by Rafael Henry
I found out something on Sunday night, just as I was finishing writing about our visit to Broad View. David found me in the library. He was in his dressing gown and ready for bed.
'When's your lights out David?'
'Ten minutes ago. It's important. I didn't tell you.'
I could see from his face that he was feeling guilty about something. I went cold.
'You know Glen……the boy I met?'
'Yes of course I do. What about him?'
'He's here…..at school…….here…….now.'
To say it was a shock is an understatement. I suppose that our weekend at Uncle's was our swansong…..the icing on the cake before the storm. It took David about five minutes to tell me. To put it succinctly, their two families had already known each other.
Glen's family live in Leicester which is not far from David's home in Hinckley. The respective fathers had met at a conference. David's father had extolled the virtues of the school here and Glen's father had made enquiries and after Glen's successful entrance exam, here he is. Not only that, but as soon as David had described Glen's appearance, I knew who he was. He was the boy in the queue…….the fair haired kid I mentioned a while back? You probably don't remember, but I do. Fucking hell.
'It's ok David…and I'm glad you told me. Do you still want to be friends?'
'Yes of course I do. It's just……'
'Just what David?'
'It's just that I want to be friends with him too……as well as you Jon.'
I can't pretend that I'm not hurt….I am. But I'm also realistic. Gerald always said that friendships between young boys that involve sex rarely last more than a few weeks because one or other of them find someone else more interesting, or just simply lose interest. He was thinking of me when he said that.
I told David that I wanted him for as long as he wanted me, and that in my own way, I loved him. It's true…..I do… and that's not going to change…probably. I'm going to bed now, and I'm angry and upset.
That was Tuesday night. When I got into bed I did something that I don't often do……I cried. I couldn't help it. It was as much an appreciation of David as a person, and how I had felt about him as his probable loss to me. My distress hadn't gone unnoticed I'm afraid. I had my head buried under the covers most of the time but that doesn't work if you want to hide tears. It's obvious, especially to the boy in the next bed, if he's awake. He was.
He's quiet, and he has a reputation for being a very bright boy….exceptionally so, especially in mathematics and the sciences. He's one of those. He's not geeky at all though, and not into games either….just fucking clever. I'm not aware that he has any particular friends probably because he doesn't need any. He has his work, and that's his interest. Fair enough.
When I'd done my private howling, I emerged from under the, by now, rather stuffy covers with wet patches here and there. I lay my head on the pillow facing the clever boy, whose eyes were wide open and looking straight at me. He's not very attractive to look at….rather Italianate which is not surprising as his name is Servante. He wears unattractive, at least to me, traditional briefs with a gap at the front which I hate. At least they're white, not some ghastly patterned job. Naturally I've seen him undress and undressed a number of times this term, so there's not much about his anatomy I don't know about……..at least what it looks like, if not what it feels like. The one thing I do like about him is the fact that he possesses a frigging great cock. I'm afraid it puts mine to shame. He's also quite mature for his age having a fair amount of dark pubic hair to either side of the big sausage shaped thing we call a penis. Furthermore, the foreskin stands no chance of covering the large glans, stopping as it does a couple of centimetres or so from the end. Even the opening looks huge to me…what Nursey calls the 'meatus' with her usual partiality for the correct terminology. I hate to say it but I've developed a little loathing of Servante due in no small part to my being overwhelming jealous of his mighty member, not to mention his acute intelligence, damn him.
He looked at me and I back at him. He had no discernible expression on his face….just this sort of slightly sad look. I decided I felt slightly better and smiled at him. Why not? I'm sure he's perfectly pleasant and probably trying to be nice to me in my pathetic state. He can't help being bloody superior in just about every way.
I see the covers move in response to my smile. His hand emerges…….quite a nice hand actually. My hand that up to then had been fondling my diminutive member, emerges too, and our hands touch mid-way between our two beds that are not two feet apart. Without letting go, he shuffles his body towards the edge of his bed, and I do likewise so our heads are now on the very edges of our mattresses and close enough to feel each other's breath. The next thing he does surprises and quite excites me. He loosens the covers on my side so I can see into his bed. He's wearing a pair of striped pj's, the bottoms of which are tied in a bow with white cord. He lets go of my hand and undoes the cord and opens up the material and pulls it to one side revealing his gorgeous pinky brown cock which rests languidly on the pink flesh of his upper leg.
