Love - Existentially
by John Teller
Part 18
Book Six - When Englishmen were boys
Stuart Begbie.
It's the Thursday after the bash at Briddon Castle as I watch Michael sorting out the first form boys into proper lines. I can tell by his face that something's not right. He does glance at me, but he doesn't smile, and when I see him again a couple of times during the day when he's with his best friend, Arthur Brookfield, he still looks far away. Thank goodness I'll be seeing him tonight. He's got me worried.
I'm sitting on the church wall when he exits the gates. He still looks unhappy, and he doesn't smile as I go to him.
"What's the matter, Michael?" I ask.
He puts his head down and screws up his face, and I can see that he's fighting back tears. And then he says, "Judy died yesterday. She was dead when I got home. Alex is burying her in the garden before he goes to work. She'll be gone when I get home."
I'm shocked. "How? What happened?"
Michael shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe a heart attack. It happens. Dogs die."
I grab his arm. "Michael... I'm so sorry. I know how much you loved her. Do you want me to catch the bus and go home?"
He shakes his head. "No, but I don't want to..."
I hold his arm even tighter. "It's ok. I wouldn't dream of it. I don't want to either, now."
So we walk in silence to his home, and when we go into the house, it's strange with no Judy making a fuss of us. Michael breaks into tears, and so do I. I lead him to Dada's chair and push him into it and sit in his lap and hug him, and we both sob together. After a while, we control our emotions and go down the back yard to the small vegetable patch and look at the mound of soil that marks Judy's grave. Alex has stuck a small cross in it. Again we break into tears, and then we walk back into the house and hug some more.
Michael looks at the clock. "We need to get you on your bus. Come on."
As we stand at the bus stop, Michael looks at me. "Thanks for coming home with me. I don't think I would have liked to have gone in on my own."
I give him a sad, half-smile. "I'll come home tomorrow with you as well. No special loving. I just want to be with you. Alex will be home Saturday and you won't be on your own. Will that be ok?"
He nods. The bus arrives, and I get on it. He stares at me, raises a hand, and walks away.
Michael Johnson.
Alex is driving me mad with his prompting to revise and revise before I take my final exams on Monday. "For goodness sake Alex," I tell him, "shut up will you! I've been revising this last six weeks. I know what I'm doing!"
"Revising! Bloody revising! It's July 2nd on Monday and I know for a fact that you've spent more time with Lover Boy than bloody revising! God knows what he's going to do next week when you're sitting bloody exams all week. He'll be fretting like a bloody wench when he can't see you. It's a bloody good job I'm on days. I'll kick his arse from here to bloody Land's End if he doesn't let you get on with it!"
"Shut up Alex! You sound just like Dada. I know what I'm doing, and for your information, so does Stuart. I'm getting grief off him as well as you! Just leave me alone!"
Stuart Begbie.
Friday. I'm sitting on the church wall and Michael has a grin on his face when he sees me. I grin back at him. "How did it go? Do you think you'll pass?"
"I think so."
"How many subjects?"
"Seven out of eight I would think. French was a bit tricky, but I think I'll pass. English Lit and English language should be ok. Geography was a doddle. Maths went well, and so did Politics. Physics... I might just scrape it. I'll fail at Latin. I'm hopeless at Latin."
We're walking down the hill and I look up at him and grin when I say, "You should have taken a sex exam. You'd have passed in that. You could have used my Sexual Theory of Relativity. That would have got you top marks."
Michael laughs. "I would get a PhD if I used that. Anyway, talking about sex, what are you doing on Sunday?"
I smirk at him. "Oh... Sunday. Didn't I tell you? The last time I spoke to Alex, he said he'd be out all day and I've arranged with Mother and Father for us to go cycling again. But we won't be going cycling; we'll be spending all day in bed." I give him my biggest, cheekiest grin. "You deserve a rest after the week you've had. We'll put my Sexual Theory of Relativity to the test."
Michael doesn't stop grinning all the way 'home'.
