By Rob Maynard

Chapter 4

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Utterly inappropriately, the next morning had dawned bright and clear.

For obvious reasons, though, nothing could lift the air of profound gloom from the Murray household.

Olly's mom slept in late, though that was hardly surprising given the lack of sleep she'd had as she'd desperately attempted to find a lawyer to organise her son's release on bail in the middle of the night.

It was only, in fact, after 4am that Olly - having been photographed, hologrammed, fingerprinted, DNA-ed and then locked up with a transvestite Italian hooker who'd considerately offered to help while away the time by giving him his first legal blowjob - had been set free from custody and allowed to go home, whereupon his mom had told him to get to bed and that they'd sort out what had obviously been a dreadful mistake of some sort the next day.

Olly, though, hadn't been able to sleep at all, even with Roland (to whom Olly hadn't confided the details of the transvestite hooker's proposal) snuggling up to him in an even more affectionate and caring way than usual.

In fact, the two of them had spent most of the hours before and after dawn discussing what had happened the night before.

Had Mr Petersen - or Steve as Olly now thought of him - been arrested himself after summoning Oliver and Roland to his apartment?

Where was he now?

And would he somehow blame Olly for apparently getting him into even more trouble, if that were possible, than he already was?

While the questions kept going around and around in one brain and one state-of-the-art set of nano-cognitive circuitry, time passed quickly by until, with the sun high in the sky, the doorbell unexpectedly rang.

Throwing on a black silk kimono - an 18th birthday present from his uncle Tim who's been living with a sumo wrestler in Tokyo for the past 26 years - Olly got up, went to the door and opened it.

And found himself face to face with a very dishevelled looking Steve Petersen.

An hour and six cups of coffee later - with Mrs Murray still dead to the world in her bedroom - at least two of the three questions that had been so troubling Olly and Roland had been cleared up in a satisfactory manner.

Clearly, Mr Petersen's whereabouts were now established. He was, amazingly enough, in the very place where Olly had always dreamed he'd be one day - in Olly's bedroom.

It was just a real shame, though, that it had to be in the current circumstances.

On an equally upbeat note, it was clear that he didn't hold Olly to blame in the slightest for the way in which his whole world had crumbled about him in the past 24 hours.

But something that Steve told them showed that there was something of a mystery here that none of them could explain.

For, it seemed, he'd actually been taken into custody himself shortly after leaving the Head teacher Mr Gaveston's office yesterday morning and had remained there in a cell (without even the offer, it appeared, of an Italian blowjob) for virtually 24 hours.

In which case, the obvious question was who was it who'd made that holo-phone call to lure Olly and Roland to Steve Petersen's apartment the night before?

Bellerophon Black slept almost as long as Mrs Murray that morning.

But while Olly's mom had had a restless and uneasy night, Bellerophon could hardly have slept better.

In part that was because he'd managed just that week to modify his mentor Cyprian's circuitry even further than before.

As a result, the pair had now progressed as far as the highly restricted stage 21D of the BOYS code of sexual practice - at which level one usually required both a licence from a justice of the peace and a sworn statement as to your good character and mental equilibrium from at least two experienced psychiatrists.

But, quite apart from the new and exciting sexual techniques he was discovering on a daily basis, Bellerophon was happy for another reason.

He had dealt with his enemies.

Mr Petersen - who'd been on the verge of exposing the way Bellerophon bullied and abused Bette Midler High's weaker kids - was no longer, in all probability, even a teacher.

In fact, in all likelihood, all that Mr Busybody Steve Petersen had to look forward to now was a considerable period of incarceration in the upstate Barbara Stanwyck Women's Correctional Facility where, even though most of the inmates might look like drivers of heavy trucks, the complete absence of real dick was felt to provide a far harsher punishment for gay men than letting them loose in a prison full of real - and really sex-starved - guys.

Bellerophon was happy too because he'd dealt with that creep Oliver Murray Jr.

Not that he'd had any real proof that Olly had been helping Mr Petersen build up the case against him, but it never hurt to be careful - and it was even more pleasurable when others got hurt in the process.

All it had taken was two phone calls, as Bellerophon - who'd noticed the doe-like eyes that Olly was always directing in Mr Petersen's direction during history class - had guessed.

One call, using an illegally modified version of Cyprian's voice recognition programme to mimic Petersen's voice, had been enough to send Olly scurrying vainly across town accompanied by his stupid mentor Roland. (Or was it Ronald? Bellerophon couldn't remember and, to tell the truth - which of course he hardly ever did - he didn't really care.)

Meanwhile, another call to the local police precinct had been enough to get them too racing to the Petersen apartment in the expectation of catching one of the pervert's illegal boyfriends waiting there for him.

And it had all worked so well.

Bellerophon knew that because Cyprian, whom he'd sent along to keep watch from the sidewalk, had reported seeing Olly led away to a police hovercar in tears, followed by an equally distraught Roland whose default "happy" mode was clearly failing lamentably in such traumatic circumstances.

So, all in all, Bellerophon thought he had cause for celebration.

And to him, there was only one way to celebrate.

At a gesture from his master, Cyprian left the room and, in just a few minutes, returned.

He was not, however, alone.

Accompanying him were two fair-haired boys.

Two very pretty boys, with well-shaped bodies and the faces of angels.

Twins.

Brothers who Bellerophon had been saving for the right moment.

And that moment had come.

As, indeed, the twins themselves were about to.

But only after they'd first experienced one or two new, unexpected - and not necessarily, until they got used to them, enjoyable - experiences.

"Welcome, boys", said Bellerophon, as Cyprian locked the door securely behind them.

"This will, I think, be a day we're all going to remember."

© Rob Maynard / HMBoys.com 2003 - 2007

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