The Bus Stop

by Rafael Henry

Chapter 4

'There might be a problem with sleeping arrangement Arlo. Unless you can sleep on the floor and give Kerry your bed?'

'What about the spare room? There's big double bed in there. That would be perfect, wouldn't it?'

'No darling, that would not be perfect.'

'We're only kids mum. I think Kerry would like it.'

'I can't have you two sleeping in the same bed darling. And you're not really kids, as you put it. You're both almost teenagers. I'm not at all sure that's appropriate for two boys to………well I'd rather you didn't darling.'

I can hardly expect to be surprised at mum's veto of my excellent and in my opinion, perfectly reasonable idea. Ha ha. But she has agreed to my sleeping on my bedroom floor, and the opposite side of the room. She's just trying to protect Kerry from her son jumping on top of him, just when he's getting to sleep. Fair enough, that's what mothers should do I suppose. That's going to involve an inflatable mattress we have used for camping, with me blowing it up from scratch. That is hard work. Mind you, could two boys fit into my single bed? I measured it yesterday and it's about a metre wide. Just wide enough I reckon, with me on one side and my back against the wall and Kerry to my right. I also had the evil thought that I'm naturally left-handed! Now that is an evil thought which I'm didn't really want to share with you. But I have, naughty me that I am, but no naughtier than Kerry. I love my mum but sometimes she can be so naïve. It's glaringly obvious what we both want to do, in bed together, and all night long. But oh dear, the poor boy is only eleven and three quarters.

I never told mum that by that age I had already studied The Joy of Gay Sex, in minute detail, and what a revelation that was. I had no idea you could even do that kind of thing. Someone else's penis in your mouth? And worse, their penis shoved up one's back passage. Wouldn't it get……..a bit dirty up there? But the more I read about gay sex, the more I gave it some serious thought.

Last week I fell for that old joke, a trap that bad boys set for the unwary kid like me.

Question. 'You know that spunk floats?'

The wrong but only answer is……..'Yeah.'

I duly fell for it, but I do know that it does float because it's less dense than the surrounding water. True, it does float and I've tested the theory a few times, lying there in the comfort of all that lovely warm water, like a blanket around you, a cloak of joy. The book went on about your choices on that subject; whether to, or not. It's not like tomato soup, the book informs me, more like tapioca. But what's that when it's at home? Best try it for yourself, or rather from yourself before risking it with a.n.other. And when the book was published, there were some serious health risks involved, but less so in this Year of Our Lord, 2025. I have tried it, now I can actually produce some, a relatively new phenomenon, for me, and boy was I pleased about that. I can now get blobs of the stuff on the sheets and impress marzipan, my mum. The first time I tried to ingest my own, it was so thin in consistency that it went straight through my fingers. Only relatively recently will it stay put enough for me try it for consistency and taste. Apparently some boys can reach their penis with their mouth which would solve the problem for new comers, but there's no way I can do that. As this excellent tome is always within easy reach for me when I'm in bed, it has become my go-to material for bedtime relaxation and stress relief. I know a boy at school who says he can get it three times within half an hour. Twice is quite normal for me. Three times? Umm, maybe not.

Since my frank discussion with Kerry concerning my own sexuality, and as a result of my admission, and his too, I have left The Book, the Fountain of All Knowledge, in my 'smalls' drawer in my chest of drawers. For some reason Kerry always likes a look in there. I have several pairs of very cute underpants in the top drawer to the right which he has his eye on. He likes that sort as I do. A bit unisex I suppose but they make me feel quite sexy when I raise them slowly into position in front of my mirror of a morning. Yes, they make me horny. They do. The boys at school, those testosterone stinking types that are to be feared, think that particular kind of boys' garb as very gay. Only gay boys wear pants that are like girls' knickers. That may be true, I don't know, a nice little club of gay boys and the sweet under elevens. The safe way with this issue is to have both sorts depending on the day of the week and the situation. If it Games that day, be sure to wear the right thing and not the wrong thing or there will be comments flying around the changing room.