I check round the other boys and I'm satisfied they're all asleep now, and no one is going to see what we do. It's patently obvious that Servante would like either to give me a wank, an idea I'm not averse to, or I will provide that service for him. Then he goes slightly on his back, but if I lean over a bit, I can reach him. Ok Mr Servante, it looks like it's down to me first. As I watch, the already decent sized sausage becomes a larger one, and appears fully erect within a minute, and ready for my attention. I set about my task. He has a couple of balls to match the other bit…..large and quite a hard handful in a loose glove of textured skin….delicious. I feel his hand over mine and it makes a movement that tells me the situation is urgent and would I please get on with it. I start with a fist around it, but he clearly doesn't want that, so I change to the gentler thumb and four finger method. Yes, that's much better. Despite being obviously fully erect, it doesn't feel that hard, unlike mine. I don't know exactly how long it took to get him off, but not that long. He has undone his top and spread it wide to the sides of his chest which was just as well. He's fourteen and comes nicely , shall we say.…no other words for it. It's all over his chest in distinct pools of the stuff, not to mention what's on my hand. His head is one side and he's still wearing that vacant expression as he watches me bring my hand to my mouth. I'm not going to hold back……he might as well know. He tastes nice too….quite aromatic even, and certainly a little different to mine……sweeter if anything.
I was done inside a minute I would think…..same method. If he needs four sheets of loo tissue, I need two. Enough said, but I don't think either of us will go without this term, but it's not going to do anything about my disappointment. I feel empty inside.
Servante was a surprise….a nice one…..and quite out of the blue, and not to be turned down. I'd never had a decent chat with the bloke before, and then suddenly he makes himself available just like that? It sometimes happens like that in this place.
I'm off games because I've got a stinking cold, so I've got a window to finish this here and now…….signing off for the duration until I write my first novel and win the Booker Prize.
I'm not sure what David's up to, but I know it's not me, but as I said I'm realistic. We'll see. I still think he's a beautiful human being, and if I live a hundred years, I'll never change my feelings for him and I was really looking forward to him modelling for my sculpture idea, but I think I can assume now that that idea is down the pan for the duration. Never mind.
Servante still seems keen to 'liaise' of an evening. I have to say that this arrangement is not ideal, but it's way better than do-it-yourself. It's much better having a partner, almost regardless of who it is……well, almost regardless. Some individuals around here I would draw the line at. No, seriously, Servante is ok. We never have to converse which is a bonus, and anyway, I'm pretty sure we'd have nothing much to say to each other. He gives the signal by loosening the bedclothes my side and off we go…..always him first and then me. At the moment, it's roughly every other night which suits me fine. No one else knows what we're getting up to so that's fine too. I keep a supply of loo roll under the pillow for when he needs it, and he does likewise for me. I like that aspect of it……the caring for the other person sort of thing. That's nice I think. So that's it dear friends, if there's anyone out there……unless of course anything wildly interesting ever happens to me, in which case I will keep you informed.
Friday October 2nd………9.00 pm.
You thought you'd heard the last from me. Sorry, there's more, and it's not what I expected, believe me.
Yesterday lunchtime, after another dose of spicy wedges, I was minding my own business leaning up against the New Ambrose Building wall [of late nineteenth century vintage] in the playground watching twenty or so Lower Fifth boys chase a tennis ball around the place, and contemplating double English all afternoon.
I've just finished an essay on 'Our compassionate role in the context of a Syrian Refugee', and I'm quite pleased with it. We were allowed to choose our 'refugee', and I chose an orphaned boy you will be surprised to learn. Anyway, to cut a longer story shorter, who should sidle up to me? None other than David, looking decidedly sheepish, and I might add…..lovely. He had his hands in his pockets, no blazer, nice grey shirt and immaculate jumper. In a panic, I came out with something totally ridiculous……..
