Date: Mon, 02 Jun 2008 22:45:03 +0100
From: jerryfell@hushmail.com
Subject: Boy at the wedding - part 2

The usual disclaimers.  Do not read if you are likely to take
offense.
----

Having stepped out of the sweltering heat of the garden, Alexander
shivered in the cool of the hotel's lobby as a rivulet of sweat ran
down his spine under his damp shirt.  He was standing in front of
the father of the thirteen year old boy he had just masturbated to
climax in long grass in the shade of the Poplars.  Traces of the
boy's cum was still sticky between his fingers.

"I better get ready."

"Yes, better look your best for the Old Bastard's funeral!" chimed
Henry.

"Henry!"  Mary was descending the simple oak staircase.  "That's
the last time you use that expression today!  This is their wedding
day and I don't want you spoiling it for them."

Henry rolled his eyes.  "She who must be obeyed...."

"And you, Alexander," said Mary, "You need to be on my side on this
one.  Particularly after he has had a few drinks."

Alexander forced a smile.  "Mary, I am at your command."

"No you don't, old chap."  Joked Henry.  "You are my friend, not
hers.  I expect you to encourage debauchery, depravity, and some
serious insulting of the groom today."

Alexander held his hands up.  "I can't win this one....  I'll see
you later.  When are you heading off?"

"Not for a while yet.  The hotel owner has made the cake so we have
been press-ganged into driving it over to the reception.   Which
reminds me.  Alex, would you mind taking Seb with you in yours?  We
need the space for the wretched cake and it would be a bit of a
squeeze."

"No problem.  Happy to help."

He turned.  "Quick shower and I'll be down."

With that the ancient, worn bannister was under his hand as he
began to climb the stairs.

His ascent went into slow motion.  The ancestral paintings that
lined the staircase arrested his progress and turned his steps to
treacle.  An eighteenth century gentleman in blue brocade and a
shocking white waistcoat stared accusingly at him.  A mature woman,
in oil on canvass, with abundant curls and a ridiculous hat
followed his every move with her scolding eyes.  In three hundred
years, they had probably never set eyes upon such a wretch as he
suddenly felt beneath their accusing gaze.  He hurried up past
them, keeping his eyes on the bannister.

He almost ran to his room and slammed the door behind him, leaning
heavily against it.  Out of breath.

Earlier that morning he had left this very room, with its cool
airiness, the crisp starched sheets and fusty homeliness.  He had
left it as Alexander Steel, successful businessman.  Solid.
Statesman-like.  Dependable.  Inspirational.

He returned to it a pederast.

With a boy's cum still sticky between his fingers.

He rested against the door.  What the hell had he done?

>From the terrace below voices rose up and drifted in through his
open window.  The sound was indistinct but the tone was that of a
happy band excited about the wedding.  He felt utterly alone.  He
took a sharp intake of breath.

Part of him was convinced that he was delusional.  Nothing had
happened with the boy.  He had not lain beside him on the grass at
the end of their tennis match.  he had not allowed his fingers to
caress along the boy's thigh.  He had certainly not reached into
the boy's shorts to find his shocking erection.

But he knew he had.  He could still feel the boy's paradox.  A cock
as soft as a baby, but hard as flint beneath the silky surface.  An
erection that ached and throbbed.  A muscle that bent in a stubby
juvenile arc, begging to be relieved.

Alexander slumped down, sliding down the door until he sat with his
back against it.

What the hell had he done?

Suddenly his whole world rotated around him.  The faces of friends
and colleagues.  Glimpses of a marketing awards night where he had
won the most prestigious prize in the industry.  His Georgian
house.  His yacht in the south of France.  The chef of his favorite
London restaurant.

And then, with equal intensity, a prison cell.  The loss of
everything.  The endless shame.  An emotion of gut-wrenching
intensity.  His elderly mother.  Yes her too.

Alexander was gulping the air like a fish out of water.

He had to calm down.

Had to get a grip.

Had to stop this.  All of it.

He closed his eyes tight.  A dizzying kaleidoscope of blood and
light behind his eyelids took him away from it all.

But as the darkness cleared and his fear subsided he seemed at once
to be looking into the green eyes of another.  Swimming into fuzzy
focus came the face of Sebastian.  His gleaming grin.  His shocking
eyelashes.  The curve of his hairless armpits.  His naked chest.
And the throbbing pulse and hot pulsing semen that coated his
fingers.