'Nice pants Arlo. Got them off your sister did you?'

I definitely don't want to show Kerry the book , but I wouldn't mind if he accidentally discovered it himself, in fact that's the idea of leaving it where it is.

'Can you get me a fresh pair of pants please Kerry? They're in the usual place.'

He duly goes over to the pine chest and opens the relevant drawer. He picks out a pair. Plain white and simple, and as sexy as hell.

'These ones Arlo?' He says holding them up in front of his face by the edges

'Yes they'll do nicely thanks.'

There's a pause in proceedings. With the chosen article in his hand, he's still looking inside the drawer.

'What's this Arlo? Under your socks.' He asks, not turning round, but with his hand still in the drawer.

'Oh that. It looks like a book Kerry.'

'Can I look at it?'

'Sure thing. Bring it over here if you want.' I say as I lie on my bed, some of the 11+ practice papers all over the floor, dislodged from my Ikea homework desk.

We can just fit on my bed, side by side, me behind Kerry, a position I find myself rather liking. The trouble is, does he?

There's a shout from downstairs.

'Boys. Tea's ready.'

Oh poo. We were on the first chapter that deals with hygiene, which sounds rather dull to the uninitiated, but I can assure you it isn't.

'Is it alright for you boys?' Mum asks with her customary smile. It is alright, spaghetti bolognaise, and quite spicy too, with loads of parmigiano on top. Lovely.

'Mum.'

'Yes darling?'

'Kerry doesn't have a phone. When he's not here we need to chat about things. You know; on WhatsApp. Dad's just got a new one. Can he have his old one?'

'Well, you can ask him, if he still has it.'

'Great. I can put a new sim in it. One where he can connect to ours? And some roaming data too. There's something else mum. About Kerry.'

'Oh. What darling?'

'He's lost a couple of things at school.'

'What things?'

'From the changing room after his rugger game. It's left him short. Apparently there are loads too many kids changing in there and there's not enough room on the pegs for everyone's stuff. He came back tonight with no pants on. That's the second time. That nasty game kids play on the new boys. Nicking stuff. They have to shower after Games and when he got dressed he couldn't find them. Maybe they got mixed up with someone else's.'

'Then they would be left over. He should check lost property.'

'He did. Nothing, at least not his.'

'Isn't it supervised?'

'Yes, by the Games Master, some young guy who sits in the corner looking at his phone all the time.'

'While the boys are changing?'

'I presume so. They go in and out of the showers and then get dressed. I don't think they even have towels. It's sort of dark ages stuff in that place. It's a Catholic school mum.'

'What difference does that make?'

'Dunno. Just what I've heard, or read about.'

'I'm sure Church of England schools are just the same.'

Probably; in fact, certainly.

Kerry's got his new phone, well, new to him. I showed him how it all works, re-loaded WhatsApp and a few other useful apps in addition to what all the smart phones have these days.

'This is the camera Kerry. You can take stills, or videos if you want. The sound will record automatically so if you want to talk over the images you can.'

'Great. What sort of things can I record?'

'Anything. Just start playing with it, but don't forget it will record the sound, depending on how high the volume is set. Then you can show me what you've done. No one else will see it, unless you show them. And don't lend it to anyone, not even for a minute. In fact there's no need to tell anyone you have it. I can put a pass key on it.'

Seed planted.

'Can I video you Arlo?'

'Of course. And yourself. You can just hold it in your other hand, or place it somewhere it can see you. Just press this button and it starts. Press this one to stop it recording. I'll show you how to operate the timer swich. Try it.'

It took him five minutes to get the hang of it. He picks things up pretty quickly does this boy.

He made a video of me. We played it back.

'You need to keep the camera still, and not dodge about so fast. I don't keep moving the camera. By the time we get interested in an image you've moved on. Keep the thing still and keep on a subject to give us enough time to really see it.'

