare into his beautiful eyes, and he must know from my expression that something’s wrong because his face tightens and he grips my hand in his.

‘He knows about us,’ I confess. ‘He’s not really happy about it.’

‘Shit,’ Vic swears, pulling away from me and burying his head in between his knees. ‘He’s gonna tell everyone, isn’t he? Fuck, Mike, he’s gonna fucking kill me.’

‘No,’ I reply, stroking my lovers’ back. ‘He said he doesn’t want to speak to you anymore though. It’s not personal and I’m sure he’ll come around, it’s…’

‘…it’s just he doesn’t want me with you,’ Victor finishes. ‘I’m right, aren’t I? He doesn’t think I’m good enough for you.’

‘He’s worried I’ll be sent to jail.’

Victor stares at me evenly and shakes his head. ‘No way. I’d die before I’d let anyone take you away.’

He doesn’t seem to worried about losing Dane’s friendship, more he seems intent on assuring me that he’d never let anyone find out about us. I wonder if he realizes that writing love letters is on par in the dorkiness stakes with telling your older lover you’ll ‘take care of them’. I don’t think he does, somehow, because he becomes extremely defensive, explaining over and over and over again what he’d do to anyone that tried to touch me.

It’s kind of cute, in a weird sort of way. One minute my boyfriend’s a mature adult, the other he’s going off at the mouth like a teenager, not understanding how silly he sounds.

‘I love you,’ I interrupt, when I’ve decided I’ve had enough of listening. ‘And if you stop worrying, I’ll do whatever you want to make you happy.’

Victor goes to argue, before pausing. He’s obviously thinking something over, because an evil look is spreading across his face, his eyes narrowing and a smile playing at his lips. He retrieves his wallet from his back pocket and from that he retrieves a laminated piece of plastic. Waving it in front of my face, he makes the last request I either expected or wanted.

‘Can you teach me to drive?’

Chapter Six

Dane was right about two things; firstly, his girlfriend Mariah is extremely well-endowed, and secondly, he truly doesn't want anything to do with Victor anymore. When I ask them both about the relationship they give the same response, advising me that there's no malice, but no real friendship either. They can exchange small-talk and cope with attending the same secondary school, but there's no closeness.

The Christmas Holidays commence a few weeks after Dane’s coming out and that becomes the catalyst for both my brother and boyfriend spending quite a few, alternating, days at my air-conditioned unit. I spend Christmas with my family, and Victor spends Boxing Day with me, swanning around my air-conditioned unit and eating chocolate-coated peanuts. Unsure of what to buy him, I settled on cash, whereas my infinitely more creative lover bought me fuzzy dice to hang from my rear vision mirror. He never lets up on teasing me about the van, and frequently while he's trying to maneouvre it around Brisbane he can be heard swearing at his undignified mode of transport.

'Do you know what I want to do with my Christmas money?' he asks.

'What?'

'Go to a theme park. Man, I'm like, fucking sixteen and I've never been to Sea World or Movie World or Wet n' Wild.'

Sometimes his lack of experiences astounds me. Theme parks are a part of growing up, and it's difficult to imagine living his life. I know that money's frequently tight, food is basic and sometimes nearly non-existent, clothes are minimal and almost always second hand and he and his siblings all received clothing for Christmas, and school clothes, for the six that attend primary and high school, at that. There's no games or toys or stereo's, no expensive, name-brand surf gear given as 'an extra', no wrapping paper and no real Christmas cheer.

'Wet n' Wild,' I reply, dragging my thoughts away from his poverty and towards the topic of conversation. 'Wet n' Wild's the best.'

'Hmm,' he sighs resignedly. 'I'm gonna get new boots though, I think. I hate that my feet keep growing.'

'Nah,' I argue, reaching over and tickling his stomach. 'That's your money, for you. Spend it on yourself.'

'I need shoes,' he argues, wrapping one of my arms around his shoulder and kissing my cheek. 'That's how things work for me. Besides, if I didn't smoke, I could have used my money for the boots the way I should have.'

