The Chorister

A young chorister decides he wants to become a 'castrato' to retain 
his treble voice

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Anthony must have had the most beautiful voice in the whole  choir. 
Even the other boys thought so; to a point that when he would sing 
a solo in evensong,  every person in the cathedral could feel  the 
same eerie shiver running up their  spine and lodging itself in the 
base of the neck  to make the  small hairs stand  up, almost as  if 
you were in the presence of another Deity.  It was an awesome 
feeling. I always felt proud to be part of the same choir.

Of course he knew that  he sung like an angel, but wasn't conceited 
or smug like other boys I had seen in the past, he was simply  glad 
that  he had been given a marvelous talent and would accept praise 
with a modesty  almost much more  mature than  his tender thirteen 
years of age.

However it wasn't  just this, he commanded such a  presence- He was 
admired  and adored by all the other boys in the choir school., 
they copied  his  expressions  and mannerisms  and envied  his 
dashing looks. His  hair was a soft blond and fell over his eyes in 
moments of inattention. He wasn't the tallest boy in the school but 
was of about an  average height  with high  cheekbones and  a very  
strong jaw line. His soft brown eyes were an  invitation to admire 
him  as you melted into their gaze.

He  was the  epitome of the  prep school boy in his  uniform, his 
cap perched on his blond hair , his  red blazer fitting perfectly  
over his square shoulders,  down to the gray flannel shorts which 
followed the curves  of his bottom  towards his marble smooth 
thighs. His socks were always  up to just below his knees  as 
stated in the school rules and his shoes were an  advertisement for 
cherry-blossom black polish. He  had a boy's build with a  firm 
smooth chest  and flat stomach  without having  large obvious 
muscles,  as were  his legs, being shapely  in the way only  an 
adolescent boy's legs  can be.

As  he was now  head chorister and  a prefect within  the school he 
was allowed  certain privileges not allowed to  other boys.  After 
prep the prefects  were allowed to leave the grounds  of the school 
during  the hour until tea  to visit the town.  Also at weekends at 
times not  taken up  with practices they  could pursue  their  own 
interests outside  the bounds of school, provided they stayed 
within the walls of the city.

Being  a song man of the  choir myself, I live  in a cathedral 
property  just within the city walls, with  a rent low  enough for 
my small part time nurse' s wage  at the hospital, and hence am 
able to receive  the prefects for afternoon tea or a chat. I 
suppose it has something to do  with my  being only twenty  two 
that the  prefects mostly enjoy  coming to  my house  for a  visit 
than  going to  the other four residences within the city walls. 
The  song men as a rule are in their early forties and tend  not to 
have much time for boys invading their privacy for want  of a chat, 
advice or simply a good bitching session about someone else.

I had  got to know  quite a few  boys in  this way y some  more 
than others. In  the house I  have installed a  dark room  and 
encourage the  boys to  learn how  to  use it  and develop  their 
photography skills.  Out of  last year's new  prefects only  
Anthony was interested in  photography, he knew nothing however 
about developing and was eager to learn.


We  had decided  to  make  a  start early  one  September  Saturday 
morning, when we would shoot a roll of film and I would develop  it 
then repeat the  process with Anthony developing it. He arrived  at 
nine o'clock wearing a faded red  rugby shirt that was now slightly 
too small  for  him and  a pair  of white  shorts  that were  short 
enough to reveal half an inch of buttock  peeking out over the top 
of his smooth summer  bronzed legs. The sight of him  of the 
threshold  of my house  dressed in such  a manner, with the 
prospect of spending a morning in close contact  with him sent my 
heart racing. I let him in  and offered him a chair,  whilst I went 
to prepare  a pot of  coffee. Instead he  followed me through  to 
the  kitchen to watch me at work.


"Do  you want to go  outside to take some  photographs or would you 
rather shoot of a roll quickly in here?" I asked him.

"Oh, if you don't mind I would quite like you  to take some photo's 
of me whilst I'm still wearing shorts" he replied.

I turned round  from the sink to catch a  flash of his cheeky grin. 
He  was almost as  bad as I  was. He  knew that boyhood beauty was 
transient  and wanted to catch  it on film. We spent an hour or so 
using up the film which contained a collection of facial shots well 
as  profiles, front views, rear  views and leg  shots. All poses 
were orchestrated  by Anthony  and all that I did was operate the 
camera. He acted like a professional model and the intimacy of 
session  was almost unbearable for me.  I couldn't help wondering  
what Jewels lay  within his clothes. It was all I  could do to 
prevent  myself from running my hands over his thighs and up inside 
his shorts onto his smooth warm buttocks.

