The Observer
by Rafael Henry
Chapter 18
There's good news, and bad. The good news is that James has done well in his exams, passing everything, and several subjects at grade A. His way is clear now to progress into the Sixth Form. His chosen combination of subjects strikes me as slightly odd though……Music of course, and Mathematics and, wait for it….Art. His science tutors were outraged of course, but the combination is possible, and James was not about to have his mind changed by someone else. I've said very little about his musical life as it's very complicated and involves quite a bit of travelling, much of the transport provided by myself, especially since I've had the car. Parents with sporty children know all about being a taxi service. It was one of the lesser reasons why we opted for the private system in Mathew's case, simply because the school provides all the transport and facilities. Speaking of Mathew, his academic luck seems to have run out, largely due to a lack of effort and interest. His Lower Sixth results were less than impressive. Despite the warnings, he has not worked hard enough. He's going to have to pull himself together smartish if he's going to make Loughborough next year.
The bad news concerns Mathew and James. Mathew turned up a day late just after we had collected James' results from the school in Ashford. James wanted to celebrate his success and Mathew's arrival, by the three of us walking the length of the beach at Camber. We had walked about a hundred yards westwards towards the river when Mathew turned to me…….
'Dad. Do you think you could walk on by yourself for a bit? I have something to tell James.'
I immediately knew what was about to befall our beautiful boy. I let them walk on ahead. Mathew, to his credit, had an arm around his friend. James' head was down. I could imagine what he was going through at this very moment. I felt so sad for him, but it happens. This was bound to happen sooner or later. I veered off into the sand dunes, found a suitable perch, and sat down and waited. Twenty minutes later, the boys came back together. Mathew took himself off to gaze at the retreating tide. James walked over to me, sat down, leaned into me, and cried his heart out.
I expected the boys to sleep in separate beds that night. I was prepared to have James in with me, despite Mathew's presence. Not so. They slept together. It was over, but Mathew having just dumped James, rather cheekily had asked James for sex. James, despite his rebuff from Mathew, was happy to accommodate him, hoping no doubt that it might change Mathew's mind. We all went to bed at the same time. I expected things to be quiet. Ten minutes passed and I imagined the boys were asleep already. Then it started. Creak, creak, creak, and a few minutes later it all got rather noisy. I can hear virtually everything from my bed, my pillow is inches from the thin wall which separates me from their pillows. I could hear Mathew's voice…….'I'm sorry, I'm sorry', over and over again. James' whimpers were turning into little cries. His head must have been tight up against the wall. Surely it all had to end soon. A couple of minutes later, it did. James' cries told me everything. I wasn't concerned for Mathew, just James. The next day, I asked him what had happened. He told me, with some pride, and in detail as ever. I was right. Mathew had had his way, but James had begged him to continue thrusting his full length into him, hard and fast. Guilt ridden Mayhew sensing James' urgency, had duly obliged, keeping going for as long as he was able…..just long enough apparently.
'What are you saying James?'
'Just that. It happened,'
'What….exactly?'
'You know…….what happens……..don't you?'
I think I do. I suppose there's nothing like leaving the best until last.
The day after, Mathew was on his travels again. I had taken James home to Winchelsea. His mother, Jane, was home for a week. She invited me for dinner that evening as some sort of thank you for getting James on a half-decent educational ladder, and the resulting success. I accepted. James already knows that I have slept with his mother, but never while he has been in the house. It didn't seem to worry Jane, but I wasn't at all sure I wanted to have sex with a boy's mother, with him in the next bedroom. I went home at ten thirty, leaving an atmosphere of disappointment. It all seemed so simple to her. Post-divorce from my wife Amy, I marry Jane, and James becomes my step-son. She has financial security, as does James to an extent, and everything in the garden is rosy. Life isn't that simple I'm afraid. I have no intention of divorcing my wife, unless she really wants it. The subject has not been discussed. Right now, she's in a good place with the woman she loves. My daughters seem fine about everything, and they are doing well. Why mess everything up? I see the girls of course, very regularly. We all love each other, but the arrangements are different to the norm. In the meantime, James is bereft, and to some extent, so am I. I fondly imagined that Mathew and James would be an item forever, and consequently, James would be in my life forever too. I guess he still could be, until the right person comes along for him, which could be some years from now. In the meantime I intend to enjoy his company. He's wonderful to sleep next to. His breath is sweet on my skin, and with each passing day, I love him a little more, if that's possible. I sincerely hope he finds happiness with someone he wants who will love him the way he deserves to be loved.
