Chris and Nigel
Book 2, Chapter 13 - Tickled to Death
By It's Only Me from Across the Sea
This story contains explicit descriptions of sexual acts between the characters in it. Although the characters are teenagers who may be below the age of consent in the country or state where this is read, nothing written here should be taken as approval of, or encouragement for, sexual liaisons between people where such liaisons are either illegal, or objectionable for moral reasons. Although this story does not include safe sex practices, it is everyone's own responsibility to themselves and to each other to engage only in PROTECTED SEX. It is a story. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Nothing represented here is based on any fact known to the author.
The story is copyright 2001 by "It's Only Me from Across the Sea". If you copy the story, please leave the credits, and the web address of http://iomfats.org present, and also the email address of its_onlyme@iomfats.org. I'd love to receive feedback.
All night. We'd never had all night before. All night. It sounded wonderful. I did just as he asked. It was just what I wanted to do, too. Still laughing, I turned round and mountaineered back to his face. I was laughing so hard I nearly fell off the bed. "So," I spluttered to him, "did you enjoy that?"
"Idiot! Stop giggling and kiss me!"
"Can't! It's too funny!"
"I'll make you!" Nigel's arms snaked round me and pulled me to him, both of us still panting with laughter.
Skin to skin, belly to belly, chest to chest, the electric feeling was just like the first time we were in each other's arms properly. The first night had been scary and tentative. But afterwards, when he asked me to trust him, when he risked everything and took me properly into his entire being. I loved the feeling of newness each time we were naked together. I loved the surprise every time of the touch of his skin, and the lightness of his laugh, the softness of his cheek, just everything about him. All this was whizzing through my head as he pulled me to him. "Won't take much." I was trying to get my laughter under control. "I'm going to hug you to death." I managed. "That was awful, wasn't it?"
"Was your idea, you plonker. I blame you."
"I thought it'd be good"
"Yeah, right. Wasn't though." He smiled across the pillow at me. "Are you ever going to kiss me?"
I was. "Yes." I did. I sank into his arms, and kissed his beautiful nose, and then his lips. I put my arm over him and felt so very safe. It wasn't a passionate kiss; it was a soft, gentle kiss, a comfortable kiss, a kiss showing him all the love in my heart. "You know," I told him between kisses, "I could live like this for ever."
"Mmm. Me, too."
"You know something?"
"Lots of things. What in particular?"
"You are a literal minded idiot at times, Nigel."
"And that," he whispered into my ear, "is why you love me."
"Anyway, that something."
"Mmm?"
"Well, I was thinking. About us, and the future, our future. I so want it to be like a movie living happy ever after. It feels like we can now. Tonight's lovely. I'm in your arms, in your, no in our bed. Ours. I feel I can conquer the world with you beside me."
"What's brought that on?"
"Shh. Nothing. Or everything." I was in my lover's arms, and it was so warm and silky and gentle. "I'm afraid it's not real, that it's an illusion." I wasn't trying to beak the mood. I needed the mood to stay. "Nigel, I love you so much. Hold me and tell me it's all right."
"You silly boy. It's going to be perfect." He was holding me tight, kissing my cheeks. "I'm going to make sure it's perfect."
"It just seems too perfect sometimes. Everything is so perfect."
"It's because you're here that it's perfect. What's going on in your head Chrissy?"
I wasn't sure. I had no idea. It was something that hadn't happened before, sad in a time of extreme happiness. "Just hold me a while. I know it sounds odd, but I'm so happy. I've never been so happy ever in my life." I was. Totally happy. Just oddly nervous. Nigel was holding me and stroking my back.
"I love you Christopher. I've had such a long time to get used to knowing what I want. It's all right. It'll be all right." And he kept repeating it gently as the mists cleared from my head.
"I'm all right now," I said after some wonderful minutes of being cared for and caressed like a precious child. "It's gone. It was like a black shadow, but it's gone now."
"Snuggle a bit." He didn't stop stroking me. "I don't know what it was, but I don't want it back.