Next stage was  the dark room,  where he  absorbed all the  details 
like  a sponge and could  answer any questions that  I threw at him 
on what I had  done. As he watched over  my shoulder I could  sense 
his  sweet  clean smell,  and  feel  his  warm, slightly chocolate 
biscuit  flavoured,  breath on  the back  of  my neck.  As  I moved 
around in the dark I relished  every brushing contact I  made with 
him, and in  a strange way  I could sense  that he enjoyed it  too. 
There  was a kind  of understanding  that had grown up  between us 
over the  last couple of  years that was  manifesting itself in  an 
exciting way that morning.

The  negatives came out excellently and I made a mental note to run 
myself off a set of prints for during the afternoon whilst he  was 
at the  boys' practice. Having hung them up them  up to dry, we 
returned  downstairs  for the  second  roll of  film  to  be 
exposed  to  his beautiful body.

"So, having  exhausted every  angle of  you" I  said, "What  do you 
want to photograph now?"

He blushed slightly and then started, "You'll  probably think  I'm  
weird or  something but I've  always dreamed about developing my 
first photographs....." here he paused,

"Go on," I encouraged,

"Well I  enjoy the way  you bring life  onto a piece  of paper; the 
way  it appears from nowhere,  well the first ones  I want to bring 
life to would be  of me, but in  a natural state - you  could say", 
he looked rather embarrassed.

"How do you mean?" I  feigned a puzzled look on my face,  in case I 
had  misheard him or misread  his  intentions. I  couldn't believe 
what  I was hearing,  it was  like something out  of a novel  I had 
read when I was younger, curiously about another boy treble  called 
Anthony.

"Without any clothes"  he affirmed my  suspicions, I could feel  an 
erection rising in my trousers and had to concentrate very hard to 
thwart it making itself known.

"I don't mind your seeing me really," he continued, "You  must have 
seen plenty of boys without  clothes on when you were at school; in 
the showers and the dorm. We're all the same anyway."

"Oh, I don't  mind at all  if it doesn't  bother you him," I  
reassured him, "I think it's an excellent idea, and you'll back  at 
them when you've grown up and marvel at the changes as you get 
older."  He frowned at this and  looked a little uncomfortable I 
sensed something in his slightly  petulant expression that 
indicated  that he didn't  want to grow  up, I almost  called him 
Peter Pan but thought the better of it.

It passed in a flash and  he grinned at me and tugged at his rugger 
shirt. He  pulled it over his  head and  dropped it  to the  floor 
beside  him, he kicked off the tennis shoes and socks and undid the 
catches on his shorts. My heart  stopped as he lowered the zip and 
they  slithered down his legs to  a crumpled heap round his ankles. 
He wasn't wearing  anything underneath, the school  rules  didn't 
allow the  wearing of underwear under sports kit and even though it 
was a  weekend, Anthony  had obviously unthinkingly  not worn  
anything as he was wearing his white shorts.

He stepped out of them and stood naked in front of me, 
"Well, we might as well start," he said grinning.
I was  transfixed, he was  as heart stoppingly beautiful  without 
his clothes  as he was  with them.  He had a  square chest  with 
boyish nipples and  two lines  that  made their way diagonally  
down  from either  side of his stomach to his pubis. He had lost 
the prominent tummy of  boyhood but  had not  developed the  ridged 
muscles  that come later, there was just a firm flat expanse of 
smooth skin.

Although he was thirteen there was not a hair  in sight, apart from 
on his head. He had quite a well formed,  uncircumcised penis that 
showed promise for  later in life. His testicles were  neatly 
stowed tight, smooth white  scrotum. His legs were a sight to 
behold, and viewed from  behind ran  up to soft curvaceous pert 
buttocks.

"I'm  not staying  all day, if  you're going to take some pictures 
get on with it," he said, totally unperturbed.

I  started from my  reverie and smiled  guiltily at him.  The photo 
session was much the same as before; he changed position  for each 
shot and I clicked the  shutter. He stood with one foot on a chair, 
then facing away from me but  looking over his shoulder towards the 
lens, lying on the  chaise lounge with  his hands  behind his head 
and one foot on the floor.