As for me, the love of another person, and the consequential sex, seems a distant prospect. I could probably get artist David round for a repeat of the dogging he gave me, but frankly I don't particularly like him . I like what he's got between his legs, but not the whole package, if you get my drift.
And on that subject, I saw him talking to James in the High Street the other day. I didn't cross the busy road to talk to them, as they had disappeared into the Rye Bookshop. It would be quieter for them in there. Fifteen minutes later, James reappeared without David. I intercepted him and marched him off to the Apothecary for a coffee, hoping David wouldn't see us in there. As usual, it was hot and steamy, the windows running with condensation. We found a table at the back. We could talk properly there. Boiling up in me were distinct feelings of jealousy which came across in the conversation.
'Otta……..are you telling me I can't talk to people now? I know you've done a lot for me and I'm grateful, but you don't own me.'
That told me. I apologized and tried to explain my concerns about David.
'So he wants to paint you does he? That means he wants to paint you nude, which also means he would insist on sex with you. You are pretty naïve if you don't get that? Do you? You're easy going James. I'm not sure you would say no in case you offended him.'
'Yes I do, and yes I would say no , as a matter of fact.'
'And have you?'
'And, no, I'm not going to. The only problem is that I told him just now that I would.'
David must be well into his twenties now, and James is sixteen. I'm not having David as James' next boyfriend. The problem is that James needs somebody. He's that sort of a boy. He has tons of love to give, physically and emotionally. I have loved an underage boy, who has been close to me many times now. I have treated him honourably, although plenty of people would argue that I haven't. Our relationship is special and different. If I asked James, he would agree to it. Of course he would. I won't. Maybe that's the way it should be. I'm not sure. Perhaps the right time will come.
Elliot turned up at the door today wanting to see James. I explained that he was at home in Winchelsea. I expected him to turn on his heels and march off, but he didn't. He looked disappointed when I told him James was elsewhere.
'I'm sure he'll be in Rye before too long Elliot. I think he said something about Thursday. I'll tell him you called shall I?'
He stood there.
'Are you alright Elliot?'
No answer. Ok, why not?
'Would you like to come in?'
I followed him up the stairs towards the kitchen. 'Observation' of the sort that I rather relish, was in order. I watched as the shorts clad bottom made its way up the staircase. From what I'm seeing, he hasn't bothered with underpants this morning. Either that or he's gone the baggy boxer route. Heaven forbid! He leans against the window in the kitchen, head turned towards the view of the river making its way towards the sea.
'Tea?'
'No thanks.'
I felt like saying……'Well what then?', but some patience is required I think.
'Do you need to talk about anything Elliot?'
It looks like there is.
'Is James alright Otta? I think there's something wrong with him.'
'No Elliot, that's not true at all. There's nothing wrong with him. He's just had a disappointment that's all. He and Mathew aren't friends the way they used to be I'm afraid. They're still friends, but not in the way they were, so he's a bit on his own right now. Perhaps you can cheer him up?'
'Is it my fault?'
'No, it's not your fault. Don't ever think that. I promise you that it's not your fault. Ok?'
'Ok, but why won't he talk to me?'
Right, I get it now.
'Give him a day or two Elliot. Just wait.'
I walk over to where Elliot is standing. Poor boy. He doesn't really understand at all.
I'd left my sketchbook on the kitchen table. I often have a flick through it over a cup of tea, especially when I'm in a certain mood. It's full of drawings, albeit rather amateurish, of James. Some of them are nude studies. Before Elliot interrupted me, I was seriously considering taking the book to my bedroom. I think very often, drawing my beautiful boy was a substitute for sex. I have studies of him going right back to shortly after we met on the train over four years ago. I can compare him as he was then, to what he is now. To me these sketches are very valuable. I had left the book open at one of my favourites, and to be honest, one of the most erotic drawings I have ever done of James. Elliot has noticed it.
