by Rafael Henry

Chapter 7

An interesting read.

You can leave something lying around so that you know it will be found. The trick is to make sure it's found by the right person. In this case, A Beginners Guide to Gay Loving, is an object best not found by one's mother, even though it must belong to her. I doubt if my father put it there. Why she had it in her bookshelves I'm not going to ponder over, just yet, if at all. The fact that I've discovered it has opened an entirely new world of possibilities it would seem, to enhance a world I know I shall inhabit.

I walked our pet whippet Willo down to the Language School to meet Lael. Mum is out until about six today, so she's not going to notice what I've left out on my bedside table; unlike a certain item of clothing belonging to Lael I left on the towel rail in our bathroom yesterday. I arranged them neatly over the shiny chrome pipe that I thought would solve the problem. But the heating doesn't come on in the summer, a detail I had overlooked. Lael had breathlessly announced with a note of triumph, at the time that he was 'wet'. It wasn't just him that caused the problem, conveniently contained in his designer unisex pants. Frantic masturbation is a right of passage in a boys' community. In our closed environment it's going on all the time, with the tricky problem of what to do with the result. Boarding school lavatories provide the most inconvenient and unabsorbant material to see to one's hygiene, at least ours does, so to avoid everybody knowing what you have just been up to under the bedclothes, needs must. You use whatever is to hand. The sight of a crusty hankie, tee shirt or a pair of underpants lying under the bed is by no means uncommon. There are no mothers to pick up after us, so items tend to get left where they landed.

Nothing airing on the bathroom towel rail last evening. Mum must have gone in there that morning and found them. What must she have thought? I consoled myself with the thought that there's no evidence that two boys were involved. She will think it was just a solo job from one of us, probably me. No, Lael had had an accident, as boys do, and had done the sensible thing. Put them next to the towels. No need to mention it.

Willo goes nuts when Lael emerges from the building on Landsdown Road, leaping out with pure joy at seeing his new friend, along with a hoard of other noisy kids, excited to be free to wreak havoc in the town in their groups informed by a common language, largely French speakers. Most European nations are represented, according to Lael, but he's the sole representative of Finland, thus he feels just a little isolated. At a safe distance now from the hordes, I find Lael's hand. Willo stops and looks up. I'm sure she approves. Lael accepts my hand very willingly, thank goodness. I'm sure what happened in the bedroom the other morning must still burn brightly in his mind and might have ruined our budding friendship for ever. It certainly remains a vivid memory in my mind. Two ladies pass us, but we don't let go. I'm feeling a wave of affection for my new friend. Lael glances at me as we walk along the pavement towards the park.

'Do you want to sit for a while Jon?' Says Lael, holding Willo's lead. 'We could let Willo run a bit?'

We sat on the same bench in the park. Some mum's were chatting whilst their children ran about chasing each other…..screaming. That's what they do.

Lael tells me about his day, and I listen while we watch Willo infiltrate herself into the children's games, much to their delight, as she spins this way and that, loving being chased and knowing that she would never be caught. She has a lovely doggy sense of humour does Willo-the-Wisp. I think she knows when they are tired of chasing shadows and they've had enough entertainment, and she strolls back to us, sits quietly, and then lies at Lael's feet, looking up occasionally with her round brown eyes. Lael has gone noticeably quiet.

'What are thinking about?' I ask, my arm around his shoulder.


'Do you want to go home now?'

'Can we? Soon?'

'Why soon Lael?' I say, smiling.

'I don't know. I just feel like it I suppose.'

I'm looking down at his bare legs, now with just a little colour on them. Higher up he's got his pale grey shorts on, short shorts, elasticated waist, but with proper pockets. Very trim I must say and still quite interestingly fitted at the front, but not a patch on his sexy sporty numbers. If he wants to wee he has to pull the front down, something I would find awkward in a public loo, which are places I have learned to avoid when dressed very minimally. I've had a couple of near misses in a public lavatory which shook me up rather.

When I walk into my bedroom, Lael follows me. I lie down on my bed and he lies beside me. We touch shoulders and move closer. I just have to touch his lips with mine. He responds nicely, albeit momentarily, just touching. I saw him look at the book on my bedside table which I had put there earlier. I'm proud of Lael, partly because of his looks, and partly because of who he is; or what he is. We are happy together and I love that feeling. I think he's happy with me too. I think of him in the day time when he's not there and sometimes I feel my eyes prickle and tears coming. Odd that. I think that's because one day quite soon, he won't be with me anymore. That makes me sad. I'm wondering what it must feel like to feel genuine love for another person you've met in life. One thing I do know is that when I'm old and grey and all those ships have sailed, I shall remember him. I think he's bringing out the good in me, and something else too. They tell us that we shall be experiencing very strong feelings at the age we are, some of them highly sexual. It's certainly happening to me. The desire to share these feelings with Lael, who I'm sure has the same, is overwhelming. I believe, as all the advice goes, that no one should be hurt in any way, do anything they feel is wrong, or do anything sexually that isn't the result of genuine affection. I've noticed however, that amongst all the words spoken about relationships between young people, as we are, the word 'love' is not one of them. Adults seem to think that no two youngsters can be in love. Discuss.

'Where's your mother Jon?'

'She's out. She won't be back before six.'

'What's that book about?' Lael asks.

