Date: Sun, 10 Feb 2008 21:11:07 +0000
From: pinkpanther2@hotmail.co.uk
Subject: 'A Warm April Saturday' chapter 26.
All the usual disclaimers apply. If for some reason, you shouldn't be
reading this, then don't, okay? If you do, neither I nor Nifty will be
responsible if the bogey men catch up with you!
I've been very grateful for all the feedback that I've had in recent
weeks; it's been very encouraging. However, more is always welcome and
I never fail to reply to it. So if you have not written before, or if
you've not written for a while, please send your comments to
pinkpanther2@hotmail.co.uk and I'll reply as soon as I can.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
It's our Tuesday morning games class and we're playing cricket again.
This time Sanjeev's team are batting. I don't bowl, so that means all
I have to do is try to stop the ball if someone hits it towards me.
This could get boring; still, I'll have to make the effort. Andrew
opens up for us, bowling to Sanjeev. After two defensive shots back
down the pitch he turns the third ball off his hip. It rolls towards
me; I trot in, pick it up and toss it back to Josh behind the stumps.
Well, I guess I managed that all right.
Ten minutes later, Sanjeev's still batting. Zaheer bowls to him. He
mis-times his shot; the ball lobs gently towards where Michael's
standing. There's a cry of "Catch it!". It's a simple chance; as
simple as you'll get with a cricket ball; Michael flaps and drops it.
Shit! He should have caught that; I'm sure I would. The batsmen have
run through for a single, so now Dinesh is on strike. Andrew tells me
to move further back; Dinesh isn't as solid as Sanjeev, but he hits
the ball a lot harder. Zaheer bowls him a short one. Dinesh swings
round on it, sending it speeding across the grass a couple of yards
to my right. I take one step then dive full-length to get my body
behind it. I stop it okay but it stings my hand. Fuck! Cricket balls
are hard!
I spend the next fifteen minutes getting bored shitless; the ball
never comes anyway near me. Sanjeev and a couple of their other
batsmen are out, but Dinesh is still there and he seems to be
enjoying himself. Zaheer bowls him another short one. Dinesh tries to
repeat the shot he played earlier, but the ball gets up much higher
on him. Instead of hitting it along the ground, it goes straight up
in the air, a long way up and it's coming right to me; I'll hardly
have to move. I can feel all the other kids watching me; they're all
thinking the same thing, "Is the gay-boy going to catch it?"
If this was a tennis ball, it'd be no problem, but it's not. Cricket
balls aren't just a lot harder, they're much heavier too. If it
bounces out of my hands it could hit me in the face and knock my
front teeth out. As the ball starts to come down I settle myself
under it. All the stuff James taught me runs through me brain: stay
relaxed, let the ball come to me, catch it in front of my eyes, let
my hands ride with it. As it hurtles towards the ground my fingers
close round it. My hands thump down against my chest, the force of it
knocking me off my feet. I land on my backside, the ball still safely
clasped. I've done it!
As I get to my feet I'm mobbed by Andrew, Josh and Zaheer.
"Brilliant catch!" Andrew says. "It never looked like you were going
to drop it!"
Five minutes later we're heading back to the changing room. Alwyn
trots over to me.
"Never thought you'd catch that," he says. "I know I wouldn't; that
was really hard."
Back in the changing room the atmosphere's back to how it used to be.
Even Dinesh congratulates me; that means a lot. Me being gay seems to
have been forgotten. Sometimes it's strange what seems to matter; all
I did was catch a ball.
0 o 0 o 0 o 0
It's five past six when the car draws up outside the house. I trot
down the path and get into the back seat. As expected, Tom's already
there. Liam's sitting in the front with his dad. I can see straight
away where Liam gets his physique from; his dad's huge! This will be
the first time I've ever run on a proper track; I'm really looking
forward to it.
Ten minutes later we're there. Liam takes us through to the stands
where Mark's training group are getting ready. Alwyn's already there
with a guy who's obviously his dad, just a bigger, older version of
him, not that much taller than me but quite strong-looking.
"Ken Davies, Alwyn's dad," he says, smiling warmly and shaking hands
with us. "Glad you've decided to join; Alwyn struggles a bit on the
track, and with you two on board we'll have a great team on the
country next winter."
It's a nice welcome. By half past six the whole squad's there,
fifteen boys aged from eleven to sixteen. Mark sends us onto the
track for a warm up jog. After a couple of laps we return to the
stands to strip off our training pants and sweat tops and put our
spikes on. Tom and I strip down alongside the other boys. Ken rolls
his eyes.
"Alwyn said you was skinny!" he says, grinning at us. "Blimey! You
could find more meat on a butcher's pencil!"
