Remembering Ryan
by Rafael Henry
Chapter 8
'So how did it go with your nice new friend Simon?'
Felix and I sat behind the others on the bus back to Padstow. We had bonded, as boys do, on our walk along the cliffs at Porthcothan before strolling back in good time for the bus back. He's one of those boys is Felix, anxious to do the right thing, hence his naivety in my view. For thirteen he's really rather innocent, and quite unlike us hardened beasts that populate the nation's second and third-rate boarding establishments, places where the growing up process tends to be accelerated. No, Felix is lovely, a genuinely nice person, who doesn't really understand how beautiful he is. It's that naivety that really appeals to me, and the beginnings of what I call his 'longings'. He's reached that stage when he's just coming to terms with his own sexuality. Deep down within him, mind and body, he knows he wants and needs the comfort of the kind of friend that will understand everything about him, another boy . From our talk in the breeze and in the long grass, it's clear that he doesn't have what I call a proper friend. David's not back yet, delayed by a necessary follow up appointment, and when he does return, his friend Sandie is coming back with him and his mum. I've got two days to boost Felix's confidence and square things away with Lucien. My curiosity is as yet unsatisfied with regard to Lucien. Probably best that it stays that way, but it's curiosity that wants to get the better of me.
'Fine thanks. He's nice. I like Felix.' By way of an answer to Lucien's question. 'If it's ok with you, we're going off for another walk this morning.'
'Local?'
'Yes, I'm meeting him at the War Memorial at ten if that's ok.'
'Of course. Is that it then Simon?'
'What do you mean, is that it?'
'Two nights ago. You haven't forgotten already?'
'How could I Luce. And no, you can't. Wet pants are uncomfortable.'
'Fair enough. But are you still curious as to my capabilities?'
'Oh yes.' I say with enthusiasm as I feel Lucien's warm hand rubbing my chest. I know what he's trying to do.
'Go on then, meany.' He says with his hands on my sides.
I'm sitting astride him, my bottom perched on his lower abdomen, perfectly placed to tease Lucien. But he's not going to have things all his way. As I first raise my body and then lower it a little further back, so he's knocking at the door now. Actually, I'm in danger of changing my mind here. His hands are holding me, moving me, placing me you might say. I agree with him, this is bordering on a 'way too good to stop' situation.
I stopped one thing and began another. With Lucien nicely 'worked up', I'm confident of success, in fact more than that. I've done this with David a few times. In the state he's in, he'll come very fast. Quick, quick, slow. Stop for a few seconds, and then thirty seconds of the quick stuff. It's all a matter of timing to give maximum pleasure along the way, always keeping that element of doubt going until the end. And when the ending comes, happily, the greater the result.
I have to smile as I gradually move him on towards the eventual flashing light show. I'm guided by his breathing pattern, as is the rhythm of my hand, the whole range of the quick-quick-slow routine. He's had thirty-six hours to recover. Let's see what he's made of, shall we?
I looked at the result, Lucien's head turned away conveniently. He's still breathing hard, and that's not the only thing. How strange it is, that that can become creatures like David and Felix; and me. Weird.
I'm not feeling particularly good at what's just happened, but it was the least of the options Lucien must have had in mind. But I'm still half regretful. It's an odd feeling I have deep inside me, as the faint chemical like perfume lingers.
'I'm going to sleep in David's room.' I announce quietly.
'Why? Because of this? Is that why?'
'I suppose so.'
'Well I'm sorry. It's how it is. You know that.'
'I do, but…….'
'Well then. Don't go. Please.'
I didn't go.
I waited until Lucien was asleep, and then I rolled onto my back and away from his, and imaging Felix, and our prospects for tomorrow. He's an unknown quantity for sure, but maybe he's a Vesuvius and just waiting to erupt in a blaze of sensuality. That would be nice. Hope springs. In the meantime I more than ready for a bit of pre-event musing on the subject of a compliant Felix.
The reality was different. My fantasy with Felix was meandering somewhat, and my mind drifted back to Lucien and the sight of his personal Vesuvius. I relived the last few moments beforehand, and that was more than enough to quickly bring about my own far less copious version of his event.
As I approached the Memorial at the top of the path, Felix is there. Same ice-blue play shorts, but a bright yellow tee shirt today, white short socks and trainers. He gives me a little low wave of his hand and a faint smile. Even from this distance I can see he's a happy boy, bless him. And that hair? The eyes? Gosh. Not to mention the legs, and when I say legs, I mean the whole lot, right up there; almost. Although I'm significantly older, I doubt if I'm more than six inches taller than Felix. His body has developed nicely, way further than, I strongly suspect, other bits of him. As I close the gap, I'm wrong. Different shorts. Pale blue cotton ones. I had some exactly like that. They are nowhere near new. I deeply regretted saying goodbye to them when the time came for a spring revamp of the wardrobe. Boys can be seen to be boys in those things. Utterly scrumptious.
