All the characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, either living or dead, is entirely unintentional.
The story is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any way without the express permission of the author who can be contacted at pjalexander1753@gmail.com
A Very Ordinary Boy (Part 2)
From Chapter 3:
I didn't get to have that nap, even though I really needed it, `cause I've been lying here trying to decide if going back to FfT was a good thing. And why does Tani wants to talk to me? Everything is so fucking complicated and difficult and confusing and ... Hey, can I ask you something? I could so do with a hug right now. Would you ... do you think you could do that?
Chapter 4:
Hey, here you are again. I'd say it was good to see you but it looks like there's a load more homework in your backpack for me to do. It almost makes me wish I was back at school -- almost.
Seriously though, it is good to see you. I've been thinking about you a lot, and I've got a question: have I got the same stupid grin on my face as you have? You look like the Cheshire Cat in that Alice in Wonderland story. Or is it Through the Looking Glass? Mr. Miles would know but I won't be seeing him to ask for a while so it'll have to be another one for Mister Google.
I dunno but ... well I ... Oh shit, what I'm trying to say is I ... I can't remember the last time I felt this, well, happy. Okay, yes I can, it was last night when I was reading your texts, over and over. And the time before that was, well, when we kissed. That was, like, huge. Like I said in my messages, when I told you I needed a hug I never expected it to turn out the way it did -- honest! But it was good, wasn't it? You're nodding. Okay, so maybe it wasn't the whole Hollywood production number, you know, duelling tongues and having to stop to breathe, with a massive orchestra playing in the background, but our lips touching like that, for the first time, so soft and gentle, well, it was still great, like really, really special. At least, it was for me. And I could still sort of sense that feeling of pressure, way after you'd gone home. It was like a sort of ghost kiss. That must sound totally wet and stupid. It doesn't? You mean you felt it too? Oh wow. Unreal!
And there's something else. I can't believe I'm gonna tell you this, but you remember I told you'd I'd not had a hard-on since Noah? Well, that's so not true anymore. The kiss had my blood flowing south like it was going for Olympic gold and my cock has been pretty much rock solid ever since. Whenever it starts to think about having a rest the memory of our lips together comes back and, pow, it's hard again. You even made me have my first wet dream since I was about fourteen, though maybe that was more my fault than yours. What do I mean? Well, even though I was, like, standing to attention down there, well, even with it demanding some serious tlc, even then, I never thought about rubbing one out. I know, brainless or what? But it just didn't occur to me that here was the perfect chance to make a move back towards being a normal' teenage boy again -- well, as much as a newly-out-of-the-closet gayboy can be described as being normal. No, apart from a bit of half-hearted stroking, I didn't touch my cock at all, couldn't think of anything except the feel of your lips on mine. And all I wanted to do was to go to bed and keep reading your messages until I fell asleep. Turns out that not taking care of business when I had the chance was a big mistake cause -- I'm telling you all this because I trust you and somehow it feels okay -- `cause I woke up with a very sticky feeling down below and a mess of underwear and pj's to sneak into the laundry. Shit, if Rosa finds it - too embarrassing. And, as you can see, this morning I put on the loosest pair of sweats I could find and -- you'll have to take my word for this -- the tightest pair of briefs, you know, to keep everything close and under control. Probably not the most comfortable, but definitely feels safe.
Like I said, I feel that I can trust you, and not just cause of you bringing my homework every day, any jerk could do that, or cause of the kiss and all the texts you sent last night. Yeah, okay, maybe partly the kiss, but mostly it's cause you've got no, no ... agenda. Yeah, that's what I mean. You've got no reason to be anything except up front and honest with me. It's like, you've got nothing to protect. Not like most of the other people I know. Oh shit! I'm not making much sense, am I? Take my dad. I know that, basically, he's a good guy and wants the best for me, but at the same time he doesn't want to be seen to have screwed-up as a parent. Same as my mum, but for her it's more about not failing as a professional. So for both of them, having me end up in the psych ward at the hospital cause I'd been carving patterns in my wrist isn't great for their credibility. But there's no way they'd admit that to me. And then there's Chalky White. He's been really good at supporting and encouraging me, and sometimes I even think he'd make a great friend. I definitely feel I could talk to him about most things. But then I think, would he still be interested in me if I wasn't any good at art? Is that the only reason? Would it be the same if I totally sucked? I mean, this art exhibition thing, it'll be good for his rep if I do well. Even if I don't, he'll still be able to say that a picture by one of his students got selected. Then, with Dyl and Si, well, there used to be a time when I would have sworn that we'd always have each other's backs, no matter what. But now, well, they're not gonna want people thinking that them getting together behind my back had anything to do with me trying to top myself so, of course, they're gonna keep away and not want to have anything to do with me. But they wouldn't admit that that was the reason. Obviously. But with you it's different. There's no history, no baggage, no reason for you to be anything except who you are, and that's why I feel I can trust you enough to tell you about embarrassing night-time surprises. Does that make sense? Good, `cause there's more!