We all laugh; that was well funny. The squad divides into two groups.
Mark will work with us while Ken times the older boys. Our group has
eight boys; me, Tom. Alwyn and another kid are in year seven, there
are three boys in year eight and one year nine kid who's not even as
tall as me. Mark explains what we're going to be doing, eight three
hundred metre repetitions, with a one hundred metre jog in between.
We're supposed to run them a bit faster than our racing pace, so the
target time is around fifty seven seconds. After that we have ten
minutes rest then do six one-hundred metre sprints.
"You guys just stick in behind Jake and Gavin," he says to me and
Tom, indicating two of the year eight kids. "They're both pretty
useful."
The first four reps seem easy; I know I could have run faster. Then
it starts to get hard. The thing is we're only allowed a minute for
the hundred metre jog and I'm starting to get tired; Tom is too.
After the fifth one I'm really feeling it. On number six it's all I
can do to hang on. Okay, two to go. Somehow number seven doesn't seem
as bad, I guess because I know we've nearly finished. So far I've
been between fifty-six and fifty-eight seconds every time, with Tom
pretty close behind me. I can see what Ken meant about Alwyn
struggling on the track; he's been well behind us every time. We
complete our jog.
"Okay lads," last one!" Mark says. We run through the start-finish
line, Jake leading the way. This is quick, a good bit faster than any
of the others. I get right onto his shoulder, determined to stay with
him. We fly along the back straight; my lungs are on fire. As we go
into the final bend my legs feel like lead. I don't know how I keep
them moving but I do. Jake crosses our finish line at the top of the
home straight in fifty-four-point-two, with me and Gavin right behind
him. Fuck! That was hard!
"Well done lads!" Mark calls to us. "That was a great session!" His
enthusiasm is infectious.
After our sprints Mark calls me and Tom to one side.
"That was excellent," he says, smiling warmly. "Jake's already run
four minutes fifty-one and he's aiming to run in the low four forties
before the end of the season. Just one thing though; don't race in
your training sessions; run within yourself. If Jake's a second or
two ahead, don't worry about it, okay?"
I seems a bit of an odd thing to say, but I sort of understand; we
need to keep something in reserve for when we race. It's twenty to
eight when I get home. I'm tired and hungry. I can see how important
it is for me to get my homework done beforehand; I'm way too tired to
do it now. I eat my dinner, chill out for an hour and go to bed.
0 o 0 o 0 o 0
I know I'm in trouble as soon as mum comes through the door; I can
see it in her face.
"Chris, I need to talk to you," she says in her `I mean business'
voice.
Yeah, well there are no prizes for guessing what this is about. I'm
going to have to do a lot better than I did when Mr. Sheridan spoke
to me on Monday; if I squirm around like I did then I'll be right in
the shit. Still, I've got my story worked out; I've got to make sure
I stick to it. I just hope I've thought of everything she could ask
me. She sits on the sofa, opposite the arm chair I'm in.
"So what was this I was told today?" she asks. "Last week you were
seen going round with a boy who's not only known to be gay, but from
what I was told, is ." she pauses; "a rent-boy, and you'd gone to the
boys' room with him to er., well, I think you know. So what have you
got to say?"
"Yeah, I guess," I say calmly. "Only I didn't know that when I went
with him."
"I think you'd better tell me about it," she says, looking shocked.
"End of last term, I was in the boys' room having a pee when this kid
came and stood next to me, only he wasn't peeing; he was er.," my
voice trails off "he was . playing with it," I whisper. "I couldn't
take my eyes off him. He was well fit, you know, like these kids who
model clothes for the catalogues. I'd been dreaming about., er,
messing about with another boy, and suddenly there he was, and not
just any boy, a really good looking one. It felt like all my
Christmases had come at once. Anyway, he told me to follow him so I
did. We went to the boys' room at the far end of the technology block
`cause it's really quiet there. We messed about for a bit; that was
it. We've done it about three times since, but last week, after we'd
done it we started chatting. We walked out onto the playground
together; I didn't even think about it. Well, some kids that know him
saw us; it didn't take them long to work out what we'd been doing."
"I'm so disappointed," she says, shaking her head. "I would have
thought you'd have more about you. And you had no idea what this boy
was like?"
"No way; I wouldn't have done it if I had. I never found out till the
stories started going round. I mean, he doesn't look like that; he's
always clean, his uniform's always smart. I thought he was just like
me."
"So are you telling me you think you're gay?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"You said you'd been dreaming about messing about with another boy.
So how long's that been going on?"
"About a year," I say evenly.
