The Bus Stop

by Rafael Henry

Chapter 6

'How did you sleep boys?' Asks my smiling mother as she places two mugs of freshly made tea, in a pot. She doesn't subscribe to tea bags, usually. She says the bags have nasty stuff in them.

I love my mum. I can't remember an unkind word she said to me, ever. She's got cross with me enough times and I know I can be naughty when I'm in that sort of a mood. Very. Then I get reported to dad who doesn't take prisoners.

'I shall have to tell your father Arlo.' She said as a last resort.

'Please don't.'

She did, and the consequences of my misdemeanours were justly dealt with. I was never smacked, but that would have been preferable to what I did get which was loss of liberty, my phone taken away for a week, and certainly withdrawn pocket money, or extra domestic duties in lieu of. When I had paid the price for my crime, it always ended with hugs and 'You know we love you don't you Arlo.' It was a statement not a question. That kind of forgiveness always made me weep on her shoulder feeling her loving hands on mine. We have been taught that we should express our feelings.

A young lad turned up at school with a black eye some time ago now. After some investigation by the school nurse the rumour went round that he was being abused by his father. I have no idea what happened or exactly what kind of abuse it was, physical presumably, and not the other thing. I do hope not. He would stand on his own at the perimeter of the playground playing with the wire fence. I'd go over to him and try to be friendly, but he could barely bring himself to look at me, let alone smile or speak. I used to go to church with mum and dad, or mainly mum as dad didn't much care for it. I always prayed for that boy, although I'm not really a praying sort of boy. Not normally, but in exceptional cases I can be moved in that direction. Oddly enough, Kerry asked me if we ever went to church. I told him; sometimes I did but not anymore. Mum goes every Sunday morning. When I did go, for years actually, I quite enjoyed it until it was not a cool thing to do. Why did I? Because I liked the sound of the organ, in fact I was captivated by that overwhelming booming sound it can make, and the singing too, but not for all the right and godly reasons, sad to say. But I did like the look of a couple of the singers, one a teenaged boy, probably about fourteen, the other a very cute much younger boy with beautiful quite lengthy dark hair and a very pretty face. It made the whole experience well worthwhile! I'll ask Kerry if he wants to come with us tomorrow. Mum would be thrilled. How could I phrase it?

'Kerry.'

'What Arlo?'

'Can you come?'

'What?'

'I said, can you come? Can you come tomorrow, with me?'

'Why tomorrow? Why not today?' He says, not getting it.

Sorry. Just a silly spur-of-the-moment fantasy; and a bit of a teasy game with him.

Kerry and I had slept well, his first sleepover with us. We had stayed up quite late and watched a film on Netflix. We both had trouble staying awake until the rather pathetic ending. It was a Disney film as mum said we were not to watch the Texas Chainsaw Massacre as it would give us nightmares. She thought we were serious, bless her. I cry easily, never more so when I've been unusually foul and she returns the hurtfulness I've heaped on her, with a kiss and a long warm hug. That's what Kerry needs. Mum agrees.

'Just give him a hug Arlo, as often as you can. It's what that boy needs. Lots of TLC.'

Yes, tender loving care. But Kerry wants more than that. Does he think that having sex with me, in some mild form, will be the right substitute for real natural affection? The answer, as far as I can see, is to give him pure natural affection and show him that we love him dearly, before any of that other beautiful stuff comes up, but it's going to be hard, that route. My desire to get in hard between his buttocks is really rather strong! Not that I have ever had the luck. Maybe you are able to empathize with me on that one. I have often wondered what it would be like doing it like that. Great for the person doing it, but not so good for the person being done to, with some large throbbing object stuck up inside one's bottom. I wondered how far up it could actually go? Maybe once you got used to it, it might feel good? I mean some adult penises are nine inches long. Imagine that. I'm not sure I can believe that. Mine certainly isn't or ever likely to be anywhere near that length. I doubt if many girls could enjoy a thing like that inside their bodies? And yes I have measured mine. It came up at just about five inches, but surprising so much around the circumference. So there you are, now you know. Kerry's will be less. That I do know.

