Love - Existentially

by John Teller

Part 21

Book Six - When Englishmen were boys

Michael Johnson.

Stuart's father's office is posh. Big style posh, and I'm sitting alone in his big style posh red-leather chair behind his big style posh desk, and in front of me are three phones, and I don't know whether it will be the red, black, or white phone that Stuart will ring me on. And I'm as nervous as hell. I look at the art-deco clock on the wall: five minutes to two. At two, nothing, and I'm feeling sick and apprehensive. At just four minutes past, the white phone rings. Hesitantly, I pick it up and hear a foreign lady's voice speaking in not too perfect English. "I have a reverse charge call from Nice. You accept se call, M'sieu?"

"Yes, I will. Thank you."

"I am connecting for you... one moment ... ... ... connected M'sieu."

"Thank you."

I hear a number of clicks on the phone, and then it goes silent, and I think I've been disconnected. Timidly, I say, "Hello?"

The half broken voice of my beautiful boy asks. "Michael?"

Even though he can't see me, I'm nodding like crazy when I answer him. "Yes. How are you?"

He giggles nervously, and then says, "Missing you like mad." There's a short, awkward silence, and I know Stuart is crying when he continues, "Are you angry with me? I'm sorry. I just had to do it."

I'm almost in tears myself, but I manage to hold them back when I offer words of reassurance to the boy I love. "Of course I'm not. I love you more for being so brave."

A short silence, and then, "Do you really?"

"Yes. I'm worried about you though."

"I know, I know. It's okay. It's okay. Don't worry now. It's all worked out. Mother and Father are sorting things for us. Mother was dead against it at first and we didn't speak, but Father has made her change her mind, and now she can't do enough for us. I don't know how Father did it, but he's worked miracles for us. I think we're going to be living in Abingdon."

"Living in Abingdon? Abingdon?!"

"Yes. With Father's friend and business partner, Peter Shawcliffe. He lives in Abingdon. It's only about seven miles from Oxford."

I'm baffled by what Stuart is telling me and I ask him, "Why should we be staying with Peter Shawcliffe? What about your schooling? I don't understand."

Now Stuart has recovered from the shock of our first words, he giggles his most beautiful giggle, and that makes me feel so much better, and then he says, "Peter Shawcliffe is like us, and he lives with his partner in Abingdon. Father has spent some time on the phone speaking to him and it was Peter who suggested it. When you think about it, it's perfect. Father's a genius. Once Mother had come to terms with what I told her about us, she's been fantastic. She's even said she might move to Abingdon herself. That set Father off in one, but once Mother has got something on her mind, she usually gets her own way. Father's company head-office is in Pangbourne, which is just over twenty miles from Abingdon. She's got it all worked out. And there are lots of Grammar Schools near Abingdon and Oxford for me to choose from. Well?"

I shake my head. "I can't believe it. This morning I was breaking my heart, and now I'm stunned. What clothes are you wearing?"

I hear Stuart giggle again. "Why do you want to know what clothes I'm wearing?"

"I want to be able to picture you in my mind. Explain what you're wearing and what it's like where you are."

"We're in Nice, which is just a couple of miles from Monaco. The sun is shining; I'm in a grey telephone box and Mother and Father are sitting on the sea wall opposite me. They're watching me. I've had to turn away from them so they can't see me crying. There are lots of people about. I'm wearing really short green shorts that show off all my legs; a green short-sleeved cotton shirt, short white socks with a thick green band around the top of them, and I've got light brown sandals on my feet." Stuart's giggle gets louder. "Oh... and I'm not wearing any underpants because I want to look sexy for you even though you can't see me. It's sexy without them, but awkward when I think about you. Is that all you want to know?"

"Yes. I think I've got the picture. Now I know what you look like when I take you to bed tonight."

Stuart is chuckling now. "What are you going to do to me?"

I laugh. "I'm going to undress you very slowly and then make you suffer for being away from me."

Through his giggles, Stuart says, "Shut up! Mother and Father are sitting on the sea wall and I've got to walk out of this phone box!"

I laugh again. "And then I'm going to tickle your magic spot until you're begging me to stop!"

"You swine! It's sticking right up now! Oh, God! You swine! I'll get you for this!"