'Thanks for coming Simon.' He says quietly, as inwardly I smile. No one greets anybody that way at my school. There would be titters. It rather sums up Felix, shy and just a little bit bereft. Not any more. I've already made the decision that when we inevitably lose personal touch, I shall write to him occasionally for as long as he wants me to, if indeed he does want me to. I like writing letters. Mum says it's a dying art.
I don't think Felix is deep-down troubled, but he is at a cross roads. He may well be at the doubtful stage boys often go through, according to mum, when they start wondering how they're going to turn out. Will it be girls or boys they prefer? I went through a stage when I tried to convince myself that my future lay, literally, with a girl, until my night time and consequently, my morning thoughts always turning to an attractive image of a particular boy I had seen or even spoken to in the recent past. School shower time is good for that purpose where one sees plenty of boys nude. Then one can build a tailor-made fantasy on top of that. I gradually had to face the fact that I found boys far more interesting than girls. The romantic fantasies got more elaborate, constructed carefully, making sure they always concluded satisfactorily in some sort of sexual activity. I think I'm a nurturer, and Felix fits right into the category of needing something from me; something I'm very willing to supply in large quantities. Anyway, he's a real beauty…..and a nice boy with it. Those two things don't always go together. I've known a couple of remarkably handsome lads who possess the most vile character defects. I think too that Felix will always be attracted to older boys. Some boys are. I think I attract younger boys for some reason. I'm calm and give them confidence. They like that about me.
With all this conjecture in mind, I had decided to greet Felix with an arm around his shoulder. We have a day and a half to enjoy together before David gets back with Sarah, Sandie, or whatever her name is, so time is of the essence. If it isn't going to work for either of us, I want to know quickly so we don't waste each other's time. So here goes.
'Hi,' I say with a big smile, my arm going around his shoulder.
'Hi,' Felix answers, turning his head towards my arm. Shit, he didn't like that?
'Sorry. I tend to do that with people.' I react, excusing my gesture.
'That's ok.' Felix answers, looking a little flustered.
'I'm excited, that's all. About our walk. I haven't been that far before. Have you? Are you excited?'
Two questions there for him to think about. Felix first shakes his head, and then nods, mouth open. There you are; confused. I can see his face has flushed slightly. Is this just going to be another walk, or something a little more than that?
The coast path is a great walk, but it's a real hike past St. Georges Cove, Harbour Cove, and then on to Hawkers Cove and beyond until we reached the Lookout at Stepper Point. This is far enough. Time to rest in the relatively short grass, mercifully dry and like a soft mattress for our warm and tired bodies.
We can see right across the Camel Estuary to Trebetherick Point, Greenaway, and the far end of Polzeath beach; and to the north, Pentire. I challenge anybody not to be excited by that prospect. To me, this is the very essence of Cornwall.
I'm lying behind Felix with my hand on his shoulder. When I gently pull towards me, he rolls onto his back. He's looking right into my face. I'm supported on my elbow looking down.
'I like being with you Felix. I'm excited to be here. How do you feel at this moment?'
He just nods.
'You're looking worried Felix? Is there anything wrong?'
'Yes. A bit.'
'Why? What is it? Please tell me, whatever it is.'
My hand is back on his shoulder.
'That you're going to walk off and leave me here. I don't want to be on my own here. You might not like me.'
Oh poor lad. But there's a message in what he's said. I doubt if he even knows it himself.
'You're a silly boy. Do you know that? I'm here, now, with you, because I really want to be with you. Just you. Nobody else. Just here and now. Try not to be worried. Will you try really hard not to be?'
He smiles. Now for it.
'Do you mind me touching you like this?'
'No.'
'You could try to like it?'
'I do like it.'
'Even if I move it?'
'Yes.'
'Like this? On your face?'
'Yes.'
Precious moments, those first few. A hand through soft warm just washed hair, fingers searching a new face.
'Still scared?'
'No.'
'Then just try Felix. Try to enjoy the moment. Just allow yourself to give a little. What would you like to do, at this moment? Can you tell me, in your very own words?'
There's a long pause while Felix ponders. A big moment for him. Decisions required my boy. Then his answer takes me by complete surprise. I've already decided that Felix has had absolutely no sexual experience of any kind in his short life. Probably not even with himself, bound up in the chains of inhibition.
'Will you tell me about David please?
'Ok. What exactly?'
'What you said to him. At the beginning. What you did? What made you want to talk to him. Why did you want to be friends?
'Gosh, that would be nice.' I say, unconvincingly, but more out of shock than anything else.
'I just think you know don't you? If you want to be friends.'
'So what happened Simon?'