I went in with Kerry last night, tight up against his lovely body due to the narrow single bed. We didn't even kiss. Within seconds of feeling his lovely tight and firm body against mine, both of us nude, I got the bone, just as he went into sleep mode, mouth open and a tiny dribble coming from the corner of his mouth which I wiped off with my fingers. At least that gave me the chance to feel his mouth and lips. It would have been so easy to have a really good fiddle with him elsewhere. Maybe I could have actually got him off, I don't know. Mum's rules again, and good rules. So I got onto my Duvalay mattress on the floor and attached soft integrated mini duvet thing and got myself off instead, fantasizing about Kerry. It was a nice dreamy one too. He'd asked me to pull his pants down low enough for me to observe his lovely narrow bottom at close quarters, pulling it apart to show me where he wanted me. Then I gave it to him. Perfection in dreamland with a happy ending. I love the feel of my own sperm, still warm on my tummy. I play with it, and sometimes taste it, not that I like the taste particularly. One just has to know these things; what one's body produces. I've noticed a change in it too. In the last month it's got thicker and more opaque, with streaks of whitish stuff. And it's shooting out now. I read somewhere that it comes out at 26 miles per hour, literally pumped out by the prostate gland with rhythmic orgasmic pulses. That's clever that is. Last night I got some in my mouth, so the decision to taste or not to taste was rather taken out of my hands. I'm sure it was the very vivid and intensely erotic thoughts about Kerry that did it. It literally shot out, forming a long trail from my chin all the way down in blobs, but still not much of it. I'm wondering how much I will eventually make? More than I get now I sincerely hope. The kids websites I've visited that talk about puberty and all that say not to worry about things like that because it varies from bot to boy. They say it's fine to masturbate as much as you want to. Good! But what if mummy finds out? That's fine too because she knows you will be doing it anyway so why concern yourself with such inconsequential details; but be careful you don't let it interfere with your schoolwork boys!

In my favourite Book it describes anal intercourse and how to do it. Pretty obvious really, especially for individuals with smaller penises, provided you use plenty of lubricant. That, apparently, is the key to success, and taking it slowly. The anus stretches naturally to accommodate its normal and only function. If something goes in the opposite direction, it will still expand to accommodate it, but less willingly. If we apply all that to a couple of boys whose penises, or just one of them in our case, are small-ish, then any entry problems are halved. Easy peasy. Every time I re-read that part, I get the bone. I must have read that chapter thirty times by now. One day I might actually get to do it.

I have not yet seen Kerry's bone. I felt it last night but not with my hands and fingers, just against my own. That was nice, a lovely little rock-hard poky thing, facing him and feeling it that way, a kind of starter experience. So long as there's more to come from that direction. I reckon he's keen on the idea. At least I hope he is.

That's another point. It came up during one of our private talks together. Whether he does, or does not. Whether he can or he can't, yet. He says he can't, not properly. There will be something I'm sure. I remember that phase when there's something clear and sticky there and you wonder what's next, hoping for some sudden explosion of life force erupting out of you, like a fountain. Hope springs eternal as they say, but for me it was a very gradual process, but I'm getting there pretty well. Kerry asked me how I was getting on, or not yet? I told him that's for me to know and him to find out. It's my little secret for him to discover. That should be quite a moment for both of us; that moment of truth.

There's a really good paragraph about making it last longer that got me going the other night, so I tried it out, the method of delaying until you just have to the complete matters in hand. After about three delays I did just have to , but it's good method. I'm sure I had a better one but you need lots of will power, something I tend to be a bit short of when it comes to……. that . You get close and just can't stop yourself.

And in the morning. Sunday.

I had to wake Kerry up. He smiled when he orientated himself to where he was but looked a tad bemused until then. It's a strange house for him. Then, working out where he was and who I am, I get his lovely warm smiling face, and his hands on mine.

'Do you want to come in Arlo?' He says in a slightly hoarse voice, no doubt remembering that I was with him in the bed last night.

'Could do.'

'Come on then.'

'Not for long Kerry. It's gone eight.'

'Ok. Until we have to get up then?'

'Alright, but no funny business. Agreed?'

He answered that by turning onto his left side and burying his sweet head in the pillow. I got in behind him.