We're now both helpless with laughter, and when the laughter subsides, I ask, "When will you be home?"

"Another week. Can you wait that long? I love you Michael."

"I love you too, Stuart. More than you will ever know. And yes, under sufferance, I can wait another week... just. But you'd better go back to your Mother and Father now. They'll wonder what we're up to."

"Oh no they won't! They know now, so there's no need for more secrets and lies! And I'm really, really happy they know. Are you?"

"Yes. I've been worried to death about you, but I can wait for you now I know you're okay. You can ring me tomorrow if you want to."

"At Father's office?"

"No. I've got the phone number of the public call box by our house. Do you want it?"

"Damn and blast! I haven't got a pen. Wait a minute. There are some used matchsticks on the floor. Hold on... right, I've got some. I'll wet the end of them and write it on the back of my hand. Go on!"

I give him the number, and then ask, "Have you got that?" Then I add, "You'll have to get the code for our country and city from your dad."

"I've got the number of your phone box. The back of my hand is a right mess though. Mother will have a pen in her handbag so I'll write it down when we've finished. I already have the code. I had to give it to the operator to ring you now. I'll ring you at seven every evening. I'll make sure I've got plenty of change so it's not a two minute job."

I giggle and tell him, "Two minutes is usually enough for you if I haven't seen you for a while."

Stuart laughs. "I won't last five seconds when I get my hands on you. I'm bursting here! Well, something is!" He laughs even more and then adds, "Oh, by the way, tell Alex I'm missing him too."

"He already knows. He's read your letters."

"He hasn't?!"

"He has!"

"You're kidding me?!"

"I'm not! You're in for some stick off him when you get back."

Stuart is chuckling away like an idiot now. "I don't care. Alex knows I love him anyway. Is Trotter okay?"

"Trotter is fine. She'll lick you to death when you get back."

"Super, but she'll have to wait her turn. You'll be doing that first."

I laugh. "Go away, you sexy monkey!"

"Ok. I'm sending you a great big kiss. Can you feel it?"

"Yes. Through my pants."

We say our goodbyes with more chuckles, and then the line goes dead and I sit back in the big style posh chair and let out a long sigh of relief. It's a while before I venture from the office. The experience of talking to Stuart has drained me emotionally and I still can't take in everything he's told me. My boy is crazy! And he's damned clever! Cleverer than I am by a country mile. God... I love my beautiful, wonderful boy so much!


Stuart Begbie.

The last week I spend with Mother and father is wonderful. I've had more kisses and cuddles from Mother during the week than I've had for years... and hugs from father too. Everything has changed between us, and Mother seems to have come completely to terms with what I am. I've spoken to Michael every evening at seven, and because I have, I've been able to enjoy the rest of the holiday instead of spoiling it. And, deliberately, I've not talked much about me and Michael so that Mother and Father know how much I love them. And my happiness has been infectious, so much so that it's probably been the happiest time we as a family have had together ever since I met Michael. And I haven't been pretending that I'm happy. I really am. Not many parents could ever be as understanding as mine. It's as if a massive weight has been lifted from us all.

Each of my conversations with Michael has lasted for about ten minutes, and they've been wonderful. Just to hear his voice and his laughter has made me so happy. Michael made me laugh when he said he always went into the phone box at ten minutes to seven and pretended that he was talking while he kept his finger pressed on the phone cradle so there was always a connection available when I rang him. So, including the ten minutes we were talking, he was spending twenty minutes every evening occupying the phone box while a queue waited outside his phone box. He said they were giving him dirty looks because he was on the phone for so long; and I couldn't stop laughing when he said they would have a fit if they knew what we were talking about.

But the week has finally gone and we begin the long drive home from the South of France. I've told Michael that I won't phone him again. Instead, the next time I speak to him is when I see him, which will be at the earliest opportunity when I get home.


The long drive back from the South of France has been very tiring and it's eleven o' clock on Thursday night when we finally get home. I go to bed immediately and go to sleep hugging my familiar Michael Pillow to my tearful face. And I've deliberately abstained! In fact, this is three whole days I've managed not to do it. It's been difficult, but I've managed it because I know what my rewards will be. My Michael; my beautiful lover will make up for the sacrifices I've made when I'm in his arms and his hot, sweet lips consume my body and soul.


