Johnny Come Home
by Rafael Henry
Chapter 1
I'd noticed him. There was never the right moment, after all you can't just walk up to boy and ask him questions, like, why do you not wear the proper school uniform? Just keep your distance and notice from afar. Or not so afar. There are always ways of getting up close.
One of the new crop, and how he stood out from the rest of the pack, all starting at the same time as me, albeit five years younger. All the comings and goings, along corridors, up and down the stairs. But this one is not one of those beginners. Behind them up the stairs. You can tell a lot from that particular perspective. All those little bottoms wiggling away amid the chattering, on their way to another lesson, the collective pack of cubs.
Eye contact will give you away, my friend told me. Tearing your eyes away from his. That's the problem. Once eye contact is made, you can't look away and he notices. So how will he react when he's aware of you? You've looked into his eyes for just that little bit too long. It's a fine balance between the two. A normal amount of time, and too long.
But what eyes! A steely blue. And the hair? A mousy brown? No lighter than that, definitely, but with that natural flair to it as it falls forward, divided down just to one side of centre and long enough to cover the sides of his forehead. Pretty hair for sure, fine, and very slightly wavy. Not that I've run my fingers through it……….yet.
I was boarding at my last school, but that all ended with my father's indisposition, that's to say his well-paid career came to an abrupt end, and as a result of that, so did my time at the posh place in the middle of the city right next to the glorious cathedral church where sex was easy to find with like-minded boys who enjoyed the same pleasures as I had come to know as a normally sexed twelve-year-old boy who liked boys. In other words, as randy as hell. In my five years at that place I came to know rather more about six boys than I should have done, according to the establishment's moral code. Not according to ours. Our Housemaster told us that if we must play with private parts, then play with your own, not somebody else's. To hell with that. When a boy came to me with a playful proposition, I wasn't going to refuse him, even if he was a couple of years older than me. I made hay while the sun shone, and now the harvest is over, I can reflect on a good job done for boys like Angus who owned my body and soul for three lovely years and taught me all I needed to know. How to please a boy, be him older or younger than I. That would make a big difference, older or younger. I would be a slave to one, and a gentle mentor to the other, gradually guiding the pretty thing with a pretty thing, into the light. But now all is changed, here in this other world. The State School world where all children have to go until they can escape at fifteen to idleness, a trade, or one of the professions. The vast majority, if not all of the Prime Minister's cabinet were educated at private schools.
So the choice was either to leave education altogether, or continue my studies here at the local Comprehensive where I can study something I couldn't at the other place. Computer Science. And it's all free.
But I'm no geek, although I am one of the volunteers who help other boys and girls to seek some light at the end of the IT tunnel that they would otherwise never see. Three lunch times a week I see four kids, two girls and two boys. The girls are lovely in their grey skirts and long legs, smelling of nothing that entices me whilst giving me a sight of their navy-blue regulation knickers every so often. They like me, and no doubt would also like a bit of a relationship too, if I wanted it. But I don't, for a reason that became clear years ago, and known to others, who told others. In short, my preferences are known, even in this new jungle. So the friends that I have here are very few in number, and the ones that I have will know .
I would never have approached Johnny. Not in a million years, and tell him what I was thinking every time I saw him. Not here. In the other place I could have done, easily, and without any fear.
So when he came to the little corner of the library around twelve forty-five and asked if I could help him, you could have heard my heart thumping with joy.
The girls all stick to the uniform rules here, but some of the boys tend to take small liberties. Shirts are not quite regulation, ties sometimes ignored altogether, certainly not socks, and trousers are not quite as grey as they should be but close enough not to attract much attention from their House Tutor or Head of Year. They buy these garments from lesser-known chain stores and they're made by Levi or some other well-known brand. They like them because they're very fitted in the right places, and even if they're not yet pubescent, like the average eleven-year-old is likely to be, bless him, they do the job of drawing the girls' attention to what's inside their pants. If they are pubescent, then the effect can be startling. That's the front part. Same story for the back part. As we are talking a few years before the various forms of undershorts, no imagination is required. I've seen girls, often safely in a giggling group, turn round to watch a boy walk past, who is showing them exactly what he's got underneath. Of course I've done the same, but Johnny is an outstanding example, literally.
'Why do you look at me like that Alex?'
'Why do you think John?'
'Do you fancy me or something?'
