"Mr McEwan!" I exclaim.

"Rab!" Joe confirms a few seconds later, having pulled his tongue from out of my arse. "What can I say, mate?"

"Say nothing," growls Mr McEwan. "I think it would be best if you gave your tongue a rest."

Now that was quite funny, but no one's laughing, especially when he erupts into another almighty yell, "AND TAKE IT AWAY FROM ALEX'S ARSE, YOU DIRTY BASTARD!"

I sense Joe back away. I wish I could do the same, but I'm paralysed by fear and mortification. I would imagine Joe's making a bee-line for the clothing that's scattered over the floor, keen to cover up his embarrassing state, which probably includes an erection that's rapidly waning. At least it should do if he's got an ounce of shame inside him. I certainly have. The shame's crushing me at the moment. It's the worst thing that could have possibly happened - the most wonderful dream turned into a nightmare from hell.

This is so degrading, and not in a good way. I need to get off this bloody couch and cover myself up. At the very least I need to move my hands and pull them away from my arse instead of pulling the cheeks apart. I try to move them, and actually manage to work a few muscles, but not for long.

"You stay exactly as you are, boy!" snaps Mr McEwan, freezing me again with the force of his command. "I want to know what happened here, and I won't have a future lawyer tampering with the evidence."

That was quite funny as well, but again I'm not laughing. I'm dying a death, crying inside. "Mr McEwan, please. Don't tell my dad," I bleat.

He's standing behind me, seeing my shame at its naked worst: my hands on my butt cheeks spreading them apart, my arsehole exposed and glistening with saliva, my wilting cock shrivelling in horror but still hanging out along with my balls. But I suppose that's better than having to look him in the face and see the disgust that must be there. Odd how that bothers me, but it massively does. You see, I value Mr McEwan's good opinion. He's someone I've looked up to all my life. A bit of a hero figure to be honest. Someone that I care about - quite a lot as it happens - and it's tearing me apart that he's seeing me like.

"Don't tell your dad... That'll depend on what I hear," says Mr McEwan. "And you better tell me the truth, Alex, or else I'll be on the phone to your old man straight away if I hear a lie. Understood?"

That sounded like blackmail. What a bastard! And he can be a bit of a bastard on the side - a big mean bastard who's free with his fists and packs a hell of a punch, as plenty of men have found out to their cost if they've ever been daft enough to fuck him around. It's one of the reasons why I like him so much. Anyway, I'm not daft, so I play along. "Yes, Mr McEwan, I understand."

"So tell me: What are you sorry for, Alex?" he asks, the deep gruff voice sounding remarkably calm, although I can hear a betraying tremor that tells me he's far from calm. "Sorry you got caught, or sorry you let Joe put his tongue up your arse?"

Oh that's a tricky one, and I know better not to lie, having heard his threat. "I'm sorry you had to see it, Mr McEwan."

"Aye, you'll make a good lawyer, dodging the answer, trying to twist things around. But taking that line - tell me what I didn't see?"

"What do you mean?"

Mr McEwan lets out a manic cackle that doesn't bode well in the slightest. "Christ!" he roars. "The boy's off to university, but he doesn't understand a simple question. Well let me make it simpler: did Joe fuck you?"

"No!" I say, thankful that I can. "You have to believe me, Mr McEwan. He didn't fuck me." Of course I don't add that I wish that Joe had, and that I was hoping he'd do it on a daily basis for the rest of the summer. I suppose there's no chance of that now happening. And as for Mr McEwan keeping this a secret from my dad - his lifelong friend and his business partner - is there even the remotest chance that that will happen? I don't know. But one thing I do know: all hell will let loose if he does spill the beans. Joe would get his marching orders and would probably be run out of town. And as for me being supported through university - well that could go down the swanny as well. My whole life could end up ruined. And even if he doesn't make a call straight away - what a horrible thing to have hanging over me. I don't think I could live with the threat, so it might be better for him to finish it now and get on the phone.