Eight o'clock on Friday morning and I'm up and showered and eating a hurried breakfast of cornflakes and honey. Father is chuckling when I ask him to get my bike out of the garage ready for me; and Mother is also giggling because I'm so excited. Then they both stand in the drive and wave to me when I set off for Michael's home.

It takes me almost an hour to get to Michael's, and I take the short cut at the side of the pub along the backs to Michael's house, and I see Michael working where Dada's pigeon cote used to be, on the foundations of a new garage he and Alex are building for Alex's new Land Rover, which he's just had after he passed his driving test. Michael is dressed in blue overalls, and he's filthy. The moment he sees me, he gives me a gorgeous, surprised smile, and says, "Hello Stranger. Have you run away from home?"

I want to burst into tears, but I manage to grin at him and tell him, "No. I'm feeling sort of needing something I haven't had for a long time."

He points to his working clothes. "If you fancy a bit of rough, I'm all yours."

*********************

I lie on the bed and listen to Michael downstairs. He's having a strip-wash.

When we got into the house, even though we were both emotional at the overwhelming joy of being together again, he wouldn't let me touch him; and he didn't touch me. He just pointed to the stairs. If Michael hadn't done it this way, I would have. I'd been planning this very moment since we first spoke on the phone when I was in France. Michael gave me a puzzled look when I raised my saddle bag teasingly at him before I went up the stairs. But I know exactly what I'm doing.

I'm shaking with anticipation as I hear Michael coming up the stairs, and he comes into the bedroom, naked, and I shudder with love and lust at the sight of the man who fills my every waking moments; who occupies my dreams; who I would gladly die for, and when he sees me lying on the bed, tears stream unashamedly from his eyes and down his cheeks as he sobs like a small child when he sees how I've presented myself to him. In the saddlebag I brought upstairs were the clothes I was wearing when we first spoke on the phone: the green shorts; the green short-sleeved cotton shirt; the short white socks; and that's exactly what I'm wearing now as I lie on the bed with my arms outstretched to welcome him, and I'm praying that this is going to be a case of déjà vous as I cry like I've never cried before, and my wails of despair; need; love; are outed with just one word repeated over and over again: Michael; Michael; Michael; Michael!

Michael smiles through his own tears, and nods. He understands.

He kneels at the bottom of the bed and sucks my toes through the white sports socks, and licks my feet, and then kisses his way up my legs and pushes the legs of my shorts up so that he can kiss every part of my unclad body that is available to him, and then he rests his head on the part of me that is aching for his caresses; for his kisses; for his tender loving, and he sobs his heart out. I reach down and stroke his hair and press him to me. There's no need to undress... just his presence is all I need as I thrust myself at him and hold his head tight against me, and my frantic desires have us both wailing as it happens. Never would I have thought it possible to get feelings like it. The love I have for Michael is too great for me to control, and I feel it coming. It starts deep inside me, in my heart, and travels to my tickling spot, and then to every erogenous zone I have, and my body begins to shudder of its own accord, and the sensual feelings spiral to what is under Michaels' head, and I shudder and shake at the fantastic conclusions of this amazing love I have for my special, loving friend.

But Michael is not satisfied with what has just happened, and this time, quite hurtfully, he yanks my shorts off and begins to kiss me down there, and as I lie fully compliant, even though I'm in an awful mess because of what's just happened, he uses his mouth and lips and tongue to clean me and maul me to another explosion of lust and love, and when the final moments of this amazing roller-coaster of passion subsides, I collapse back onto the bed in a state of shock and awe at the emotions and physical climax of being back with Michael, in a fantasy dream world that I entered The First Time Ever I Saw His Face and looked into his beautiful eyes that captured my soul.


Michael Johnson.

After Stuart has recovered from his intense outburst of passions, I move up the bed to stare into the gorgeous blue eyes that have stolen my heart, and through the tears that fill them, I see right into the boy I love; into the grief he has suffered because of our enforced absence, and I experience feelings I thought could never exist.

I feel it's not enough to look upon him; I want to be inside him; part of him; a genie-like spirit that can live both within and without him. I need to be of him, and the most beautiful thing of all is that I know he is feeling exactly as I am.