'Yes, or something. Do you know your penis can be seen quite clearly in those things you wear?'
'Yes. Do you like it?'
'Yes I do, very much.'
'I can show you if you want?' The boys says, his face flushing.
'Yes please. Now would be convenient.'
'Do you want to go for a walk somewhere?'
'Yes please. I know a good place.'
Five minutes later.
'Do you like it?'
'It's a beauty John. Would you like me to make it come?'
'Umm. Yes please.'
'Will we need a hanky?'
'Why would we need one?'
Three fingers and my thumb, all in my bedtime dreams.
I use my own laptop machine because it's considerable better than what I can borrow from the school's IT department, and I set myself up in the corner of the huge library space, nicely tucked away, sitting at a standard grey formica topped desk that will accommodate two bodies side by side. From here I can conduct my tutoring quietly and in almost total privacy. Not unexpectedly, few people here are desperate to avail themselves of the library. Literacy is not their priority.
He's sitting here, pale blue shirt untucked because they are short and constantly ride up and untucked, open at the neck, no tie, tee shirt just visible underneath, and an oxblood coloured jumper over that. His trousers are near-grey, tending to a greeny-blue, and very fitted in the crotch. He's about where I was three years ago. Getting there by the look of him. You never see a boy naked in this place, unlike my last residency where you see boys parading every day, joyously.
So where to start with Johnny? Time to get to know him.
'So what brings you here John?'
'How do you know my name?'
'Just a guess.' I lied.
'You're Alex aren't you.' He says.
'Yes. Alexis. Is that ok?'
He smiles and looks down, his hands in his pockets. That's another thing. Hands in pockets all the time. Somebody should tell them.
'So you think you need help John?'
'Johnny. That's what most people call me.'
'Ok, Johnny.' I reply, smiling back at his pretty face. I can tell he's pleased with me, so far. He's pleased to be here, with me. But why?
'So what do need help with most…….do you think?'
'Typing. That kind of thing. Spelling.'
'Right. Word. Do you know that programme?'
'Yes.'
'So that's your main problem is it? Just that? How to use it properly?'
'Yes. I want to write things.'
'Ok. I can help you with that.'
'Just today?'
'No. For as long as you need me to.'
'How long will that be?'
'I don't know. Perhaps for a long time. I'm here for another year and a half.' I said benignly. I meant it. The boy is upset that he's struggling to overcome a problem some teacher has explained, probably in a rush as ever, and he's not understood and is reticent to constantly ask for more help. How many of us have been in that situation? You get so confused and you're frightened to go on asking. So you give up. But I need to probe a bit more.
'So what are you trying to do that you can't John? Sorry, Johnny.'
'A story. I want to write stories. What are you doing?'
'Writing a story as it happens. That's a coincidence is it not?'
'What about?'
'Something that happened a few years ago before it was necessary for me to join this school. It's autobiographical. Do you know what that means?'
'Yes. It's something about your own life.'
'Perfect. Or, all of your life maybe? So far.'
'What was it then? What you want to write about?'
'Do you really want to know?'
'Yes. Would you mind telling me?'
'No I wouldn't mind, normally, but it's a bit private. I would have to trust you. I would need to be sure it stayed private, and that you would understand the reason for that. The thing is Johnny, that I don't know you. Ok I've seen you around the place for a while now, and you certainly look like a reliable boy who would understand.'
'Understand what?'
'Have you heard anything about me from anyone here? Has my name been mentioned in any context?'
'Context?'
'Yes. Have you heard anything about me, to do with anyone else? Or any thing ? Anything anyone has said about me?'
'No.'
He looked guilty.
'So what have you heard?'
'Nothing really.'
'So you have then?'
'Only a little bit.'
I got it out of him eventually, and it was exactly what I expected. Things like that are very newsworthy. Not that I care very much.
'And this hasn't put you off speaking to me like this?'
'No.'
'Good. That's kind of you. It really is.'
I resumed my tapping the keys of my machine, and not making much sense as my mind is elsewhere.
'You've misspelt that word.' John says, pointing to the screen.
'Thank you. See how I can backspace that error away and then correct it? Because I type fast, I'm bound to make a few mistakes, and then later when I go over everything a second time, and then a third time, I can make all the corrections. That's the beauty of it. Get down all the things you want to say first and then worry about spellings and grammar later and any other refinements come to that. Would you like to try some editing?'