'You earn forty dollars a week.'

He sighs again and snuggles into me. 'Forget I said anything.'

At this point we've spent around four months together, but Victor must have grown at least a foot in that time. He's almost painfully thin, although he eats non-stop, and his shoulders have broadened, leaving him looking markedly more like an adult. I don't think his home life is too good of late; his mother's six months pregnant, money is especially scarce and the frustration of having nine children at home all day, every day, is starting to wear on her patience. On more occasions than not, one of his siblings calls and requests Victor return home because their mother's out and they 'need him'.

Sometimes I go with him, but I can tell that he prefers that I don't have anything to do with his home life. He's embarrassed, and also frequently annoyed at my lack of understanding, whilst I'm frustrated beyond measure at his mother's recklessness, and her inability to understand the concept of birth control. There are already more children in the household than she can either look after or afford and it entirely fails to impress me that she feels employment is for the more stupid of our nation. I've met her twice, we clashed on both occasions, and I suspect she realises there's something not quite kosher about my relationship with her eldest son.

'It's the Boxing Day sales,' I remark, stroking his leg. 'You want to go into the city?'

'Mike.'

'Victor,' I mock, exasperated. 'Come on. Let's go.'

'Get fucked Mike I don't need your fucking handouts. I'm well aware that you seem to think I'm some object of pity, but get it through your thick fucking head that I'm not,' he spits, pulling out of my grip and standing up. 'I'm quite capable of looking after myself.'

'Like hell you are,' I argue, standing up and glaring at him. 'You basically live in a brothel, you get goddamn school uniforms for Christmas and you think eating sausages for seven days straight is somehow acceptable.'

'We didn't have the money.'

'Well then maybe your goddamn mother should start thinking about getting her priorities straight and spend less time sleeping around when she already has countless fucking bastard children to look after.'

One of the first lessons in life is to never insult a male's parents, especially his mother, otherwise they’re likely to get monumentally pissed off. Victor's no exception. He's furious and I know I've gone too far, embarrassed him and given him an idea of what I truly think about his upbringing, and it's the catalyst for our first real fight. There's no stopping us as we attempt to out-yell the other, growing increasingly angry and frustrated as we battle over his upbringing, Dane and the perceived snubs he believes he receives from Paul.

When he tries to leave, I grab his arm, determined not to let him leave on a bad note. I hate leaving fights hanging, hate it when the argument remains unresolved, but nothing could have prepared me for Victor's reaction. His fist connects with my cheekbone, quickly followed by a flurry of blows, most of which I successfully block as we fall to the ground. He's angrier than me, and he isn't thinking clearly and within seconds he's on his back with me straddling him, holding his arms to the ground as he tries to fight his way clear.

'Victor,' I yell. 'Quit it.'

'Fuck you,' he retorts, squirming furiously. 'Get off me ya cunt. I wanna go home.'

'VICTOR.'

'Get off me,' he snarls. 'I don't ever want to fucking see you again.'

We exchange a long stare, Victor enraged whilst I'm utterly horrified at his reaction. He slumps beneath me, blind fury in his eyes as he's forced to concede that I’m stronger than he, and that struggling is futile.

‘I hate you,’ he whispers. ‘You’re nothing.’

‘Vic,’ I plead, freeing him and reaching over to touch him. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No you’re not,’ he argues, standing up and collecting his wallet and cigarettes. He retrieves his Christmas money and throws it on the kitchen table as he continues to talk. ‘Get fucked. Go and find someone your own age, because I’ve had enough of being with you.’

Damn it hurts watching him go. He walks out of my unit, out of my life, leaving me feeling incredibly…pathetic…and lonely. I really fell for him, truly realised I loved his teasing, his grins, his peculiar looks and style of dress, the way he’d snuggle into my chest when we were sleeping and the way he always wanted to have a shower with me. He’s smart, he’s fun and he knows how to work it in bed. In all honesty, he’s everything I ever wanted, he just arrived in a non-socially acceptable package.