Wordless, I snuggled up to him. Something safe and wonderful about his silky skin next to mine, something wonderful about his warm breath on my face, something tickly and soft about his hair on my face. Cozy. Gentle. Loving. Strong. And the scent of him as we lay there was exciting. It was always exciting. I was safe. My Nigel made me feel safe.
I was tracing his ribs with my fingers on his back, doodling idly on his back, thinking about his new name for me. I savoured it. Chrissy. Tried it out in my head. Smiled when I said it in my mind. Chrissy. I liked it. When I said it silently I could see his smile. Impossible to say it without smiling. And the candlelight flickered in the room as I was trying it our for size
"What's making you grin like a Cheshire cat?"
"You."
"That's silly. Why?"
"You'll laugh at me." I didn't mind If he did.
"I might."
"Well, I was just trying to say 'Chrissy' without smiling."
"Eh?"
"I mean I was trying to picture you saying it without smiling." We were nose to nose. "It isn't possible."
"Chrissy." He was grinning. "You're right. I can't. You do like it then?"
"I do. I really do. I never thought I would. I mean it's not a very boy sort of a name is it? Only it is when you say it."
"What d'you mean?"
"Dunno."
"Twit. I wonder if that's why I love you?"
"Oh cool. I'm a twit now!"
"Well, you always were."
"Prove it!"
"OK, who wanted to try that stupid position then? Mm? Who" he tickled me. "Who? Eh? Who? Who?" Each question was accompanied by a tickle.
"Me, you idiot. Me." I was giggling, helpless, breathless. Gaspingly breathless. "No, stop!" I hated being tickled. I've always hated it. "Please!" It was the one thing that turned me from easy going into hitting and kicking. I couldn't hit Nigel. "Stop!" I was wriggling, trying to get away, trying to stop it, trying to escape his fingers. I know it sounds stupid, but I cry when I get tickled. The tears were starting. I could feel my hands starting to flail as I tried to get away, feel my feet striking out. "You have to stop. Please Nigel." I had tears streaming down my cheeks now, my sides were hurting. I was in panic. Even when I felt his fingers stop, the panic didn't. I was wriggling and flailing to get away.
"What is it?" His voice was still cheerful, not understanding. "It's only tickling, Chrissy, it doesn't hurt."
I was panting and sobbing. I know how stupid it looked. A great fool in tears over a childish tickle. "Does!"
"What?" His hand reached out to touch me. I flinched away. "I don't understand?"
"Wait... I need... a minute... Don't... touch me!" I managed to get the words out. Tickling sucked.
"Chrissy, I'm sorry. I don't know what I've done." He was sitting near me, not touching, waiting. I'd asked him to wait and he was.
"I hate it."
"What?"
"Being tickled. I can't be tickled."
"So I see." He was smiling, but I didn't think I'd got through.
"No, I mean it. I don't mind something that tickles on the way to something else, but I can't be tickled. Not a real tickle, not on purpose, not knowing I'm being tickled."
I'd got his attention. I could tell. "Tell me?"
"You'll laugh at me."
"Maybe. But I'm yours. And you're mine. And I need to know. No secrets. Not even silly secrets. And I don't want whatever happened to happen again." He reached out to touch me. Stopped. "Chris, is it all right to touch you again?"
"I wouldn't mind a hug. A firm one, not stroking yet, then I'll tell you. Even if you laugh at me I'll tell you." I moved towards him. The skin touch was electric. I was so sensitive, my body remembering what I was about to tell him. He used firm arms, and pulled me to him, tight, and we lay back on the pillow.
"I won't laugh. Just tell me."
"It was a long time ago. Well several years ago, anyway. We'd gone away for a week in a boarding house. No frills, nothing special, bed and breakfast. I think I was about six or seven. Wales, it was, Pembrokeshire, Tenby." I sniffed to clear my nose. "Anyway, we got friendly, Mum and Dad did, with this old couple. I played with them and stuff. Sort of holiday grandparents."
"He didn't... "
"No. Nothing like that. He was nice. Really nice. Mr Huxtable. Mr and Mrs Huxtable. Only near the end of our stay he was mucking about, me too, and he started to tickle me. Gently at first. It felt nice. Giggly. Only he didn't stop." I looked into Nigel's eyes. "I said it was silly."
