Date: Tue, 06 Jun 2000 23:36:53 BST From: Jack Rowan <jack_rowan@hotmail.com> Subject: The Story of Tim - part 2 THE STORY OF TIM - part 2 This story includes descriptions of sexual relations between an adult man and a teenage boy, including bondage and SM. If the law in your jurisdiction says that you're too young to be reading this, then I suggest very strongly that you should obey the law. People who are likely to be offended by the subject matter are respectfully advised not to read it. Please note: This is fiction. In real life, sexual relationships between adults and teenagers cannot be condoned. For other notes, please see the start of part 1. Comments will be very gratefully received by Jack_Rowan@hotmail.com ====================================================================== 8 Games of various sorts ------------------------- When we got back to the house, supper was ready and it was almost dark. I switched on the lights and we sat down to eat. "How are you doing at school?" "Okay. I'll be taking some GCSEs this autumn." "That's years early! You must be quite bright." "I suppose so. The teachers think so. But... well, it's not always easy in school to be bright AND good-looking." "The other kids give you a bad time?" "Yeah. Basically at school I'm the number one hate figure." "Not a lot of fun. Don't you have any friends?" "No. I've given up caring, really. I don't get beaten up often these days. I've learned how to keep my head down and just stay out of the way. I did have one friend but he moved away. That was bad, a really bad time." "Was he bright AND good-looking too?" "Two stuck-up conceited little arseholes together, you mean?" "No, I did NOT mean that." "Actually, Terry wasn't very good-looking, no, he was quite fat and his face was kind of squashed-looking, and he always had spots. And he wasn't bright at all; he was in the remedial classes for some subjects. But he was gentle and kind." I looked at Tim. He was very serious, and a couple of tears seemed to be hesitating in his eyes. I was... dammit, call it by its name: I was falling in love. "So, it's not all fun and games, being cute, then?" "Cute!?" He snapped out of it like lightning. "Cute!? Am I CUTE, then?" "Yup." "I always thought of girls as being cute, not guys." "Some guys are cute. Well, as far as I'm concerned." "Um. I like it, in a way. Cute. Cute. I'm CUTE," he said, with a grin. "Okay, cute one, how about this Nintendo, then?" "Yes!" So we got it out, and he trashed me at some fighting game several times in a row. I was getting better by the end, though. "You're rubbish!" "Hey! I don't know this game, I've never played it before. I don't know any of the moves!" "Well, you'll just have to learn them, if you want to play with me. Even Mira's better than you!" "She'd have to be, I guess. Let's watch TV a bit." I switched to the TV; some police film, I don't know what. He moved to sit next to me, and quickly was leaning against me. I realised suddenly that this was the nearest I had been to actually touching him. We hadn't even shaken hands. "I'm going to like it here," he said. "Good. I hope you do." A pause. "David? Do you really think I'm cute?" "I don't think many people would dispute it." "Do you fancy me?" Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. "Tim, I'm a gay man. I feel some attraction to any reasonably presentable man I meet. Or teenager. You are indeed cute, so it's pointless to say I don't have an attraction to you. But just because I'm attracted to someone it doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to try to get off with them. Life would be impossible if I did that. It's nice being with attractive people, and you can enjoy it just like that." At that precise moment Tim looked up at me and the urge to kiss him was almost unbearable. "And now," I said, shaking myself internally with some energy, "it's time you went to bed. It's been a long day. And I think a shower wouldn't be a bad idea?" "O-kay," he said. "But will you come and scrub my back?" His grin was pure mischief. "No, I won't. There's a backbrush. Use it." He laughed and went to his room. As I cleared up the dishes and tidied the kitchen I could hear the shower starting. In few minutes he was back, wearing his new pyjamas. Suddenly he looked like a small boy, completely vulnerable. "Okay, I'm off to bed. I'm quite tired, actually." Then suddenly he was hugging me. "Thanks for looking after me. And thanks for all the clothes." He smelled clean and boyish. His body in my arms was overwhelming me; I could feel the valley running down his back, and the line of his backbone. "Don't mention it, it's a pleasure." Then he kissed me gently on the lips. I felt I would faint. "'Night, David." "'Night, kiddo." And he was gone. 9 A little night music ----------------------- For a time I sat staring into space. This was an insane situation. I recognised the symptoms: I was in