Then as quickly as it had  started I ran out of film. My heaven was 
over, and he bent down to put his shorts and shirt back on again.

"Right, lets  develop them, I'm  dying to see  what I  look 
like ... and  to have  an attempt  at  developing films  of 
course"  he said excitedly.

"I'm sure you'll manage admirably,  and I can tell you now you look 
beautiful like that," I replied.  I wished I hadn't said that,  but 
he winked  at me over  his shoulder  on his way  up the stairs.  We 
shut the  door and  started  developing the  film. No  problem for 
Anthony who worked  like a pro. They  looked very promising  and we 
hung them up to dry.

"If you're free tomorrow after Matins and before Evensong you  can 
come round again to learn how  to print them." I said, not  letting 
on that  I would  have already  have done  a set  of copies  before 
then.

"Yes, no problem, I can't wait" he said with glee.

It was  coming up to the time for him  to leave for the boys' 
practice  so he  prepared to leave and get  changed  into his  
school uniform back  at school. On leaving his  happy face looked 
straight at me and he said, "Of course you won't  tell anyone 
about  this will you, or  they'll think I'm odd ?"

"It's our secret," I replied, and then he was gone.

That night  in Evensong  and at  Sunday Eucharist  and Matins,  he 
behaved  as if nothing had happened. I couldn't help looking at him 
and wondering if  it had been a dream seeing this self confident, 
popular choirboy taking all his clothes off in my front room.

Sunday lunchtime couldn't come soon enough for me, and sure  enough 
he was  there waiting for me on the  doorstep after Matins. He had 
beaten me  round there and was eager to start straight away. Within 
five  minutes I was producing the prints  from the first film. Then 
it was his turn, with  shaking hands he brought  to life his first 
photograph - himself in the most natural state possible. The  black 
and white prints brought out the contrast, curves and lines of the 
boy's body. That  the boy was  in love with  himself was without  a 
doubt,  a  youthful erection was  manifesting  itself inside his 
tight  grey shorts.  I pretended not  to notice  as previous 
experience had  taught me not  to rush a  boy into anything.  In 
fact on the contrary,  so far Anthony had made all the  moves on me 
in that field.

Once they ware all done and had been  run through the dryer we went 
downstairs  for a cup of  coffee to look at  them. Anthony was very 
pleased with the results. I had already spent many hours  looking 
at my  copies of them the  night before  so I  could appraise  them 
easily.  We both agreed  on the best  one being  him sitting cross-
legged on  the floor with his hands folded  behind his head. He had 
a faraway look in his eyes on this one which was very becoming.

Suddenly? without warning  he started crying. I couldn't think what 
it could possibly  be that had troubled  him so suddenly. I  wanted 
to put my arm round him to  comfort him but daren't in case it  was 
something that  I had done  or said  that had  offended him.  Tears 
started running down his pretty face and he looked up into my eyes 
beseechingly.

"I'm  sorry," he sobbed, "I  like life just as it  is, I don't want 
it to change I'd give anything to carry on  singing in the choir 
the way I do, to carry on being  thirteen, not to grow up,  for my 
voice  not to break, not to grow long hairy legs ... Oh god it's 
awful"

I didn't know what  to do or  say. I did however  put my arm  round 
him until he stopped sobbing. I eventually started:

"There  were a  lot of  'not's' in that  sentence most  of which 
you can't do anything about. You just have to accept  it all 
happening and when it  does it's  not that bad.  I manage to enjoy 
life  and I've grown up,  and let's face it - I'd look a bit silly 
if I still sang treble  now. And you're  a hell of  a lot  luckier 
than me  in having those photo's as a record  of what you were like 
when  you were the beautiful wonder boy treble in the cathedral 
choir."

"Are there no ways  to stop the processes  of growing up at  all ?" 
he asked,

"I'm  sure my mother would like  to stop the clock  too but I don't 
think  you can, short of  rubbing Oil of Ulay  into your skin every 
night." I replied

"But the hairs on  your legs, under the arms and  round your prick, 
how do you stop those from coming ?" he asked a bit pathetically,

"If you're that  desperate you can always  use a razor, but  
they'll keep on coming  back or you can  have electrolysis  on 
every  hair which will take  you about a year in all and cost you a 
fortune" I said,  "and short of being castrated there is no way of 
saving your voice"

"What does castrated mean ?" he asked naively:

"Oh God  I thought you  learned things like  this at school,  
especially  in  a  choir school.  Castration  is  the  removal of  
the testicles and / or penis for one reason or another."

