Coming Out, Coming Back and Coming Out Again
by Hamster
Chapter 1
Prologue
My name is John Easton. I'm the fourteen year old boy from the story "The Elephant in the Room" who is Mike's boyfriend. What I am not going to do is retell the whole story from my perspective. You all know what happens so it's a waste of all of our time to rehash all of that. But Mike didn't include some things in his story, and I thought I'd fill in two gaps: something about me before I met Mike, and what happened when we went on holiday in southern France towards the end of the summer.
My Trip to Calais
School had broken up on Wednesday and the summer holidays were stretching out ahead of me. I pretty much knew what I was going to do: hang out with friends most of the time, go on a few short trips to Calais, and see if I could find a boyfriend. I've known for about a year that I'm pretty certain I'm gay but I am definitely not ready to let anyone else know. What's the point of coming out if you don't have a boyfriend already. But that won't stop me looking for someone who is super sexy and available, but even then I don't have a clue how to go about it. I wish there was a user's manual for this type of thing.
Actually I'm not too worried about coming out. The gay kids at my school don't get too much grief because the school's pretty strict about bullying and harassment and all that stuff. But the openly gay kids tend to be older because that way it's harder for bullies to pick on them. Us kids in the first year of the senior school are much more vulnerable and we try to stay clear of things that might give us grief.
I'll be honest, however. I'm not totally inexperienced when it comes to sex. Most of us are horny enough that we want sex a lot of the time. And we don't have girls in the school itself because they go to the girl's Grammar School across town. Of course lots of kids have girlfriends who they see after school or at organized activities and so forth, but girls don't play a large role in our lives. Mostly our lives consist of lessons at school, lots of homework, eating and sleeping. Lots of sleeping, we teenagers need that.
So it's not uncommon for a couple of boys to sneak into the toilets and get their school trousers and underwear down to their knees and give each other some much needed relief. Mostly it's just a wank – some boys think it's too gay to give each other blow jobs, but not me. I can give as good as I get, and I do.
It's not very romantic. No, let me rephrase that. It's not romantic. Sex in a toilet cubicle comes along with the normal smell of farts and disinfectant and a quick wipe up with toilet paper and the furtive peek through the door to see if anyone else is outside. But sometimes if you are lucky you get a real careful boy who is more willing to take his time and give a much more satisfying service. But it's not friendship or anything deeper than the need to have sex. Once you've lost your virginity you're going to want to do it again with someone else, and do it as often as possible.
So yes, from time to time I do this. Lots of boys do this as well so it's not considered gay, just sex. But, to be honest, most of the people I go with (and its really not that many) are not boys I really fancy. Well, there is one, but he goes off after school to see if he can prod his girlfriend so there's no future in that.
So my summer plan is to try to see if I can find someone where we can actually do some stuff together and not be rushed over it. It's difficult for me because I can't invite friends over to my house and try to have sex with them because I share a room with my 12 year old brother who is so nosy about everything I do it's embarrassing. And my Mum is home a lot in the holidays because she's a teacher. So there's not much privacy and definitely no sex.
So I'm hoping that maybe when I get to go swimming at the Leisure Centre I'll hook up with someone. At least I'll know whether they are good looking or not because all they wear is swim shorts. In the swim class I go to we all have to wear Speedos, but these are my mates and I don't fancy doing anything with any of them. We only wear Speedos for the swim classes, and the pool is not open for other kids during that time – only a few dirty old men who ogle us all the time. As long as they don't touch, I don't mind the ogling because I know I'm pretty good looking and I think it's nice of me to share that beauty around. It's almost my civic duty. Actually I don't think I'm just good looking. I think I'm much better than that but maybe modesty prevents me from telling you exactly how I feel about myself.
So I have a good bunch of friends at school who I'll see during the summer holidays at the swimming classes. Although there are some boarding boys most of us in the school are dayboys. So we can get together in the summer and do stuff together. School is fairly regimented during term time what with classes and sports in the afternoon, and I'm not much good at sports other than swimming, and only then for short distances because I don't have stamina for the longer distances. But I made the Under-15 team as a reserve and that made me pretty happy. So at least I have some friends to hang out with after school is over.
So part of my summer plan is to go to swim training every weekday morning at the Leisure Centre from nine to ten with my friends from the swim team. We have a schoolmaster who organizes this, and actually helps us get better. Then most of us mess round in the fun section of the Centre, and have lunch together and then go off our different ways in the afternoon. And I plan to check out all the other boys at the Leisure Center and in the showers and see what's available. If anything.
Because the swim classes don't start till Monday morning I thought I'd pop over to Calais. It's pretty convenient for me. I can hop on the train at Oakbridge and go straight to Calais, or I can go to Folkestone and take the ferry. Although the train is quicker, I prefer the ferry when the weather is nice because you can wander around the deck and there is normally plenty of eye-candy in the form of boys in their shorts and tee shirts. It helps pass the time of day in an agreeable manner, but of course it doesn't lead to anything.
