The Observer
by Rafael Henry
Chapter 10
I left Jane and James waiting for their bus to Winchelsea. The train from Ashford continues on and stops at Winchelsea station, but it's a long walk to the actual town, or really a large village set around what was a huge church, but now much reduced in size. Unlike the train, the bus will take them right into the centre of the village. The whole place was relocated up the hill and away from the beach and the marauding French, and laid out on a grid pattern by Edward the something a long time ago. Edward the Third I think. It's a very pretty place. The bus stops very close to Jane's house.
I see James' travelling companion meeting what I assume to be his mother outside the station entrance. He's well worthy of my observation…….about the same age and size as James, weighed down by a heavy bag of homework no doubt, and rather a pretty boy at first sight. I detour via the car park and happen by just as the young man fits himself into the back seat of mum's car. I time it perfectly as the boy folds himself into the space, trouser fabric tense and stretched across his rather attractive bottom region, thus supplying me with the precise information I require. I heartily approve. How shameful, but I need to know these things.
Now I find myself on my own for a few days as Jane has no work until next week. How dull…….but I must catch up with work. On my way up Market Road, I bump into David, the artist from the dunes. The pavement is narrow there, which makes any conversation difficult as cars pass very close.
'Look, why don't we have a coffee at the Apothecary?'
He agrees, and it's on me. He's a student. We sit at my favourite table by the door with the best view of passers-by. I have my Moleskine sketchbook in my jacket pocket. There are not many places I go without it. David notices.
'Is that what I think it is?' he says, looking down at the protruding black object.
'Yes it is. I'm an amateur observer of life….with a pencil.'
'And a rubber? Do you use them….or not?'
Another odd question. I'll play the game.
'No, I prefer not to use them.'
'Really. I heartily approve. I don't like them either. Messy things.'
'The alternative can be messy too.'
'Yes it can……but quite nice……without……. don't you think? Anyway, what sort of life do you observe?'
'All sorts.'
'May I?'
I think about his request to inspect my sketchbook for a few seconds. There are quite a few drawings of James in there. A social worker might have cause for concern at some of the images. There's nothing erotic about the drawings, but they are studies of a young boy, some of them nude. Even though my sketching style is quite vigorous, details can be identified easily enough. It's all perfectly…..almost perfectly innocent, but they could be misunderstood by some people.
Without thinking it all through…..possible consequences, I pulled the book from my pocket and handed it to David. He spent some time examining each page in turn. I waited for the result.
'They're nice. I like them, especially the ones of the boy. Is he who I think he is?'
'Yes. He's a friend's son. She's away a lot, so he stays with me and my son Mathew when he's at home. Mathew is away at school. They're good friends.'
'And he doesn't mind being observed in that way?'
'No. He likes being drawn. They were the boys you painted in the dunes.'
'Of course. This is the younger one……James isn't it? He's……how can I put this…….very nice to draw. You're lucky to have a model like that on tap.'
'Yes he is. And by the way, there's nothing sinister here. He's a boy who doesn't mind me drawing him.'
'He's a boy who doesn't mind you drawing him nude?'
'That's right. I think he's very beautiful.'
'So do I.'
We finished our coffees. David wasn't finished with the book. He turned to one particular page. He looks at it for some time…..
'I remember that pose very well. It was one of his favourites.'
David showed me the page. James is on his back with one leg raised, and his hand on his inner thigh. It's the one image of him that is suggestive. I think he was in that sort of mood at the time. His last remark has made me curious. He had obviously modelled for an artist himself. I asked…….
'Who is he David? Did you model for him?'
'He was an artist who lived in the same street as me….in Canterbury. I was twelve at the time. I had just got interested in sex. My parents knew him. He asked them if they would let me model for him…..clothed of course. I did for a while and he paid me quite well. Then he started asking me to take more clothes of, like my shirt. Then he asked me if I would consider taking off my shorts and sandals. He said he would pay me a bit more if I did. I agreed. I was standing there in my underpants. The next time I volunteered to do it nude. It was my idea, and I never told my parents that posed nude. He paid me double for that. He was quite young and I was sort of vaguely attracted to him….sexually. I could tell he was turned on when he drew me. His cock was pressing against his trousers. I kept staring at it. He knew I was looking……and interested. That made him more excited, which in turn excited me too. It was all getting sexually charged, as they say. Then during a rest period, I deliberately stood very close to him. I was hoping he would touch me. I could see that his penis was……..well, up. I was as stiff as the proverbial poker, and I stood naked right in front of him. He told me that he thought my body was very beautiful. He asked if I minded if he touched me. I said he could. He put his fingers around my penis and gently squeezed it. It felt very nice. I remember looking down and watching his hand fondling me. It felt very nice so I let him do it to me. He told me to lie down with him. I did. I made him come with my hand. I came twice that afternoon. I'd never done anything like that in my life. I was shocked but fascinated by it at the same time. Weird.'