He made a pained expression as he thought of  the consequences, but 
undeterred he asked eagerly; "Tell me more, how can it save your 
voice ?"

"Castration  has been  performed for many  reasons but  in the 
sixteenth  century exceptional choirboys in  the Catholic church 
were castrated  to preserve their  voice. They continued  taking 
singing lessons  and were  able to  sing with  a very  versatile 
voice  and mature chest  capacity and became  opera prima donnas,"  
I replied. "Is that a good enough explanation for you?"

"Do you have to have it all chopped off '"' he asked nervously,

"For  the purposes of keeping   your treble voice  you only have to 
say good-bye to your balls."
"Well what good  are they anyway? They  only get in  the way  and 
hurt like hell when you get kicked there" he said bluntly.

"For one, it buggers  up your chances of having a  family let alone 
getting married"

"I'm never going to get married to  start off with, and I can't see 
myself  having a family.  Look  at  you, you're  not  married  you 
haven't got a family what do you use your balls for?"

"To be  quite honest  I've never  thought about  chopping them  off 
really, but they do contain  sperm which is part of sex." I replied 
wondering how much or how little he knew about sex.

"What do you use sperm for ?" 

"I don't use it for anything, it's Just there"
"Then if  was castrated I  wouldn't have any  sperm but I  would be 
able to carry on singing treble?"

"It involves a lot  more than that.  Your voice doesn't break,  you 
don't grow  any body hair," his  eyes lit  up, "you  can't have  a 
family,  and think about it  when you're my age  you can't carry on 
singing treble  in the choir. People would  begin to ask questions, 
they'd laugh  at you,  what would  you do? If  Aled Jones'  voice 
didn't break when  it did people  would have got suspicious.  Would 
you be prepared to go through all that?"
"Yes," he  said looking  me in  the eye  "Aled Jones couldn't  sing 
anyway. I  want to be known as the best  boy treble of all times. I 
don't want to become all hairy,  I Just want to stay a boy,  like I 
am in these photographs"

"If you  were castrated  you  wouldn't have  those things"  I  said 
flippantly pointing to his testicles on the photo.

"Oh that's only a detail, I could quite fancy myself  without them, 
It  would make  my cock look  longer and  less ....  encumbered" he 
said matter of factly.

"It  may be too late for you anyway,  for it to work you have to be 
castrated before puberty, you're already thirteen"

"When should it be done then ?" 
"Around ten or eleven"
"But I haven't hit puberty yet" he said hopefully
"You can't tell that, look at your prick: it's quite a size for boy 
of your build, do you masturbate ?"

"Do I what ?"

"Wank."

"Oh, I've  tried a couple of  times but  I don't think it  works. 
Matthew Doncaster showed me how  it works but  I don't  think I've 
mastered the  art, anyway he's  had hair  on his cock for a  month 
now"

"Perhaps you're  not doing it right,  you don't have to  have pubic 
hairs to be able to come"

"You could always  show me" he  said and in  a flash was  unzipping 
his shorts  and letting them  fall to the  floor. I sat  there agog 
not  knowing what to say  as his snow white  briefs joined them. He 
stood there sporting a fine  erection. He was well formed for a boy 
of thirteen.  I couldn't  resist this  fine  hairless specimen  and 
wrapped  my fingers round  it and slowly  started a back  and forth 
movement.  He  sighed  with pleasure  and let  himself  fall  back 
against me. With one  hand I manipulated his firm youthful cock and 
with the  other stroked  his  beautifully soft  legs and  his  
tight little scrotum that he despised so much.

I was  in heaven having dreamt of doing this  to Anthony for such a 
long  time. It  didn't take  long before he  was jerking  within my 
arms,  but as he had  said the orgasm  was dry. He lay  there for a 
moment and then stood up and dressed himself again.

"You see, it's not  too late. I can be castrated and enjoy sex like 
this  but without  the mess," he  stated, "where do  you think they 
could do it for me ?"
said.

"I don't think it's done  anywhere anymore, legally that is, and I 
think you would regret it in later life." I said.

