The Lodger

The following is, in essence, a true story, with 'only the names changed to protect the innocent', as they say. Now and again though, with the passage of time, the edges of fact and fantasy have become slightly blurred, and the narrative may possibly reflect more what might, or could, or should have happened, rather than the strict literal 'facts' of the matter, which is where the italics come in. Then again, the philosophical among you may wish to ponder what precisely constitutes reality.... cogito ergo est perhaps?
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I'd known Peter for a couple of years or so, I guess, before he came to live in my house.

He first appeared, as a shy young lad of seventeen, on the back row of the planning meeting for the voluntary community action group I was involved with in Reading. His grandparents had brought him along with them - his mum and dad had just split up and they thought he needed something to take his mind off it all. And soon he became a regular member of the group, quiet, hard-working and keen to help out however he could. As he settled in, he soon emerged as something of a joker; there were quite a few lads just a bit older than him in the group, who would often get together for a drink after our meetings, or a game of football at the weekend, and Peter was always in the thick of the fun. Everyone liked him. Me included. You couldn't help it. Not only did he have a likeable personality, he was also pretty good-looking. Not in an obvious in-your-face sense, but in a quiet, understated kind of a way. He was only small (about 5'3") and slightly built, but quite muscular with it. His day job was as an apprentice joiner, and he was pretty strong. His short mousy-coloured hair sported some subtle blond highlights, and his boyish face broke easily into a slightly lop-sided, bashful grin.

In the summer after he first started getting involved, we had a fund-raising barbeque at his grandparents place. It was a blisteringly hot day, and pretty soon all the younger end were donning swim costumes and cooling off in the outdoor pool. Which was when I first really noticed Peter. I was sitting at a table by the pool sipping a cool beer and chatting to some local bigwig, when Peter came running round the corner, pursued by one of the girls from our group with a bucket of water, laughing and joking as ever, and wearing the tightest pair of bright red swim shorts you ever did see. For all his small stature, Peter was really starting to fill out into quite the young stud! Working outdoors much of the time, his skin was developing a healthy bronzed glow, which heightened the muscles of his chest and tight abdomen. His legs were strong and muscled too, and his backside cutely rounded in those tight shorts - the curves accentuated when the water hit its target! When he turned around, laughing at the top of his voice, a thin line of hair led the eye from his navel down towards another nicely rounded packeage in the front of the shorts. Definitely a young lad worth watching!

Shortly after his nineteenth birthday, I heard that Peter had moved into a flat in a rundown part of town with another guy from our group. Apparently his mum had taken up with some new man, and Peter just couldn't get on with him. Martin, just a year or so older than Peter, had always struck me as a bit of an idiot - a joker, like Peter, but without his disarming shyness, and tending towards loud-mouthed and obnoxious. Still the two of them seemed to get on okay.

A few months later, I started a new job back in Reading, having just finished a college course in nearby Bracknell, and began looking for a house to buy close to my work (I'd been staying at my parent's over in Henley). On my salary, to get the kind of house I wanted in a decent neighbourhood, it was obvious I was going to need a lodger to help pay the mortguage. I thought about advertising in the local paper, but this seemed a bit risky; much better to get someone I already knew. What about Peter? I don't quite know where that thought came from: Peter was a good ten years younger than me and, so far as I knew, quite happy where he was, with a mate of his own age. Still, I could always ask. So, next Saturday, as I gave Pete a lift home from the youth club building we'd been helping decorate, I casually slipped it into the conversation.

"By the way, Pete, I'll be buying a house here in town in the next few months and I need a lodger. I don't suppose you'd be interested?"

"Hey, Andy. That'd be really cool. Martin's been getting on my nerves just lately. But I wouldn't want to leave him in the lurch."

"Oh well, give it some thought. It won't be for a while, anyway, so who knows what might happen by then."

And so we left it. A few days later, Peter's grandma phoned me up; "Andy, I hear you offered Peter a place to live?"
"Yeah, that's right. Or at least, I just suggested the idea. But I don't think he's too keen."
"Oh but Andy, that's just what he needs! That Martin's really no good for him. Peter's so easily led, and he's getting himself into all kinds of debt trying to keep up with him. He doesn't say much, but I know he's really worried. Living with someone like you would be just what he needs."
"Well. I don't know about that, but he's a nice lad; I'd be glad to have him if he decides that's what he wants."
"Oh it is, I'm sure! Leave it with me!"

Nothing more was said, until, about 3 months later, I exchanged contracts on a modest little semi-detatched on the edge of town. Next time I saw him, I had a quiet word with Peter.

"You know what I said about you maybe coming to live at my place?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, I don't know if you're still interested, but I've got a house now, and should be ready to move in in about a month."
"Really? Are you serious? That'd be brilliant!"