'How long can they be?'

'Not sure. Any length I suppose. Two minutes. Five minutes? Twenty probably. Just go on until you're finished.'

'Finished what?'

'What you wanted to do.'

'What do I want to do?'

'Oh just ordinary things that you do every day. What do you do every day?'

'Get dressed, go to school, and then go to bed.'

'What do you do in bed?'

'Read a bit. Then go to sleep.'

'Nothing else?'

Silence as I listen to the faint sound of a boy's brain ticking over.

'What do you do then?' Says Kerry.

'Same as you do, unless you don't do it. Do you do it?'

Kerry nods.

'Well then. There you are.'

'I can't do that……..can I?'

'You could, in theory I suppose, but you wouldn't want to film yourself doing that………would you?'

No of course he wouldn't.

Mum checks on us all the time we are in my room, which is very restricting. She wants us downstairs most of the time, and all the revision I do with Kerry is done on the kitchen table with her not far away. Being a classroom Assistant, or TA as she calls it, means she's here at home when I or we get back. But we have good moments on the bus. That's our very private place. Even those effing girls take no notice of us thank goodness, apart from their crap comments. Kerry is telling me much more about life at his new home which seems to me to be not much life at all, his granny being in her eighties. She was never married but had a female partner who died some years ago. It was her house, so she inherited it from her, a quite nice terraced place in Lynton Road, a four-minute walk from ours. I've dropped hints about going round there but I get the impression he does not want me to. Fair enough. But mum has been there. Twice now. She was a bit worried about Kerry's living arrangements and wanted to check on things. My impression is, from things that she has said, that she's not entirely happy about it. Kerry told me this morning that he's short on some basic items of clothing, just as an example. Ok, he has a safe and secure place to live, but Granny appears to have little idea about young boys and what they need. I put on clean pants every day. He doesn't. I think he has three pairs in total and all three are pretty disgusting. All patterned and generally nasty. He's staying over next Saturday night for the first time. I suspect he's worried about getting undressed and me seeing stuff, like his horrible underwear.

Mum said 'We're going to have to do something about that boy's clothes. Nothing is up to standard I'm afraid.'

He's started leaning into me on the bus, and putting his hand near mine. I know he's sexually aware because a couple of times he's got a noticeable bump at the front of his shorts. But on the other hand you don't have to be sexually aware to get one of those. I got one the other day helping him through a revision paper, which is quite good going. As hard as a length of Brighton rock looking at algebra of all things. Quite an achievement I thought.

I've suggested he makes a few videos of his house, garden, and other rooms including his bedroom and things in it. And himself just doing ordinary stuff.

'Can it be anything Arlo?'

'Yes. Just put the phone up on something stable and get on with what you normally do.'

'Like getting dressed?'

'Yes. No one else is going to look at it so you can do anything. It's just between you and me. I can do some too, for you. You know, fun things that we would enjoy together.'

'Will you?'

'Yes. I'll do one for you tonight. Maybe in the bathroom? Or in bed.'

'Actually…….in bed?'

'Could do.'

Am I getting my message across yet? I don't think so, but we have plenty of time. No immediate hurry, the daft bat.

What am I saying? No he's not a daft bat at all. Ooh, I got that feeling again. If I haven't been thinking about him, and then I do, I get it. It's hard to describe it; a sort of sinking tummy feeling.

There's a little bit of bus seat between our hands, but now there isn't. It's just fingertips, and then a bit more, and then more.

He feels warm in my hand, his in mine, him leaning against me. I keep getting surges deep inside me. I'm getting thoughts about Kerry. Feelings for him, as the bus goes on, silently in my head, everything drowned out by my thoughts about him. I squeeze his hand in mine, quite hard, as he is now, as I am. Saturday night seems so far away.

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The Bus Stop

by Rafael Henry

Chapter 4