I can feel myself against his bottom, and needless to say the inevitable started. But I'm too high up. If I shuffle myself lower down in the bed I should be better placed to drop the hint.

Kerry gets the idea instinctively. He's like that, quick to catch on to my thinking. It's not just him trying to please me, which he does in spadefuls. It's because he's going to be good at this. I'm just hoping I'm going to be as good as he will be. Then the inevitable shout from downstairs from my dear mama.

'Are you coming Arlo. We leave in just over an hour. You need to come down now!'

Just as well really.

I can hear the bells of the church of St. Leonards striking up, who happens to be the patron saint of prisoners. My father is a bell ringer there so he left the house before we got up. Our house is a fifteen-minute walk from there, up on the hill overlooking the town. It's an interesting Norman building of about 1090, that has an ossuary, a vaulted crypt underneath the building containing the best-preserved collection of ancient human bones in England, the remains of four thousand people, just in case you needed to know that factual detail and fancy a peek at lines of shelves with skulls on them, all stacked up. Weirdly I have never seen them although we have always lived in the town. I've tried to visit but consistently missed their opening times. I have more or less given up now. I don't think it's something I want to introduce Kerry to. A thousand hollow eyed and sightless pits staring you in the face. No, definitely not! That would give the boy nightmares.

Kerry's grandmother Miriam is coming round later, ostensibly to collect our boy. Yes, he's ours now, or mine to be specific. I've come to the conclusion that we need each other now and forever.

Last night I looked up the physical symptoms of being in love. They all matched mine perfectly. Tummy fluttering when you think about whoever it is, and various other things like a slightly sick feeling and off your food a bit. Also I have had a bit of trouble getting off to sleep unless I do it a couple times. Then I'm ok. I'm feeling bad for my sperm factory I keep deep down in my knickers. Poor things, they can't know what's hit them having to work tirelessly and ever harder on what they do best. Actually it's the only job they have to do. Making more of the stuff. I read somewhere that they keep going all of your life, the same manufacturing task, day after day. You have to hand it to them for their dedication to their one and only task. Oh well, just keep going boys, you're doing great.

Kerry and I both needed the loo before church. We went in together and did what we had to do. I suppose this in a taboo subject so we won't go into details concerning our individual bowel movements. I watched Kerry sitting on the loo while I washed under my arms etcetera. The loo flushes and I look around to see him bent over with his head over the bowl, hands on his knees and his bottom in the air waiting for me to see to it, which I do. Then his somewhat clumsy cleanup. Suffice it to say that's what I had demonstrated to him very recently, and we both managed to get it done perfectly, albeit with a little assistance from me which was my entire pleasure to help him out. I had grabbed our clean underpants before leaving the bedroom, and now with our pyjama bottoms on the floor and all clean back there, we made ourselves decent enough just in case we met mum in the upstairs hallway. We had taken our first steps just now by the washbasin. I had intruded into an intimate place which was not my own, and for the best of reasons to help my new friend. Of course it was much more than that, the principle of the event that lasted just one minute. But in the one minute we had passed a milestone. I replaced the container of E45 back on the glass shelf.

The seed was sown in those few moments. I could see he enjoyed it. There's no doubt about it. He did, just as I do when I explore my own body in that way.

'Is that what they would use Arlo…….when……..like in the book?'

'No Kerry. Something else. Something way better.'

'What then?'

I opened the doors of the medicine cupboard on the wall to the left and pointed to it.

'Something like that stuff Kerry. That's what they use. You can get it in Tesco. I've seen it in there.'

'Oh.' He says. 'Have you got any?'

'No, but you can just go in and buy it. I don't see why not. Then go to the self-service checkout. That's if you needed any of it?'

Kerry looks away, getting his, or rather my pants around the right way so he can pull them up into place, his previous big bone now a smaller bone, vertically arranged, and held neatly in place. I'd rather we didn't meet mum in the hallway.

Kerry walks in front of me as we proceed along the carpeted hall and back into the bedroom. He looks the business in those things of mine, the white material perfectly fitted over the two narrow firm globes and almost shining in contrast to the boy's skin.

'Can I wear these Arlo?'