'It?'
'Yes, it . You know…….someone coming……what happens.'
'Were you disgusted by it?'
'No, not at all.'
We sat quietly for a few moments. I needed to absorb what David had said. Then…..
'So David, have there been others since?'
'One or two. The last one was a tutor at college. He's left now. He was very nice. I'm not gay….well not completely, but he was. Having said that, I know I can enjoy sex with a man. This guy was very kind to me. I knew he found me attractive. I can always tell. The second and last one was a straight guy in his thirties, like you probably. He just enjoyed what I had to offer. Simple as that.'
'Oh.'
'I was hoping that you find me interesting too, in some way, but I might be wrong. If you did, I'd like that. I got that impression when I brought the painting round.'
'You should have said something.'
'Yes.'
'Well you can say something now if you want.'
'You might not want to answer questions?'
'But I might.'
'So, what do you do for sex, now your partner…..wife or whatever, isn't around? Maybe it doesn't bother you?'
'Oh it does. I have a rather casual arrangement with James' mother, but that's hardly reliable, and certainly not long-term. We both need some fulfilment. It's usually a couple of times a week.'
'Do you fuck her?'
'Sometimes, if I have to…..the straight way. I think she's angling to get herself pregnant. If I have the choice, We'll do it some other way. What about you?'
'Lucky her…..and no, I have nothing that you could call ongoing…….no one. Do you have any experience then?'
'Of what exactly?'
'Of boys……..boys like me?'
'No, not really.'
'Are you averse?'
'No I'm not, and I would have to admit to a certain curiosity.'
'Would you like to satisfy you curiosity?'
He's an attractive guy, and not much past his teens. I'm excited. We've made an arrangement for tonight at six. I'm making supper after a drink at the George.
I walk past Boots the chemists in the High Street. I stop at that small section of shelving that displays items to do with safe and comfortable sex. I imagine David naked in front of me. I get butterflies in my stomach. I look along the row of small boxes of condoms. There's one that implies that it's for anal sex. I leave empty handed. At home again, I lie on my bed, undo my trousers and make myself hard thinking about being on the receiving end of David's cock. I try to imagine what it would feel like when he came into me. Would I feel it? That sort of thing.
It's the following evening…….the evening after the evening. David has gently eased me into sex with an adult person of my own gender. We just had one drink at the George. My curiosity was getting the better of me. I like David's smile. It was all 'come on Otta, can we go now' sort of smiling. I felt rather privileged really that he found me of interest. Rather sweet actually. We sat next to each other on a bench seat at the pub. He touched me more than once, each time on my hand.
It's a five minute walk back to Watchbell Street…..up Lion Street, and round into Church Square and down the cobbled street to home. We decided to skip dinner until later. Later turned out to be two hours later. Standing at the kitchen window, I waited to be seduced. My heart beat louder, and audible it seemed. David has wonderful hands. I did nothing really. It was all him .
I looked out of the kitchen window waiting. Then I felt his hands on my shoulders. They travelled all around my back and arms….around my neck and into my hair and around my ears and face. It was the most delicious sensation. It must have lasted at least five minutes before he reached my lower back and around my buttocks. He performed the usual examination there. You can imagine what state I was in by now.
'That feels nice Otta. I think it's time I saw your face.'
With his hands each side of my head, he explores my face with his lips. My hands grip the muscles in his back, his skin smooth and warm. I feel his weight on me. I reach his buttocks and pull them apart. I'm yearning for him. The waiting is painful, but there is preparation to be done.
What a wonderful form of foreplay that is. The preparation. I'm made as ready as I can be, deeply, probed and loosened and relaxed. I watch David prepare himself for intercourse with me. He and I are protected. I watch as the entire length of teatless sheath is rolled on…….the opening of David's penis forced open and distorted by the pressure of the thin pink membrane. The pale ridge of his corona is prominent. David looks down to inspect his preparation and coats the shiny object with lubricant. I'm already very enjoyably primed. I wait. David is ready now, and so am I. He kneels between my legs, shortly to be raised on high, and my buttocks forced asunder.
'Are you ok Otta?'
