Johnny Come Home
by Rafael Henry
Chapter 27
I knew the staff meeting would last at least two hours which left me plenty of time to transfer all the data from the old machine to the new one, and copy any relevant stuff I wanted. I used my digital camera to photo the replies to request for references for the new post of Part time Creative Advisor. Something I referred to earlier. It's not a teaching post, more like an artist in residence possibly. I couldn't locate a job description so I'm guessing as to the exact nature of the job, if it is actually a job. As a technician working across all areas of the curriculum, mainly the creative parts, it's highly likely that I'll come across this person as and when he or she appears later this term. There are two responses to the request for references. One woman and one man. They were both glowing reports of character, ability and suitability for such a post. Both letters were marked………INTERVIEW. Then I looked in the Head's diary, a large book open on the desk and noted the date of the two candidate's interviews. Monday September the 20 th . The woman in the morning and the man in the afternoon, at 2.00 pm. His name? You've guessed it. Mr Quintus Beer. Time for a telephone conversation with John I think. What I have discovered, John mad no attempt to deny.
John had been sitting on a bench in Peterborough Cathedral Close. I've done that many times. It's quiet and peaceful and away from the city traffic. Quintus had just emerged from an organ recital in the building and spotted John on the bench. Quintus, being what he is, noticed the boy with the long legs disappearing into his sporty shorts, knees apart, and thought he'd take a longer way around the green so he could get a closer look at what appeared to be an interesting subject. John had noticed him too, and watched the figure take a left turn onto the path that would lead him in his direction. The man had long[ish] blond hair, perhaps slightly above average in height, and was wearing, as he was, summer shorts. He was some thirty yards away now. He looked at the young man amidships, as embryonic queer boys and men do, for any telling evidence. The shorts were quite tight on the figure. There was evidence alright. John's tummy did a flip, guessing correctly that the guy was circumcised, and anxious that the young man wouldn't stop. John is careful to look down as the young man gets closer, but looks up as his curiosity gets the better of him, just at the wrong moment. Just as the young handsome man looks at him. The man stops and smiles at him so John smiles back. The handsome young man looks at the boy's legs, at his knees, and then runs his eyes further up and into shadowy parts, and then back up to the boy's face. Cute indeed he thinks, and wonders if the boy is prepared to start a conversation. He's picked up boys like this before. Sometimes it works. Just start chatting about nothing. It'll soon become clear if the boy is interested, or not. He looks again at the point where the tan stops and the pale skin continues until the pale skin turns a bright white. There's not much to see, the way the boy is sitting, but there's something about him. Enough to get him excited. The boy looks at him again. It's worth a try, and so he gets straight to the point. That works far better.
'Hello. Lovely day. Do you mind if I join you?'
A direct question. That's the best way.
The boy answers, his face reddening.
'No.' The boy says, looking up and into the handsome face with ice blue eyes and nice healthy looking white teeth.
'You have a lovely smile. Do you know that?'
The boy's smile gets a little broader.
'So what brings you here then?' Quintus continues, already getting a good feeling about this chance encounter.
'Nothing much.'
'Oh. Maybe you're waiting for someone?'
'No.'
'So where are you going next.'
'Home, eventually. I suppose.'
'Like me then. May we chat for a while? Would you mind?'
'No.'
'Good. May I know your name?'
'Johnny.'
'Mine's Quintus. I was the fifth.'
Johnny laughs.
'Where do you live Johnny?'
Johnny told him where. About twenty minutes away by bicycle. He told him where he went to school, what year he was going into in September, and what his father did for a living, and various other details of his life. When Quintus asked him what his girlfriend's name was, he told him he wasn't interested in girls.
'So you have boyfriends then? Lots of them I think. You're a very handsome boy Johnny. Am I right?'
'No. I had one but his dad moved to Cornwall. Truro. That's where he lives now so I don't see him anymore.'
'Are you sad about that?'
'Yes. Very.'