love. After just a few hours, I was in love with a fourteen-year-old boy. I longed to see him again. Even though he was only in the next room, I felt utterly bereft by his absence. My mind whirled with images of him, walking through the town almost naked, standing in his pyjamas, squatting by the lakeside. It was going to be a crazed, agonising two months. Because whether he was doing it on purpose or not, he was being as seductive as it was possible for someone to be. He had me on the rack. Where had this all come from? I came out as a gay man when I was eighteen. I had never fallen for such a young boy before; most of my partners were of my own age, more-or-less. Had this thing been waiting to spring out on me? Or was this the first signs of incipient middle age? Did a long future face me as a raincoat-clad dirty old man, haunting playgrounds and amusement arcades? I hadn't lied when I spoke to Tim. I really did feel that for a man of my age to have sex with such a young boy was wrong; harmful and abusive. And when you included the other things I did, that was true double, and in spades. Perhaps I should phone Mira and demand that she come home, or find someone else to look after the boy? But that would be impossible too. Tim was friendless. He had no-one his own age. It would be an awful blow for him to be rejected again in that way, by someone he liked. I would simply have to keep a grip of myself. God dammit, I was an adult. There wasn't any excuse for this. I did something I rarely do: found my packet of cigarettes and extracted one. I went outside to smoke it. It was a beautiful clear night, moonlit and cool. Grasshoppers sang in the grass, and my barn owl hooted in the wood. I decided to go round the side to see if the nightingale was singing. The damp grass was full of the sounds of small night creatures going about their business. Gradually I managed to calm down. As I turned round the house, the moonlight streamed across the meadow, the trees throwing strange moon shadows. And sure enough, the nightingale was singing, the wonderful melody pouring down from the great beech tree. In the distance a cow lowed. I scarcely dared to breathe. I glanced at the house, and then looked again. Tim's curtains and window were open. He was lying on the bed. I watched, frozen, as he stroked himself, slowly, fast, slowly again. I watched - I couldn't resist; I could even hear his little sounds as he pleasured himself. I couldn't think, couldn't move. His exquisite head and its halo of hair lay on the pillow; I could see the muscles moving in his arm as he worked. He was about five inches long, perfectly in proportion, utterly simple and beautiful. The little noises came faster and faster, his head strained upwards and back, and then with a cry, he came. I could see the spasms and the juice flying, and he fell back onto the pillow with a groan. And all the time the nightingale sang and sang. I stood there, motionless in the night, and wept. I wept for age, and youth, and loneliness; the loneliness of a beautiful, funny, generous boy, who could find no friends in the world. And for me, alone for years since Vincent left me, only to be ambushed by an impossible love. I wept for the hopelessness of it all, of life wasted, and death. Tim's light snapped off and left me in the moonlight. I felt the kind of empty calm which sometimes comes after tears, and walked silently through the night back to the house. I caught a last glimpse of the moon as I turned the corner. She seemed cool, but not unfriendly. 10 Ordinary things ------------------ The next day started bright and sunny again. I had slept well, and I awoke feeling unexpectedly happy and at peace. I went for a run through the park. My feet brushed through the morning dew. The world was beautiful. For some reason, I felt that I'd be able to cope, and it would all work out somehow. I had a shower and went to start breakfast. I heard the shower going, and then Tim appeared, wearing his new swimsuit, which was even smaller than the old one. He'd already managed to brush his hair out into its usual cloud. "How do you do that with your hair anyhow?" "Hair spray. There was some in the book bag. Actually, I don't need much - it stays like that by itself." "As for that swimsuit - I don't know why you bother. You might as well go around with nothing on." "I'm shy. Sounds stupid, but I am. Anyhow, I like the feel of it, I like the tightness." He blushed. I tried not to laugh, but I think Tim caught me smiling. "So? What's wrong with that?" "Wrong? Absolutely nothing. Here. Eat." He fell on the bacon and eggs with his usual voraciousness. As we ate, I explained the plan for the day. "This morning I need to do some work. Can you look after yourself?" "Sure, no problem." "Then after lunch we'll need to do some food shopping. After that I thought we'd have a swim. Then we'll see." "Sounds okay. Can I use the Nintendo?" "Yeah, why