There are no need for words... our eyes are saying everything we need to say to each other. His mouth opens, and he pulls my head down to him, and when his tongue enters my mouth he devours not only my saliva, but also the produce of his passions. And when he's ravished himself from me, he offers his tongue to me, and I suck the saliva and juices from it and swallow them eagerly. Then Stuart's arms encircle my neck and the kiss becomes frantic. Both of us are crying now, and Stuart is wailing as we share this moment we've so desperately waited for. Not too gently, he pushes me off him and rolls on top of me to take what he wants from me, and he's almost eating my lips and tongue. He pulls away, rolls his tongue around his mouth to create as much saliva as he can, opens his mouth to show me what he's produced, and then spits it fiercely into my own open mouth. This is raw passion we're experiencing; no holds barred needs; an exchange of more bodily fluids to seal our dance of love.

He sits on my chest and goes to take off his shirt, but I grip his hands strongly and push them away. One by one, I undo the buttons of the flimsy garment, and when they're all undone, I slip it off his shoulders and gaze at the upper body of the boy I love. The sun has tanned him a lovely bronze. I look at his eyes, and see him watching, intently, what I do. I caress his fragile shoulders, and then his slim arms, and the shirt slips from them. I take his hands and rub them against my cheeks, and then I suck each finger in turn, before concentrating on his chest. His nipples are erect when I fondle and squeeze them, and his breathing is becoming shallower as I follow the contours of his belly to the perfect line where his tan changes from brown to milky white. He lifts himself from my chest, and still in a state of arousal, he hovers above me while I kiss it and roll it around my face and eyes and nose, and then he goes higher so I can feast on the two sac-enclosed globes of his boyness before going even further, allowing me to feast on his most very private part, and he helps me by pulling his buttocks open for my impatient tongue. Oral penetration; gyrating small boy; ecstasy for both of us.

And then, quite roughly, I roll him over onto his back. The Vaseline jar is discarded still without the cap. I cannot be fastidious while I'm feeling as I am... an overwhelming desire to join with my boy until there is nothing left to give. A few minutes later, and to his and my cries of delight, I have filled my special, special boy with all I have to give him ... of myself and all my love. And then I roll off him and lie by his side and stare into his eyes.

The worst is over.

But I've not finished yet.

His shorts are still on the bed, and even though they are messy because of what went before, I get up and work them up his legs and make sure they're properly in place, and I put on his shirt and fasten up the buttons. Stuart watches, fascinated by what I'm doing, wondering what will happen next. What happens next is very simple. Whilst sitting on my haunches between his spread legs, I stare down at the creature I love. I've been dreaming of this moment since he went away. I want to look at what he is; the boy who has turned my world inside-out and upside down; the boy who is so deep within me that he is an integral part of my being now; the boy who has stolen my heart and made it so that no one else can permeate it; the boy who, not so long ago, I was prepared to die for had anyone tried to come between us.

My eyes take in the beauty of what he is; the hair that is now bleached a perfect gold and is ruffled because of the sex we've just had, and I stroke it back into position, making sure his parting is just as I like it. I stroke his eyebrows, and I kiss each closed eye in turn. I kiss the end of his nose; and then I play with his gorgeous, full lips with my own lips, and push my tongue into his mouth to explore his teeth and tongue. I move down to his neck and rub my lips along each side of it before moving down to the slender upper body draped in the beautiful green shirt. I kiss my way down it to the shorts that are so short that the distance between the bottom of them and the white sports socks he's wearing seems like million miles of beauty. Sometimes, as now, I prefer to look at him when he's dressed, because the clothes he wears always enhance his being. So it was the first time I saw him: the splendidly fitting school uniform; the tie that was just out of sync; the leather gloves he wore to keep out the cold from his precious fingers; the shoes that were well polished. Very slowly, I allow my hand to stroke all I can see. The touch of my boy is electric to my senses, and I feel my heart beginning to react to what I am touching and what my eyes are seeing, and the hurt begins with a series of inner sobs and leads to me grinding my teeth to try and contain my emotions. But I'm not successful. How can I possibly be? My love for this boy is all consuming. It controls everything I do and everything I am, because what I have discovered is that the love that dare not speak its name, which, if it's allowed to germinate and grow without hindrance, will blossom into the most beautiful of all loves.


