My grandfather died suddenly when I was thirteen and my grandmother moved in with us. She sold her house and as there was not much room in ours for my parents, my sister and me, I was sent to an all-boys boarding school. The fees were met partly by my gran.

I hated it at first and felt like a fish out of water with all the new customs and rules, but I enjoyed most of the lessons and was quickly "accelerated" into the top stream where I was in the same class as boys, some of them two years older than me. The school also took in day boys, who were treated rather differently from us boarders in the sense that we got to know them less well. They went home at the end of afternoon lessons whereas we went back to our "Houses" where we shared small rooms for doing our homework called "studies" and ended the day sleeping in large dormitories with as many as twenty beds in them. Boys in the same "House" therefore got to know each other well - VERY well in some cases!

Like most of the younger boys I quickly became aware of the propensity of older boys, starved of female companionship for thirteen weeks at a time, to "fall in love" with younger boys. Usually these younger boys were good-looking and of slight appearance. Their voices had not broken and they were still naïve about sexual matters. That describes me, aged 13, fairly exactly and as a result of my youth and looks I formed two relationships, fumblingly sexual, which were very exciting and significant at the time and which, as I grew a little older and more experienced, made me wish for more.

I have only once set out to seduce another person. All the other occasions have arisen from meeting the immediately pressing needs of us both. This is the story of the seduction I planned and what happened.

In my final year at school when I was 18, there was a boy in my class, the same age as me. Though I was more inhibited about masturbating than some of my contemporaries, I was quite an accomplished wanker and was interested in what other boys did with their dicks. These were on show every morning when the bell to rise was rung and everyone rolled out of their beds and went downstairs to take a shower. Most of us had erections for the first few moments of the waking day. The boy in my class, however, whose name was Neil, was a day boy, so he was spared the morning ritual of the cold shower - guaranteed to cure any remaining erections! He was much more inhibited than I was in his general manner, rarely answering questions in class for fear of being wrong but being highly conscientious over the work he turned in. He was tall and broad-shouldered but hopeless at games. The day boys had to play the boarders at rugby football once a fortnight so I played against him occasionally. He played in the scrum whereas I was a back and anyone could see he had virtually no hand and eye co-ordination. All this changed, however, when he had a flute in his hand. His father was a concert flautist and Neil was a wonderful musician. His flute seemed part of himself when he played and his performance was of a very high standard indeed. I, too, came from a musical background, my mother being a music teacher, but I lacked the self-discipline needed to be a good pianist so I contented myself with listening to classical music and collecting black vinyl discs. Though they seem cheap now (looking back on them from this age of CDs and DVDs) the cost of a black vynil LP 33 rpm disc for a lad on weekly pocket money was exorbitant, so each disc in one's collection was treasured and got played many times.

The thing about Neil was that I was sure he fancied me. He never voluntarily said anything to me and if I made a casual remark to him he coloured up and looked away, mumbling an answer I could never quite hear. But he always managed to sit in class where he could see me and his eyes followed me each time I came into the classroom. I was often late and he never! As we were in the same class for all our subjects and moved from classroom to classroom according to which teacher was giving the lesson; and as he always sat away from me but where he could be sure to see me, I had no doubt on this point. He had a squarish, masculine face with big, brown, expressive eyes and he seemed always to be looking at me, though he turned away if he found that I was looking at him. Looking back on it I feel sure that (a) he was very inhibited as well being "correctly" brought up; (b) that he knew nothing could ever come of it; and (c) that it was wrong anyway. I came to see him as a challenge. I'm not at all proud of what I did but I'm not ashamed either. If boys at the height of their teenage hormonal activity are placed in an all-boys environment, what else can you expect?

I decided that I would talk with him about music to see if I could draw him into conversation. I played the piano well enough to be able to accompany "at sight" so long as the piano part was not too difficult and - despite his shyness - he readily agreed to have a go at playing with me. Unfortunately he was too advanced for me to keep up with him but it became apparent that we shared a love for classical music and as there was a Gramophone Society, we started going to meetings together where we listened to many works, new to us then, which are familiar "friends" now. In this way we got to know the D minor and G major Symphonies of Dvorak, his Cello Concerto and the four Symphonies of Brahms. It broke the ice between us, but he was still very reserved ("inhibited" is a better word). Nevertheless he warmed up enough for me to be able to invite him to spend three days at my home during the holidays and - after a lot of hesitation - he agreed. The major consideration for him was that he could bring his flute, I would learn some of the accompanying parts so that we could play together, and we would both listen to some of the records from my mother's collection. If there was a sub-text to the idea, only I knew about it!