'Can I do that with your story?'
'Yes if you want. But first I need to know about you . I need to see if you're a suitable co-writer.'
I love his smile. He has one hand in his pocket, fiddling. He's at that age when you can't leave the thing alone. It's constantly demanding one's attention, night and day and won't let you go until he's satisfied. The thing. The male thing. The boy's penis. Mine. For me the morning was always the best time. Everything had built up nicely overnight and by the time I woke up, everything was ready for me. I had noted my progress from the first drippy stuff accompanied by my unbounded joy that at last something tangible was happening; to what happens now. A slight difference shall we say. I have to be ready for it these days, or as the randy cub scout says, be prepared . Failing that, a proud mummy will know what you've been up to. I have a some navy blue sheets on my bed and my goodness you have to be careful with those. Red ones too. Terrible!
Mummy picks up after Peter every night. He's left his cub uniform on the floor after last night's meeting, his pants still inside. He's fast asleep now. When he got home he didn't bother undressing. He had to do something quickly, in fact the moment he got upstairs. He sits on the edge of his single bed, pulls everything down and starts playing. It takes scarcely a minute before everything starts tingling badly and shortly after he gets the feeling he wanted so badly after playing with John. They were play fighting together and both felt each other, hard, by accident really. Then they stopped their play fight and felt those hard places some more, their faces close together. Neither boy had thought about kissing anyone apart from their mummies, or in John's case his daddy as well. His daddy was always kissing him, once or twice on his mouth. But it just happened this way and they liked it. John tried hard not to cry, he was so happy. Neither boy knew anything about love, but that's what it was. Love, pure and simple, not that it lasted too long. Peter's parents put a stop to all that nonsense as soon as they realised what was going on. Shame on them. At cubs they had played together, and then another day, in Peter's room.
Afterwards and curious, Peter looks at what's happened, slips everything off in one go, his badly used pants still inside his grey shorts and goes naked, as ever, to the bathroom to brush his pearly white teeth before jumping into bed. His best friend, Johnny, as he liked to be called, had already started his 'big boy' thing, much to the delight of the rather jealous Peter, as he put his fingers on Johnny's smooth tummy and into the still warm little pools, his tee shirt pulled up and well out of harm's way.
'I think Peter's started darling.'
'Oh. What makes you think that?'
'Well look at this. What do think it is?'
Father looks inside Peter's pretty pale blue underpants, now extracted from within the grey shorts the boys have to wear to Cubs. Exactly the same as John's.
'Well?' Demands mum, seeking confirmation of her deepest suspicions, which she got.
Peter and John went to the shops together one Saturday morning with the money Peter's mother had given him to get what he needed; and badly wanted too. To be just like John. Then they went back to Peter's house and played upstairs. They didn't come down until mum called them for lunch. They'd had fun dressing up; and down again. Up and down, up and down John goes, Peter's hands on his hips, willing him in, for ages. It was never going to work, not properly like those pictures which showed those boys doing it. Better luck next time boys.
My screen shows a pageful of type, being one page of my story. Naturally John, as I'm going to call him, is curious.
'I told you, I need to know a bit more about you John. Do you know what this thing is?'
'A camera?'
'Correct. I'm going to show you how it works. All part of your IT education. Do you like the idea of that?'
Of course he did. A camera that you can connect to a computer? What kid wouldn't like that? Especially one that could record movement? Real live moving pictures.
I showed him how it works, this little magic box of tricks of mine, and he's hoovering up all the info like a hungry boy eating a bag of crisps.
'Ok, go into the playground, not too near anyone, and shoot for a few seconds and then get back here asap. Alright?'
He came back ten minutes later looking decidedly excited.
'Ok, great. Let's see what you got shall we?' I said, looking into those cool eyes of his as he moves some light brown hair off his forehead. I plugged in the lead and did the usual, explaining to John what I was doing. And then the results of his research appeared. A typical playground scene with several boys and somewhat fewer girls doing what you would expect them to be doing on a school playground. John is utterly spellbound by his unexpected access to this technology, and I'm pleased too that he's done a pretty decent job.
'This is a good start John, but you need to hold a scene for much longer. You're not giving your viewer anything like enough time to absorb and understand the scene you're giving us. Reduce the scenes and spend far longer on each one. Ok? Have another go. I'll see you in ten minutes.'
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