'Yes they'll do fine. And that blue polo shirt on the chair.'

He looks a picture, front and back, everything fitting in nicely and just as I would want him to look. He goes over to the long mirror to see for himself. I can imagine him nude in front of that, something I have done many times, observed myself naked, and once or twice recorded the image; just for the record. It's interesting to see one's own progression over time. It only happens once in your lifetime, that progression, from little boy to a bigger one. That's given me an idea, if Kerry is around long enough. I still don't know enough about him; why he's down here on the south coast and not with his parents. So if he makes it through the Kent Test and passes for the Grammar? Surely he wouldn't pass up the chance of a decent education at our place?

We've worked on last year's test papers that mum's friend Amy got for us. His maths is pretty good now but he's still a bit too slow. English is fine too, I think, and he's way quicker with that. Verbal Reasoning is just one of those things that tests something different altogether. You can't really prepare for that. Anyway he'll give it a go just one week from tomorrow. A Monday. What a way to start a week.

I remember what my dad said to me when I got my own result not far off two years ago now. 'Well done. Now the rest is up to you.' That's true I suppose. Once you're in, it is up to you to make something of the opportunity you've won for yourself.

'Once you're in Arlo, the rest is up to you'.

I have imagined the scenario a few times now; making love to Kerry. Filling him with my loving kindness, like that; in that way , and taking as long as I can to do it. Making it last as long as possible; giving him all that I can give, all in one glorious go in one cathartic tumult of joyful celebration. But what about him? It has to be for him too, not all me surely? Is there a way to achieve that? We need to talk further. Maybe that's all in the Book.

We walked through the park and over the Military Canal and across the High Street, along Rampart Road and upwards onto Church Road and eventually we will arrive at St. Leonards Church. I walked behind mum and next to Kerry. I had this sudden rush of a deep feeling for Kerry. Would he let me hold his hand? Mum wouldn't see us. I looked at him and showed my hand to him, palm up. He smiled and took it in his.

I've got it again, that very slight sickly feeling. And then that urgent desire to do what was impossible at that moment; to stop and kiss him. Not one of those quick pecks, but a longer thing altogether, like the ones we had last night before bedtime that gave us bones! How fantastic that feels when you do that with someone and you get it. When you both get them? That must mean something, when you both get them simultaneously. It's the kissing that does it, all deep and with our tongues going crazy, and spit everywhere. It sounds a bit revolting but it's not. It's so good with a boy like Kerry. He's keen, very keen, and I absolutely love doing it with him. That could mean quite a lot; doing it. We haven't done it yet; nothing except the kissing bit. I know he wants to but it's about the right time and place. You can only do so much in or on a single bed. Being side by side doesn't work. There's simply not enough room. I thought of the floor but that's uncomfortably hard, and certainly not on my mattress thing. Anyway it's too narrow a thing altogether, and mum's always around because she gets home from her job before I do, so there's every chance she'll pop her head around my bedroom door at any moment without warning just to make sure we're ok. The primary school is a five-minute walk away for her. My, or rather our journey takes over half an hour, door to door. We can't do much on the bus. I know what would happen if we fiddled a bit. I'd get one which would linger way too long. Mine do that unless I can satisfy the thing, fully. Bones tend to persist far longer than you want them to. Imagine if that bloody Sarah girl saw me like that, and Kerry had one too? We would never live that down. Never.

Mum wanted to sit right at the front of the church, embarrassingly for Kerry and I.

'I always sit here darling.' She told us, as she took her seat, three in, leaving me right at the end of the row next to the aisle and Kerry between me and mum. I looked sideways at Kerry. He looks so gorgeous this morning, and absolutely blooming. He's wearing those shorts I've given him and that amazing pale blue blazer and he's showing off his legs nicely. I should have said, thighs! I think, and hope, there's a lot more to come from this one, the gorgeous little beast. I'm so proud to be near him. I love him. I really do. I'm waiting for the right moment to tell him just how much I do, but not yet. He's not ready for all that heavy emotional stuff from me; but he will be.