not." Tim helped me clear away the dishes. I retired to my work room. For some reason the work went extremely well; I finished one chapter and had a good run on the next. All the time I could hear Tim's game twittering away in the background, but it didn't disturb me. I liked the feeling of having someone else doing things in the house. About eleven o'clock Tim brought me a cup of coffee. On a tray, with a biscuit. "Oh, great thinking, Tim, just what I needed. Hey, it's good to have you round the house, you know that?" He ruffled my hair. I was astonished. "Back to work, slave, back to work," he sang, prancing out of the door. At oneish I stopped and made us some lunch. Bread and cheese, with some fruit. "If we're going to the supermarket, you'd better put on something a leetle less revealing. It's not at all the same as Banbourn in high season. You don't want to give the checkout girls a seizure." "Oh, must I? I go to the shops with Mira like this." "Unfortunately, there's a difference. Cute naked boy + woman = mother + child. Cute naked boy + man = child abuse." "You're paranoid!" "No, I ain't. Just think about it some more. Sorry, Tim, but this is going to come up again and again. The fact that I'm not actually abusing you is neither here nor there, unfortunately." "Heh-heh. Well, in that case you might as well abuse me and be done with it." I gave him a for-god's-sake kind of look. "Just think about it." "Abuse me!" He leant back and stretched out his arms. "No chance. Put an ad in the paper. 'Cute fourteen-year-old boy seeks abuser. Dirty raincoat preferred.'" "Yuck. That's pretty horrid." "Put on some clothes." "Okay, okay. You're right, I guess." He came back a few minutes later wearing a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt. "Good God!" I said, "Those shorts are scarcely better than the swimsuit!" "This time I'm right. Boy + swimsuit = naked boy. Boy + shorts = clothed boy." I thought about it. "Okay, I guess you'll do. Let's go." The trip round Sainsbury's was another revelation, in a small way. People looked at Tim almost as much as they had in Banbourn. He just attracted attention wherever he was. And he played up to it, too. The checkout girl, two years older than him at most, couldn't keep her eyes off him. "Say, what are you doing after work?" he said, giving her a look, but with just enough smile that she realised he was joking. "None of your business, kid," she snapped. But she still looked. As we drove back, I said without thinking: "I can't understand why you've missed out on the girls. They're all over you!" "Reasons," he said, looking out of his side window. He was quite subdued, even cross. 11 An afternoon swim -------------------- "Okay," I said, as we rode up to the house, "How about a swim?" He came out of his brown study with a jerk. "Great! That'll be really nice." "I'll just put on my swimsuit, " I said, as we rolled up to the house. "You mean you're not going to skinny dip?" He followed me in. "Well, you aren't, are you?" "No, I don't think so." "Then neither will I. Come on! Get changed!" I yelled from my room. "I've got it on under my shorts." "Oh, I see. You like the tight feeling, yes?" "You won't forget that, will you?" I laughed. When I came out of my room, he was fingering one of the straps on the Chair. His face was intent, curious. I wondered what was going on in his mind. "Come on!" We ran across the meadow to the lake. Without stopping I dived in. On the side Tim was slipping out of his shorts and tee-shirt, and then he dived in neatly beside me. "Ow! It's cold! Why didn't you say?" "You're quite a good diver!" "Not bad. School team, even though I'm only fourteen." "Nice. Come on, let's swim." I swum a couple of widths, with Tim easily keeping up with me. "They haven't nibbled me yet!" he gasped. "Nor me. Perhaps it's too bright for them. If we came out in the evening they'd circle up slowly, champing their jaws, and then..." I reached down, grabbed him by both hips and toppled him smartly under the water. "Bastard!" He flew at me and we wrestled in and under and over the water. We ended with his legs round my waist and me just about to duck him decisively. "You win, you win!" he laughed. I let him go. "That's only the second time," he spluttered as he surfaced. "The second time what?" "That you've touched me." He blundered to the edge and crawled out. By the time I got out he had flung himself face up in the long grass. "This is the life! Swimming and sunshine. I could get used to this!" I lay down near him. For quite a while we didn't speak. The thrush on the edge of the wood was making his proclamations, answered by a neighbour further away. A bumblebee did her rounds of the meadow flowers. I watched the small clouds slowly moving, and the impenetrable blue of the sky. 12 Some truths -------------- "David?" "Mm?" "I don't really understand about that couch thing." He'd been thinking, then. "Why