'Yes. You won't stop will you? Not until the end?'
He smiles.
'No, I won't stop…whatever you do, I won't stop. I promise.'
He didn't.
I daresay there are countless descriptions of men and boys willingly experiencing that particular sexual act. I've had a very willing Amy allow me to take her that way on many occasions, but this is a long awaited 'first' for me. Result? Sheer wonder and joy. I imagine it wasn't that way for many others, and I'm sorry that had to be, and……I'm no longer a virgin chaps! I didn't do much apart from inflict some scratches on David's back, and pull his bottom about rather rudely. Did I experience a prostatic orgasm? No, I didn't, but I think at least something was going on up there. David did his best, admitting to counting to twenty sheep in a field more than once to delay his orgasm. Disappointed that it didn't happen? Yes, of course I am, but you can't have everything.
There were words spoken between us as David fucked me. A crude term perhaps, but the only one that aptly describes what David did to me, or should I say, did with me. Some of our words were meant, some not really meant, many obscene, many encouraging, some even loving that would have never ordinarily been said at all between two people that hardly know each other, and may not ever meet again.
Finally he let himself go. I tried to imagine the pulses of hot semen being pumped deep into me, like a snaking stream of glowing white, but sadly, trapped in the pink latex. His orgasm lasted nicely as I gripped his back. He stayed in me for a minute or two, recovering. I watched as he gently withdrew out of me, the Durex loose now on his softening cock, the vacant space awash with David's milky produce that I had really wanted left, inadvisably, inside me. Someone, a girl presumably, once told me to make sure the man withdraws whilst still erect, otherwise the sheath can get left behind. Good practical advice, but I want to see what I've missed…….
'Can I deal with that please?'
'Yes of course if you want to.' David replies, smiling.
The pink and transparent latex membrane slid of David lovely penis. Lovely? Oh yes, and heavily lubricated with his semen. Not for much longer.
The boy who had failed to rouse me all those years ago, now asks me if I'm prepared to give him pleasure. I agree, but I'm clumsy and incompetent. He pushes my face away and begins to masturbate. I caress his soft balls and wait, my face poised to accept what will be. Then, wide eyed and shocked, I look up at him. He tells me that I've been a good boy.
I do what I think will please David, but……
'Sorry, that's not very good is it?'
'Not very. Can I show you?'
Yes, indeed you can. What I had taken from his body with my body, he now took from me in that age old way. Amy had tried and failed, mostly, but not for the want of trying. That older boy many years ago, had tried one warm afternoon, us alone in a lavatory, and failed. David wasn't about to fail. I was curious. He said it was like peaches and cream. I doubt it. The boy…long ago. His wasn't.
We lay quietly for some time afterwards, cooling, and then warming again.
'You can stay tonight….if you want?' I say.
David smiles. He doesn't want to. He has things to do.
We part with a handshake, and make promises that both of us know we will not keep.
David left about nine, which gives me time for a wander around the town to contemplate recent events. Walking is slightly uncomfortable business, which is not surprising after an experience like that. I'll get over it. I already miss his attentions….as opposed to him. I'm not sure what it is, but there's something about David that disturbs me.
James is here tonight, unexpectedly. The BSO suddenly called an extra rehearsal for a London gig this weekend. She phoned to ask if I could have James over at Watchbell Street. My meeting in London ended early, so I'm back in Rye now. I am expecting James on a later train because he has Youth Orchestra after school at the girls grammar, so I'll meet his train at six fifty five. He'll be tired and grumpy. Jane says that his school work is heavy going, because some of the previous year's curriculum he hasn't covered. All the other boys have covered he work. Basically, he's falling behind, and it's upsetting him. I want to help because I can't bear to see him upset. I know now that I love him. I've never told him that because I'm not his father. I've never heard of a father mentioned, and I doubt if James even knows his name. I've never asked any questions, and if they want me to know anything like that, Jane will tell me. It's Friday, so I have two days with him.
I met James off the train, and I was right. He's exhausted, poor boy. I'm thinking that he's doing too much, but his music is precious to him. He has to keep that up, come what may.
A tired thirteen year old can be a pretty horrible beast. The weather has turned chilly. It's late October now, and the nights have 'drawn in' as they say here, which makes for less outdoor activity and more time to fill in the evenings, not that James is short of homework. I think they overload these kids with endless repetition of mathematical problems, not to mention French vocab and English essays, and with a bit of Art homework thrown in for good measure.