"Isn't so far."
"Well, he carried on. I was laughing to start with. Only his fingers tickled and tickled me, on and on, and I started crying, then screaming. I could see him, see his face, hear him telling me it was only tickling, and to be a big brave boy. I tried to be. I did. Only it went on and on, and I couldn't breathe. And I was crying. And he wouldn't stop tickling me. Wouldn't stop. Would not stop. I couldn't get away. I thought I was going to die. No air, not even to cry. And he called me a baby. He called me a baby, and he made me feel so helpless, and made me feel like I was dying. And Dad came and stopped him. 'It was only tickling,' he told Dad. Only it wasn't. It was torture. Awful. I wanted to go and hit him. Dad wouldn't let me. He deserved it. Anyway, tickling frightens me, scares me stiff."
"I'm not laughing, Christopher. I'm so sorry. I didn't know."
"How could you? No-one could. It's just that being tickled makes that all come back. I was there in the B&B when you were tickling me. And Mr Huxtable was tickling me again. Not you. And I was little again. It makes me feel like I'm going to die, Nigel"
"Not with me again. Not ever."
"I just saw him, not you. And however nice he was before and after, all I could see was the man who tickled me and made me feel like a baby. I could see him, in the hotel place. I wasn't here. I was there." I could see him as I spoke, too. I knew it was silly. "He wasn't a nasty man. Mind you, you've made me think a bit now... "
His arms hadn't relaxed. Not a crushing grip, but firm, just what I needed. "Eh?"
"When you said 'He didn't?' just then. I mean I never even thought about it. Only, I mean, well, now you asked me that, well, I'm not sure. It was all over he tickled me, I do remember that. We didn't see much of him afterwards, not that there was much of the week left, but somehow Dad was always there with me. And I was scared of him. But I was too little to know about stuff like that. I was only maybe seven, maybe not even seven, maybe six, and maybe he was... maybe... I mean I don't think he was, but I wouldn't know, would I. I wouldn't know."
"I'm still here, Chrissy. Still holding you, they're my arms, my arms, mine. Not going to let go."
"Is it stupid to feel dirty?" I did. I felt dirty. Suddenly horribly dirty.
"I don't know."
"Oh Nigel... I feel so stupid suddenly... "
"Hush." He was looking into my eyes. He looked worried. "Christopher, seven years ago is a long time, eight too. You were there, and you don't know. You can't know. I don't suppose asking your Dad will get us any nearer knowing."
"But he might had tried... Mr Huxtable might have tried to, to, to, I don't know... And I feel dirty."
"I wish I hadn't tickled you. I'm sorry." Nigel had eyes filled with tears. I couldn't see exactly, but I could sense it. Breathing goes all funny and wet when your eyes fill up. Sniffy.
"Not your fault. It was fun, well it should have been. Without Mr fucking Huxtable it would have been. Only tickling was never fun after that. And you weren't to know. How could you know?" I waited a moment or two, safe in his arms, breathing his scent, seeing his face. His face, Nigel's face, not Huxtable's any more. "I should have told you. I never thought to tell you. I'm sorry. If it's anyone's fault, then it's my fault."
"Not yours. How could it be? Not yours, not mine."
"I think I understand 'being tickled to death', Nigel. I really do. I stop being able to breathe... "
"Hush, Chrissy. It's over. You're safe."
"Yes." I sighed. "That hasn't happened for ages. No-one tickles at school, and Dad always stopped any of our relatives and stuff from doing it to me. Even if it did make me look a total wimp at times, he always stopped them. And dammit I love you, so I don't know why it mattered so much. It's not fair. I mean you're the only person I'd ever want to tickle me, and I can't let you do it coz it kills me. It's so fucking unfair."
"I don't need to tickle you, you chump."
"No, but it'd be nice if you could." I was being stupid. I knew I was being stupid. I hated being tickled. It wouldn't be nice if he could. At least it would be nice if he could but didn't. "Oh." My face fell.
"What?" Anxious.
"Well, maybe I should thank him?" My brain was racing. "It might be down to him?"
"What?"
"Us."
"Us?"
"Well, yes. Us."