'Is that James?' he says, almost accusingly……..
'Yes. I've made loads of studies of him. He's very good to draw, not that they're very good.'
'May I look please?'
'Yes, if you want to.'
'What do you mean by 'very good to draw'?'
'I mean…… interesting . James has a nice body.'
A pause, then……..
'Have I got a good body Otta?'
I need to think fast at this point, and carefully. I buy some time……
'That's an odd question Elliot. I don't think I should comment really. I'm not sure your mother would appreciate my commenting on what you look like, do you?'
'Why not?'
'I don't know.'
'Well then. Have I?'
'James thinks so, and I agree with him.'
'So will you draw me then? I'd like to be drawn.'
'No, but James might do it. He's good. Ask your mother. She might not approve, and better ask James first.'
Elliot smiles, and continues his journey through the black sketchbook. It gives me the chance to look at him with a view to committing his image to paper. Unlike the very neat James, his hair is unruly, but the blond colour with waves and curls works well in that deliberately unkempt style. The very fair hairs stand up on his brown arms. My eyes follow the line of his left leg, the one visible to me, the other hidden by the table. There's a small scar on his knee. Of course I look further. I picture him on the beach at Fairlight. Elliot closes the book.
'Do you think he still wants to be friends with me?'
'Yes, I'm sure he does, but I think you need to be a little more giving Elliot.'
'Giving?'
'Yes. He's been very generous with his time hasn't he……all the help he's given you with your maths?'
'Yes, I suppose so. I am grateful.'
'But does he know that?'
'I don't know.'
'Have you ever said 'thank you' to him?'
'I don't know. No, maybe I haven't.'
'There you are then. That would be a start wouldn't it? Try to think of little things to say to him……nice things…..and ask him if you can do something for him, rather than what he can do for you all the time. It's all been a bit one-way hasn't it?'
'Does he think I'm selfish then?'
'Maybe. He's a very kind boy. He would never say that to you.'
We're into some serious thinking time. Then…….
'When James is here, where does he sleep?'
'In Mathew's room.'
'What about when Mathew's here?'
'James and Mathew share.'
'Are there two beds?'
'No, one nice big bed.'
More thinking time.
'Can I see please?'
I take him into Mathew's room. The bed is neatly made.
'You can sit on it if you want.'
'Can I lie down?'
'Of course. They say it's very comfortable. Take your trainers off first.'
Elliot lies full length on the bed. There's more thigh to see now. A lot more. His hands lie to his sides, flat on the bed. I move round to the foot of the bed, and see Elliot's figure foreshortened. He smiles and spreads his feet further apart. I can't help looking, and it makes for a very pretty sight, and a minor concern is resolved. No baggy boxers on view. Thank goodness.
'Which side does James sleep?'
'This side, nearest the door.'
'Always?'
'Yes I think so.'
'Why?'
Inwardly smiling, I knew why. Both boys are right handed. Things wouldn't work so well the other way round.
'They probably started off that way.'
'It's like my parents' bed. That's where….'
'Where what Elliot?'
'Where they made me and my brother.'
'Probably. When two people want to be alone together, a warm comfortable bed is a good place to be.'
'Umm. Did James and Mathew….you know……do things like my mum and dad?'
'I don't know Elliot. James is a little sad at the moment. He loved having Mathew next to him. You need to think a little more Elliot……about other people and their feelings.'
'About James?'
'Yes, if you want to be real friends.'
More thinking time.
'Does James keep clothes here?'
'Yes, some essentials.'
'Where?'
'Over there in that chest of drawers, and in that cupboard.'
Elliot gets off the bed, and walks over to the chest of drawers . He pulls one of the smaller top drawers open and looks inside. He turns towards me as he closes the drawer.
'When will he be here next Otta?'
'I'm not sure Elliot. Shall we go and find him?'
'Can we?'