Alexander was exhausted.  He turned onto auto-pilot.  He ran a
bath.  Shaved with meticulous attention.  Even his dash of
expensive French after-shave didn't snap him out of it.  He combed
his greying hair.  Talc.  A crisp white shirt.  An immaculate
morning suit tailored in Saville Row.  Gold cufflinks in the form
of acorns.  A present from his former wife to mark his decision to
go into business for himself.
Forty five minutes later he stood, wrapped in the quiet reassurance
of his wealth and status.  He looked like a modern Caesar with
acorns at his cuffs rather than oak leaves curled around his
temples.  But for this Caesar, it was a boy not a slave who
whispered in his ear: Remember, Alexander, you are a man, and not a
god.

"Come on old chap!  Time to go."

Henry was pounding on his door.

"Be right with you."

And as he swung the door open the mood was broken.  Mary rushed
past with Matilda in tow.  "How did you manage to get INK on it
Matilda?!"  The pretty apricot dress of the little girl flounced
past in a rush.

Henry was beaming.  "Nothing like it old man!  If you want drama -
have a daughter!"

Keeping his eyes averted, Alexander hurried down the staircase.
Sebastian was in the lobby with the owner.  The cake-box was on the
centre table.  The small boy was immaculate, which was all the more
striking since Alexander had only ever seen him before in baggy
shorts and open shirt.

"Hello Sebastian.  I see they have done you up like a kipper!"

Sebastian managed a weak smile above his white bow-tie and morning
coat.

"Your dad asked if I could take you to the church.  Do you want the
top down or up?"

"It's okay thanks.  There's room in my dad's car."

Alexander stopped in his tracks.  It was as if the boy had hit him
in the chest with a sledgehammer.

"Oh."

But Sebastian had already opened the front door and stepped outside.

Alexander stopped in his tracks.  Lost.

Henry barged down the stairs.  "So you can head off, old man.
Sebastian's ready to go.  No reason you two should hang about.  We
may be some time buggering about with this cake."

"I think Sebastian wants to go with you Henry."

"Nonsense.  No space.  You don't mind do you?"

"Not at all, but perhaps he wants to be with you as a family?"

"Sebastian?!"

"Yes dad."  Sebastian answered from the courtyard.

"You are going with Alexander.  See you at the church."

"But dad!"

Henry and Alexander went out into the bright sunlight of the
courtyard.  Henry was losing patience.  "Seb.  Now off you go.  See
you there Alex.  We won't be long."

So with painful awkwardness Alexander stepped into his Audi and
opened the passenger door from the inside.  A sheepish Sebastian
slid into the passenger seat and Henry was gone, disappeared inside
the house.

"I'll put the roof down."

The tension was palpable as the Audi did its magic act.  The car
purred into life.  Alexander selected gear and gravel scrunched
under the wide tyres.

A few moments later they were away fro the hotel, curving up past
the lake and out onto the country road under the watchful gaze of
the estate's Lions, disappearing in the rear-view mirror.

Hedgerows slipped past in a green blur.  The road twisted and
turned up inclines and dipping into the valleys of the Kent
countryside.  The wind licked around the car.  A fat bug splattered
on the windscreen.

"Gross".

Sebastian had broken the silence.

"Sebastian... I...."  He didn't know what to say.

Suddenly he saw the church spire.  He hit the brakes and pulled the
car into a rough track that led to a farm gate.

"We will be there in a minute.  Look Sebastian...."  He was at a
loss.  "I am so terribly sorry."

He turned to face the boy, but Sebastian had turned away.  "Please
look at me."

The boy kept resolutely facing away from him, but shook his head.

"Why won't you look at me?"

First the heaving of the boy's shoulders and then an audible wimper
let Alexander know that he had, once more, reduced the boys to
tears.

"Oh my little man..."  He put his hand on the boy's warm neck.
"Please don't cry."

Sebastian tried to get his words out.  "You're.... I just...."
Tearful silence.

"Please Sebastian.  Please try to tell me.  Even if it is just to
tell me to fuck off."

Not a good move.  The boy's shoulders heaved.  "You shouldn't have."

The hedgerows around the car seemed alive with insects.

"I know.  I am truly sorry."

"Why did you?"

In the distance the church bells started to ring.

"I don't know....  No I do know.  I fell in love with you,
Sebastian."

"You're a fucking perve."

Sebastian's heart was in his mouth.

"I know."

"I'm just...."

"What?"

"I'm just a boy."

The blue sky above the Audi seemed to go on forever.

"I know.  I know you are."

Silence was ringing in their ears louder than the church bells.

A car flashed past them.

"Okay," said Alexander, "Let's get to the church.  I am really,
truly, very, very sorry.  I hope you can forgive me."

The boy was silent.

Within a minute they turned into the church car-park.  Sebastian
stepped out of the car and disappeared into the throng at the
church gate.

Alexander pressed the button and the roof of the Audi rose up to
cover him like the lid of a coffin.

-----

Thanks to all of you who have commented and encouraged.  The story
is not over.  The wedding has hardly started!