Somehow I hadn't got to hear, but apparently, for the last few weeks Peter had been living in a caravan at his grandparents' place, having had an almighty bust up with Martin. So it was agreed, as soon as the house was mine, Pete would move in. An ideal solution for us both.

So, on 18th September, having spent a week thoroughly cleaning the place and slapping a coat of paint over the downstairs rooms, we moved in. I had the front bedroom, Peter had the back, and the small box room served as my study. Although we'd been working together on and off on various projects for over a couple of years now, I didn't really know Pete that well, but we soon settled into a really good easy-going relationship, like we'd been mates for years. Or brothers - Bill next door was really surprised one day, a month or so after we moved in, when he heard me refer to Pete as 'the lodger' - he'd assumed he was my kid brother. And, to be honest, I felt a bit that way about him myself; we'd joke around, and basically live our own lives, but I always felt that little bit protective of him. He was a nice kid, but quite young for his age.

Maybe because of this, although I was conscious of Pete's good looks, I never really gave him a second thought in that kind of a way. Not at first, anyway. About the middle of October, we had a really warm spell of weather, after an unseasonably chilly Summer, and Pete took to walking around the house in his boxer shorts. That subtly muscled body I'd admired at the poolside started to be a daily part of my life. I also noticed how one particular pair of boxers allowed his manhood to swing provocatively against the fabric as he walked. Another, tighter pair gaped slightly at the fly when he sat down, revealing a tantalising glimpse of dark hair inside. Being a joiner, he worked up quite a sweat at work, and would always have a bath or shower as soon as he got in. And, I soon realised, he never locked the door. The catch on the bathroom door was slightly awkward, and often didn't fasten properly if left unlocked, so sometimes the door would drift slightly ajar. One day, it had done so and I happened to be going up the stairs just as Pete had got out of the tub, and I was treated to a brief glimpse of his nicely rounded bottom as I hurried to my room. My curiosity began to be aroused!
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Just into November, and Peter's car had broken down. I agreed that if he got up early, I'd drop him off at his workplace on my way to my own. 7am, and no sign of Pete; I'd better give him a knock. I was greeted by a muffled "Yeah?", and poked my head round the door.

"Rise and shine, sleepy head" I smiled, taking in the almost childlike quality of his face as he blinked himself awake. "If you want a lift, you've got 20 minutes."

Peter sat up in bed, stretching and yawning. As he did, I couldn't help but noticing that not only was he not wearing anything from the waist up, but, looking down his gracefully arched back, his cute little bum was also naked, the top of his rounded buttocks standing out pale and white against the tan of his back, the dark shadow of the cleft just visible above the mattress.

Pete smiled, "Oh, sure. Thanks. What time is it?"
"Just gone seven." My eyes were still lingering on his rear.
"Oh sorry, must have forgot to set my alarm; I was a bit tired last night."
"Yeah, it was a bit of late night."

Neither of us seemed in any hurry to end the conversation, and we chatted aimlessly for a couple of minutes. Then Pete stretched again, and with a sudden burst of energy, threw back his duvet. Hurriedly, I muttered something about putting the kettle on, and was out the door in a flash; I didn't want to see anything that we both might regret!
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A couple of days later, I had the morning off and lay in bed listening to Peter getting ready to leave. Like him, I didn't wear anything in bed, but was slightly more coy about my body - at least when anyone else was in the house. I'll just wait til he's gone, then wander across and get a shower, I thought. Then I heard the front door close, jumped out of bed and headed for the bathroom, not bothering to grab my dressing gown from behind the door. Just as I'd got through the door, lo and behold, Peter dashed out of his room and headed down the stairs, and suddenly, there he was staring me straight in the privates. Blushing, I headed straight on for the bathroom, muttering a hasty "G'morning Pete!"
"Morning, big boy, " I heard him grin as he carried on down the stairs and out the front door.

Well, I can tell you, this little encounter gave me something to think about as I lathered myself down, which proved quite stimulating, if you get my drift!
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Well, by now, I was starting to see my young lodger in quite a different light. When I began decorating my bedroom, I slept a few nights in the study, the door of which was directly opposite the bathroom. One night, I'd gone to bed pretty late, and must have disturbed Pete on the way, because just as I got into bed, I heard him get up and head for the loo. My curiosity was aroused. I knew he slept in the buff - had he stopped to cover himself up? Quickly and quietly I eased the door open a crack, and waited for the bathroom door to open, then peered out to see what I could see. For a moment, Peter's short frame was silouhetted against the light from the bathroom door. I could just make out that he was naked, but the details were not really visible. Then the light went out and I blinked through the darkness to try and make out something more; was that the shadow of his hand in front of him, or something more intimate? Frustratingly, I really couldn't tell. But it certainly gave my mind something to play with as I crept back beneath the covers - and my hand as well!