"Chris," she says, looking worried. "I'm pleased you've been truthful
with me and not tried to make excuses, but I'm getting a bad feeling
about this. That was around the time that I started going out with
James. You two weren't ., you know, were you?"
This is it. I've rehearsed this over and over in my head; now I've
got to deliver.
"I wish," I say quietly, giving her a wry smile.
"Chris!" she says, sounding even more shocked. "What's that supposed
to mean?"
"When he first started coming round here and started helping me and
that I couldn't believe it; I thought he was the most wonderful
person I'd ever met. When you weren't here I'd try to get as close to
him as I could; I don't think I really understood why I was doing it.
Anyway, he was looking after me one evening when you had to work
late. We were sitting on the sofa watching the telly. I snuggled
right up to him so my leg was rubbing against his. My ., my thing got
stiff," I say, my voice trailing off again. "I was only wearing
soccer shorts and a tee-shirt; it was sticking right up in my shorts.
Well James noticed; he could hardly miss it. Suddenly, he just turned
off the telly and told me he knew exactly what I was doing and that I
had to stop it. He said if I didn't he'd have to tell you about it
and then he'd have to stop coming round."
"I don't know what to say," she says. "I'm horrified. So then what?"
"Well, I didn't want him to stop coming round; I didn't want you
finding out what I'd been doing either, so I had to do as he said. He
was really kind afterwards; didn't make me feel bad or dirty or
anything. He told me lots of boys like to mess about together when
they start growing up; he said I might grow out of it. I don't know;
I don't think I will. Did he tell you his brother's gay?"
"Yes, he did. So he told you that too?"
"Yeah; I guess he wanted me to know I'm not a freak or anything.
Seems like his brother started messing about with one of his friends
from school when he was about my age. I don't know if James and his
brother used to mess about together; he didn't say."
"So when you messed about with this boy at school, that was the first
time you'd done it?"
"No," I say quietly, looking down at the carpet.
"So when was the first time?" she asks.
"Remember when we were in Spain?"
She pauses for a second. "Stephen? The blond boy?" she says, sounding
like she can't believe it. "I'd never have thought he was like that!"
There's another short pause. "He didn't, er, make you ."
I shake my head. "No; I think I wanted to do it even more than he
did."
"Hmmm! You're not making yourself out to be any sort of saint," she
comments.
"Well, I guess I'm not, am I?" I tell her, still looking at the
floor.
There's a long pause. It seems to last forever; the tension's almost
unbearable. But I've said what I've got to say; I'm not going to
screw it up by saying anything else. I bite my tongue and keep my
mouth shut.
"I don't have a problem with you being gay," mum says at last, "if
you are, that is. Lots of gay guys work in retail and most of them
are, well, just like anyone else, really. When we first moved here
the store manager at the time was gay. He's the best boss I've ever
had. It's just come as such a shock, especially with you being so
young. I knew you'd start growing up sometime in a year or two; I
didn't expect it to happen as soon as this."
There's another short pause.
"Is this why you and Michael have fallen out?" she asks.
"Yeah; it freaked him out, I guess."
"You hadn't been trying to ., you know?"
"Not really; we talked about sex a few times but all he wanted to
talk about was girls, so I knew I wasn't going to get anywhere. A few
weeks ago we met some girls at the pool. Michael asked one of them to
go to the pictures with him. He wanted me to ask her friend to go
too, you know, so that we could all go together. He was really pissed
off with me when I didn't."
"Well," she says, "If I'd known that was what you were doing, I
wouldn't have let you go in any case; you're certainly too young to
be going out with girls! Michael's parents seem to let him do what he
likes as long as he stays out of trouble."
Well, she's got that right, no argument. There's another pause. I'm
almost through this. I've just got to wait for mum to make the next
move.
"I'm told that these boys that saw you have been bullying you," she
says, "calling you names and stuff."
"Yeah, a bit; it's not too bad though. Mr. Sheridan spoke to me on
Monday; he said if it's more than name calling I've got to tell him
and Mr. Birkett will keep them under supervision for a week, so they
can't go out at breaks and lunchtimes."
"Yes, well make sure you do," she tells me firmly. "You've done so
well; you're not going to let these idiots ruin it for you. And if
Mr. Sheridan doesn't get it sorted, you've got to tell me,
understood?"
"Yes mum."
"And I hope you're going to carry on with you're running."
"Of course I am! Liam and Alwyn asked me to join the athletics club
at the match on Friday, after this happened. They're okay about it,
so are most of the kids."
"Well that's it then," she concludes. "Just remember what I said!"
She goes into the kitchen to get dinner ready. Whew! I made it.
That's down to Vince; if he hadn't helped me I'd have messed up big
time.