"Will you either get a grip or explain?" He wasn't as ungentle as the words sounded.
"I might be gay because he tickled me?"
"And I'm the emperor of China."
"China hasn't got an emperor any more."
"Exactly."
"Still might be."
"Chris, you're gay, if you want to call it that, because you are. I mean I don't think anyone causes it or anything."
"Might do."
"China!"
"Still might!" I was starting to smile inside. Not outside yet, but inside.
"One hung low!"
"What?"
"My name. As emperor of China. Wun Hung Lo"
"Prat." The smile was outside now. "I was wondering which one."
"Which one what?"
"Hung low."
"You haven't looked?"
"Not to notice."
"The right one."
"If he did," I returned to my thoughts, "if he did, I think I'm grateful to him. Except I'm not coz he was horrible to me."
"I don't think he did, my love. Probably for him it was just tickling. Even though it doesn't sound, well, pleasant."
Putting it from my mind was a good idea. It was stupid thinking about it when it was such a great weekend. Had been and still would be. I was forcing it out. I mean Huxtable's tickling couldn't have made me want Nigel and even if it had it didn't matter. I just hadn't thought if it. To be fair there was no reason why I should. "I'm sorry. It's going away. It was just so sudden, so weird. I'm being silly, that's all." I kissed the tip of his nose. "I'm sorry."
"Welcome home." His eyes were smiling.
Something still niggled at me. Something in the back of my mind. Not about me, nor Nigel, nor Huxtable. About someone else. Not just one person. It was fleeting; one of those things that you wonder if you really noticed; one of those things that goes away the second you notice it, but comes back another time. This was part of a chain of things coming back. "I must be wrong."
"About what?"
"Eh?"
"You must be wrong about what?"
I didn't know I'd spoken. I was sure I'd just thought it. "I didn't know I'd spoken."
"You did. 'I must be wrong,' you said."
"Was miles away. Let's forget it. I liked 'welcome home' best."
"Me too. Come to bed. Oh, you have. And I'm holding you. And we have all night. And a lot of tomorrow. Well a lot of today really."
I wasn't sure what I felt like, not exactly. But there wasn't any snugglier that I could get, so I settled for relaxing in his arms. "I don't need to be held so tight now. It's all gone." I felt him relax his hold. "I like it when you feel so strong."
"I don't quite know how to touch you," he whispered to me. "I don't want that to happen again. I don't want to tickle you by accident."
"It'll be fine. It only happened because you were tickling me. I mean doing it as tickling, not by accident. Just be yourself, Nigel. Just be yourself."
"Turn over," he was nibble-kissing my nose. "I want to feel your back against me, want to be like forks in a fork drawer."
"I'm not sure I want to actually do anything right now." I turned, though. Just being held in his arms and not moving was wonderful.
"Not sure that I do either. Just want to hold you." He opened his arms to snuggle me in. "Mind you, if something should come up... "
"Old joke. 'Nul Points' as they say for Norway in the Eurovision Song Contest!"
"Oh Chrissy, I love it when you're an idiot." His arms closed round me, held me tight again. "I love you so much it hurts at times."
"Love you too. We're so lucky."
"I'm lucky."
"No, we are. I mean think about it. We're being treated as though we're a grown up couple by our parents. They understand that we're really in love, that we are a couple. They haven't teased us, or said it's a crush, or said 'puppy love' or anything like that. And they trust us. And I know other people'll say how it can't be real and we're too young and we shouldn't be allowed to be together like this, or some other load of bollocks, but it's wonderful and we're lucky." I snuggled into him, and felt his skin hot against mine, smooth against mine.
"Mmm. Quite a speech." I felt him wriggle. "Damn."
"What?"
"There's never anywhere to put the bottom arm."
"Twit."
"Seriously! I mean I can't put it under you without getting crushed, I can't put it between us coz it's not comfy, and I can't stick it straight up towards the headboard, coz it feels silly to start with and then I get cramp in it."
"Still twit." He was right, though. I could never work out what to do with the lower arm. "You just made me think about something."
"What?"
"Now let me see. I seem to recall that one of us didn't know what to do with his hands once. And the other one wanted a kissing lesson."
