by Rafael Henry

Chapter 29

Plans effected

Saturday morning. Just Otta and me left, and waiting for mum to pick us up. Our Chaplain, Roger, has arranged it via a telephone call early this morning. We are to take Otta back to his grandmother's house where he should spend the long summer holiday; all eight weeks of it, minus the week before the Activities Week, and the week just passed. So, six weeks left now to our own devices.

We talked about Leony last night. I'm going to put her in touch with Robbie. He'll probably po poo the idea but he might give it a try. She gave me her 'phone number. You never know, they might get on well, if they're both in sufficient need and curious.

This morning I sent Otta off to shower while I spent a half hour alone with Roger, and my idea . It's a bit of a long shot but worth a try. Roger, in his pastoral capacity at school, had already had conversations with Otta's granny. She's quite old now and struggling with her own health, plus the responsibility for most of Otta's life thus far. A big ask for anyone, let alaone someone of her age, and with no competent mother either who doesn't want to know about any of it. Roger told me that he thought the father was a Spanish student Otta's mother had met on holiday. Not a great situation for the boy I have fallen in love with. Somehow, there just has to be way out of all this.

'I've spoken to Otta's grandmother Jon, as you know. I think there is a strong possibility she'll agree. The most important person in all this is the boy himself.'


There's been a change of plan since seeing Roger this morning. He thought my first idea a good plan, but my second idea was going way too far. He's suggested that we all take Otta home to his granny this morning. We can have a proper conversation with her then. When mum arrives, we can put it to her.

'Oh, before you go Jon, would you bring up your sheets from the Hut please. They've been on your bed all week. I doubt if the Hut will be used for a while. I've already disabled the intruder alarm. Good to get that done. But before you go, would you come here please. Just for a moment.' He says, holding his arms towards me.

I walked up to him and felt his arms around my shoulders, and the slightest pressure on the top of my head as I looked at my feet and held my arms to my sides. No mistaking that gesture. After a few seconds he lets me go. I look back into his face. He meant that gesture.

'Well done this year Jon. Not everything has gone exactly to plan but lots of things have. Now let's get the next bit of the job done shall we?'

Yes, the next bit may indeed be tricky with Otta's granny. I'm nervous. Butterflies in the tummy just thinking about it.

Why did Roger disable the intruder alarm? With no one there over the summer, I would have thought he would keep it active. Odd. We had quite used to the tiny red light flashing up there, or on.

I made a neat folded bundle of the sheets from the Hut. I checked the state of them first. Well, nothing that noticeable really. But if you looked, you'd see. In the heat of the moment accidents can happen I suppose, and it looks like they have; just here and there. Anyway, Roger knows perfectly well what was going on in here. I wasn't going to lie. No point. He didn't seem surprised.

When one writes things down, as I'm doing now, one has to be careful what one says. With that in mind…….I'll just say this. They say that boys should be seen and not heard. In our case, the lovely Otta and the not so lovely me, we may have been heard as you know; but not seen. I just have to assume that any information Roger has about us, he will respectfully keep to himself.

I've never been quite sure where Otta lives with his granny. A village tucked away in the country I had assumed, and rightly as it turns out. Mum arrived at five-thirty in our aging Morris Traveller. We've had it for as long as I can remember. Roger has a Jag; the same kind as Inspector Morse drives, but blue, nor maroon. I think the Oxford detective Morse is brilliant and the best thing on the television at the moment. Otta and I sat in the back of the car, with our two holdalls full of things for the Activities week and a few other essentials. I had just grabbed all our tee shirts, pants, socks of various colours, all mixed up, and stuffed it all into the bags to sort out later. Otta's a little anxious about what he's going home to. It can't be much fun living with your old granny, even one as good as she sounds. But needs must.

Otta's sitting close in the back of the car, leaning into me. Loads of pale brown thigh on show, right up to the white skin where the sun hasn't reached. It's tempting to put a hand there and give that creamy flesh a little comfort. If I do, he'll wriggle in to me harder and it'll be worse. Nothing happened last night, or this morning, so we're both going a bit short of mutual TLC which is difficult for us. All we have to do is start thinking about sex. If I touch his flesh I'll get a hard-on in seconds; and so will he. I need to concentrate here and not let the pleasures of the flesh enter my head. Difficult with all this bare leg against mine. Oh dear, if my idea comes to nothing, then that's it. All over, possibly for good. I couldn't bear that. My idea is a rescue mission. Nothing less than that. Wish us luck please.