"This is something I would never regret,  I would regret  my voice 
breaking  and growing nasty hairs  on my legs, I want  to stay as I 
am  now, I could take up a  career with the Opera singing the roles 
played  by  the prima donna  male sopranos  from Italy." he  said 
excitedly, he  seemed more  determined  than ever  now. "If  it  is 
still done  illegally somewhere where can  I go, I  can't waste any 
time you know"

"I  don't know of anywhere illegal for that matter either" I had to 
admit, "and  if you went to ask your doctor  he would send you to a 
psychiatrist."
"Well if no one will do it I'll do  it myself and that's the end of 
it." he said stubbornly.
"I can't see you doing it  really, it'll hurt ever so much.  You'll 
stick a  knife in  and then not be  able to  carry on  and end  up 
bleeding to death or getting the wound infected."

"Can't you just chop them off with a pair of scissors?"

"With yours  being so tight up against your  body you would have to 
open  the scrotum and take them out  and then sew it back up again. 
If  you were older  and they  had dropped down  you could  snip the 
whole sack off and sew up the remaining skin."

Suddenly he jumped up  with a  triumphant smile  on  his face  and 
cried, "You could do  it, you  work  at the  hospital,  you can  
get  the scalpels and cutters and all the other things you might 
need.  Will you do it  for me, please,  you know how much  it means 
to  me." he asked beseechingly,

"I  can't say  I've done  or seen done  that kind  of thing before, 
also  I'm  not a surgeon,  and what's  more  I wouldn't  have your 
parents permission  to start hacking up your  future, let alone the 
implications of  law. Do you  realize that if I  did it I  could be 
put in prison for life?"

"Who would find out

"Your parents  for one, the school for another,  and how would I be 
to know that you might not blab it out to someone?"

"My parents wouldn't find out  for a while, I could just developer 
and  by that time  I could leave home, I could hide it at school 
pretty  easily,  take Jonathan  Zair for example, his disappear 
inside him when it gets cold, and if anyone does find out I can say 
that I did it myself. Now will you do it for me?"

I  must confess that by  this time I was  getting convinced by him, 
and  even  a little excited  by the  prospect  of preserving  this 
wonderful child's boyhood.  I tried to remain mature about it  all 
but  after another hour of this tirade  of begging and threats that 
he would take a  knife to himself or take both  penis and testicles 
off with  a tight elastic band  like he'd  seen done  to lambs,  I 
finally gave in and  said that he was  to think it over for  a week 
and  to come back with  a decision next Saturday,  and if he wanted 
to go ahead with it all I would do  it then. He assured me that his 
decision would  not alter,  thanked me  for the  photo session  and 
then ran  off whistling  down the  street like  any other  carefree 
schoolboy.

Throughout the week I mulled  over the consequences in my  mind and 
decided that he was  mature enough to make  his own decisions,  and 
also  I was quite intrigued  about how he would  grow up and accept 
life as a castrato or  how he would cope with the taunts of Eunuch 
at senior school if they found  out. I had always been called  that 
at school being a late  developer as well,  my voice hadn't broken 
until I was sixteen  and I often wish I  had stayed a boy for  
longer, you can get away with so much.

I collected the necessary things from the hospital for the  
impending operation, scalpel, local anesthetic,  suture etc. By 
the  time Saturday  arrived I  was hoping that  he wouldn't  have 
changed his mind, I had  deliberately avoided him  at the Cathedral 
during  the week and had been working late shifts so he couldn't 
come round.

At seven in the  morning on Saturday I was awakened  by a hammering 
at my door, There he  was smiling sheepishly standing in  his white 
shores and a  white T-shirt, I wanted  to take him  in my arms  and 
hug him and have him as my own son.

"Well  if you  have kept  your word,  its time  for you  to set  to 
word," he said standing now in my front room.

"I'd like you to sign this  for me," I said pushing a form  over to 
him stating that I  was only doing this under specific  request and 
to protect him injuring himself by attempting the job himself.

"You  mean  you'll do  it?"  he  cried Jumping  up and  hugging 
me "Where do you  want to do it then,  what do I have to  do, will 
you be putting me to sleep?"

"Calm down, first  things first. I  want you naked,  and then  I'll 
cleanse the  area with alcohol  and give  you a  local  anesthetic, 
because that's all I'm qualified to do. Come upstairs."

