Lael
by Rafael Henry
Chapter 18
A matter of time[ing].
Otta is seriously into his running. With the county athletics championships coming up in a couple of weeks, his training has got intense. Robbie's athletic ambitions are not quite as serious I'm glad to say. Mine even less so. So Otta has gone miles ahead leaving us well behind and with other more mundane matters in mind. 'Hut Jon?' 'Oh. Are you in need Robbie?' 'What do you think?' 'Yes ok. I've got something to show you that you might like.' 'Not that thing again Jon?' 'Something else……as well as that thing. Anyway you like that thing don't you?' 'Come on. I'm getting hot.'
There's a handle on the panel that closes off the space under the bed in the Hut. With a gentle pull, it comes away nicely. I extract the shopping bag from within the dark space. As I do so, a tiny red light lights up in the far corner. It's going to be all about words this morning.
'What's that Jon?' Asks Rob, leaning against the window. 'Otta's stuff. You know, the things that caused all the problems for him; the Daniel Teniel fracas?' 'Oh that. Can I look?' I opened the bag and tipped the contents onto the bed and spreads them out. 'What do you think Rob?' Rob looks, and then selects one item. 'Nice, but a bit fem don't you think? Are you sure they're for boys? Not surprised Otta got some stick for this lot.' 'Not your cup of tea then Rob?' 'Not really. Nice colours though. But you can't beat the classic white. Do you like fem boys Jon? Otta is, a bit, don't you think?' 'Oh yes. He's tending that way; definitely.' I agree, as I glance over the contents of the bag on the bed. In an enlightened home environment, great, but in a ultra-conservative place like this, not such a good idea Otta. There were eight when I last looked, rather admiringly, and lay down right here and experimented, shall we say, as yet another wave of pleasure ran through me; and then out of me.
'That's weird. There're a couple missing. There were eight. Now there's six.'
I put the bag back under the bed next to some very important essential supplies I keep there, which I extract and place on the floor. The tiny red light was still on. Rob's leaning against the wall by the window and sees me do it; and smiles. He knows what's coming. I'm standing up in front of him now with my hands on his hips. He's obviously enjoyed his inspection of the cause of Otta's social discomfort, and so have I. Now, if he wants to, we can play our silly games. 'So how are you feeling young man?' I ask, knowing full well how he's feeling. 'A bit itchy Sir.' He says with that slightly pathetic compliant look on his face. I know that expression very well. He wants to play. Oh goody. 'Maybe I can I help?'
Open mouthed, Rob nods his head. We always start with a long hard kiss as I take the initiative and he will follow, and this one is full of urgency. It's wet, messy, and to use an old-fashioned word; passionate. When I pull away, a little breathless, I ask him exactly where his 'itch' is. 'Now young man, exactly where is your problem this morning?'
He just looks at me with the faintest of smiles. Naturally I know exactly where his problem is.
'Is it here Rob?' I ask quietly, gently pressing on the very centre of this young man's irritation. 'Tell me in words Robert Madrigal. I need to hear you say it. Is this the place?' He nods, unsmiling. 'Yes Sir. Just there.' 'Oh that trouble again is it? I think I know exactly how to deal with your problem young man. You know what to do now, don't you?' 'Yes Sir.'
One of our silly games I'm afraid; calling me 'Sir' when I'm feeling masterful and Robbie's feeling like that .
