John, at 17
And as He Grew
I watched him grow fine and strong and tall. I heard his voice break, and saw the downy fur replaced by adult hair. I watched him turn from a beautiful boy into a handsome man, and still I wanted to be with him, to be absorbed in his very being.
Let me describe him at seventeen, at that wonderful age when neither a boy, nor a man, with broad shoulders, and finely honed muscles. With a "just visible" six pack, and with strong arms and legs. Still slim, still beautiful, and still oh so strokable.
I changed for sport each afternoon just by him, and always, always managed to be there at the right time - difficult, since he was good at sport and I was a real no-hoper! The boy of my heart’s desire, naked or near naked beside me, with all of his body, all that I wanted most in the whole world there to tempt and excite me.
Did I look, did I stare? Of course, and who couldn’t. I knew what I wanted, now. I knew for certain what I wanted to do with him, for him. I knew as surely as night followed day what I would do, what we would do, together.
About an inch taller than I, slim and strong, with arms which I wanted to enfold me, to enclose me, to keep me safe and warm, and lips to kiss and hair to stroke. No matter that his face now was turning to a man’s with that sandpaper roughness, those cheeks to stroke, and to feel against my face, my chest, and perhaps… perhaps…
I used to wrestle with him when it was time to go home. I couldn’t bear to be parted from him. I didn’t want to leave, nor did I want him to leave, for each turn of the cycle pedals took me two turns away from him. I wanted to hold him in my arms, and to keep him for my own, my lover. He never pulled away. Never. Did I get it wrong? I’ll never know
I tried all I knew to drop subtle hints. You know, really subtle, like "how often do you wank" [For the non Englishmen, I need to translate: "wank" = "masturbate"]. "I don’t". Oh, did I want to teach him how, the pleasures, the touch. I had never been touched by anyone else, and I wanted John to be the first. I wanted John to be the only one. One word from him, and I would have been his for life, yes "married" to him. He didn’t wank. A 17 year old, red blooded, healthy boy who didn’t wank! It’s unheard of, but he said it in a final sort of way, a conversation stopping sort of way.
And I still changed next to him, seeing glimpses of his beautiful manhood peeping from beneath his shirt, seeing, when he stood on the bench next to the lockers his long, strong, slim, finely muscled legs, his taut bum, and when he turned to face me… Oh when he turned to face me, and pulled his shirt over his head to change it... When he stood there naked… it took all of my breath away so completely I could have fainted. Everything I wanted in the world was there, just above face level, just above kissing level, just and so completely out of reach.
And clothed, he was still beautiful, so beautiful, even in school uniform, or especially in school uniform. He made a grey school suit look good, even when he was growing so fast it didn’t fit him! He made you fall in love with him just by being in the room. He even made the school carbolic soap smell good.