Date: Tue, 01 Jul 2008 20:51:41 +0100 From: jerryfell@hushmail.com Subject: Boy at the wedding - part 4 Alexander woke with a splitting headache. He had forgotten to draw the curtains on his hotel room and sunlight was streaming in. He pulled the covers over his head and tried to bury himself in the darkness. He hadn't been drunk in a long while. The pressure of work, the burden of responsibility and power meant that he kept a strict discipline. He drank enough to show himself human to his key clients and colleagues, but never to the point of letting down his guard. But away from London, in the heady atmosphere of the wedding reception of the night before and overwhelmed by the emotion of the day he had drunk until the evening had seemed to swim around him. The evening had passed in a blur of dancing and laughter, lit up, from time to time by the appearance of young Sebastian. At the tent entrance. Suddenly behind the shoulder of his mother. Playing tag with the younger children between the tables and chairs, his shock of blond hair marking his trajectory like a tracer bullet. Even in this wrecked state, simply thinking about the lad caused Alexander's cock to swell to a sluggish erection. He lay with it trapped under him, face down in the bed, realising afresh that it was not a dream. The memory bubbled to the surface. He could almost feel the boy's rigid penis between his fingers. Could feel the sudden pulse along the shaft as the boy had spasmed in juvenile orgasm, splayed out on the mown grass, a man's hand up his shorts. A man's hand. His hand. Him. He had done it. No one else. `I masturbated a thirteen year old boy.' No, the words were unreal. The whole thing was unreal. He whispered it into the pillow: "I... masturbated a thirteen year old boy." It was still not real. "I made him cum." Liar. True. Liar. "He came...." Long pause. "... I made him... forced him." He turned suddenly onto his back and frantically kicked off the sheets. Suddenly exposed and naked on the bed he gripped his hefty cock and tugged it. After only a few short violent strokes his own cum spat out and splattered forcefully over his belly and chest in a sticky, desperate arc. `I'm a pedophile.' he thought, bringing his arm up to shield his eyes from the morning sunlight that dazzled him. `No I'm not... no I'm not. It was just a moment of craziness. I can't be.' He lay still, prostrate on the bed, summer sounds filtering through the bedroom window. Birdsong. Distant, barely audible, chatter from hotel guests on the lawns below. His cum slowly liquified like the boy's accusing tears and ran down his sides to puddle on the sheets. He dragged the covers back over himself and fell back into a troubled, exhausted sleep. ---- A pounding on the door. Again. Alexander stirred. Pulled the sheets tighter. Darker. Again. Groggily he rolled out of bed, naked, searching for his bath robe. "Hang on...." Found it. He struggled into the robe in a confusing mish-mash of arms and toweling. "Hang on!" He went to the door in a haze. Then suddenly he snapped out of it. A chill ran down his spine like an ice cube. "Who is it?" The police. It had to be. Outside his door. "It's me." Alexander leaned against the door. His head pressed against it. A boy's voice. His boy. He kept the door shut. "Hey..., Sebastian.... what do you want?" "When are we going to play croquet again?" "Oh. Er, I don't know. How did you know this was my room?" "It's free now." "Is it?" "Yes." "Pleeeeease hurry up! I've been waiting ages." Alexander closed his eyes. "Have you? Sorry, I..." "That's OK. Shall I go and set it up?" "Yes... no. I mean I have to take a quick shower." "Have you got a hangover?" "No." "My dad has." "Well,... I didn't drink as much as your dad." "Do you fancy my mum?" "What?!" "Your were dancing with her." "No! Sebastian, please don't say that kind of thing. Particularly out in the corridor." "Sorry." "No I mean... just... OK, look I will be down in a minute, if you go set up." "Ok. Hurry though." "I will." "Don't go back to sleep." "Sebastian... I...." "OK. I'm going." And with that he had gone. Alexander retreated to the bed. Disrobed. The sensible thing would have been to go back to bed. Instead he stumbled into the shower and asked the jet of water to pound life back into his body. --- Wearing his sunglasses against the glare, Alexander stepped out onto the hotel terrace. He wore the collar of his sky blue shirt turned up and sleeves rolled. He hadn't bothered with his expensive watch. Had hardly bothered to comb his hair. His back was still wet from the shower. The shirt stuck to him. Fortunately he didn't recognize any of the guests seated on the terrace, nursing their drinks and chatting to each other. The terrace was a shaded by tall ancient trees that formed a lattice and framed the stunning view out across the green glory of the British countryside. The butler appeared at his side. "Might I recommend a Bloody Mary, sir?" Alexander smiled. "That's a damn good idea." While the butler disappeared inside the house, Alexander looked out towards the shimmering croquet lawn. Sebastian was there. And his younger sister. The boy was waving at him, and brandishing two mallets in the air. He gave a half-hearted wave back, trying not to draw attention to the relationship between him and the boy. Maybe these people could