'Just like this. Like we are now. We went for a walk somewhere, on our own, and we wanted to touch. It was all about touching in a tender way. Our faces. Eyes and ears and soft skin on our faces. It was lovely. He liked it and so did I. I felt his lips with the tips of my fingers, very very gently.'
'Did he like that?'
'Yes he did. All of it. He shut his eyes and let me do it. I wanted to. He wanted me to. So it was all very simple. All very tender and lovely. Exactly like now. But remember you're not David. You are you . It shouldn't and won't be the same with you, if it ever is. Shall we try?'
Mouth open, he nods. Then his mouth closes, and the tip of his tongue appears briefly and travels over both lips making them shine in the light.
His eyes are shut as my fingers travel over his face. Everywhere. I'm careful not to tickle so my touches are positive, boy loving. I love this boy's hair. So pretty. But there's so much more to him.
'Do you mind my breath Felix?'
'No.' He says, smiling now. 'It feels funny. Nice.'
'May I touch your face with my lips?'
He smiles again. An invitation without words.
'Look at me then.'
He does, turning his head towards me. I place a hand behind his head and gently touch his forehead with my lips; and then his nose, and then his ear. I draw back.'
'Like that? Is that ok? You don't mind?'
'No. Go on.' He says, with shining lips moistened with tongue again. And then again. I moisten mine. Here goes.
Ultra-sensitive skin against ultra-sensitive skin, that sends the unspoken message, loud and clear.
He has little or no idea, but the spirit is willing alright. They are just touches full of the most meaning possible, at least to me. I want more of his mouth but that will not be right for Felix. Not now. Later perhaps.
I can see his bare tummy now. He sees me looking and without prompting, he pulls the garment up his chest, so I respond. It's beautiful flesh there, as it falls away below the ribs, flattening out, navel central and deep. I put the tip of one finger in there and make circles. There's a faint giggle. He's relaxing now.
'More skin Felix?'
'More skin,' He replies.
The back of a hand. That's all. There's lots of body to work with now. Arms, and hands, the whole length travelled, and then back to tummy and chest and the little dark pink beads he has for nipples, hard to the touch. Head too, with more touches of mouths, so lightly. This is blissful indeed.
And then the legs. His knees are raised now, his own decision, giving me front and back to work with. Not the back of my hand this time, but my palm, the full width of my palm, and of course the sensitive tips of my fingers. I can visualize what I'm so close too now. And then the tip of one finger touches the clothing within clothing. There it is, the curving line hugging the path that glides so easily between those two undiscovered places. This is supremely intimate as far as I'm concerned. This is now a sexual encounter. But is this something he wants, or not?
I didn't tell him to, he just did it. He sat up and pulled his tee shirt up and over his head, putting it to one side. I did the same. He wants skin to skin contact and so do I. Great. I think we might be moving forwards. There's nothing like this, the first encounters, boy with boy, breathing the warm breath of imminent sex……..of some sort. We look at each other. Oh, those eyes looking into mine like that. Such a beauty.
I've got him arranged perfectly, one of his legs over my knees, and his arms up and around me, my arms around his back, our heads side by side. My own arousal developed some while ago, as did his. I can feel him at this moment and I'm sure he can feel me too, no hands. I think that we are both facing the big question, are we like-minded, deep down within us? Probably. No, more than that.
But this isn't sex, not yet. This is just playfulness, boys being boys together, hinting about possibilities, giggling girly boys, privately thinking what might be if one knew exactly what the other one wanted.
I look up the back of a boy's leg, bent as it is, to the taut whiteness at the top, at what is to be found there. My absolute my first port of call; and if this meets with my partner's approval, very good news indeed, and what he's wearing doesn't in any way diminish my pleasure. The backs of thighs, two beautifully clad buttocks, and a bare back are all I could have wished for at this moment. And then another surprise.
Felix rolls off me and onto his back, staring up as I am supported on one elbow. He slowly slides one hand inside his shorts, and feels himself very obviously, his fingers spread across what appears to be a well-proportioned sex. It's my first proper sight of the boy as I would like him to be, albeit covered. I do likewise. We are two boys together, doing the same thing, feeling the same, wondering what will be?
But something is holding him back. What is it? A doubt? A religious conviction, natural inhibition, fearfulness instilled in him by others? A distrust of an older boy perhaps? Has he been this way before and things did not go well? Or most likely, a gradual realization of what he really is? He already knows what I am, or he should do by now. Does he really want to fall into the arms of a boy like that ? Do things that he's dreamed about doing with a boy like that? What will that mean for him?
He's turned away from me in obvious distress. I need to do something quickly for his sake. He looks so lovely like this which sounds like an odd thing to say when the boy looks like he wants to cry for a week, but he does. There's something truly beautiful in him that he won't let out. Coming to terms. That what this looks like. A sudden panic filled doubt. We need to talk.
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