To cut a long story short, he arrived, my mother and I meeting him off the train and taking him home to meet my grandmother and sister. They all liked him. He had perfect manners and his shyness was seen as a big plus. He had smiled quite warmly at me when we met at the train station but at my home the inhibited reserve that characterised his manner to me at school returned. This made me all the keener to seduce him - if I could. He continued to look at me with his big, doleful brown eyes but it was I who made the conversation, such as it was. However HE made the music and my mother was so impressed that she took over from me at the piano and we had a wonderful day playing and listening to music. He was almost conversational when we made our way to bed.

I suggested he take a bath and we talked about music as he lay in the bath, his private parts modestly covered by a flannel. We were sharing my bedroom which had twin beds in it and he got into his and started to read a book while I had my bath. When I was through I put my towelling dressing gown on without any other clothes and joined him in our bedroom. He looked very shy indeed when I sat on the edge of his bed and started to talk about sex. I was fairly sure he masturbated, but because he was a day boy I was not certain of the vocabulary I could use with him. He responded verbally hardly at all to my confessions about my own uncertainties about sex but I could see that he had put his book down and one of his hands was down the bed resting on his crotch. He latched on, however, to the idea that I would like to "compare notes" (ie we would show each other our dicks and talk about masturbation) and said quite firmly that he didn't want anyone fiddling around with HIM. At the same time, however, I could see that he felt powerfully the proximity of our two bodies and - quite naturally and acting under the urgency of the situation - I put my hand on his. He reacted by holding it tightly and saying in great agony of mind "Oh Martin, why do you torture me like this? You know how I feel about you."

"Do I?" I said. "Tell me."

There was silence for a moment. How can you describe feelings when the world disapproves of them and you've never tried to express them before? It was unkind of me. "I just want to be near you" he said at last, "Do things for you." He hesitated - "I even dream that I find you fallen on the ground. I pick you up and hold you in my arms while you regain consciousness."

"I'm conscious now" I said, "And you can be very close to me if you'll make a space for me to lie beside you in the bed."

This was greeted by more silence. It was the moment I had been thinking about for weeks, maybe months. Would he agree? He hesitated and I could see the indecision, the desire and the inhibition all jostling and fighting each other in his mind. I gave a last little push : "It will be OK. It won't harm anyone - it's just you and me, close … together."

He said nothing - just sighed and moved over in the bed, so I put the light out on the switch by the door, stripped off my dressing gown and lay down beside him. It felt strange at first but his arms soon came round me and he held me tightly, my head resting on his shoulder. Eventually he released me and said "I know this is wrong, Martin, but I just can't help it." I didn't want to get into arguing the moral toss with him : it was a different kind of tossing I had in mind! So I said "I don't think it's wrong when it feels so natural." He sighed again and pulled me to him. I felt the warmth of his body against mine and I was embarrassed by my stiff dick jutting up against him. I could feel his too.

Once begun how can you stop? He made no attempt to prevent me while I unbuttoned his pyjama jacket, then undid his pyjama trousers and finally closed my hand round his willing dick. Here it was at last, in my hand, hard, warm and urgent.

It was a wonderful tool, meaty, thick and long. He was circumcised so I gently fondled his glans, running my fingers up, down and round it, to which he reacted with "Ohs" and "Ooohs" which threatened to become so loud that I was afraid my parents would hear. I asked him if he ever got the preliminary fluid that comes before the main charge, so to speak, and he just said "Yes." At that very moment it appeared on the tip of his dick and I smeared it all over his glans, bringing more "Ohs" and "Ooohs" from him. He made no attempt to touch me and I could tell he was close to orgasm so I switched my movement to his shaft just below the head, using the pre-cum to make it slippery, and in no time at all he groaned "I'm going to cum" and shot his load into the tunnel of sheets that our two bodies were making in the bed.

"Where did it all go?" I asked when I had stopped stroking him, and he just said "All over the place." I couldn't find any cum on his stomach, so I guess it did go all over the place. Time, now, for me to add mine to the general mess so I took his hand and guided it down to my aching, uncut, rock-hard dick. He didn't say anything : he just stroked it as if he knew how best I liked to do it myself. I came off like a rocket - all over the place. "That was wonderful" I said as I pressed up against him and kissed him. He sighed as if both surprised by, and resigned to, what we had done and soon afterwards I climbed out of his bed and into mine and we both fell asleep immediately.

The next morning when we woke, there was a terrible feeling of "consciousness", well, anyway, on his part. He looked guilty, apologising for what had happened as if he had been responsible and saying he didn’t know what had come over him. (I had cum over him, but he didn't think like that!) I attempted to set his mind at rest, saying again that it was perfectly normal, good fun and hurt nobody but he refused to be consoled. For a moment I thought he would pack up his bag, his music and his flute there and then and take the next train home. But he was too well-mannered for that; and anyway he was with me, even if - in his book - I was now somehow impure, with feet of clay.