I try my best not to cry, but it’s goddamn hard not too. I swallow the hard lump in my throat and light a cigarette, flicking through the television channels before getting up and throwing out the bowl of nuts Vic was eating. The fridge is the worst thing to view, because a few days ago he scrawled ‘Vic loves Mike’ across the white surface in black, permanent marker. It’s an old fridge, dented and battered and covered with photos and magnets and promotional calendars from politicians and estate agents, so it’s not that he wrecked a good fridge, rather that the evidence of what I once had is now staring me in the face in black and white.

As I’m debating using a knife to scrape away the writing, the phone rings. It’s Victor’s thirteen year old brother, Lee, requesting I drive Victor home. Their mother’s upset and she’s demanding Victor returns home so that she can ‘speak to him’.

‘He’s not here,’ I advise Lee as calmly as possible. ‘He left a little while ago.’

There’s a pause before Lee answers.

‘Do you know where he is?’

Reaching for my cigarettes, I try and imagine how far away Vic is. ‘Maybe. I’ll try and find him and have him give you a call, okay?’

‘You can’t do that. Our phone’s disconnected, so I’m calling from a payphone, but if you could find him, that would be good.’

‘Okay, well, hopefully I can find him,’ I reply, reaching for my car keys. ‘If not, I’ll see if my brother can.’

‘That’s good,’ Lee replies, heaving a sigh of relief. ‘Um, Michael? Victor told Charlene and I about you. That’s kind of what Mum’s angry about, because Charlene tried to tell her Vic’s, y’know, a fag.’

‘I see.’

‘Yeah,’ Lee agrees wholeheartedly. ‘It didn’t go down too well. She thinks Vic should be at home, not off, uh, doing that sort of stuff with you. She said she was going to call the police, but I don’t think she will. I thought I’d better tell you, just in case.’

‘Well, thanks,’ I reply, my blood running cold. ‘I better get going, to see if I can find Vic. Bye.’

‘Seeya.’

Oh shit. In one day I’ve not only lost the love of my life, but there’s a possibility I’m about to find myself in incredibly deep shit. Racing out the door, without even bothering to grab my shoes, I speed off down the street, going as fast as one can in a five year old work van. Vic hasn’t made it far, he’s sitting at the train station and I yell out to him as the intercom crackles and his train’s imminent arrival is announced.

‘Get fucked,’ Vic yells at me. ‘I told you to piss off.’

‘I know,’ I reply desperately. ‘But your Mum needs you. I’m gonna drive you home, okay, because I think the shit’s really hit the fan this time.’

Victor pauses, as if debating whether or not to argue, but obviously I look serious because he slowly picks up his back-pack and makes his way over, as the few other commuters give us puzzled looks.

I hold the van door open for him and he slips inside silently, not bothering to ask what’s going on at home, probably assuming I’m utterly unaware of the specifics. And normally I don’t know what the problem is, Victor doesn’t like to discuss such matters and after our recent fight, I don’t blame him. I’ve proven that I can’t be trusted, and that I don’t make an effort to understand where he’s coming from because I’m bloody small-minded at times.

‘I’m sorry,’ he apologises eventually, wiping one finger along the underside of his left eye. ‘I didn’t meant to hit you.’

‘Yes you did,’ I tease, handing him my cigarettes. ‘I’m sorry for being a prick. My old man’s a right bastard, but I know how it is with parents. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.’

‘Yeah,’ he smiles weakly, handing me a lit cigarette. ‘Mike, I know we’re not normal, but it’s not that bad. My mum loves us and all and we get enough shit already. It’s good having a lot of brothers and sisters, in a way.’

‘I guess it would be,’ I agree, accepting the cigarette and drawing deeply on it. ‘Look, Vic, Lee called me. He said he and Charlene knew about our relationship.’