smell out a pervert. A drip of water rolled down his spine. "Your drink sir...." "Thanks." he said as he picked the cut crystal glass from the silver tray. The tomato juice swirled like clotting blood. "The young man seems keen for you to play with him again sir." The words hung in the air and time slowed to a crawl. Alexander's heart leapt in panic. "Er, yes, er, so I see." The boy was gesturing at him again, with even more exaggerated waving of the mallets. Alexander forced himself to smile and look directly at the man. The aged face was inscrutable. Passive. "I better not keep him waiting." "No sir." As he made his way across the lawns Alexander's mind was racing. An innocent remark from the Butler? Maybe. But `keen for you to play with him again'!? Had the old bastard seen something? From some vantage point in the old house perhaps? Had he even seen the act itself? Alexander had to deliberately hold down the paranoia. He stopped half way between the house and the croquet lawn. He said out of hearing of anyone else: "Christ Almighty!" And took a swig from the glass, straining the tomato juice through his teeth. He looked back at the house. No butler. Was he even now spying on him from some attic window? he took another swig and the tomato juice carried the alcohol into his system with a reassuring rush. Sebastian had made up the ground between them. "Which one do you want? Red or Green?" He turned away from the house to look down at the lad in front of him. The upturned smiling face. The green eyes glittering in the sunlight. "Oh Sebastian..." he paused as the tomato juice now carried an entirely different drug towards his brains. "Oh Sebastian...." "What's wrong?" "Nothing, oh nothing at all.... I'll be red to go with my tomato juice." The boy turned to lead him to the game. Sunlight on his smooth calves. His pink heel and brown toes. Grass stained. His hair like captured light. Peach fuzz. Bare slender arms. A smell of shower gel and mother's love. Alexander followed behind. Captive. "Hello Matilda. I hope Sebastian hasn't been cheating." "He wont' let me play!" "Do you want to play with us?" The little girl's face lit up, but darkened quickly as Sebastian rounded on her. "Matilda, you need to go and see mummy. Don't ruin it for me. You've got loads of friends to play with." "Have not." "Yes you have. Now push off." Matilda, close to tears, moved sideways, as if she might go to the house, or might stay right where she was. Then she stomped her feet on the grass in exaggerated protest before running off back to the house. "You two get along I see!" "She's a pest." Then Sebastian was down to business, lining up his first shot. The game flowed on in its complex geometry. Red and green balls like brutal clashing chess pieces. Moments of ridiculous tension. Moments when a thirteen year old boy laughed so hard he almost fell over and a middle aged advertising CEO had to march 30 yards to play back on, enjoying every humiliating second of it. And from time to time, there was reason to touch the boy. To playfully throttle his soft neck for making an unlikely shot. To pat him on the back in praise. To suggest a different way to hold the mallet, by taking his small brown hands in his large hairy ones, leaning over the boy and around him. Pressing groin into the boy's back to show the stance. Quite innocently. As friends do. And afterwards he asked the boy to fetch him another Bloody Mary from the house, then thought better of it and asked him to see if he could run and fetch a bottle of Sancerre and a wine glass. The boy had to practice the word carefully and repeatedly before his bare feet and lithe young legs sent him flying towards the house. Alexander sat down heavily under an old oak, in it's ancient shade and watched the boy disappear. `I must be absolutely, fucking mad.' He thought. But a vast emptiness inside him had started to be filled. As if the boy had turned on a small warm tap to fill a huge bath. With every smile, every flash of eyelashes or tilt of his chin Alexander had simply fallen deeper and deeper in love. `You can't fall in love with a thirteen year old boy. Why not? Because it is fucking stupid for one thing, fucking illegal for another, and plain fucking plain fucking stupid!' He leaned against the oak and continued his argument with himself. `But you have to admit he is loveable. Very, very loveable. Adorable in fact. It is suicide. It is passion. What are you always telling your staff at work? Be passionate! Passion is one thing. Lust is another. You love him. You really love him. With passion. He is a boy. You are a man. He doesn't want this. He came. Any boy would cum with someone masturbating him. He came. He told me I shouldn't have done it. So why is he friends with you again so soon? He is innocent. He is a lonely boarding school boy with a boorish father. Of course he wants male attention. He wants your attention. He wants you to love him. He knows if you wank him that you love him. Bollocks.' In the distance Sebastian emerged from the house carrying a tray with a bottle and a glass. He was carefully balancing the tray. `Well even if you never try to molest him again, you should go on loving him. Dangerous. I should never see him again. Think about him. You can't forget him. You want him. Fucking dangerous. His little cock. He is just