"You're a total twit too."
"Yeah. A lucky one. I might have known what to do with my hands, I might not have given you a kissing lesson."
"Then where would we be?"
I sighed and snuggled back into him, deep into the warmth of his arms. Soft skin, warm silky skin, and his breath on the back of my neck. Luxurious. I swear I could hear him purring. "Will it always be like this?" I was half whispering.
"Hope so. Don't see why it shouldn't be. Of course you have to promise me something."
"Anything."
"No getting fat. I mean I'll love you and everything, but I don't suppose I'll fancy a tubby Chrissy."
"Only if you promise not to get fat as well, then." A thought struck me. "Nigel? Will you mind if I get all hairy?"
"What, down here?" His hand was lazily stroking where hair was adding its presence to my body.
"Well, no. I mean all over. My Dad's all hairy. I was half looking forward to it once. Sort of manly and stuff. You know, hair round your dick first, hairy legs second, hairy chest third... "
"And a hairy arse last!" He was giggling.
"I'm sort of serious."
"Why would it make any difference?"
"Dunno. I was just thinking. I seem to remember hearing some sort of gay thing about hairy chests not being wanted... "
"You're so sweet."
"No, listen, I mean it."
He hugged me tighter. "Christopher, will you love me if I get hairy all over?"
"I can't imagine you hairy all over. Anyway you haven't answered me."
"I am answering you." He nibbled my neck, at the back, making me squirm back into him. "What I mean is, why should it matter? Truly? It's not something I've even thought about."
"Well," I was being doggedly persistent, "look at some of the top years, like Pete Flemming. He's pretty good looking and very hairy. Fit, too. I mean would you fancy him?"
"Oh Chrissy, when you get an idea into your head it doesn't go away, does it?" He didn't give me time to answer before he carried on. "Would I fancy Pete Flemming? No. Why not? Because I fancy Christopher Jenkins, not Peter Flemming. Is it because Pete is hairy that I don't fancy him? No it isn't. It's because I don't fancy anyone except you, and I never have. Not really and truly fancy, like to love. And yes, to look at he's drop dead gorgeous. And his body's awesome, and he's good at rugby, soccer, swimming and every damned thing under the sun. But I don't care about hair. It doesn't come into the equation about love. If you get it, it'll suit you, if not it'll suit you. I'll stroke your skin or stroke your fur, but it's you that I'll have in my arms, not a fur coat."
"Oh good."
"I swear you're purring!"
Wow. I didn't know I purred too. "Might be!"
"Rotten child."
"Mmm. I like it when you call me things like that."
"I'll get even with you."
"All talk, that's what you are." And then I gasped as his free hand reached down and took a firm handful of my dick, and gripped it unreasonably hard. And then he squeezed it even tighter. It started off all floppy, and then tried to harden in his hand.
"Am I?" His voice was sweet and light in my ear. "Let's see how you like this, then!"
"A lot."
"A lot? It's meant to hurt enough to teach you a lesson."
"Doesn't. Feels great! Lesson about what?"
"About being daft about hair and stuff! It really feels good?" He sounded surprised.
"Well, not 'please do this a lot' good, but definitely not bad!"
"Bugger."
"Yes please."
"You're insatiable!"
"Yes please. Anyway, so are you." I could feel a rising inevitable pressure behind me, and I wriggled to adjust the angle. "Or it certainly feels as if you are."
I heard his breathing change, only a little, but change. "Do we need... "
"Dunno. Let's find out. Don't want to move, just want you, like this, now, on my side, in your arms, with you holding my dick. Need you rather badly. Inside me, deep inside." The pressure was mounting under me, I was wriggling to find the tip, to make it easy. "You stay still, I'll aim you." And I reached behind me, between us, and found the yielding skin at the tip of his dick, play-rolled it in my fingers and aimed him at the target. "Push, please push."
"Do we?"
"No. It'll work. Just push. Hard. Please. Gaaahhh. Oh yes. Oh that's so good." It was. It also had that fiery pain, just for an instant, a marvellous instant. "Just right." I clamped onto him hard, trying to keep the half pain sensation as long as possible.