'Was he older than you?'
'Yes, but not that much older. My parents didn't mind. He helped my dad with his computer. He's very good with all that IT stuff. A wizard with it. He taught me loads.'
'About what? Just computers?'
The boy looks at Quintus and smiles.
'No. Other stuff too.'
'Did you enjoy that John?'
'Yes.'
'What sort of stuff did you learn from him?'
'Oh, this and that.' He says, defensively.
'What boys do? What boys do together?'
'Maybe.'
'And was that good, with him?'
'Yes. He loved me.'
'And I'm thinking you probably loved him back. And now there's nothing? Is that right?'
'More or less.'
'That's a shame John. What was his name. This boy. You don't have to tell me.'
'Alex. Or Alexis. That's his proper name.'
There was a silence, but John hadn't noticed that it was a significant silence. Why would he? But he knew something was going on here. How was he going to get out of this conversation? All he had to do was to get up, make a feeble excuse if he felt the need to, and walk off.
But he didn't. The thought had already occurred to him that he was being picked up. It had happened before a few times; once when he popped into a public lavatory, and popped out again fast, and once in the local park by someone he would never contemplate speaking to, let alone anything else behind a bush. A couple of times at school too, when things went a little better. And then of course, later, Alex turned up, and then disappeared to Cornwall. So now he's free, and talking to this Quintus person, and not finding a good enough reason to stop talking to him. Another five minutes won't hurt.
He found himself looking at Quintus's face more than he was a minute ago. Really examining it. He was handsome alright. Very, with that wavy blondish hair and piercing eyes. His bare forearms too, with all that pale hair. He looked strong, and those legs. Not over thick but athletic looking.
Quintus saw the boy look at him like that, and put two and two together. With the right handling he thought he could get him on board. This is what interested Quintus. Just seeing if he could do it. He didn't want to hurt anyone, or do something bad to someone, although his body told him that if he got this boy into his bed, anything might happen. In fact it would happen. Boys were like butterflies he could catch in a net, and then when he had examined them thoroughly, he would flip the net over and the pretty little thing was free to fly away unharmed and happy.
'I'm recording the stonework repairs in the windows above the Quire in the cathedral John. Photographing the men working. I've just come out of recital. Ilike organs.'
'Big ones or little ones?' Asks the smiling John, having caught on to Quintus rather obviously crass remark.
'I've nothing against small ones. Is that you then?'
'Titchy. That's probably why I've got no friends.'
'I don't believe that. Not for a minute do I.'
'It is. And don't ask me to show you. I don't do things for people like you. My mum wouldn't like it.' John says, being a little obtuse.
'Quite right too.' Responds Quintus, bowing slightly, one arm behind his back.
'So a short stroll then? I can show you what we're working on if you'd like that?'
John and Quintus walk to the far end of the building, the east end as Quintus pointed out. John looks up at the new looking stonework around the pointed arches which replaces the old and badly weathered areas of the complicated looking window tracery. John stands shielding his eyes from the bright sky above.
John feels a hand on his shoulder, but it's not an invasive hand at all. A nice hand.
'Good isn't it?' Says Quintus.
'Yes. It's good.'
'Where it is? Where my hand is?'
'Umm.'
'You don't mind?'
'No.'
'That's good then. May I look at you?'
John didn't know what Quintus meant by that question, but he turns sideways to look up at Quintus, somewhat wide eyed.
'That's better. I'm just curious John, that's all. Nothing more than that.'
'What about?'
What you're wearing.'
'You can see what I'm wearing?'
'No I can't. Underneath. You're hinting to me, like you want people to look at you? I'm just curious. It looks interesting, your hinting. That's all . No one can see here. It'll just take a few seconds. I'm just curious. Nothing more than that.'
John complies with Quintus's request and lowers the waistband of his shorts a couple of inches, no more, just for him .
'Oh come on John. Just a little more?'
Ok, a little more until there's upper thigh exposed.