Alex is in the kitchen when we go in, and he shouts through to us, "Dinner is nearly ready. Sit down boys."
Michael gives me a strange look. "What about your bus?"
I grin at him. "I'm catching a late one. Mother and Father know. I told them Alex was planning a celebratory dinner and had invited me." I shout through to Alex, "Pig's trotters, Alex?"
I hear Alex laugh. "Not tonight Lover Boy. Pork chops and all the trimmings. Do you like stuffing?"
I break down with laughter, and Michael stifles his laughter as best he can, and when Alex comes in sporting a huge grin, we all snigger together.
I'm hungry, and Alex's pork chop dinner is superb. I'm sitting next to Alex, and every time he eats a piece of stuffing, he gives me the evil eye, and I giggle like a schoolgirl. When I've finished eating, I look at him and grin. "Alex, that was fantastic: almost as good as your pig's trotters."
"Well done Lover Boy! Never mind your foydee grass stuff, wait until you taste Alex's steak pie. That will make your little pinkler grow."
Alex and I are giggling at his quip, but Michael finishes his meal, picks up all the plates, and then walks to the kitchen muttering how disgusting we both are. When he's out of sight, Alex hunches his shoulders and gives me a stupid grin.
On the bus home, I think about the time I've just spent with Michael and Alex. It was wonderful. Michael is my lover, but I wish Alex was my real brother. I'm beginning to love him like one, and I'm also wishing I wasn't going back to my own home. I could live with Michael and Alex forever.
Sunday.
It's quite chilly as we wave goodbye to Mother and Father and cycle away from my home, but instead of heading out into the countryside, we head through the city to Eastern Road.
When we go upstairs to Michael's room, I'm about to take my clothes off when Michael stops me and says, "No, not yet. I want to lie on the bed with you as we are. Can we do that?"
I'm puzzled, but we get on the bed together and kiss softly. I look into the beautiful eyes I love and ask, "Why are we just lying on the bed?"
Michaels strokes my cheeks. "You're different when you've got your clothes on: these clothes; not your school uniform. You look more grown up in these clothes. Now, whenever I'm in bed thinking about you, this is how I imagine you. This is where I start."
I stick my tongue out and lick the tip of his nose. "I'm disappointed."
Now it's Michael's turn to look puzzled. "Why's that?"
"I thought you loved me most when I'm in my Magic Cap clothes. You know, when I look like a real schoolboy. I think you're a bit of a pervert and like little schoolboys."
Michael chuckles. "I do. That Keith Thompson in your class is a bit of a stunner. And he's got a lovely bum. Anyway, when you have a new cap, I want that one. May I have it then, please?"
I give him an evil grin. "You'll have to pay me in kind! Anyway, back to how you imagine me now, or if you prefer, Nudger Thompson and his cute bum."
He tries to catch my tongue with his, and we play a little game of chasing tongues. Eventually, he becomes exasperated because he can't catch my tongue, and he grabs my head and crushes his mouth to mine. I can't resist his mouth; it's a part of him that I like to be deep inside, and I chase and chew his tongue and suck the saliva from it. I'm ready to go, but Michael seems bent on doing something different, so I let him play his game.
He lifts a part of my dark-green woollen pullover and kisses it, and then his hand goes slowly down my body, feeling at the contours of it through the pullover and through the texture of my brown corduroy trousers. His hand moves from my knees back up to the top of my trousers, and he undoes the buttons and opens the flaps; pulls my shirt above my navel, and his hand passes over my nakedness and down onto the white underpants I'm wearing. I shudder and take a deep breath. I'm excited as I watch what he's doing... his fingers creating havoc with my desire. I know this isn't just sex; this is also deep love, and it heightens my senses even more. The man I love is doing his own loving the way he wants to, in the way he sees me in those thoughts I don't get to see, but the ones I often wish I could read when he looks at me sometimes. My desire is not just an object of sex; it's just one part of me that he adores... and is little different than my pullover. Michael is exploring the whole of the boy he loves... everything that I am and even what I wear is important to him. He could be doing this to my nose and I know he would be feeling as he is now.