"Do you want me to stay still?"
"I want you to do whatever you want. To go slow, to stay still, to fuck me hard, to make love to me, to be gentle, to be firm, anything, only do not take your dick out of my arse until you make me cum."
"I love you, do you know that?"
"Right now, Nigel Cropper, you are the only thing in my whole world, and your wonderful cock is in my soul, and you are in my body, and I want you to be in my body for ever and ever and ever. And I want to live in your arms. And I know I said stay still, but fuck me! Please!"
I felt his teeth on the back of my neck, almost a bite. "I'll love you just as much hairy as baby soft smooth" And he pulled back and thrust in hard.
"Ahhhhhhhh!" I hadn't meant to yell. I couldn't help it. It wasn't pain, not that kind of yell. More like triumph. "Oh good." And I fell this hand relax at last on my cock, and felt the blood snap it tight and hard. And then he started.
The bed didn't seem to stop him, he was under me, in a way, as though I was sitting on his lap, and his hand was working my cock thrust for thrust with his own into my depths. I could feel him hot inside me, somehow larger that I expected, and it was so slippery and hot and wonderful and his hand pumped stroke for stroke pulling down as he was pushing into me, making it feel deeper, somehow, than it ever had before. The angle was pressing him into that wonderful fiery place, and the activity earlier had made me all tingly inside, fiery inside, icy inside. It was so different, like being opened for the first time, like being a virgin again without actually being one. Overdrive. My senses were in overdrive, feeling him so strong inside me, feeling my dick so sensitive, almost painful, yet exquisitely not at the same time.
I didn't try to do a thing. I wanted it all to be done to me. Not taking no part, but simply not adding to it, not tensing more than his work was making me do by reflex, not hurrying anything along, not consciously at least, but feeling it build, and relax away as he changed his tempo, always matching thrust for stroke, relentless, like a machine with a velvet touch, yet with a grip like a vice. I tried to think of things to slow it down, to slow the building pressure inside me, to slow the fire that was inside me, to slow the feeling of "Aaaaarghhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh! Ooooooorrgghhhhhhhhhh! Urghhhhhhhhhhhh! Hunnnnnnnnghhhhhhh!" I failed. "Uuuugrrhhhhhhhhhhh!" He wasn't stopping. His hand was so slippery now. My cock tip was so sensitive. "Can't"
"Can, and will!"
"Leave the tip. For God's sake leave the tip!" He did. He grabbed my balls and held on, hand sticky-slippery, and grasping hard enough to make me sure he was about to crush and hurt me, soft enough to make me sure he would not. The extra sensation, the almost pain, made the feelings inside me more intense, and his thrusting cock pushed more and more cum out of the tip of my own, and the fire became an inferno as he pressed into my spot again and again.
"Gonna, I'm, Oh. Oh God, oh yes! Yessssss! Eeeeeeehhhhh!" His legs tensed and he pushed deep into me and pulled me to him pressing my ballsack. "Can't move. Eeeeeh! Ohhhhhh! God! Yesssssss! Oh Chrissyyyyyyyyyyy! Aaahhhhhhhhh!" I could feel him swell inside me with each word, could feel his muscles tense to push even further into me, feel hear his pulsing, driving, pounding orgasm as he filled me. And felt him relax, shattered, exhausted, panting, jerking still, somehow not softening inside me, still searing into me, large and hot and so much a part of me.
"Wow!"
"Mmphhh"
"Ah, your mouth isn't working yet!"
"Erghh!" he was trying to speak and pant."
"Was wonderful."
"Glurp!"
"Twit. That was amazing. I mean it's never not amazing, but that was amazing"
"Was. Yes. Is."
"I love you."
"Wow! Me too. You, I mean."
"It will."
"Will what?"
"Always be like this."
"I hope so. Chrissy, I never knew how much I wanted this until it became real. Oh Chrissy. My Chrissy. Beautiful, soft, warm... "
"Sweating like a pig, you mean." I was smiling from ear to ear, it showed in my voice, too.
"That too. Trust you to bring it down to earth. It's going to be like this. For ever and ever. I'm so glad I dared at last. So glad." He sighed. "Are you comfy if I don't move?"