Why do I go to Calais? Well, my Mum is French so I'm a dual citizen (so who cares about Brexit? Not me!) and I'm completely bilingual, and I have two cousins who live in Calais. I get on with them although they are both a bit older than me, and both have girlfriends. Yuk. But we all like each other, and play volleyball and eat and drink some wine (France is so much more civilized than England) and generally have a relaxed time. I like it because my younger brothers and sister aren't allowed to come yet without parents, so I get to be in the more grown up group.
So after a couple of days in Calais, I decided to go home on the Saturday afternoon. My Dad wants us all to go out to lunch on Sunday, which is OK by me. Most of my friends have Sunday obligations like church and visiting grandparents and all that other family stuff, so my friends aren't normally around.
So I just grabbed my little bag with my phone and passport and some Euros and headed for the ferry. It's convenient having two homes like that cos there's no need for luggage. I was wearing my France Euro 2016 shirt (ha, I could support two teams at Euro, but England were such complete crap I never wore my England Euro 2016 shirt. It's only good as a bumwipe.). My regular shorts had gotten wet when Henri spilled Coke all over them, so the only other one's I had were my rather ratty brown Adidas shorts that I play volleyball in. They just about fit me still but they don't leave too much to the imagination. I'll have to get some new ones soon but I know that these old ones get plenty of looks, some really disapproving, others with their tongues hanging out.
I wandered around the ferry looking for a nice boy to watch. Eventually I saw one in one of the lounges. He was completely absorbed in playing in his Iphone or Ipad or whatever, and he had some older guy next to him who must have been his father. But at least I could get a nice look at him – cargo shorts, trainers, tee shirt. He was about my age, brownish hair a bit darker than mine, and looked pretty cute. So I watched for a while trying to get a good visual picture of him for use later that evening – you know what I mean so I won't give more details. I'm sure he never knew I existed.
When the car passengers started to go down I followed. I'd been hoping to try to hitch a lift with someone because then I wouldn't have to use any of my pocket money on train fares and that stuff. So I looked at possible candidates for a ride. No single men, that's dangerous, so I looked either for families with a kid or two, or female couples.
I went up to a few cars and tapped on the window and asked if they could give me a ride to Oakbridge because I had missed the earlier ferry and my parents had left me behind with no means to getting back home. Give them the old puppy dog eyes and a look of complete innocence, and you'd be amazed how easy it is to get a ride. (Yes, you can add the violin music in the background if you want. But I've done this a few times and it works like magic.) But no takers in the first set of cars.
Cars were starting to drive off and then I came up to this pick-up that had that really nice looking boy and his Dad and I tried once more. So I went to the driver side window and tapped. At first I thought he would ignore me, then he wound down the window, and when I asked for a ride to Oakbridge he looked at his son, and his son looked at me and nodded. They said they lived in Oakbridge and it was not a problem and so I rushed round to the passenger side and hopped in. A minute later we were off the ferry and heading for the motorway.
I was in heaven. Scrunched up against a really good looking boy with long sexy legs and a nice smile. He was gorgeous. Too bad the trip to Oakbridge was only twenty minutes or so. I could have stayed sitting next to him all day. But it would give me something to think about when I was home in bed and having a wank before I went to sleep.
At first the Dad started the obligatory adult interrogation process that they feel necessary to do whenever there is a teenager trapped in the car. Actually it was weird because he knew my English teacher Mr. Hetherington, and he knew who my mother was. That's the trouble being in a small town: everyone knows everyone else. One step out of line, and the entire population is aware of it within milliseconds.
But the kid, whose name I had learned was Mike, saved me and got the interrogation to stop. Mike and I then played the "pressing our legs against each other game" and it was great. Dangerous for me because those little brown shorts would not have been much use to prevent the world from seeing a massive erection. Well, not that massive but big enough. But I managed to keep things more or less under control.
When we reached the outskirts of Oakbridge, Mike's Dad asked where I lived. So I told him and he said he would drop me off. Now I had to think real fast. If he dropped me off at my house I might never find out where Mike lived. Somehow I managed to come up with a plan just like that. After all, I'm not just a pretty face, or maybe that's a really pretty face. Whatever.
So I offered to help them unload all this wine that had transported back from Calais - something to do with a wedding coming up – because they had been so kind as to give me a lift (and save me the train fare, but they did not need to know that). They must have a couple of dozen cases back there. Well, they both thought that was a really nice gesture, so I helped them stack all this stuff in the garage.
Then Mike offered me a drink, and then we had a chance to exchange phones numbers and email and stuff, and we promised to be in touch.
I went home feeling pretty pleased with myself. I had saved my train fare, I had met a really cute boy who seemed interested in me, and I had his phone number. YES! Suddenly summer was looking good!
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