I looked sideways as the choir filed past me, a couple of those white things they wear over the long blue cloak thing brushes against my shoulder. It smelled of something. Not a body thing, something else, like washing powder or something like that, the sort of smell you get with brand-new clothes. The boys and girls came past first followed by the men and women. I counted sixteen in all, plus the guy who conducts them. Because we were near to them, they were loud. I like that, the loudness of it all, and the organ too. I love the sound it makes, loud and then soft. Best of all were the boys' and girls' voices. They had their own bits to do. There's always one, my dad says. There was one, apart from the very pretty girl, and on our way home I'm going to ask Kerry which one he thought I liked. Maybe he didn't notice him? We'll see.

At the end the choir filed out in pairs, just as they had come in, and the one that caught my eye being at the head of the queue holding his hymn book in front of him in both hands. His hair was quite dark, no parting and sort of going sideways and coming over his ears nicely. He looked fatter than he probably was because of all that clobber he has to wear.

Mum wanted to stay for the disgusting smelling weak instant coffee they serve afterwards, with some of those round biscuits with bobbles on so we had to stand around feeling a bit spare. She nattered on to a couple of people while we stood there wanting to leave as soon as we could. Spare parts, like Prince Harry.

Later, with what looked like his mum and dad, I saw the boy again, in his school blazer and grey trousers. I recognized it. My school. He must be new this year but I hadn't noticed him in the playground. I should have done. He stood about a couple of metres away from us, so I changed my position slightly, so I could look at him properly, as one does. I waited for him to notice me looking. Then you look away as quickly as you can so it doesn't look suspicious. And then you look back again. He was still looking my way but not at me. It was obvious. He was looking straight at Kerry, the little rat bag. I'm not surprised. Anyone would. The boy didn't look at me, just at the magnetic Kerry. Eyes drawn to his beauty. That's fine with me. I don't want to be noticed, but I do want him to be noticed.

Going home we would normally turn right onto Hillside Street, but Kerry saw, as I did, that the boy in question, hand in hand with his mummy, turned left.

'Can we go that way please?' Asks Kerry. I knew why.

So we duly turned left, following the boy who was about fifty metres in front of us. Going that way is a much longer walk home as you have to go all the way along to Dental Street and then down to the big roundabout. The only advantage is that you can access Twiss Road easily from there which means you get a very pleasant stroll to the seafront, and then go westwards and up Stade Street and then you're home. There's a small café halfway along the promenade which will do you a hot chocolate or whatever and you can sit at one of the tables outside, weather permitting, or even if it isn't. Just grin and bear the wind that whistles along the wide prom keeping your back to it.

The boy in question disappeared into a house on Hillside, a nice place set back with a rather wild looking garden in front, and a brick path full of grass and weed separating the two halves. The two figures went round the side of the large brick-built house presumably to an entrance at the back somewhere. On the wooden gate post with no gate hanging from it was pinned a printed notice, laminated to protect it from the rain. It's October now. I stopped to read it letting Kerry's hand go. He and mum walked on a few steps and then stopped to wait for me.

WANTED. Person or persons for general garden and light household duties. Would suit student wanting 2 hours weekend work or other times to suit applicant. Evenings possible. £10 p/h. Proprietor CRB checked. Also models wanted.

Call in person or phone Phil on 098604319

CRB checked? What is that when it's at home?

Kerry and mum came back to see what I was looking at. I need more money these days. Suit student? That's me is it not? I'm well used to cleaning or weeding for my weekly pocket money, all three pounds of it. In this Year of our Lord, 2025, three quid does not go very far. Not in this neck of the woods. See what you can get for three quid. Not much.

'Ten pounds an hour mum? That's pretty good.'

'No darling. Absolutely not.'

'And what's CRB checked mean?'

'It means whoever it is has no criminal record that might affect or prevent that person working with vulnerable people darling.'

'Who's vulnerable then?'

'Elderly people, or people who have special needs………and children of course.'

'Like a scout leader, or a teacher needs one of those CRB things?'

'Yes. Those kinds of people who have close contact with……….vulnerable people.'

'Like me? So I would be protected then?'

'Well; in a way, yes, I suppose. But there's no guarantee that………..'

We walked on home with me thinking hard about that notice. Why the hell not?

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The Bus Stop

by Rafael Henry

Chapter 6