Author's Note: I'm going to be ultra-cautious here, because I want to make sure that no one is surprised by this story's content. This is a story about the development of a teenaged boy's sexuality -- that's the sole purpose and intention of this story -- so it might offend some people who for one reason or another don't like to see such things discussed openly.

Rating: R -- This means that anyone under 17 should be reading this only while in the presence of (or at least with the approval of) a parent or guardian. Yeah, I know it's unlikely that people follow these ratings, but what the hey. I thought I'd at least point out what the rating means. An example of an R-rated movie would be American Pie (and its sequels). This story won't be crass like that, since I try to respect the innocence of the characters of Peter and Wendy and the tone of the book and film, but it will be equally frank about sexuality.

And now, on with the show!


Time in Neverland works differently than it does in other places. Sometimes, it flows more quickly, but at other times it flows very slowly indeed. And so it is difficult to estimate weeks or months or years in Neverland, for those terms have very little meaning.

In any case, Peter Pan himself cared little for time and had little sense of its passing. If asked his age, he would reply simply, "Quite young," and if asked how long since Wendy had left, he would reply only, "Very long."

Perhaps Peter's impression was correct in Neverland, where time is so malleable, but a more objective outside observer might have argued that it was not actually very long after Wendy and the boys had gone that the changes started.

Neverland was much the same as always, filled with ever new and thrilling adventures. New Lost Boys had even begun to arrive, here and there, and Peter took them under his protection, gathering them together into a wild and noisy small society of rascals.

Yes, Neverland was much the same as always. But Peter Pan was not.

He still fought pirates, swam with mermaids, flew among the fairies, played upon his pipes, brandished a sword with the same expert arrogance ... but deep within himself he felt a strange restlessness he could not identify.

In his confusion over this new restlessness, Peter frequently left the Lost Boys to their own devices, instead of lording his authority over them as he had so enjoyed doing in the past. Even his battles with the pirates now seemed to have lost much of their excitement. Instead, Peter often flew away to a high tree branch or secluded hillside to be alone with his thoughts.

Thoughts, it might be noted, had never been a particular friend to Peter in the past, for he found them to be tiresome and almost invariably unpleasant. But, since Wendy's visit -- or, rather, since Wendy's thimble, which Tink had afterward told him was truly a kiss -- Peter found himself thinking more and more often, despite his own intentions to do something far more rakish and impressive with his days.

He found himself thinking far too often of Wendy's thimble, remembering how she had leaned over him, her body warm and soft where it touched his bare chest, her eyes intensely blue as they gazed at him, and then her lips ... her lips gentle against his, her lips tasting like moonlight and starshine and dreams.

When the thimble had happened, as he lay upon the deck of the Jolly Roger, Peter had felt only wonder. He had been awed at this new feeling within his breast, this feeling that seemed to expand and fill every part of him with something he could not define.

But in the days since that moment, Peter had felt a great many different feelings which he did not understand, and which frightened him.

* * *

And then the dreams began.

At first, they were only vague images and impressions, always centering around Wendy and the thimble she had given him. The warmth of her body, the softness of her lips, the feel of her hand upon his cheek. Peter woke often with his heart beating fast, his breath reduced to rapid panting. His eyes wide in the dark, Peter wondered what was happening to him, why he felt this way, why he had these thoughts, why his body felt so strange.

And, after a time, Peter's dreams began to change.

He dreamt each night of Wendy, but they were no longer upon the deck of the Jolly Roger. Instead, he hovered above her in her bed, as he had done so long ago. He watched her sleeping face, so beautiful and peaceful, her lips so tempting. He reached out a hand toward her, his fingers brushing ever so softly across her mouth, and at his touch her eyes opened to gaze up at him.

He smiled down at her, just a very small smile, a slight curving of his lips, and Wendy raised her arms to pull him down. Her arms wrapping around him, Peter rested on top of her, and he felt her warmth and softness all along the length of his body. The feeling was unlike anything he had ever felt before, and it made shivers run along his skin.

In his dreams, he raised his hands to stroke Wendy's hair, tangling his fingers into the soft brown locks so that he could hold her head gently in both his hands. And then, in his dreams, as he held her head gently within his hands, Peter pressed his lips to hers. And while he kissed her, while their lips moved against each other subtly as they had on the deck of the Jolly Roger, Wendy's soft hands also stroked the bare skin of his back, making his shivers so intense that he thought his body might fly apart at the sensation.

Sometimes, during these dreams, while feeling Wendy's lips against his and her soft hands upon the skin of his back, Peter felt as if his body did fly apart, as if he had been struck by lightning and scattered among the stars. And after those dreams, he woke breathless and stunned, his heart racing, his body still throbbing with an awed pleasure for which he had no name. And after those dreams, he also found a strange substance upon his belly, and worried what it might mean.

* * *

Peter felt afraid to go to Wendy's window, certain that she would look at him and immediately know of the thoughts he had been having, and the dreams, and the strange substance upon his belly for which he had no name. And so he refused to go.

But in truth restraint had never been a strength of Peter's, and so at last he found that he could not help himself, and so pretended that he had never intended differently. "I shall go to Wendy's window!" he proclaimed to the mystified Lost Boys. They had heard of Wendy, but did not know why Peter was making such a production of going to visit her. Seeing the questioning looks in the eyes of the younger boys, Peter became nervous, and so simply flew away as he had said he would do. The four younger boys in the jungle of Neverland exchanged confused glances, shrugged, and then continued on toward the Indian village.

As Peter flew, he heard a jingling voice beside his right ear, and found a smiling Tinker Bell sitting upon his shoulder, her bare legs demurely crossed. Tink had been spending less and less time with Peter since Wendy's thimble, and so he was very happy to see her ... until he remembered where he was going and why. He bit his lip in uncertainty.

Sensing that her welcome might not be entirely heartfelt, Tinker Bell asked Peter what was the matter and what was wrong with him.

Since Peter had been asking himself those same questions, he had no answer for her, but he lifted his chin slightly as if to show that he did not care. "I'm fine, Tink. Nothing is wrong with me." But he did not believe it, and so his expression became worried again as soon as he had turned his face away and flew onward toward Wendy.


Author's End Note: So that gives you an idea of the tone of this story, though the sexuality will become more frank as the story (which I'm expecting to be around 3 chapters long) progresses. This chapter was very tame, but that's the nature of such things. I couldn't just launch Peter into full-blown sexuality right off the bat, because that's not what this story is about.