0 o 0 o 0 o 0
The bell goes for the end of school.
"Okay!" Mr. Sheridan says, "Chris, I want a quick word with you; the
rest of you put your chairs up and make your way out in an orderly
fashion."
I wait as the other boys head out onto the corridor. I didn't need
this; if I leave at the same time as all the other kids they won't do
anything `cause there are too many kids around. Then Brad meets me by
the door onto the playground and that's that. But if I leave a bit
late .
"So how's it been going?" Mr. Sheridan asks.
"Okay, thanks sir."
"So no major problems then?"
"No sir."
"Good! Off you go then!"
I leave the classroom. The corridor is already deserted. This is
trouble, I can sense it. I reach the top of the stairs. They're
waiting for me.
"Oh, look, it's Batty Boy!" Courtney sneers. "Wanna fight, hey? Wanna
suck ma dick?"
I just stand there staring back at him. Suddenly he spits at me; I
get it on my blazer, my shirt, my tie; it's disgusting. They run off
down the stairs laughing.
"Suck my dick!" Dalton squeals as they reach the landing halfway
down.
"Gonna kill you next time!" Courtney snarls.
Then they're gone. I'm left standing there, frightened and angry.
Suddenly Daryl appears, like out of nowhere.
"I saw what they did," he says quietly. "You've got to tell Mr.
Sheridan."
"Where did you come from?" I ask.
"I heard them talking; I knew they were planning to get you so I
hid." He looks me right in the eye. "This is my fault, isn't it?" he
says quietly. "They're doing this `cause you stood up for me that
day."
"That's not your fault," I say. "They're just arseholes."
"Yeah, well come on, we've got to go back to Mr. Sheridan's room,
you've got to tell him."
I don't want to do it, but I know he's right. We head back to the
classroom.
"What's happened?" Mr Sheridan asks, clearly surprised to see us.
I let Daryl tell him the story.
"Courtney said he'd kill him next time," he concludes.
I've never seen Mr. Sheridan angry before; he is scary!
"I'm sorry, Chris," he says. "I shouldn't have kept you behind; I
didn't realise they were making such an issue of it. Well, I'm going
to see Mr. Birkett before he goes home to get Courtney taken out of
circulation from now till half term. He's been in a load of trouble
with Mr. Birkett as it is. He'll have to be with either Mr. Birkett
or his form tutor Mr. Standen every minute of the day when he's not
in class, and we'll organise prefects to escort him between classes.
You won't get any trouble from the other two if he's not around. And
I'm going to have more than a few words with Dalton; this is down to
him. He must have told Courtney that I kept you back. Do you want me
to go downstairs with you?"
"No sir, they've gone," Daryl says. "We'll be okay now."
We leave for a second time. As we reach the ground floor, Brad's just
coming back into the building.
"I've been looking for you," he says, grinning. "Something kick off?"
"Yeah, Mr. Sheridan wanted to speak to me at the end of our tutor
period. When I got out, Courtney and the others were waiting for me
at the top of the stairs. Courtney spat on me."
"Yeukkk!" he says, pulling a face. "That's disgusting!"
"Yeah, well Daryl saw him so we went to tell Mr. Sheridan."
"Cool! So Courtney's going to be getting to know Mr. Birkett, is he?"
"Up till half term, that's what Mr. Sheridan said."
"Yeah, well maybe he'll get the message; maybe he won't. I wouldn't
count on it," Brad says.
"Anyway, this is Daryl; he's in my tutor group." I say. "Daryl, this
is Brad. He's one of the good guys."
They greet each other. Suddenly I get a strange feeling; there's
something odd going on."
"Well, gotta go!" Brad says brightly, giving me a cheeky grin. "You
won't need me; those three arseholes pissed off ten minutes ago. See
ya!"
He trots off across the playground and out through the gate.
"I need to go to the boys' room," Daryl says.
Instinctively I glance down. He's got a hard on. So that's it!
I don't have much homework to do so I've got plenty of time. Even so,
it's not ideal; two of the workshops are used for activity clubs on
Thursday afternoons, but they'll already have started by now. It's
worth the risk.
"Not this one," I tell him. "I'll show you."
We walk across towards the technology block.
"Is this where you came with ., you know?" Daryl asks.
"Anthony? Yeah."
"I've seen him; he's gorgeous," he comments. "But I thought the
technology block was locked at lunchtimes."
"That's what most people think," I say grinning at him. "The door at
this end is, but the one at the far end's left open."
"Oh, so that's why you were walking round the building," he says, the
light beginning to dawn.
"Yeah."
That's not what we're going to do now, though; someone in one of the
workshops might see us and realise what we were doing. We go in
through the main door and head straight down the corridor into the
boys' room. As expected, the place is deserted.