Stuart Begbie.

Michael's face is twitching uncontrollably as he looks at me. It's as if another being has taken over his existence, and I know who that other being is: Me. I don't think he realizes that his lips are moving and I can see and hear what he's whispering. It's as if he's lost control. There are no inhibitions now as he utters his deep love for me and tells me how beautiful I am, and how he belongs completely to me. I listen, fascinated, as he talks to each part of my body as if that part was an entity in its own right. He even talks to my clothes and tells them how much he loves them. This is powerful stuff, and I'm spellbound and deeply moved by what he says. I knew Michael loved me, but I wasn't aware of how much until this moment. His words are describing what his heart is feeling, and I lie perfectly still so as not to break the spell. And not once during his appraisal does he allude to me as a sexual being, and not once has he looked into my eyes. That joy is yet to come, and I wait patiently for the moment.

And that moment arrives, as I knew it would. Michael is above me now, and I can feel his warm breath on my face as he stares, unblinking, down at me. I look at the fabulous hazel eyes that captured my soul the very first time I looked into them, and his eyes examine every part of mine. And then the examination comes to an end when our pupils lock, and he looks into my very soul. Very slowly, his face comes down to me. I open my mouth to receive him. His lips touch mine. I put my arms around him and hold him tightly, and we come together in an almighty hug, and the most fantastic kiss that we have ever shared bonds us together for all eternity.

When we break the kiss, Michael breaks the spell when he grins at me, and asks, "Are you hungry?"

I manage a grin through my tears. "I'm bloody starving!"

"Good. Shall we go downstairs and have something to eat?"


Michael Johnson.

Stuart grins at me while we're sitting at the table looking at each other while we eat a salad lunch, and then he says, "You're a swine!"

I grin at him. "Why?"

"My entire body nearly exploded up there when you were kissing my shorts."

I wink at him. "It was worth the wait though, wasn't it?" Stuart wrinkles his nose, but doesn't say anything, and I know it was worth waiting for, even though he won't admit it. I take his hand. "I hope you've saved up some loving. We've got the afternoon to go yet."

He gives me an evil grin. "And tonight... and tomorrow night."

"And tonight... and tomorrow night?"

Another evil grin. "Oh, didn't I tell you? It must have slipped my mind. Mother and father are going to Abingdon today and they're picking me up on the way back on Sunday."

I start to laugh, and Stuart starts to laugh, and soon, we're both helpless, and when we control ourselves, he fills his mouth up with salad and comes and sits on my knee. He stares into my eyes as he puts his lips to mine and pushes the partly chewed food into my mouth, and I swallow every morsel. Then I grin at him. "This is the sexiest meal I've ever had."

He fills his mouth with food from my plate this time, chews it, feeds it to me again, takes my hand and pushes it against his green shorts, and says nonchalantly, "Me too. I've never had a salad that's done this to me before."

I laugh. "Me neither. Get up a minute."

Stuart looks puzzled, but he gets off my knees, and after I've turned my chair and he's standing in front of me, I pull his green shorts off, push my own trousers down, and ask him, "Would you like to sit down again?"

Stuart is giggling like mad as he straddles me, and when we're coupled, he puts his hands around my neck to hold onto me while I pick up my fork and put food into his mouth, which, when he's chewed it, he shares with me through kisses. So, while this is going on, Stuart manipulates his lower body, and I help him out while he's doing it. And because I have one hand free, I make sure that what's happening to him inside is also complimented by what I'm doing to him outside, and I make sure he knows he's never eaten a salad like this before.

When the passions are over, Stuart wipes his lips and grins at me. "You queer sod!"

I make googly eyes at him. "You've got treacle pudding to come yet!"

And my boy roars with laughter.


Stuart Begbie.

It's six in the evening and Alex has his nose pushed against the window, and he's pulling funny faces at me. Then he opens the back door and lets Trotter in, and she bounds onto my knees and licks me to death. Then she jumps onto Michael's knees and does the same. I get out of Dada's chair and go to meet Alex as he walks into the living room. Open arms, and I sink into them, and he hugs me. I am in heaven, and also in the safest pair of arms in the world. I just can't help it; I cling to him and weep. I stay like that for a while, and then he pushes me away, wipes the tears from my eyes with his coal-scarred fingers, and smiles at me. "It's good to have you home, Lover Boy. We've missed you."