The boy is clearly in a bad mood. I ask him if there is anything wrong that he needs to talk about. No there isn't. Then why the mood? He doesn't know. I make him a jam sandwich. He eats it at the kitchen table, and I think he's close to tears. Then the question from him……..
'Can I come in with you tonight?'
Hmm. In his present mood, I know he will appreciate being physically close to me until sleep overtakes him. And then what? No.
He took the 'No, I don't think that's a very good idea James' response from me badly. He didn't even take his coat when he stormed down the stairs and slammed the front door behind him. I gave him ten minutes before going out to look for him, feeling very edgy. It had started raining, albeit lightly, but in time it would chill him thoroughly, dressed as he was. I looked in all the likely places but there was no sign of him. When a half hour had passed I was worried, and the fact that I have accepted the responsibility of being 'in loco parentis' was not lost on me. I had no idea what to do next. I went home to make sure he hadn't come back. He hadn't. Two minutes later there was a knock on the door. It was James. He hadn't taken his key. I grabbed him, literally, and pulled him hard into me, my hand on the back of his head. He was soaked through, his grey jumper smelling like a very wet sheep. He was obviously very cold.
I run the bath in the family bathroom, and take James' clothes from him. I notice his penis is slightly swollen, and there's no sign of his testicles. This worries me too. I put both down to the boy's chilled body. I tell him to test the water in the half-filled bath, and I watch as his puts one leg over the edge of the bath. His balls look fine, but the tightened scrotum is holding them close to his body. James' penis has enlarged slightly. There is still no sign of any significant hair, which I'm pleased about. The water temperature is fine, so he lifts the other leg over the edge…….an action that leaves me with a momentary glimpse between his separated buttocks. He looks pristine and healthy, and untouched.
As his skin acclimatizes to the heat of the water, James lies back. His penis lies flat against his tummy and looks very beautiful. I look at his face. He looks tearful. I can't say anything, but just look at him. I'm certain there's nothing he wants to say anyway. He's a boy full of emotions and ideas about himself and the world around him. Best not to question him, because the chances are that he will not know the answers. Love will come for him from many sources through his life. In some small way, he will always have mine. I am momentarily overwhelmed.
His wash is cursory, but the warmth of the water around his body has mellowed him. Gone is the anger and frustration of a difficult week, and the James we know and love is back with us. I hold the large towel for him……..
'Will you dry me please Otta?'
Of course I will. James steps out of the bath and onto the white mat. I sit on the edge of the bath and enclose him in the gentle fabric. His head is lowered as I dry his neatly trimmed hair, then working my way downwards, his legs are last. He stands before me.
'Am I alright Otta?'
It is his universal question that seeks approval and reassurance from me. He will have it of course, in spades. On the surface, the question concerns his body and its physical development, but underneath that, it's really about him…….James, the person.
He holds his penis carefully, two fingers supporting the silky pale skin underneath, and his thumb resting just below the discernible ridge of the corona. A small amount of loose skin hangs beyond the glans.
'You're fine James…….just perfect. Are you worried about it?'
'When will it grow?'
I remember Mathew at this stage. You wonder if it will ever happen.
I hold him by his hips as we scrutinize the offending organ.
'Just enjoy the way you are James. Don't wish this part of your life away. Everything will happen soon enough.'
He smiles. He's better now.
Yes, all in good time James. There's no hurry is there? Just enjoy being the way you are. The water has relaxed the scrotum. One testicle hangs slightly lower than the other and I'm sure they have enlarged lately. James eases back his foreskin to reveal the meatus. Then……….
'I'm sorry Otta.'
I stand and enclose his shoulders with my arms. I'm relieved that he has recovered. I hold him for a few more moments, my face lowered and resting gently on his damp head……the aroma of drying and scented hair.
Neither of us are interested in what the television stations have to offer. Friday night is not a good night to watch television. James lay against me on the sofa, relaxed and sleepy. My book lies unopened.
'Can I go to bed now please?' asks James.
I had changed my mind. If he still wants to sleep close to me this night, then he can.
I had already heated my bed. Amy and I treasured our electric blanket, and considered it one of the best things we ever bought. England can be a cold place, and to get into a warmed bed on a chilly night is a joy. James climbs in on the right hand side. I always sleep on the left when alone. I am left handed and Amy is right handed. We always slept that way round as it made access to each other's bodies easy. James lies on his side. The room is almost lightless as I lie observing him. I will look away quickly should his eyes open. Ten minutes later, he's sleeping. I kiss him lightly on the forehead, and remind myself of the virtues of self-control.
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