Vic bites his bottom lip and casts a nervous gaze in my direction. ‘They do. I mean, I told them. I tried not to, but the three of us are really close and I wanted to tell someone about you and maybe, I don’t know, see if I could start coming out. Like, if I tell a few people at a time, and make them swear not to tell anyone, I can sort of see how it goes.’

‘Yeah,’ I reply. ‘Vic….’

He gives me a wary look, fear on his face. ‘You’re not going to forgive me, are you?’

Snorting, I gesture helplessly. ‘You’re the love of my life kiddo, I just keep forgetting you’re sixteen. But, um, that’s the problem. Charlene told your mother and she’s furious. She wants to call the police.’

‘Oh fuck. Oh fuck Michael, that wasn’t supposed to happen,’ he swears. ‘I told them not to tell anyone and they swore they wouldn’t. You have to believe me, I never would have told them if they’d known.’

He keeps apologizing and swearing over and over and over again, his face white and cigarette after cigarette being lit. No matter how many times I tell him it’s okay, that things will work out and I’ll stand by him, it doesn’t seem to make a difference. He’s furious and terrified, two emotions I’m also copping a whopping dose of as my mind conjures up the possible consequences of our relationship. I’ve spent twenty-two years living within the law and although I knew what I was doing was wrong, it’s still incredibly hard to accept that sex with a sixteen year old female is acceptable whereas sex with Victor isn’t.

‘Only the anal’s a crime,’ Victor suggests. ‘So if anyone asks, we haven’t done it that way.’

‘Unless you told Charlene and Lee,’ I reply.

‘Which I did,’ he admits. ‘I was trying to tell them it wasn’t gross and, I don’t know, get them to accept it. I didn’t want to, like, hide things, because I thought maybe if they see that I love you and that it’s just a different way of showing it, then they might not be homophobic or anything.’

‘It’s cool,’ I reply, rubbing his thigh. ‘It’s too late to regret things now. No point crying over spilt milk.’

Victor snorts and gulps down the last of his cigarette as we approach his house. The neighbours, all of whom are trying to pretend they’re not listening to the raised voices of Victor’s mother and elder siblings, give us undisguised looks of interest, pointing and whispering amongst themselves.

‘Maybe you should come in,’ Victor suggests hesitantly. ‘Maybe if I she talks to you, she’ll calm down.’

Although this seems a highly unlikely outcome, I follow him in, feeling extremely out of place in my new ‘Christmas’ clothes and bare feet. My heart’s pounding in my chest as countless pairs of eyes turn to us as we walk inside the stifling hot house. The air is literally harder to breathe, not only due to my fear, but the incredible heat that Queensland experiences over summer. A wretched, sour smell permeates with unnatural strength and none of the children are wearing anything but the most meager of garments, sweat dripping down their red faces as they attempt to find solace in an unbelievably hot, overcrowded house where adult’s arguments and indifferences have created an aura of trepidation.

‘You goddamn bastard,’ his mother, Lindsay, accuses. ‘He’s sixteen years old. You take your goddamned perversions elsewhere.’

‘Mum,’ Vic interrupts, reaching for her. ‘Mum, I….’

He can’t find the words to tell her and it breaks my heart to see him, tall and skinny and frightened, reaching out desperately towards his bleach blonde mother, with her deeply lined face and rounded, pregnancy-swollen, stomach. I may not understand why, or how, but he loves her and it hurts to watch Lindsay’s uncertainty.

‘Victor, for fuck’s sake, I don’t want to see you,’ she screeches suddenly, pushing him away. ‘Why the hell do you have to do this? I raised you well. I bought you into this world and looked after you when your father wanted you aborted. Now you repay me by being this pervert’s fucktoy while your family needs you?’

‘MUM,’ Charlene interrupts, tears streaking her face. ‘Leave him alone, okay? Vic’s gay, that’s what he’s trying to tell you. You can’t change that, Mum, he said he was born like that. He said he loves Mike, Mum, please don’t get angry with them. Talisha met Randy when she was fourteen and he was twenty-two, and that’s a bigger difference than Vic and Mike.’