I think I know exactly where he is... I do the same. I see him at school and I'm not thinking sex when I see him... I'm thinking Michael. The sexual part of what we are is an addition to the rest of what we have become. That's why our love is so special. That's why I feel I could burst into tears each time he smiles at me. I'm filled to overflowing with emotion for him. And he's the same. That's why he's doing this... and even though I'm bursting at the seams for him to pleasure me, I'm enjoying this so much that I'm almost wishing he does only this and then we jump to the stage where we share our special loving. But sex is also part of the whole, and that's why, when he kisses my Y-fronts, it's pure me I'm giving to him. And that's what he does... just plants loads of passionate kisses on me there, and that's when the love I have for Michael is too great for me to control.
It starts deep inside me, in my heart, and then to every erogenous zone I have, and my body begins to shudder and the sensual feelings spiral to what he can see, and as I lie, submissive and willing, just before my feelings spill over into actual release, his final, gentle kisses are on my nakedness when, using the hole in my Y-fronts, he releases my arousal, freeing it to be loved... soft lips to sensitive nerves. He doesn't close his eyes while he's doing it, and nor does he try to stimulate me more, other than the tender kisses he is showering on me there. I don't want him to; the sight of what is happening is more stimulating than excessive touches, and it drives me to even greater passions, and my release is more plentiful and more powerful that any I have ever done when he opens his mouth and wraps his lips around me; and when it is over and there is nothing left of me for Michael to devour, I'm imagining that I have just experienced a wide-awake wet dream.
And then the tears flow from my eyes like small rivulets as I sink my head back onto the pillow. Where before I was ignorant; now I am not. I am sexually and spiritually complete, and I know I have just discovered the love that surpasses all others with the only person who will ever make me feel this way.
We sit at the table and pick at Alex's pig's trotters that he'd prepared for us before I arrived. 'I'll do them especially for you, Lover Boy,' Alex had said with a twinkle in his eye the last time I saw him, 'They will put some meat on that little pinkler of yours.' No words now; just eye contact. Glances that meet, and our souls dance a loving duet.
After the magic moment in bed, the silence between us was beautiful as Michael leaned above me and stared down into my eyes and watched the tears flow. He knew I had just experienced something so deep that even he could not comprehend it. Michael, my perfect, unselfish lover had not asked what I had felt; instead, he brushed his lips over mine and allowed me come out of the spell in my own time. Eventually, I did, and then I grabbed his head and pulled him fiercely to me, and crushed his mouth with mine. That was all I needed to say.
Michael goes to the kitchen and makes us two mugs of tea, and sits beside me again. "Have you had enough?"
I grin at him. "Upstairs or downstairs?"
He giggles. "Either or both."
I shake my head. "I want you again; but my way this time."
He smiles, picks up the tea cloth and gently wipes some grease from my lips, and then takes my hand. I pick up my mug of tea and take two gulps from it, and then allow him to lead me up the stairs and back to the bedroom.
My way this time. Earlier, I had experienced probably the most beautiful moments of our bed times, but Michael and I need more than that to satisfy our growing needs, and we both take from each other all we desire. Sometimes we do it in a loving way, and sometimes we're brutal with each other. There's no distinction between kisses and bites; wherever we plant them, and the food of love is eagerly devoured in our deepest desires to become one. Pig's trotters and sex make fantastic feast companions when two people love each other as Michael and I do.
It's almost 3 o' clock, an hour past kicking out time at the pub. I'm sitting in Dada's chair and Michael is sitting in the one adjacent to it. He looks through the window, which gives a view down the back yard, and nods. "He's here, the drunken sod!"
