Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 1

home on Sunday."
    He amazed me. He'd already given me some of his t-shirts and shorts, a cap, sandals, a snazzy pair of sneakers and a set of swimming goggles he bought in town, on top of the speedos. Yet, despite his generosity, I felt downhearted when I weighed up the pros and cons of accepting the phone, the problems and risks of possessing it unsettling my mind. "Thanks, Drew, but I can't accept—"
    "Why?"
    "Well, for one thing, I don't have any money to pay for the calls. All the dough I make goes towards my keep and clothes and medicines."
    "Alex, do you really think I'd expect you to pay them, if there are any? I pay them, not you." He explained he really wanted me to have the phone so he can talk to me, suggesting each afternoon around four-thirty, after his lectures and my swimming training at their pool. He said we can send free text messages any time, and that I'm to call him only in an emergency, that way, "the phone won't cost a bean."
    "If my stepfather finds out, he'll kill me… and smash the phone." Drew knew the restrictions and fear my stepfather exerted–I'd told him on several occasions over the ten days since we met. I'm sure he'd built an accurate picture of my home-life, except the abuse, for on occasions he dropped appropriate mean comments about my stepfather's attitudes and temper. He never hinted he knew the full terror and I never mentioned a word to make him suspicious, despite enduring a painful butt and innards four more times since we met. After each, I curled up wherever my legs carried me or on the mattress in the hideout with Paddles. Later I'd sooth my arse and wash away my tears in the cool waters of the swimming hole before visiting him.
    "I'm not worried about the phone, Alex. It's an old el-cheapo pre-paid model I keep as a spare. You're my concern and to put your mind at rest, I suggest you keep the phone on the charger in our garden shed and text and talk to me only there, out of sight. Don't take it into your home or have it on you when you're working with him. The risks are too great if, for any reason, someone happens to call and he hears it ringing. I'd hate myself if that happened."
    His suggestion won me over, being failsafe in my mind, unless my stepfather decided to prohibit me visiting their home. Now that I could swim better, Drew encouraged me to train in their pool, to build my strength and endurance. When he hinted I had a bit of natural talent, I relished the idea of finally having a goal to strive for and prove to myself I can excel if I try. And hopefully, along the way, kick some of the arses who've thrown crap at me and helped make my life hell in the past. My stepfather hadn't objected up to now, or at me wearing the clothes Drew gave me. Though knowing him, his temper and logic could swing faster than my ADHD swings.
    He sat beside me on his bed, to show me the phone features I'd need to know and then made me practise them, while he massaged my neck. When I felt confident, he pushed me down on my back on the bed and lay on his side, his head resting on his palm, his belly touching my side and our legs crossed. "I'm gonna miss you when we go," he said in a low voice, placing his hand on my lower belly. "Do you think you could sleep over Friday or Saturday night?" He splayed his fingers under the tropical flowers, through my sparse pubes and touched my shaft. "Do you?" he ask again as he enveloped my hardening cock.
    "I'd love to," I whispered, "and I'll try my damn hardest to be here both nights." If I had to lean over a stack of potting-mix bags in the potting shed ten times or lie on them and stick my legs up, I would and know every stab of pain I endured, while the bastard pumped his over-sized cock into my teen arse, would be worth every moment to be with Drew for a night. Maybe he might be considerate and use some lube. Maybe my mother might finally wake up and shoot the monster–wishful thinking of course, the way he keeps her addled by booze–but I had noticed the arguments increase in frequency and tempo lately, had noticed her talking back more and not so boozed. Maybe she's wising up, has had enough of the bottle, and is realising how run down the orchard and the house have become under her husband's laziness.
    "Hardest? Save that till you're here," he murmured, squeezing my cock again.
    ****
    "I worked extra chores," I explained to Drew, seeing him nod in delight, knowing I'd be staying both nights and all day Saturday. The fun started late