The day, however, improved as it went on and an evening of music-making brought him back to the shy but warm-hearted person I knew him to be. If he had had major reservations earlier in the day about what might happen in our bedroom that night, he had lost them by the time we went to bed. He was very passionate and even told me he had loved me for a long time. The sex seemed utterly natural and I think we both came off twice. In the dark cave of the bed it's not always easy to tell the second time.

The third night was just as good, perhaps because it was the last, and he left for his home the next day with a shy smile for my mother and a conscious grin for me. He wrote my mother a "thank you” letter which said that he had looked forward very much to coming to stay, that he had loved playing the flute with her accompanying him and that he had enjoyed himself very much. She was delighted with this. He included a PS which delighted me too : "Please give Martin my love and tell him I'll see him next term."

When we met in class ten days later I noticed that he no longer looked shyly away when I looked at him. There was a subtle difference in his attitude : he seemed more positive, more sure of himself. He even asked me quietly at the end of the lesson if I had enjoyed the rest of the holidays. I said Yes, but it hadn't been so much fun after he left. He got my drift and looked both pleased and embarrassed about it. A week later he came up to me of his own accord and told me he had got a new recording of the Brahms Violin Concerto. Would I like to come round to his house on Sunday to hear it? I certainly would - it was a work I had never heard and was wanting to get to know. He said his parents had asked him to invite me for lunch on Sunday and we could listen to the Concerto in the afternoon in his room.

I thought Sunday would never come, but when it did I made my way by bus to his house and was met by Neil at the door. He introduced me politely to his parents and I noticed that his father must have looked just like Neil when he was younger. The food was so much better than school food that I wished I could go there every Sunday. After the meal Neil, who showed much more confidence at home than he did at school, said it was time to try the Brahms so we went up to his room. He had a small gramophone there, with his collection of classical LPs standing on a shelf next to his school books. The new disc was on the turntable with its cover nearby. I sat on the bed and read the blurb on the back of the cover, relishing this opportunity to get to know a work which was regarded as one of the peaks of the romantic repertoire. Neil came and sat beside me, reading the blurb (which he had read before!) over my shoulder. "Can we play it now?" I asked. He nodded, went over to the deck, switched it on, lowered the stylus and came back to join me on the bed. No sooner had that lovely, lyrical first theme sounded on the low strings and horns than I found myself being almost attacked. His hand was on my knee, then fumbling in my crotch, then undoing my belt and my zip almost before I had got a hard-on. He himself had a full hard-on, because he stood up to remove my trousers and I could see the tent in his, sticking out in front of him. As I helped him drop my trousers to the floor I thought "This is a new Neil." I might have reflected that in seducing ME he was turning the tables on me for what I had done to him during the holidays but that thought only came afterwards.

When he had extracted my dick, now fully hard, from my underwear, he wanked it in such a fast and jiggling manner that I could easily have cum unsatisfactorily without any sense of climax and without being on edge. I wanted him to be more gentle. The Brahms played on, listened to only as background music, so I stopped him, smiled and then proceeded to undress him. I hadn't seen his dick before and it sprang to attention as I released it from his clothes. It really was a beauty. Its large, broad head was red and glistening and it stuck up invitingly, as if longing to be played with. And I played with it, circling that lovely engorged head with my fingers and massaging the pre-cum that soon appeared at the tip. He had to restrain his groans for fear of being overheard by his parents. When he came a thick jet of sperm shot from the tip and landed on his shirt. "Heck" he said, when his spasms had ended, "I'll have to wash that off before my mother sees it." I gave a low laugh. The Brahms was still in its first movement, so quickly had we been at one another's dicks and I wanted to cum off too, only more gently and at slower speed. I think he understood because when he had recovered enough from his own orgasm, he was much more gentle, much more the "old" Neil when he touched me again, and it was well into the third movement of the Brahms that I exploded, shooting as much spunk but not as far as Neil's. What Brahms (who was unmarried but visited prostitutes) would have made of it I shudder to think, but for me I can never hear his violin concerto to this day without thinking back to that afternoon at Neil's house. I came, too, to appreciate Neil's PS - that he would SEE me next term!

We met only rarely after that. Neil's shyness vanished almost over night and everyone at school remarked the change in him. There was a lovely moment when he managed to tackle me on the rugby field. When we both got up from the muddy ground he whispered "That's for seducing me. But I still love you." He went on to become an orchestral musician like his father and I lost touch with him when we left school. But I have fond memories of him - and I still enjoy listening to the Brahms!