As it had been a while since, well, since I'd had any cum action, it was a really big load so there was a LOT of mess to clear up. Of course, I seriously needed to shower and you can guess what happened as soon as I started soaping myself up. Yep, another BIG load, way more than usual. And that's the effect you've had on me, with just one kiss. What do you mean, "Just like Milo"? Milo de Beer? What about him? Oh, so he's a big cummer too? And do I want to know how you know that? Oh, a swimming team thing. You've never seen anyone cum so much? Like a hose? Awesome. You're gonna have to tell me all the details later, but for now I totally need to get my mind off anything to do with cum and cocks and fit boys -- apart from you (of course you're fit -- totally), or else I'm gonna have another majorly embarrassing and very messy situation. And anyway, there's something else I need to tell you about.
You know how Rosa and Granny Smith take it in turns to be, like, the prison guards? Well this morning, after mum and dad had gone to work, they turned up together, like a two-for-the-price-of-one enforcement double-act. I knew, as soon as they appeared, that this couldn't be good news. I mean, mostly they're trying to outdo each other with the `I'm way the best at looking out for you' routine, but one look at their faces convinced me that I was right, about it not being good news. And they didn't hang about, no sitting down or questions about whether I'd had a good night's sleep -- I didn't tell them about the messy pj's! -- or did I want more breakfast. Oh no, there was no gentle lead up to the main event, it was straight in with, "We need to get all this unpleasantness sorted so you can move on," (they must have been listening to my dad) "And we're here to help, but first you need to tell us the whole story." They had it all off pat. It was like they'd rehearsed it (which they probably had). And it was pretty obvious that they meant business and that I wasn't gonna get away with trying to pass it off as nothing, or something that I was dealing with or already over. No, they'd set themselves a target and it was me right there in the cross-hairs.
So what am I supposed to do? There's no way I'm gonna start telling them any of the specific details of what went down that night in Noah's van. I mean, shit, the two of them, they're my gran and the leader of my fan club for fuck's sake. I mean, how do I tell them that their sweet and innocent and so-so-deep-in-the-closet little gay-boy has been secretly desperate to get laid by his long-time number one wank fantasy, and then pretty much lets himself get abused -- no, fuck it, raped - and then goes and tries to kill himself cause he's too much of a pathetic wimp to face up to what happened? Could you do that if it had happened to you? No, and I couldn't, either. Except I did. No, not every gross and disgusting detail -- nothing about the hopping about in the rain to get out of my underwear or the let's get warm by getting naked' stunt, or the amazing blow-job he gave me - but enough for them to get a pretty good picture of what happened. I told them that for months I'd been crushing on this older straight boy; that I'd got talking to him at FfT but knew I hadn't a chance with him `cause he'd got this full-on clingy girlfriend; that I'd been surprised but totally stoked that he'd wanted to take me on a camping trip; how I'd not tried very hard to stop him kissing me and how things had sort of got out of hand and that, yes, we'd had sex, more sex than I'd been ready for, but that I'd never actually said "No", so, technically, it couldn't be called rape. Thinking about it now it was such a weird set-up, I mean, there's me, a seventeen-year old boy sitting with two old ladies, one of them his gran, telling them how he'd had his first sexual experience, seriously screwed-up and degrading, in the back of a decorator's van with a boy who, at the very least, took things way further than he wanted. And do you know what? Neither of them let the slightest disappointed or disapproving expression cross their faces. Mostly the two of them stayed pretty quiet -- that was definitely a first - and just left me to do all the talking but, by the time I'd finished, we were all pretty much bawling our eyes out. Group hug time. Yeah, they wanted to know the boy's name and I never even hinted at it, but I reckon that if Noah had walked into the room at that exact moment there's no way he'd have ever walked out. Of course, they asked about the wrist-cutting stuff and, to be honest, they got a bit frustrated when I couldn't explain why I'd done it, but they didn't go off on one, and I'll love them forever for that one small thing alone. And do you know what? In a weird way it actually felt better, telling them I mean. Yes, I know I've told you and, believe me, that's probably just about the best thing I've ever done, but telling Granny Smith and Rosa helped me think that, just maybe, there might be a way to move on. You know, like they're proper grownups and they've seen a lot of life and grownups know how to sort stuff, even big stuff like what happened to me.