thirteen. He cried. I made him cry. You made him cum. I know. A thirteen year old. I know. A stunningly beautiful boy. A boy you could seduce. And love. And desire with every bone in your body. The police. He won't tell. Not now maybe, but later. Risky. I know. Immoral. I know. Abusive. Really? Sure. It's just a wank. It's just touching. Caring. Fondling. Abusing. But why are we arguing about this? What do you mean? Well, there's no point. Why not? Because you already know what you will do. Do I? Sure. What will I do? You will seduce him. It is your new mission in life. Nothing is more important. Don't be absurd. You know it's true. I am free. Oh no. Not that. I am. Laughable. I AM. >From the moment you shook that boy's hand you were lost.' Sebastian, grinning from ear to ear, and walking very slowly delivered the bottle and glass safely to Alexander. "Thank you." "Your welcome. He thought I was pulling a fast one." "Trying to get drunk behind the bushes?" "Yeah." They settled down together in the shade. As they had the previous day. It seemed as though empires had risen and fallen in the space of twenty four hours. Above them in the oak a wood pigeon cooed. The heat seemed to sizzle off the lawns around them. The world was a million miles away. There was so much he wanted to say to the boy. To apologize, yes. To protect himself. Yes. To start the seduction.... Sadly. Yes. "Sebastian..." He had broken the silence. But what to say next? The boy was looking at him. All boy. Round face, lanky, smooth, wide open. "What?" "Nothing. I..." he let the sentence trail off. In the distance, on the Hotel terrace, Henry appeared like Henry the Eighth in jeans and a t-shirt. The butler was scurrying around him. Henry was shaking hands with half the people on the terrace. The butler was bringing more drinks and Henry was conducting an orchestra. He tried again: "Sebastian, I really like you.... A lot." Pathetic. The boy didn't say a word. "I know that what I did was really bad, and I am sorry, but I was sort of overcome." Silence. "You are a very very very... beautiful boy." Sebastian picked a long stalk of grass and peeled off the outer skin to suck on the juicy stem. Alexander continued, looking into the middle distance. "And I know I shouldn't fall in love with you Sebastian, because you are so very much younger than me, but I couldn't seem to help it. And the more I get to know you the more I fall in love with you. And I know that you probably think that I am just stupid or sad or something worse, but I can't help it." Alexander felt dizzy. It felt as if the world was spinning on its axis beneath him. He had to splay out his fingers in the grass to steady himself, praying that Sebastian had not noticed his utter weakness. The little boy sucked on his blade of grass and wriggled his green toes. Henry had spotted them. The butler disappeared to re-appear with another bottle of wine on a silver tray. Henry grabbed the bottle and marched across the lawns towards his son and Alexander. "There you are old chap!" "Hello Henry!" "Seb, you have to leave poor Mr. Steel alone from time to time. He is not put on this earth to keep you entertained!" "No really, it has been a pleasure to get to know your son." Henry sat down in between them. "Are you on the white old chap? I thought you would be given the heat. Butler is a funny old sod." The three of them stared out over the grounds. Henry grabbed his son's foot. "Look at the state of you, Seb! Your mother will not be best pleased. You better scrub that off when we go in, before she sees it." "Great night yesterday, Henry." "Oh bugger me. Wasn't the old bastard something else?! And WHO is that woman? How does a worm like him get a shaggable shagger like her, for God's sake?" Sebastian sniggered and rolled his eyes at Alexander behind his father's back. "Drink up old chap. Wine won't keep cold.... Now there's a thought. Seb, run in and ask Dracula if he has a wine bucket and plenty of ice. Then fetch it over. There's a good boy." And the little object of so much desire shot off in the direction of the terrace. "You two are really hitting it off!" "Nice boy, your son." "Well he seems to be your number one fan. When are you off?" "Tomorrow morning. Thought it would be best to have a day to recover." Henry snorted his approval and refilled his glass. "Old chap... can I ask a favour?" "Go ahead." "Me, she-who-must-be-obeyed and sproglet number two have to get to Brussels tomorrow. Seb's school is a bit of a detour, old chap. Any chance you could do the honours on your way back to London?" "Where's the school?" "Tonbridge. Couple of miles outside. Thought it might be en route...." "It is. That's no problem Henry. Happy to help." "Outstanding!" Sebastian was back with heavy bucket of ice. Alexander had been memorizing the shape of the boy half way across the lawns. One arm raised in counter-balance, the other struggling with the weight, his naked feet heavy on their heels. "Seb, uncle Alex is going to ferry you back to school for us old chap. You don't mind do you?" The boy did mind. You could see it written on his face in capital letters. An extra two hours less with his mummy? Maybe. A long journey alone with a man who had molested him? Maybe. Maybe both. ------- I really appreciate comments at jerryfell@hushmail.com. Particularly if this resonates.