‘Bigger difference?’ Lindsay retorts. ‘Bigger difference? You seem to be forgetting that Talisha’s a goddamn woman, Charlene. That is natural. Two men are not, never have been and never will be.’

It doesn’t get any better. The argument only progress, with accusations flying, children crying and Victor pleading with his mother to forgive him. I never ‘went back’ after coming out, never said I could, or offered, to change, never let anyone sway me, but then again, I was eighteen when I confessed my sexuality, and not living at home. Vic’s sixteen, he still has a year of school to survive and his mother is his mother, no matter which way you look at it. He isn’t prepared to have her turn his back on him, and if it means promising he’ll never see me again, and that he’ll never go with another man, he’ll do it.

He’s crying as she tells him to pack his stuff and get out, pleading with her not to make him go, because he ‘can change’. He yells at me to go, and I leave the house, sitting in the van and waiting, not willing to leave until I know he’s not going to be kicked out.

There’s no anger in my heart at the fact he’s told me to, and denounced homosexuality in front of his family. I can’t imagine what it’s like, but there’s a heavy feeling in my gut that for Victor, life is about to radically change. I feel so sad for him, knowing that his mother can’t accept his sexuality, when I’d always assumed mothers tended to be the better at accepting their son’s non-mainstream feelings. Certainly my experiences to date tended to suggest that, anyway, although Victor’s mother sounds anything but understanding. I remember coming out, and watching the shock on my parent’s faces. It was never so much as disgust or fury, but the seeming confusion at what I was saying, and I can clearly recall wanting to hit them and say ‘yes, bisexual, we all know what that means so get over it’. Now I want to go and hug them both, for ‘only’ telling me they weren’t happy, rather than denying me love and security.

Not that it matters much how everyone else’s parents reacted. The only result for Victor is that he gets kicked out, told to go away and never return.

I pick him up off the ground where he’s sitting, crying, his schoolbag on his lap. He’s tall and heavy and he doesn’t want to move, and I have to persuade him to let me take him home with me. Over and over and over, he keeps telling me he wants to go ‘back home’ and that this is why he didn’t want to come out.

We’re almost at my unit before he composes himself, and his recovery is surprisingly rapid. It seems like one second he was sobbing and the other laughing and smiling, completely unbothered, but his moods have always been like that.

‘I’m such a girl,’ he snorts. ‘I always fucking cry. As though it makes any difference.’

Not knowing what to say, I shake my head and smile at him.

‘Did you cry this much when you were my age?’ he asks, sounding curious.

‘Nope.’

‘Nope?’ he repeats. ‘Well I guess I’m seriously fucked up then. I cry like a fucking baby.’

Suddenly, the full impact of the day’s actions hit me. I glance across at Victor, wondering whether he’s now living with me, and if so, whether his mother will do as she threatened and call the police.

Twelve hours ago, life was sweet. Now, everything’s been turned upside down, for both of us, and the expression on my boyfriend’s face tells me he’s also starting to recognize that the day’s consequences may be far greater than either of us wishes to consider.

Chapter Seven

I truly believed his mother would call and ask him to return home, but no. The days pass until it’s New Year’s Eve and I still have Victor living with me, sleeping alongside me and acting for all the world like any other live-in lover.

It’s ten in the morning when we wake up, Victor curled into a little ball with his head resting on my back, slight dampness on my back signifying he’s drooling. He mumbles incoherently as I stir, stretching his thin, lithe body and attempting to communicate with me.

‘What?’

‘I love you,’ he murmurs, opening his eyes and smiling at me. ‘And I need to piss.’

I sigh, push him out of the bed and head to the kitchen to make coffee. My world doesn’t even start to make sense until the first hit of caffeine, so every morning we sit out on the balcony, me with coffee, Victor with Milo, and smoke. It’s so easy to be with him, but deep i