"Too tired to move even if I weren't."
"D'you suppose we can sleep like this? I so want to, so much it almost hurts."
"Dunno. S'nice. Full. I feel so full, only I have a feeling you're going to slip out in a sec."
"Mmm, me too. But I don't care."
"Nor me." No reply, just his arm over me, his body against mine, and a gentle easing inside me as unconsciousness overtook him. I had time to notice it, to enjoy his gentle breathing, to discover the true pleasure of being held by a sleeping lover, as sleep grabbed me imperceptibly and completely. Not that I knew it. You don't when you drop off to sleep.
Dreams. I remember the dreams. Not what they were about, just that they were chaotic, yet sweet. At least I think I remember them. The day woke us. Almost mid-day. The candles had long gone out. Luckily. I remembered Mum's paranoia over leaving candles burning.
Nigel was sort of awake at the same time. I felt him stretch. Wow. We'd slept like that all night. Well, since whatever time it was we'd drifted off. I could still feel him between my cheeks. Amazing feeling. I mean it wasn't our first night together, but it was our first real night together.
"You awake, Nigel?"
"Mostly. I woke up a while back. Didn't want to disturb you, stayed still and dozed off. Christ, I need a pee!"
I felt him move away, pull away, felt my back suddenly cool in the air where he'd been. I started to stretch and discovered I needed a pee, too. We met in the bathroom door. "You look a sight," he laughed. "Love the hairstyle."
"Pillock!" He blocked my way. "No, I need a pee too!"
"Sorry! Can I watch?"
"God, you're a twit sometimes. If you let me past you can watch all you like! But I'm bursting." He did. I peed. He didn't watch. I got back to the bed to find him sitting on the edge of the bed. Looking, waiting. "I can't!"
"Nor can I!" He giggled. "I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I'm shagged out."
"Thank God for that! I am too!"
We spent the day in domestic bliss, well, until parents returned from Worthing. Nothing special. For the first time for ages, or so it seemed, we were kids again. Really kids. Mucking about and stuff, listening to music, planning the future. The next week, that is. Big futures weren't that day. Those were for another day. That Sunday was for giggling, cuddling, learning more about each other, learning more about the boy I'd married, who'd married me. Learning how lovely he was inside as well as out. Finding out for the first time who he was.
It wasn't a surprise, not any of it. I knew, really. But we talked nineteen to the dozen about all sorts of stuff. A bit of it was how he found out, learnt, that he was gay. No, not gay. How he found out that he wasn't girl oriented, at least.
"I was never into girls," he said.
"I don't suppose anyone is at eleven."
"You were."
"So I was. That seems so long ago."
"Being eleven?"
"You are such a pillock"
"I know what you meant!"
"Mind you, back then it was just having a girl who was, is, a great friend."
"Yeah. Carol's great. I hope she and John are good for each other." He was echoing my own thoughts.
That was the thing about Nigel, I was learning. Almost every day he showed how much he thought of others even while he was entitled just to be thinking of himself. And of me, of course. "I like John a lot. It'd be great if he and Carol... I did love her, you know. Do, in a very real way still. I'm glad I found out about all this before I hurt her very much."
"'All this'? I'll give you 'all this'!"
"You're teasing me! I don't know what to call it. I mean I've never seen another boy who turns me on, so I can't be 'gay'. Not sort of 'classic gay' if you see what I mean. Well, what I imagine it is. So what am I?" I was only half serious. I knew what I was. I was Nigel's partner. For life.
"Mine!"
"Of course! But what else?"
"Beautiful?"
I kissed his nose. "You know very well that is not what I meant."
"Well, you twit, I don't know what you are. I just know how lucky I am to have you."
We prattled on and on like that for ages. Half serious, half flirting, half having simple fun. We even tidied up the house. Well, as best as two giggling morons can tidy anything, that is. I found I was lying on the sofa in the front room, just gazing at him. He wasn't doing much. Roosting on the arm, looking down at me from a lofty perch a foot above me. We weren't talking, but we were communicating. Weird. We were silent, but so much in tune. Ages we were there, just looking at each other, me lying on my back, Nigel perched. Something about his perching made me giggle.