I grab the wooden arms of the chair and lift myself up to peer down the back yard. My lovely Alex sees me watching him, and he gives me a silly grin. Then he comes through the back door and into the living room, points a finger at me and growls, "Out of my chair, Lover Boy!" I laugh as Alex stands in front of me, pointing the menacing finger at my face. Then I stretch out a hand so he can lift me from the chair; which he does. But he doesn't let go of my hand; he falls into the chair and drags me onto his knees and hugs me to him. I'm giggling as the hug tightens and his hand strokes the hair on my head that is snuggled under his chin, and his drunken voice is comforting and wonderfully slurred as he speaks in his drawn out colloquial dialect that is, sometimes, difficult for me to understand. "Come here, my little beauty. Let Alex give you some loving." He pushes my head back so he can look at my face. "Did you enjoy Alex's pig's trotters?"
I can smell the beers on him, and the clean smell of carbolic soap, and a heady, but not repugnant scent of his manly sweat. The mixture of all of them is quite moving to my soul, and I relax back into him to show him that I'm more than comfortable to be in his arms. "It was lovely, Alex. I ate all of mine."
The way I'm sat on Alex's knees, I'm facing Michael, who is smiling and enjoying me sharing his brother's love. But he has to say something. It's expected of him; the way he and Alex bounce retorts between one another. "Leave him alone, Alex, you drunken sod!"
Alex stares at Michael through narrowed eyes. "Leave him alone?! Don't bloody kid yourself, Kiddo! Lover Boy here loves his Alex!" He puts his rough hand under my chin and lifts my head again. "Don't you Kiddo?" I smile into his eyes, and melt back into him again and tighten my hug, and I feel him kiss the top of my head. He jerks a thumb at Michael. "Go and get my bloody trotters, Kiddo. I'm bloody starving."
Michael looks at me. "Will you be alright with the drunken sod?"
Alex raises his voice. "Will he be alright!? Of course he'll be alright! He's in the safest pair of hands in the world, is Lover Boy. He won't come to no harm with his Alex! Now just sod off and get my dinner."
Michael looks at me, and grins, and then goes into the kitchen.
While he's gone, Alex lifts my head again and whispers into my ear. "Have you two had a good time while I've been away?"
I smile at him and stare into his gorgeous eyes, and then I gently smack his face. "Mind your own business, you drunken sod."
He giggles and winks at me, and whispers in my ear again, "You two should get married!" And both of us can't contain our laughter, and when Michael calls from the kitchen and asks us what we're up to, it makes us laugh even more.
Michael brings Alex his dinner and sets it out on the table, so Alex pushes me roughly off him and goes to eat it. I can hear him munching from where I'm sat in Dada's chair, and he keeps winking at me, and I can't stop giggling. When he's finished, he points a finger at me: "Take these plates away, Lover Boy!" Michael goes to get up, but Alex's voice is demanding: "Oi, you! Sit down! Lover Boy is perfectly capable of taking a few plates away!" And he yanks his finger at me again.
I pick up the plates and take them into the kitchen. After I've passed the Victorian copper boiler on my left, I come to the large Belfast sink under the small window to the right, with a wooden draining board fastened to the right hand side of it, and just past it is the cool-cupboard. It looks like a tall rabbit hutch with a close-mesh at the front to keep out the flies. I open the door and look at the contents. Cheese in a cheese-dish; butter still wrapped in paper; lard; margarine still in its paper, and sundry other perishable items, and I compare it to the large, modern fridge we have at home. I decide to wash the dishes and look around for the washing up liquid. I can't find it, so I shout to ask where it is.
Michael comes to me, and he grins. He takes the aluminium kettle from the gas stove and fills it with water from the single brass tap in the sink, puts it on a gas ring, turns a knob, and lights it with a match. There's a loud 'bumph!' as the gas ignites and flames shoot all around the kettle, and then Michael sprinkles some soap flakes over the dishes.
I look at him. "Don't you use washing up liquid?"
He grins. "Washing up liquid is for fairies."
I giggle, and take a closer look around the kitchen. It's about eight foot by six, and there's not enough room to swing a mouse round, never mind a cat. But it's whitewashed and clean, and the tall cupboard opposite the sink is painted a light green, and somebody has stencilled autumn leaves on both doors.