I'm at a loose end this morning anyway. I wouldn't mind a wander around Winchelsea. Elliot went off home, with a promise to be back in half an hour. Twenty five minutes later he was back, with a small gift wrapped package in his hand. He holds out the package…….
'This is for James.'
Good move Elliot. He left the small package on the kitchen table.
I've been feeling slightly guilty about James' mother, Jane. I like her, and I think I've been ignoring her lately. I've had the good fortune to have been close to two wonderful boys…….James, and just lately, Elliot. They both provide me with something very enduring and enjoyable, but not everything of course. Far from it.
Jane was in when Elliot and I called. She told us that James was over the road in the church. Apparently the organist there was giving him a go on their historic instrument. Henry Willis built it. Apparently, that makes it 'historic'. I'm not at all sure why. James is grade eight on the piano, so gaining some experience in playing one of those complicated things would be an amusing and challenging holiday activity for him. Jane seemed keen to get rid of Elliot for a few minutes. The thought had also crossed my mind.
'Elliot, why don't go and find James?'
Umm, off you go Elliot. Jane looks interesting this morning in tee shirt and very tight white cut-off short shorts. Elliot takes the hint, and wanders through the still open front door churchwards. I threw in a compliment………
'You're looking nice this morning Jane.'
'Thank you. So are you. Would you care for a coffee?'
'Do we have time?' I reply obliquely.
She smiles and takes my hand. I put my other hand on her shoulder. We move closer. She lets my hand go, and places hers on my lower back. She turns her face towards mine, and it's obvious that she's inviting me. I kiss her gently on the mouth. Her hand slips lower where I want it. Her hand moves nicely around my bottom. I'm hardening by the second. It's clear to both of us where this is going.
Upstairs, I start to undress her. The nipples on her breasts look hard already. She works quickly on me. With my shorts undone now, my penis is pushing the inner material forwards. Her shorts fall to the ground. She's wearing very pretty knickers. We lie on the bed, and I tell her that I'm unlikely to last long. I haven't come for a few days. She nods and guides my hand to where it works for her….the precise place. I slide my fingers inside her pants, and with a little gentle probing, find she is already well lubricated. She opens her legs wider. The gentle rotating movement of my middle finger begins to take Jane upwards towards the skies. The way she reacts tells me she won't last long either. She asks me to enter her, but I don't, as she grips my cock inside my pants even harder. I want to get her closer.
'Now Otta! Be quick please.'
The figure lies on the bed, knees raised and wide apart, holding her genital area open. I can see all three openings. I have two to choose from. By the look of it, the larger of the two will be easy. On my knees and between her, I see my target. It's pink, wet and inviting, and very open. It's easy, and in seconds I'm deep inside her……pubic bone against pubic bone. She is already close to orgasm as I penetrate her quite roughly, and I go on, hard and fast. There are words spoken between us about cocks and cunts……..cumming, and filling her to the brim. There won't be a problem there. It feels good. An image begins to form in my mind. The form envelopes me and holds me hard.
I see the smiling face I know so well……the sweet little hand that beckons me on. I walk towards the naked figure. We embrace and our mouths meet. My hands feel the soft flesh that smells of roses as we melt together….
It doesn't matter. I'm too far gone to think logically. Did I speak its name?
Jane has put the image in my brain. James has persuaded me at last it seems.
I'm shocked at the depths of my imagination, and I'm out of breath. I've attempted to withdraw but it is too late. With her hands tight around my buttocks, painfully invasive, there was no chance of that. I know she has already come……….a few moments before I did. The whole thing happened so fast. We lie on our backs breathing heavily, and it's some time before we fully recover. My skin is moist from the sheer effort of it all, even though it was over so quickly. I look at Jane who lies beside me. I cannot hide from her. She knows.
'Otta…….you said his name. Why did you?'
'Did I? Whose name?'
'James. You said his name.'
I feel a sudden panic.
'When?'
'Just before you put all this into me.'
Her middle finger separates her labia.
'Sorry. I wasn't thinking.'
'I know Otta. I've known for some time. I don't know if it's dawned on you…… whether you realize it or not …… but he loves you. Do you know?'
'He's never said.'
'No, he wouldn't.
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