"What?"
"Sorry."
"Right. What?"
"Well, the way you're perched on the arm."
"This is like pulling teeth!"
"No, you don't look like a dentist." I just drew breath. "Mmphhh!" A very heavy weight landed on me, crushing the breath out of me, followed by two hands on my face, holding me with his eyes locked on mine.
"What about the way I'm perched?"
"You're not now."
"I'll swing for you, Chrissy!"
"I'll settle for a kiss." Was hard to say the words with his hands holding my cheeks, though.
"Only when you tell me what you were giggling at."
"I have. It's the way you were perched on the arm."
"Infuriating brat."
"No kiss, then?"
"The things I have to do, just to get answers!" He pretended to sigh, and then I fell the sweetest touch of his lips on mine. And then heard the key in the lock and the front door opening. Old reflexes. I jumped. "Hush. No need. Not to jump like that anyway."
"Some things are hard to get used to. I always jumped with Carol, too."
"Consistent at any rate. You're such a sweet twit. Hi Mum." The door had opened. I did feel embarrassed, though, lying on the sofa under Nigel. Didn't last. Somehow she always defused anything difficult.
"Cup of tea'd be nice," she said, laughing. "Not that I expect to get one!"
I know it's daft but I like domesticity. The simple things, the small things that make life normal are what I like. And those are what we had. No only then, after our honeymoon weekend, during it, really, but all the way through that term. Nothing special happened. Nothing at all. Weekdays of schoolwork, most Saturdays watching Nigel paying rugby in matches, cheering from the touchline and praying he wouldn't get broken. He never played quite as inspired as that first match. He was always good, but somehow he'd already impressed me.
We even argued about stuff. Unimportant stuff. Lovers' stuff. I never did tell him why I'd laughed at him on the sofa. I made it a running joke instead. Each time he roosted on the end I giggled at him. It wasn't even funny, it was just that the pose had reminded me of a Rubens style posed nude woman, and it was so improbable that I'd giggled. I don't even really know why Rubens. I wasn't exactly a fan of old paintings. Wasn't a fan of new ones either. It was just the curve of his body, the way his hips stuck out, the way his chin was on his elbow, reminded me of the style, I suppose.
Even half term was simple. We got together every day for the whole week. This time we managed to go bowling. I'm crap at bowling. We went with John and Carol; two couples, happy, safe in their secret knowledge of us, but to the outside world just four kids having fun, one with a girlfriend, and two mates out with them. And at school, though Nigel and I only coincided at breaktimes, lunch and PSE, we all four hung out together, and I was getting comfy with my new friends, Nigel's old friends. Sometimes a group of us would go to the cinema, not that we had the money very often, and the walk into town was getting bloody cold as winter drew in on us.
And then it was time for the Christmas production. Casting, rehearsals, more rehearsals. I auditioned. It was a fun play. Romanoff and Juliet, by Peter Ustinov. We all auditioned, and Carol was cast as Juliet. Nigel and I ended up as stagehands, but the scene changes weren't exactly hard work. It's all the same place, just at different times of day and stuff. It's a daft play. Funny, but daft. It was all so very routine, well, except that I'd never, ever auditioned for a play before. But there was some excitement at the end of term, something that shook a few people.
The tickling happened to me, in the Buckingham Hotel, on The Esplanade, in Tenby, in Pembrokeshire, in the lounge of the hotel, in the summer of 1958. His name wasn't Huxtable, but Huxtable is near enough. He was kind. Then vicious, then cruel and vicious. All six years of me wanted to kill him. Like Chris, I've wondered what he would have done if we'd been alone. Was he a kind man tickling a little boy, or would he have raped me? It terrified me just as tickling. As an adult I thought it had no power over me, but suddenly Chris was experiencing it. I hadn't ever expected it here, but Chris and Nigel each write their story for you. I sometimes feel that they are real people, making me write what they choose. And Chris made me write this.
Eurovision Song Contest? Look, I'm not an encyclopaedia. Use Google! and look it up yourself. Mind you, it was responsible for Abba! And I am a fan of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert!
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