GS was all for me going to the police and Rosa chimed in with the briefs -- she's still got them -- saying she hadn't washed them so "the bastard's" cum was still in them (she didn't say cum, of course, it was "semen" -- no surprise there) so there'd be DNA evidence and he'd go to prison for years and years which was exactly what he deserved. But, like I'd said before, cummy underwear didn't prove anything, only that I'd had full-on sex (I couldn't say anal or butt, not to my granny) with another boy and it would just be his word against mine about it being `consensual'. That's the word I found on the internet when I started looking for information about rape and sexual abuse and stuff like that. Maybe Rosa had been looking too. It means you agreed, consented, to what happened, and if you agreed then it can't be rape. Even if you don't say anything, yes or no, that still counts as giving consent. That's the law -- pretty screwed up, eh? And I didn't, say anything I mean, so there's no way I could stand up in court and swear that I'd told him, "No!" And anyway, just the idea of telling the police and then going to court makes me want to puke. I'd be, like, telling the whole world that I'm gay and I can't even say that, face-to-face, to my own mum. It's all so fucked up.
Granny and Rosa weren't happy about the consent' thing but what could they do? Once we were all cried-out and they'd finally got the message that, no, I definitely wasn't gonna tell them Noah's name, and after they'd accepted that there was no point in going to the police because there just wasn't enough evidence, we all trooped down to the kitchen. Rosa put together an amazing breakfast while Granny Smith started telling me all about Mrs. Harrington, you know, Michelle's mum and the wife of the owner of Food for Thought. Turns out they'd been to school together (Mrs. H was a couple of years older so they weren't best buds or anything like that) but granny remembers her because she was always in trouble for the way she dressed and wore her hair. Seems she was quite the hippy, even back then, and everyone expected her to go off travelling once she left school but instead she got a typing job in the office at Harrington's Engineering, fell for the boss's son, married him and helped him set up a book shop slash café. What? Yeah, sorry, too much useless information about something not very interesting. Although, in actual fact, it's not totally random, cause granny said she'd gone into FfT a couple of days ago when she was in town and had bumped into Mrs. H who was asking about me and saying she was really sorry I'd been in the hospital and how Michelle was worried about me and that her grandson's girlfriend was worried too and wanted to come to see me. Of course, I freaked when she said that cause I was worried that she'd start wondering who this girl might be and why she would want to come visit, and then put two and two together and work out that the grandson was "the bastard" abuser and go running off to the police. I know I went really quiet when she was telling me all this, my head doing backflips and somersaults trying to come up with a way of knocking her off track, and the blood must have drained out of my face cause the next thing I know the two of them are virtually carrying me back up here and fussing over me like I'm about to take my last breath. I wish I could say that it was my brilliant acting that dug me out of the hole and deflected granny from going into `Miss Marple mode', but the truth is I was shitting bricks that she was gonna work out the whole Noah connection, and my sudden sickness wasn't an act at all. I genuinely felt bad.
And then there's Tani. I don't get why she wants to come and see me. She's always treated me like something that should be put out with the rubbish and made it very clear that she wasn't happy with the amount of Noah's time and attention he gave to me. The only reason I can come up with, for her wanting to visit, is because she's found out that Noah told me about the violent boyfriend stuff and she wants to make sure I keep my mouth shut and don't blow their cover story about being a couple. But what if I agree to her coming round and she runs into Granny Smith while she's here and they get talking and she mentions Noah and how much time me and him had been spending together and about the camping trip? That would be, like, ker-ching and lights on in granny's head and she'd be down to FfT and she'd be calling out Mrs. Harrington for having a disgusting rapist grandson. Talk about the shit hitting the fan. Fuck! This is all so messed up and I don't know what to do `cause, yes, in a weird sort of way, I'd like to know what Tani wants to say to me, especially after all the crap she sent my way before.
Oh, fuck it! This is driving me nuts -- trying to second-guess everyone and everything. It was better when my mind pretty much shut down, after the wrist-cutting, and I couldn't, or wouldn't, let myself think about anything - you know, when I was in the hospital. I reckon it's all Doctor Helpless' fault. He's the one who always wants me to, "Consider every incident and interaction from all possible viewpoints." Okay for him to say -- he's not inside my skull! No, I won't let my head get any more fucked up than it already is. Let's talk about something else. How about Milo de Beer? Cums like a hose, eh? Who knew that being on the swimming team had hidden benefits? No wonder you always seem so tight with each other. And I always thought you swimming guys stick together because you don't rate very high in the sports pecking order -- above the gymnastics and track and field maybe but way below the big, `hey-man-look-at-me-I'm-a-real-fucking-jock' guys. Assholes!
Hey, you don't have to go home yet, do you? Can't you stay a bit longer? I was hoping that ... well ... that ... if you wanted to ... we could ... you know ... try the ... the kissing thing again. But only if you want to of course. You do? That's ... that's awesome. Why don't you come and sit over here on the bed with me? Oh, and you'd better close the door. You never know when one of the guards will decide to come and check up on me.
As an author, it's REALLY encouraging to know that there are people out there who are taking the time to read what I've written, and then bothering to send a response. So please, do feel free to write to me at the email address given at the top of the chapter. I welcome all comments and guarantee to write back. PJ
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