Granny lives in a pretty cottage in the centre of the village. Talking of villages, the place reminded me of the village Miss Marple, another television sleuth, lives in. Granny made tea and then mum, Otta and I wandered in the garden to let Roger talk to her for a few minutes. A while later Roger appeared at the back door and asked mum if she would go with him back into the house. When they both came out again, smiling, I knew that the fist part of my plan had been discussed and probably agreed.

Otta was to stay here with his grandmother for a few days, and then come down to us for the rest of the holidays. My mother leant down to invite Otta to our home, smiling. You should have seen his face. Perfect. Next Saturday we will return here to pick our boy up and bring him down to ours. He'll have his own room, most of his own things, some books and other personal items with him. It will be his home from home.

We are euphoric. No one can see what's going on in the back seat of the Jag. I've been in Roger's car before, but in the front seat. I noticed then that you couldn't see anything of the boys sitting behind on the back seat, deep into the grey leather, and it's a real effort to turn your head round to look, so it's pretty safe.

I couldn't resist giving Otta a quite peck on the cheek as we drove away. Roger reckoned on a forty-five minute drive. My friend sitting too close for comfort is fiddling, his right hand in the pocket of his grey school short trousers. He's such a wriggly squirmy boy, and any kind of touching sets him off into perpetual motion it seems. I like that expressiveness about him. There's absolutely nothing inert about Otta; just poetry in motion. He's got his hand right inside now, in front, as I watch him fiddling, and now higher which suggests he's got things going nicely. The fiddling turns to a slow up and down motion, resting his head on my shoulder. He's oblivious. He's had nothing for a full thirty-six hours, the poor lad.

I check mum and Roger in the front. They're chatting away nicely, oblivious to us in the back. What lovely pale brown flesh I'm looking at, topped with creamy white. Leaning towards him, I'm able to slip my hand in between skin and fabric, pushing upwards and under, as the boy lifts his bottom just enough, anticipating my move on him. He should know by now. My being there will help matters along for him quickly. As I work my fingers along his perineum towards you know where, I will feel the whole length harden just before the muscle spasm begins. And then off he goes. Perfect.

He keeps his hand in place for longer than I expected, so I'm wondering if he's alright.

'Everything ok Otta?' I whisper into the boy's ear. His face looks unusually flushed. Then he turns towards me, open mouth, and an expression of half-panic turns to a triumphant smile.

'What on earth is the matter?'

Slowly he withdraws his hand from the left hand pocket of his short trousers, including the material of the two-toned pocket itself, the sewing undone an a large hole at the end. He shows me the ends of his fingers. I admit my reaction was a bit odd. I know exactly what's happened.

'Have you got pants on under there?'

A silly question because I know he has. The boy nods, the smile evaporating.

I take his hand in mine, and lift it up to my lips and plant a gentle kiss on his fingers. There's no mistaking this. I remember the first time for me too. It seemed to happen almost overnight, going from almost nothing to a mini flood. It wasn't of course but to me it seemed like it. The thrill of it. He's joined the big boys' club. Well done Otta.

'Do you think it'll show?'

'No. You'll be fine.'

I was right, there was no external sign of the tumultuous event that's just occurred within. He's one happy boy, and I love him dearly. Lael looks the other way when all this is going on, with a wry smile on his face. He wouldn't have missed this for the world.

It's not everyday that I can congratulate a boy for wetting his pants.

It's slightly risky but we manage to divest him of his shorts et al, and with his shorts back on, all is well, with no visible nuisance. Naturally curious, and with the article of clothing in question laid across my knee, an inspection is called for, and again, all appears most satisfactory. That's my boy. Fold it up neatly Jon, and in the blazer pocket it goes.

'What will your mum say Jon?'

'She won't. It fell into the wash basin by accident. Simple. Stop worrying. You're a boy. Things happen with boys. By the way you do know I love you? Not for what you can do, but for what you are.'

He nods. 'Like just now? I love you too.'

Prickly eyes time. Warm body, and loving soul.

Our house felt very empty and quiet. It's always a tricky adjustment when I get home from the hurly-burly of school life. Yet I'm so glad to be out of it for a few weeks. I helped mum get Otta's room ready. It's smaller than mine next door on the landing, and opposite the family bathroom we'll be using. Mum's bedroom is at the other end of the upstairs landing.

I lay on my bed, tired, thoughtful and excited. I can see Lael's face next me, smiling as ever. With mum out at the shops this morning, we could all make love together, the three of us. How Lael would have loved that. But of course we can't. The image fades.

Just one week to go and Otta will be here. I'm very aware that there's a danger of too high expectations. We will have to concentrate on the simple things in life; walking, talking, and just being together. I shall be ready for him.

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