'Hello….you look very……..clean.'
I really wanted to say 'very beautiful', but in our historical context that wouldn't do, so I came out with the word 'clean'. David laughed.
'Yes….clean. You look nice and shiny and…….yes, clean .'
'You're funny…..do you know that?'
'Yes I know.'
I don't know what my eyes were saying, but there was plenty going on in his.
We both leant against the rough flint wall of the ugly monstrosity of a building that purported to be 'new' but wasn't in any way new. We stood in silence. After a minute or so, I couldn't wait any longer.
'So, how are you then?'
'Ok thanks. You?'
'Alright I suppose. I think I'm going into the morose and full of self-pity mode. That's what teenagers do, so my mother says.'
'Oh, do they?'
I know I shouldn't feel angry about all this but I can't help it. At the same time he's just a boy and I still care, and I can't help that either. The conversation went on about nothing in that rather negative and defensive pattern, until I felt David lean on me. The pressure was slight, but I'm sure I hadn't got it wrong. I looked sideways at him but he was looking away. I kept looking at him, and still he looked away. I didn't want to embarrass him by asking him the question I had in mind, so I came up with another…….
'Do you fancy a stroll round the cathedral?'
I wanted somewhere quiet. There was a minibus parked near the entrance with Queen Elizabeth's Grammar School Wakefield painted on the side. We sauntered past the young man on the desk who takes the money from visitors. He smiled at us. I don't know what he was thinking. I headed for the north aisle, past the posing Osbert Parsley on his plaque, Elizabethan composer and Master of the Choristers no less, and past the nave altar, and left into the north transept. We could hear voices nearby, and then the cathedral organ sounding a few notes, someone issuing a command loudly and the organ stops as soon as it had started.
'They're practising.' David volunteers.
'The visiting choir…..from Wakefield in Yorkshire.'
'How do you know that?'
'I just do. Some of them were in our French lesson this morning.'
'Oh, fair enough.'
'Can we go in there?'
There's a small semi-circular chapel on the right of the north transept with a printed notice at the entrance…….S. Andrew's Chapel…….for private prayer. We went in and sat down in the corner on the wooden church style chairs arranged in short rows and nicely out of sight. The sound of the organ and the choir singing was continually interrupted by the unseen voice.
'It's annoying isn't it…..all those stop start bits.'
David didn't respond. He was still looking away with his hands together in his lap. The choir had just sung the piece all the way through, presumably having ironed out their errors, followed by the sound of shuffling paper. I heard the voice say…..
'Ok, that was good. Psalm ninety two now please.'
They sang it straight through without any interruptions. I was impressed. I looked back at David. He was looking forwards now. I can't be angry with him…..not now……not here.
I think he's on the edge of saying something, but I'm not going to wait.
I put my hand on his shoulder and moved it gently to the other one, and then down the centre of his back, and back again. It was a gesture of kindness, of comfort, nothing else. I just wanted him to know, that's all. David knows what it means because he's felt it many times before, just the way I'm doing it now. I'm asking him to come back to me.
A minute must have passed before David turns his head towards me and there's a hint of a smile.
'You know that sculpture you were going to make……..the one of me?'
I looked at him and nodded.
'You know I'd like to do it.'
'Don't you know why David?'
'Yes, I think so. It's complicated isn't it?'
'Yes I suppose it is, in more ways than one isn't it….and I don't want to leave it too long.'
'Because I'm going to change?'
'Yes. We're all changing all the time. That's why people take photographs of other people….to remember them as they were……before they change. With us, it's all about the now, isn't it?'
We looked at each other. David's eyes are glazed and beautiful in the warm light of the chapel.
'I didn't like it when you were away David. Was it not so very good….where you were?'
'Oh. I'm sorry.'
David had turned away from me.
A minute or so passes before he turns back towards me. I know that expression on his beautiful face that, in the beginning, b ade me love him.
'David? What is it?'
'I want to come home.'
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