'Very nice John. Plain and simple. That's good. I won't ask about what's under those.'
John didn't show Quintus any more. Like the bump in his pants. But excited he is.
Quintus, with John now 'back together' told the boy that he was very well formed both front and back and that if John was agreeable, they might chat again in the near future? John agreed. There was no touching, not at any time.
John made his way home with a few thoughts in his head. Interesting thoughts. He agreed to meet Quintus the following day, same place, same time. He went up to his room, lay on the bed and masturbated, just like he regularly did in the holiday afternoons. And then again before sleep took him. And then again most mornings. He'd rather stopped using memories of Alex as an inspiration, and this night he imagined Quintus in his bed with him. He fancied him and the feeling was mutual surely? After all, why did he stop to talk to him? Quintus had mentioned going for a walk after their meeting at the bench in front of the West Front of the magnificent building.
In ten minutes the pair were on the river path that lead out of the city eastwards and eventually out into the Fens. John told Quintus about himself, just as Quintus told John his own story, all of it true. One particular detail he did leave out, lying by omission perhaps, but necessary at this moment. He had known Alex quite well, just as at a later time, John had known Alex even better. Their conversation was honest and lively, but both parties knew a next step was required if this was going to get them anywhere.
'I'd like to hold your hand, just for a few seconds, if you didn't mind John?
John smiled.
'Ok.' He says, gesturing a paw towards Quintus. Quintus took it and held it.
'How does that make you feel John?'
'Good. I like it. Can we walk along like this?'
The talking got more intimate as John told Quintus about his friendship with Alex.
'And you haven't anybody since? Is that right?'
'No one.' John says, his tongue moistening his lips.
'Oh that's as shame. That deserves an arm around you doesn't it?'
John smiles.
'I suppose so.'
It was the first time in months that John had felt another body touching his. Shall we say it was interesting. Quintus's body was attractive alright. Very attractive in fact. He appeared to have everything in spades.
Quintus pulled John in harder, hard into his chest so he could put his nose into the boy's hair. It smelled fresh and silky. He eases him away, still with his hands on the boy's shoulders to assess the effect of all that. He looked down. He could tell instantly that John was interested in such gestures of friendship. That's one thing a boy can't hide, any more than he could.
'Shall we walk back now?'
'Where to?'
'Our bench?'
'Where do you live Quintus?'
'In a Dean and Chapter property. It's free while I'm working on this project. It's close so I can be around all the time.'
'Where is it?'
'Not far from the bench we sat on.'
'Can I see it?'
'Of course.'
The house is a mid-terrace appropriately named Vicar's Row, early eighteenth century, with stone steps up to the black and rather tatty front door with badly tarnished brass furniture that hasn't seen polish for years.
'You can come in if you'd like to?'
John thought about Quintus's offer for a few seconds and then declined the invitation. He wanted to go in but………
'I think I ought to go home now. Will you be here tomorrow? Maybe tomorrow?'
John's mother, Anna, had told him that rain was forecast for later in the day, and if he was going out, to take his anorak with the hood. He didn't take Anna's advice and set off in just his summer play shorts and tee shirt as usual. His white trainers were rather worn now but still serviceable, no socks but fresh underpants as always. Everyday, fresh. Unusually he had showered in the late morning. He's agreed to go to Quintus's house that afternoon. Was that wise he thought? Probably not, but he could leave when he liked. He might only stay five minutes. He would just have to see.
John was on the bench by twenty past four, in the rain. No coat, and already the wet was penetrating his shirt and shorts, embarrassingly. It was the material that the shorts were made of in the nineteen-eighties. Some sort of man-made fibre that became transparent when wet. That's the problem. Quite funny really. Boys on the beach in those things, all wet from bathing and trnsparent, with no undies on. You could see everything through them! Pure cotton was very out of vogue, except for the more personal items that is. Cotton is king in that department.