Young Robbie Madrigal has undergone some very pleasurable 'training'; essential to make our physical relationship run smoothly, and a very necessary precursor to mutual pleasure seeking, and somewhat less one-sided than it has been up to now. How many times have I heard Robbie's plaintif plea; 'I've got a little problem Jon'; and sorted him out to his satisfaction but not I might add, to mine. My problem is my problem, but his problem is also my problem if you get that. But what about me? These days we are on a much more level playing field, following my insistence that we get Rob fully trained up. He is now, in fact if anything, the balance has swung my way. I can now take my pleasure with him, with me in control, and let my pleasure come as it will, and in the three occasions thus far, way too quickly, leaving Rob adrift sadly. Progress has been all down to The Beginners Guide. However I have taken steps to my inevitable progress down to the finish line, which also has other practical advantages. As Woody Allen recently commented, if it's good, it's messy. The thought of making messes in the Hut I find very off-putting, so not wanting to be put off in any way, I'm putting some 'finds' to good use. Litter picking duty has a spin-off. It's amazing how forgetful some boys are after they've had their way with a girl, trespassing as they were, onto our grounds, not that there's much to stop them getting in. In fact there's nothing much by way of fences, and plenty of gaps in hedges, well used by the local school kids after a bit of privacy and a bit of the 'other' too. Well, that's fair enough. Why not. But they do leave things behind, well-used by look of them, but also unused. So far I've collected a least a dozen perfectly serviceable 'skins' as I am led to believe they are called in the vernacular. Most of them, interestingly, are in the 'snug' bracket according to the description on the little box discarded in the grass. Curious and alone one afternoon, I tried one 'on', if that the right way to put it. Willy felt a bit squashed but otherwise still fit to go. It took me longer than usual, admittedly, but we got there easily enough, aided by my acute visual memory of that boy's bottom rising and falling as he fulfilled his promise to his girlfriend, and everything neatly contained for examination. Anyway, the device seems fine for my purposes. It seems that the local boys start young as none of the examples I've found lying in the grass were equipped with the 'reservoir' bit on the end. Oh well, I'll just have to manage won't I.
'How long have we got Jon?' Asks Robbie, anxiously. I calculate there are forty five minutes at our disposal. Just about enough for a good time to be had by all. Anticipating limits on available time, Robbie is already out of his shorts and pants and so am I, he now on the hard and very firm surface that is the bed in the Hut, and me on my knees on the equally hard wooden floor. We are at the beginning of the last part of the Beginners Guide to Gay Loving. With all the clambering about and finding a position that will work, Robbie has temporarily 'lost it', but I certainly haven't. He can reach me easily and it's feeling very nice as I set about re-starting this young man's engine. But I want words, and plenty of them; and sound too.
'But you always told me to be quiet Jon? Not to wake the other boys.'
Yes I did. Difficult but necessary when there are others around. But not here, not in the Hut. No one is going to hear anything tucked away in here as we are, and if there's one thing, in addition to the obvious, that really gets me going is the sound of progress.
'Please let me know how I'm doing Rob. It's really important to me. Will you; please?' I implore, hovering over this lean and nubile body, with everything in hand and head poised in more than one place.
We had discussed the effect of sounds in our relationship, and the words than could be said. The right words, expressive words, and not holding back. The Guide says a lot about sound and words, and the positive effects of both. The finishing line will come closer, will come quicker, if that's what you want, with sounds and words. Whatever words you want. They are the right words. However loud the sounds, if they express how you are feeling, then let them out as part of the act of loving, the act of union, with feeling …….please.
I can't speak, not doing what I'm doing for Rob Madrigal. But he can. And you can't put those sounds into words sadly, if only I could. Robbie's body has come alive and I doubt if there's one muscle that hasn't moved in the last five minutes; and now it's time. My preparations are complete, and the way is open and the road ahead is clear. The bed creaks yet again as I climb up and now I can look down straight into my boy's face. Oh, those transparent blue eyes! He looks back at me, mouth open and expectant, his hair spread over the white linen. Then as he pulls at my body with both hands, we are perfectly placed. I look down and away from my lover's face, my beautiful young man, in control now, in position, as we slide together into simultaneous joy; a journey that we will not want to end; ever.
But it has ended now, and not with tears, not with disappointment, but with a kind of muffled laughter. How strange after all that; to be laughing about it, but that's what we are doing. We're laughing.
'Where did that come from Robbie?' I ask, breathless, still to separate, looking down at the pale brown skin of his stomach, a shining navel, the tiniest reflecting hairs raised, the little separating pools, the cliff-like pelvic bones, the now deflated exhausted sex lying sideways, slowly weeping.
'It's your fault Jon. You did it.'
'Did we do it Robbie? Together?'
Oh yes we did, by some miracle we did do it together. The Book tells all. How to synchronize. You might call it perfect timing.
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