We went  up to my bedroom that I had cleaned up for the purpose and 
he  lay naked on his  back on my bed,  looking a little 
apprehensive despite his  excitement. I explained to him  that as  
he would  be awake he could see all that was  going on and might 
flinch or panic so I would have  to attach him to the bed. He 
complied and I strapped his hands  and feet to the four corners of 
the bed and fastened him  by his  middle with  a thick leather  
band to  stop  him from wriggling. I  sponged the  area in  alcohol 
and then prepared  the anesthetic,

"Normally this is the only bit  that will hurt you, so let  me know 
if you feel anything else later on" I said

I made doubly sure  by injecting him on both sides  of the scrotum. 
As I pierced the soft white  flesh with the needle he flinched  but 
kept  on looking  down to  see  what was going on  with  an almost 
morbid fascination.  I gave the anesthetic a  minute to take effect 
and tested  it  by squeezing  his balls  to see  if  he could  feel 
anything. As it was well and truly numb I made a start.

I took a  fine scalpel and made  an incision about  two centimeters 
long  in the middle of  the underside of his  scrotum. From there I 
gradually  squeezed one  testicle out through  the hole.  It was a 
strange feeling  to be holding someone's testicle  in this state. 
It was a darkish purple  with a long  coil of epidyimus neatly  
packed along  one side.  The name  of  the game  was to  snip this  
at the nearest  point to the body as possible. I  put the blades of 
a pair of  long  pointed  clippers  inside  the  scrotum  and 
clipped the epydidmus as far  down as possible.  The testicle, 
released of  its tie  to the body dropped  into my  other hand.  I 
held  it up  for Anthony to  see. I asked him if  he wanted me to 
go  on with it. He nodded so I squeezed the other  testicle out 
through the hole  and severed its lifeline to the body. I put the  
second testicle in the dish with the  other. There was very  little 
blood anywhere, I  was quite pleased with my work so far.

The  boy lying  strapped to  the  bed was  now castrated  and would 
never grow  up like a true  Peter  Pan. I  took a  length of  fine 
suture and stitched  up the opening.  Although it took six   
stitches they were very small and once removed would not show.
Whilst I undid his straps I said to him, "These will  want taking 
out in a week and  in the mean time get an off  games chit  and be  
careful  with them,  and if  you  have any trouble at all  let me 
know immediately.  The skin of your  scrotum will tighten up and 
shouldn't show by  then. What do you want to do with these?" I 
asked holding up his two testicles.
He took one, rolled  it around between his thumb and forefinger and 
said, "Keep them if you want, as a souvenir, I don't want anything 
to do with them anymore."

He got  off the  bed and  stood naked  in front of  the full  
length mirror. He smiled  at what he  saw and little  by little 
his  penis started  to rise.  As  he had  so rightly prophesied it  
did look longer and less encumbered.

"Will you  show me how a Blow Job works now please" he asked 
turning towards me.
 
I went  down on  my knees and  took the length  of his penis  in my 
mouth  and gently brought him to  a climax  being careful  not to 
disturb my handiwork just below his penis. As his hips bucked  with 
the force  of his orgasm I came  inside my trousers. I think it is 
the most I have  ever come in my whole life. It just kept on 
shooting.  Anthony  saw this  and  laughed saying  that  if I  
castrated myself like him I would never have this problem.

He then got up, dressed  and left to get changed for choir practice 
like any  other Saturday. He  winked at me in evensong  that night 
when  he finished his  solo in Stanford  in G.  He really  did sing 
like an angel.

The  next Saturday  he came  round as before  to have  his stitches 
out.  His scrotum had tightened  up and there was  no sign now that 
this boy had ever had testicles. He  looked so beautiful like that, 
we decided  to take  another roll  of film  of this  (a before and 
after set). To be  honest I found  him much more attractive  
castrated that intact.

He  would come  round regularly  on Weekends  and we  started up  a 
relationship  that  blossomed throughout  the term.  No one noticed 
that  his anatomy had  altered in any way at school,  even when he 
had a  wank with James  Naish in  the showers.  The worry of  being 
found out began to subside. I  had his testicles on my  mantle 
piece in a small jar of  preserving fluid. He laughed at me for  
this and thought I was a silly sentimentalist.

He went away  over the Christmas holidays and  never came back. His 
parents and he were killed on  New Year's morn in a collision  with 
a  drunk truck  driver. His  friends at school and  the  choir all 
mourned for him but  none in the way I did. He never was found out, 
and if  there was a post mortem the coroner may have thought him a 
trifle odd but nothing surfaced.
I still have part of him  that will always remain with me, in a jar 
on my mantle piece.  I'm sure if  I told this  story to anyone  
that knew Anthony they  wouldn't believe me, even  with the 
photographic proof, but I don't care. I know.