"Cool!" Daryl whispers.
I take him into one of the stalls and bolt the door. We hang up our
blazers. I wrap my arms round him, pulling gently into a kiss. He
responds beautifully, his tongue wrestling with mine, his dick
pressing against the top of my thigh. I start to undress him.
"Been with anyone else since ., you know, back before Christmas?"
"Never had the chance," he says, shaking his head.
Ties and shirts are off. We undo each other's trousers. They fall
around our ankles. We pull each others underpants down.
"I love your cock!" he whispers. He sinks to his knees and takes it
into his mouth. He's so good at this; it's hard to believe that this
is only the second time he's done it. I run my fingers through his
hair. It's really thick like Danny's was, but not silky like his. I'm
getting too close; I don't want to cum yet.
"Okay, you'd better stop now," I tell him, easing myself out of his
mouth.
I sit on the toilet and return the favour. His cock's only small but
it's hard as steel and throbbing beautifully. I suck it slowly,
flicking my tongue out to lick his balls. I slip my hand between his
legs, my finger quickly locating his bum-hole. He's making no attempt
to stop me. Is he up for that? My dick's still quite slim so I reckon
I could do it without hurting him too much. There's only one way to
find out. I retrieve the little tube of KY from my trouser pocket. I
lube up my finger and return it to his back entrance. I work it round
the edge for a few seconds then push inside. There's no protest, even
though he's very tight. I push in deeper. He gasps as I hit his
prostate, his cock jerking between my lips. I do it again. He's well
into it, holding my head, his hard spike fucking my mouth.
It's time to find out how far he wants to go. I let my finger pop out
of his bum and release his cock. I get to my feet, putting my arm
round his shoulder.
"D'you want me to fuck you?" I ask, whispering right in his ear.
"Yes," he says, smiling up at me.
"It'll hurt a bit when it goes in," I say gently. "Just try to relax;
push out like you're having a shit."
We move into position. I lube myself up and work some more KY into
his bum. This is it! I guide my dick onto its target. Pushing gently
isn't going to work; he's too tight for that. I put my left hand
round the top of his legs and push hard. His muscles resist for a
second or so, then suddenly the head of my dick slips inside him.
"Ohhhh!" he gasps.
"You okay?" I whisper.
"Yeah; I think so." he says.
I wait until I feel him relax a little then push in deeper. There's
another gasp before he relaxes again. I give him some more, pushing
right over his prostate. He moans with pleasure. One more push and
he's got it all. Wow! I've popped his cherry! That is awesome! I hold
him around the tops of his legs, slowly pulling back till he's only
got an inch or so still inside him, his bum clamped firmly round my
dick; he's way tighter than any of the other kids I've fucked. Very
steadily I push it in again; there's no other way. For the next
couple of minutes I keep it slow, fucking him with long, even
thrusts. Gradually the pressure starts to ease. I move a little
faster.
"Ooooh, yeah!" he moans.
I speed up a little more, closing my fingers around his cock. It's
harder than ever. I gradually build up the pace, till I'm totally
going for it, fucking him with everything I've got. Suddenly he
begins to shake, his bum gripping my cock even tighter. A moment
later his cock jerks wildly between my fingers. Nothing comes out,
but I didn't expect it to. A few more thrusts and I'm there as well.
I slam right into him, holding on tight as my cock swells and jerks,
my spunk spurting right up his arse. Fuck! That was so intense!
I take a few seconds to get my breath back then gently pull out. To
my surprise, his bum closes up immediately; he doesn't even bother
getting rid of my spunk. We get ourselves dressed and head back the
way we came.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
"Yeah, that was wicked!" he says, grinning at me. "I've been wanting
to do that for months. Now I've got your spunk inside me."
"Oh! So how did you know about guys fucking?"
"Off the internet; stories mainly, but I've found some pics too."
"Oh, right!"
"Chris," he asks, "is Brad gay?"
"Oh, yeah," I say casually. "He loves fucking."
"Does he fuck you then?"
"Yeah, why d'you ask?"
"Oh," he says reflectively. "He was nice. Has he got a big cock?"
"Not huge, bigger than mine though. So d'you want to meet him some
time?"
"Isn't he your boyfriend, then?" he asks.
"Nah, he's got a boyfriend, lives across the road from him. Doesn't
come here; goes to Wyndham Park."
"Oh! Well I'd love to, if you don't mind!" he says, grinning at me.
"Nah, that's cool." I say. "I'll tell him; he'll be well up for it."
I stride out of the gate and head for home, leaving Daryl to put in a
rather late appearance at the Art & Design Club.