The kettle boils and whistles. Michael removes the spout and then pours the boiling water over the flakes and the dishes before switching on the cold tap to mix the water to the right temperature. When he's sure it's not too hot, he points to the tea-towel hanging from the side of the cupboard, grins, and leaves me to it.
I enjoy washing the dishes, something I would never do at home, and when I'm done and the dishes are washed, rinsed and dried, I return to the living room with a grin on my face.
Alex is back in his chair and he beckons me to him. Because there are only two easy chairs, if I want to be part of the company, I have no option other than to sit with him, unless I want to sit at the table that is, so I go to him and he drags me onto his knees again. I could have gone and sat on Michael's knees, but I wouldn't feel comfortable doing that in front of Alex.
Michael is sitting in his chair with his legs stretched out; his feet resting on the brass fender, and he grins at me again.
Alex puts his brawny hand under my chin and turns my head towards him. "You haven't got a dog, have you Kiddo?"
I shake my head. "I wish I had." He beams a silly smile, pushes me off him, gets up, pushes me back into the chair, and then staggers to the back door and sways his way down the back yard. I look at Michael, who is grinning. I have to ask. "Where's he gone?"
Michael is stifling a laugh, but he doesn't answer me. I look through the back window at Alex swaying his way back up the yard, and he's got his arms behind his back and a daft look on his face. I hear him come into the house, and then he's behind me, and I'm shocked when he leans over me and deposits a tiny puppy in my lap and says, "There you go, Lover Boy; you've got one now!"
Michael and Alex are both grinning like Cheshire Cats when I pick up the black and white puppy and bring it to my face. It stares at me, and then a tiny tongue licks my nose, and I almost burst into tears when I say, "He's beautiful! What's his name?! What sort is he?!"
Alex is standing on the other side of Michael, leaning against the shelf above the iron fireplace to steady himself. "He is a she, and she's a Jack Russell. She'll be a great little ratter when she's bigger."
I can't stop giggling, but I know I can't take her home, and I look at Alex and say so.
"Not to worry about that, Kiddo, she can stay here. Anyway, you've got two homes now; this place and your posh place over yonder."
I hug the small creature to my face. "You haven't told me what her name is."
Michael puts out a hand and tickles the little dog's head. "We thought we'd leave that to you. What do you want to call her?"
"Really?! Am I to name her?"
Michael's hand strokes my hair. "Yes. She's yours. You name her what you like."
I look at Alex, and he nods. I stare at the tiny creature, and a thought enters my head, and I begin to giggle. Then I look at Michael and Alex. "Could we call her... Trotter?"
Both Alex and Michael burst out laughing, and so do I, and when Alex says, "That's a bisexual name!", we can't stop laughing, and when I tell him that he means asexual, we laugh even louder, and when Trotter pees on my trousers, we collapse into chaos.
I switch off my bedside lamp and draw my 'Michael comforter pillow' to my breast and think about the day. I can't remember another in my whole life that has had such meaning as this one. From the moment Michael picked me up in the morning, to the wave he gave me after we'd cycled back to my home, it's been full of emotion and fun and sexual satisfaction. I'm still in partial shock at what happened to me on 'our' bed. It's beyond my comprehension that just the sight of Michael loving me could bring me to such a powerful and dramatic climax. I know why it happened - because my love for Michael is so deep - but I wouldn't have imagined it possible for it to happen. But it did, and even now I'm still basking in the wonder of it.
Can I recreate that moment? I can try!
And when the beautiful feelings surge from me, the thought of what happened flashes through my mind, and my hips rise from the bed to try to emulate the emotions I felt. Of course, it's impossible, but I was part way there. I'll settle for that. I clean myself up and settle down to sleep.
The final visions in my mind before I drift into unconsciousness are of the lovely brown eyes of my little 'bisexual' Trotter looking into my own. I've got my very own dog, my very own man, a wonderful new brother, and life is unbelievably beautiful.
I'm too sleepy and too much in love to even think about the future. Changes are inevitable, and no-one can know which way the wind will blow, but right now I don't care about anything except the fantastic day I've just had.
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