'Do you want to see it?'


He'd noticed the book, just as I had intended him to. I wonder what he'll make of it.

I'm lying on the bed behind him with a little space between us. I don't want to pre-empt the situation by getting too close. There's a lovely gap between the top of his shorts, an enticing narrow band of white, and his tee shirt, ridden up, revealing Lael's back. He's lying on his side with the book in his hands. I can see just enough over his shoulder to monitor progress. After a few seconds looking at the front cover, he turns the stiff card cover to the first section……For the Girls. One by one he turns the pages, quickly scanning the text and the graphic illustrations. The last few pages of this section get down to some very gritty stuff that frankly I'd rather not look at. No doubt Robbie would.

When Lael flips past the girls' section, he does exactly the same with the boy's, which for a few seconds disappoints me. But then he goes back to the beginning and re-reads the section, this time taking much longer over it. He must have taken a good ten minutes to look at each page, about forty of them, right up to the final part where the boys talk about what they like most. Then he turns back to the first part where the boys talk about each other, how they feel, and how they reach the decision to embark on a mutual sexual experience. Both boys feel that they are ready. So we have a few pages about touching and foreplay. I found those pages intensely erotic, just as much as the later mechanical 'how best to do it' stuff.

Lael has got a little wriggly as he reads. He's undoubtedly affected, so I slip my hand between his tee shirt and the warm skin of his back and move it right up to his neck and back down, repeatedly. I know exactly what he's reading because I've read it quite a few times now. The wriggling goes on. Lael puts the book down carefully and turns over so that we are facing each other. He wants me.

Our kissing has improved, I'm pleased to say. I'm sure we have reached a state of compatibility here. Tongues are interesting and quite strong muscles, the book says. Lips are muscles too, and feelings can be expressed through them. All correct in my opinion. Kissing sends signals to other parts of the body, the book says. Oh yes. It suggests touching other parts of the boy's body, all above the waist of course. I know all about that. Going lower comes later. Don't be in a hurry. When you feel you are both ready for more, then read on, the book says. Above all, be gentle and considerate, undemanding no matter how urgent your desires are to make love to your boy, and him to you, and enjoy. Phew!

To please and stimulate above the waist, skilfully yet considerately. Part one. Lael and I agree, mid smiles, that its all good practice and very useful advice. It certainly works for us. Below the waist? Quite a separate skill according to the book. It's been a basic skill when it comes to Robbie. He just wants you to get hold of it and rub it as quick as one is able, three fingers and a thumb on his bare skinless willy, short and dare I say, a bit thin, but; incredibly hard. And it won't take long with him. You'll know when the end is nigh as the hips rise on the wave before the storm breaks. Actually I think the weather forecaster would describe it as 'the odd spot of rain' rather than an outpouring from the heavens. It's still a joy for me though, despite Robbie's lack of progress on the precipitation front. I have a hunch that Lael's going to be different.

He's back on his side again, me still doing the back stroking, but straying a little lower now. Although the waistband of his shorts are elasticated [that happens to be something I like], I'm having some mild difficulties here. Lael, recognizing the problem, can't do anything about it. It's tight but my hand can slip down into the lower regions, behind. I'm immediately breathless. The smoothness, the erotic clothing there, the roundness and the ins and outs, the warmth, the firmness of the muscles is everything I want. I'm blowing warm air onto Lael's neck and making him giggle. I look over his shoulder at the page he's reading. He reads it several times.

'Do you still want to be Robbie?' I whisper in his ear. He quickly nods. 'Now?' He nods again, putting the book down. It will be a beautiful beginning for us. The book has offered advice on this subject, something my mother had suggested if I was experiencing a little discomfort; something to smooth the way; something to allow more pleasurable and incredibly gentle friction between the loose flexible skin that encloses the hard core.

With his hips raised I can ease his shorts down to allow just enough room to work with. Just enough, I imagine, just like one would for a quicky with a boy in a school lavatory, if I ever got so lucky. With Lael, now, I am to do everything, just like the demanding Robbie would ask me for. The book talks about gentle teasing, without delaying to the point of annoyance. It's knowing just when to let him have his moment. This is the skill of the thing. With Robbie, all long hair, full lips and sexy smiles when he wants something, to tease would quickly irritate. It is always a case of getting down to business quickly and finishing it with him.

It's easy does it with Lael, with a nice slow build up which suited me fine. I want time to consider what's happening; to relish the process. The beads of gel are working beautifully, giving Lael [I'm assuming] a delicious gentle sensation without any sort of off-putting irritation that might destroy his concentration. I don't care how long this takes.

Lael wanted to kiss while I worked. That's funny…..kiss while you work! That has to be a first.

He took my head in both hands and gave me the deepest one yet, almost the whole of my mouth in his. When we paused for breath, he said something in his own language which sounded like……. rackstan sewer? When we are done I'll ask him to spell it out.

He's lovely downstairs is Lael, quite unlike Robbie, bless his cotton socks. Quite the opposite in fact. What with the gentle warming up tease, it's been no more than five minutes. I'm surprised it hasn't happened already but it will soon. All the signs are there that we boys know so well. The irregular breathing, head on one side, eyes closed, toes curling, legs gone down, stretched out, hips on the rise, one hand gripping mine, hard. What kind of surprise is he going to spring on me?

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