By twenty-five to five, Quintus had opened the black front door and ushered John inside. He followed Quintus into the back room that overlooked the tiny unkempt cottage style garden. A deep pink hollyhock was knocking on the sash window, moved by the breeze that had sprung up with the rain shower.
'If you give your things John, I'll put everything in the tumble drier. You can have them back in ten minutes?'
'Ok.' Says John, pulling his shirt up and over his head. He was excited at the prospect of posing nude for Quintus. He's asked him to and this seemed the perfect way to start. By accident really.
John stood by the window, one hand laid gently on his penis. He wasn't exactly playing with it, just moving the thing this way and that as Quintus appeared to take no notice. The light on his body was, as Quintus pointed out, perfect.
'Just stand there for a while John. Get bored with it all. Look out of the window too. Just hang around being bored. Keep your hands where they are. You're a fabulous model John.'
He'd done all this before with Alex, lots and lots of times, so he knew all the nuances of how to show off his body. He turned this way and that, bent down to touch his ankles, and then began to fondle himself. It was nothing Quintus had asked him to do. Just intuition. He wanted to. It worked quickly. He looked back at Quintus.
'Don't look at me John. Just do whatever you want. You're very beautiful like that. Absolutely lovely. Don't stop what you're doing. Please.'
John didn't stop. He looked at the floor. They were polished wooden boards. Sometimes Alex would ask him to do this for him and he'd watched the results with him afterwards. They were very private moments preserved for their own enjoyment.
John was careful not to look at Quintus. Not to see him doing what he was doing. Then he did, just for a moment. And then he looked, just for a second or two. Quintus wasn't looking at him but down at himself. John could have looked for as long as he wanted to, but he didn't.
He had watched Alex once or twice, waiting. Those amazing moments Alex treated him too.
His brother Richard would perform for him, up in the bedroom they shared, when he first started. Such a proud little boy he was, when he discovered he could, and wanted to show his elder brother. He knew all about it from John, when he first started. Sticky stuff at first, then the watery jets that landed on his delicious flat tummy, and then white stuff with proper sperm in it shot out like is was from a water pistol or something, in long streaks that landed all the way up his chest, sometimes on his face which made them both laugh. Then they would play with it, Richard lying on his brother's shoulder. They'd talk about sex and all the ways you could have fun doing it . Richard had learnt everything from Johnny, and Johnny had played with Richard for as long as he could remember, and answered all his questions.
'Why has it gone big like this?' Ricky asks, flicking the hard little rod this way and that.
'Play with it for a bit.'
'How long does it take?'
'Depends. Not long. Maybe four or five minutes if I can't think of anything nice. Not that long if I can.'
'What do you mean, nice?'
'Something sexy in my mind. That sort of thing.'
'A girl's face?'
'No. Someone I saw. Someone with no clothes on perhaps.'
'His willy?'
'Yes, that would do pretty well.'
'Shall I keep rubbing it?'
Three minutes later.
'There. I told you it would work.'
'That's yucky! Cries the younger boy.
'No, not yucky. You try.'
'No thanks. What's it like?'
There followed an entirely inadequate description.
Quintus could see through the narrow gap, the door being slightly ajar. He looked up and saw Johnny staring out of the window into the garden. It was a stupid thing to attempt in that situation? Surely he could have waited until John had gone. But Quintus is like that. A risk taker. Going to up to the line with everything, but never crossing it. But everyone makes the occasional mistake.
Quintus watched John get dressed. That was an erotic sight as he stood there nude, his penis hanging low, getting his underpants the right way round. The boy steps into them, pulling them up into position, and making the necessary adjustments still trying to temp Quintus into an indiscretion. How his friend Alex must have loved him. Alex, who had once performed for him too.
Quintus knew he had to leave, and effectively disappear out of Alex's life, for ever he thought. That was then, years ago.
But where exactly? Where was Alex at this moment? And what was he doing now; and with whom?
He had to know, and Johnny could tell him.
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