I nod, and go back into his arms, and he cuddles me. When I've composed myself, I pull away from him, take him by the hand and make him sit in Dada's chair, sit on his knees, and he enfolds me again in his arms. Then I look up into his face. "I've missed you, too."

There's no foolery from Alex when he says, "I know you have. But you're back home with your Alex now. I hear that you're going to be leaving me soon. Is it all arranged?"

"Mother and Father are in Abingdon now. They're sorting things. You will come and see us, won't you?"

"Of course I will. And Trotter. We'll sort things. Everything is going to be fine. You did a great job while you were away. Alex is proud of you for being so brave."

I allow my head to sink onto Alex's shoulder, and I wrap my free arm around his chest. "It's done now. Are you hungry?"

Alex lifts my head and grins at me. "Pig's trotters?"

I giggle. "Sorry... just a pork pie salad today."

Alex chuckles. "Smashing! Your Alex loves a pork pie salad. Go and get it Lover Boy!"


Michael comes down the stairs in his running kit, grins to me, and goes off to do his training. An hour he said he would be, which gives me some alone-time with Alex. That's good. I need to speak to him alone. He's in the kitchen washing the dishes, so I go to him, pick up the tea cloth and begin to dry the plates as he washes them. "You don't mind me staying tonight and tomorrow night, Alex?"

Alex grins. "Of course not. How did you wangle that then?"

"When Mother and Father said they were going to Abingdon to sort out the accommodation for me and Michael, I said I would rather stay here. Do you think we're doing the right thing?"

Alex stops washing the dishes, and looks at me. "Do you want to hear what you want to hear, or do you want to hear what I really think?"

I stare at him. "I want to hear what you really think."

"Well, no, I don't think it is the right thing to do."

"Why?"

"You're only fourteen. It's not right that you should be living with someone at that age. At eighteen; yes. Fourteen; no! Has that upset you?"

Alex's words cut to the marrow. We finish the dishes and go back into the living room. Alex sits in Dada's chair and I sit on his knee. I still haven't answered his question, and he tells me that I haven't.

"Yes, it has upset me, but I know what you're saying. But I've got us into a hole now and I don't know how to get out of it. Being away from Michael drove me crazy, and that's what I can't do; be away from him. Well, not for any length of time that is. What shall I do?"

Alex looks directly into my eyes. "Let Kiddo go and do his stuff at Oxford and I'll make sure you see him often. Every weekend. I'll go and fetch him on a Friday night and take him back Sunday night. Or he can catch the train. You can stay here if you want, if it's ok with your Ma and Pa. I'd say they'd jump at it if you put it to them. Plus you've got the breaks during the terms. You'll have loads of time to spend doing whatever it is you two get up to."

I think about what Alex has said, and I know he's right. "But what about Michael? I've told him we'll be living together now. He won't be very pleased with me if I change my mind and tell him we're not going to now."

Alex squeezes my hand. "Kiddo won't mind. He and I have had a good talk while you were away. He would go and live with you, but he thinks like I do... and like you do. He doesn't want to be away from you for a minute when he doesn't need to be, but he knows it would be wrong you two living together... yet. The reason he hasn't said so is because he doesn't want to hurt you. Do you have the telephone number where your parents are now?"

"Yes. I've got a contact number for them. They're staying at Peter Shawcliffe's place. If I need to speak to them, I've got to make a reverse charge call to them."

Another squeeze from Alex's hand. "Then go and do it. The sooner the better."

I shake my head. "Not until I've spoken to Michael. If he says 'yes', then I will."

Alex is quiet. I am quiet. We're both deep in thought. I'm terribly nervous. Alex says that Michael is in agreement with him. That means they've discussed our situation. I'm wondering what else they've discussed. Michael and I living together would have made our affair permanent. Perhaps they don't want to make it permanent because they think I'll 'grow out of it'. Or, which makes more sense; they are giving me room to be sure that being with Michael forever is what I really want? I hope it's the latter... I don't want to be treated like a child. Well, not by Michael and Alex I don't. Perhaps even now they don't really understand that my love for Michael is all-consuming, and that I would rather die than live without him.

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