Remembering Ryan

by Rafael Henry

Chapter 12

The boy's face is turned away, but he's taken her hand. From my place behind him, I can see he has. In the mornings he's never wanted to wait long. It's not a time for messing about, beating about the bush, making people wait for the inevitable stimulation. No, just get on with it please.

So they do, just as I told her, showed her too.

What a pleasant surprise that must have been for David, waking up to a new face in his bed. A naked Sandie smiling at him. Well almost naked. I told her she had better keep something on. She gives me the impression she a sensible girl, and knowing David, he would not be mindful of consequences. He'd be in there like as shot if he could get it. Anyway, Sandie seems to be doing her job quite well for David, so he won't get the chance before it's all over for him. She's in for a nice surprise and it won't be the dribble of the clear sticky stuff this time she got out of me.

You can tell by his breathing where he's at on his journey. It's certainly working, made all the more immediate by David's realisation that it's actually not me in the driving seat, but Sandie. Tucked in behind his body, I can't see proceedings, but there's the evidence alright. The movements, the sounds, the gathering urgency, the sharp intakes of breath as the boy nears journey's end. Oh, it'll come alright, what his body will provide for him, and for Sandie.

The boy raises his head, looking down over his tummy at the slim fragile hand that's brought him to the brink. He wants to see himself perform. That's so important; to watch it happen. She's up on one elbow now as he raises his head to observe the inevitable. If it was me at this moment I would be in a far closer encounter with David's fountain of delights, his crème de la crème.

'I'm sorry Simon. I didn't mean that to happen so soon. I really am. Are you ok?' Asks Josh. It was the first time for him and the last time for me for quite a while. It was a little bit of a shock to my system as you might imagine. But I got over it. We had rather a special, but non-sexual relationship after that. I think Josh was scared stiff that I'd report him for his extreme indiscretion and never asked me again. A shame really. Still there were other fish to me to fry, a very willing twelve-year-old with a bottom well worthy of positive comment.

'Would you look at that tight little bum John. I wouldn't mind getting a bit of that.'

Well, come on then big boy. My words, had I heard that comment, but I'm sure that was never said. The closest was a comment from a boy I did come to know quite well was 'You look very……how can I put this Simon……. restricted in those shorts.'

There will be time later for David's story; exactly what happened, and happen it did. There you are David, something to tell the boys about next term as they lie in bed telling their holiday stories in low voices, lights out now, in darkness, knees raised in anticipation.

The boys listen to David's story, embellished of course, full of half-truths. He spins out his tale. Little Ryan is there in his corner, spellbound, and knowing he won't last until story's end. He imagines it's not his hand on his penis, livid and sensitive as it is now. There's another hand that has brought him to his climax. The hand that he's always wanted there, and doing what it's just made him do. He passes his fingers over the smooth skin just below his ribs, and then lower. Anything there? No, still nothing. But one day, surely not so long to wait now, there will be. Simon Gilray promised him he would.

It was one week into the long summer holiday that Ryan had written Simon a short note. It was in the same envelope as the letter from his parents thanking him for looking after their son during that awkward time when Ryan couldn't do much for himself and needed a boy like Simon to do all those things he couldn't manage for himself. So many very personal matters to be attended to. Very personal matters indeed. Not that Simon minded. He enjoyed helping the boy because that's what he's like. Kind to others that need help and support. He never took advantage. Never, even when Ryan might have been guilty of encouraging him to over step the line.

Simon shows the letter to his mother. And the note from Ryan.

'You're at a bit of a loose end now Simon. These holidays are so long. Why don't you go? Tenby is lovely.'

Simon didn't reply to his mother's thoughts. He folds the two sheets of notepaper and goes up to his bedroom. He lies on his bed, made up now neatly with hospital corners like they have to do at his school. He unfolds the notes again and re-reads the words of thanks and appreciation, and the invitation. He puts it down, but still keeps the folded sheets in his hand. He begins to think about Ryan in all his beauty, feeling his eyes slowly filling. Remembering Ryan as he was then, standing before him like that, waiting. Such innate beauty there. Is this love? Is this what it feels like? Or is it merely lust for a boy's lovely body.

He had done his job for the boy, just as he was expected to do, told to do, and with due diligence, as his own feelings deepened. Those feelings again, exciting, that come back again and again. They're coming back now.

He read the notes again, two more times. He looks at the rather sweet immature formation of the words. How he yearns to see his love again. Unfinished business.

Tenby? He had heard it was a pleasant seaside town in Pembrokeshire, with its two lovely beaches and a castle and colourful houses. It was all said in the letter. All carefully explained. You can get a train there from Bristol.

Simon slips his hand inside his play shorts and feels. Not much doing. No, this isn't sex. Not this time. This is different. This feels like love. It might end in sex, hopefully, but it begins with mutual respect and genuine friendship, and service to a fellow being in need.

'Why don't you walk down to Temple Meads Simon. Find out about train times.' Simon's mother says.

It's a four hour train ride, give or take, via Cardiff and Swansea to Tenby. Quite a long time considering it's only a hundred and twenty miles away. But that won't put Simon Gilray off, if he decides that he will accept the invitation. Go home and have a think about it Simon.

He does, lying on his bed again. Not such a long think about it this time. He doesn't need to. Ryan will be so disappointed if he decides not to accept their kind off. Simon remembers Ryan in all his distress. What a beautiful boy in every conceivable way, inside and out. You can't let him down Simon, not after all that.

He's packed light, but with all the essentials, as he waits in his seat on the Great Western train to Tenby, via Cardiff Central and Swansea. There's a kindly looking woman in the seat opposite reading a paperback. Jilly Cooper it says on the front, and then the title smaller underneath. Emily. She looks at him and smiles. Two minutes before the train will move slowly forwards, and he'll be on his way. Through the window he sees a boy waiting on the platform, summer shorts and grey school socks, a small suitcase by him on the grey tarmac, sensibly well behind the thick yellow danger line. I wonder where he's going, and to what? Too young to be in love.

The story concludes .

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