does a person want to be strapped into it?" A day before I'd have been appalled by this question. Now I didn't feel frightened of giving him some kind of explanation. I could gauge him better. "How much do you know about me, Tim?" "Lots of things, now. You live here by yourself. You write books. You're gay." "Yes, I'm gay. That's to do with sex, who I'm attracted to. But there are other ways a person can be different as far as sex goes. Is this okay for you? You don't mind me talking about these things?" "I asked." I rolled over on my side, leaning on an elbow. I could see him still on his back, spread-eagled under the sun. Under his swimsuit he was hard. So was I. "Well. Some people like to tie people up when they have sex, or when they're playing in a sex sort of way. Or they like to be tied up." "Do they? Lots of people?" "Yup. Can you understand that? In a way, it's like what you said." I ploughed on ruthlessly, not sparing him. "When you said, you like the tight feeling. Well, in a way it's like that, kind of all over." "Yes, I know." "You know?" There was a long pause. This was important for him. I waited. "I do that. Sometimes. When I'm - by myself? You know? Sometimes I tie myself up a bit." "It's not unusual." "Really? I thought it was just me, just me being weird." He turned on his side too, and we faced one another. His eyes were glistening, he was almost crying. "I thought, I thought I was the only one. That I was - all wrong." "No. Listen, Tim. There's nothing wrong about it. This is really important. You can't do anything wrong with sex, I mean morally wrong, so long as the other person's okay with it. The only wrong thing is to make people do things which they don't want to do. That's all." I lay on my back again. "As for tying people up, well, lots and lots of people do it." "I didn't know." I'd have to go on. We'd come to the point where he had a right to know. "The thing is, though, I do other things. More than tying people up." I heard him move in the grass. "Like what?" "Like, well, when the person is tied up, sometimes I'll - do things to them." "Oh wow. What things? You'll have to tell me. I, I really want to know. Please." "Like hurting them. I don't mean injuring them, I mean making them hurt. Sometimes really badly." "You mean, whipping them or something?" "Yes, it could be that. There are people who like that, who want that. There are people who want to be hurt in that way." This time there was a long pause, and then I could hear him whimpering. I waited. There wasn't anything else I could do. Then, almost a whisper: "Yes. I do." "Do you? Well, there's nothing wrong with that. There are lots of people around who do." "I didn't know. It's like the tying up thing. I really thought there couldn't be anyone else who was like that. I thought I was - sick." "Don't be ashamed. Don't. It's been part of my life for years and years, and there's nothing wrong about it. I have good friends and lovers who are like that too. It's good." I could hear him turn to me. "Thanks for telling me. It's, it's really helped. You can't believe how good it feels." I felt as if a great battle had been fought and won; I longed to hug him, or even hold his hand. "Whoah! So solemn! I think I'll come over there and - tickle you!" He leapt to his feet and dashed away from my grip. "No! No tickling! No!" He was laughing, but I could see real fear in his eyes. I chased him round the pond. He easily evaded me. "Come on, Tim," I said, "Let me try. Just once. I won't do it much." He laughed. But he came nearer. "Only once, I promise. Come on. Hold your arms up." He did. I felt like cheering. He was smiling, but his eyes were wide. Very gently, I ran my fingertips down both his sides. He shrieked, twisted and collapsed. Just a touch, and he was wrecked. Tim was (and is) the most ticklish person I've ever met. Laughing, we gathered our things and walked back to the house as the sun set. 13 TV evening ------------- After that, the evening started in a fairly subdued way. I made us some supper, and we watched TV. It was a quiet time. I noticed that he put himself in a chair apart from me, didn't cuddle up as he had the day before. He was thinking about things. We watched a couple of programmes, talked and joked about them, but I could see that his mind was on other things. Then he leant across and picked the TV controller of the arm of the sofa. He turned the TV off. "David. Put me in that thing." I started to refuse. "Wait. I understand about it now. You've explained. I know what it means, but I still want to." "Tim, I really can't. I've explained why. You're just not old enough. I'm sorry if that's hard, but that's just the way of it." "No. I AM old enough. I've been thinking about these things for ages, I've even..." His voice dropped. "I've even tried to do them. Now I want to do them for real. It's time. Please." "I've still got to say no. I'm sorry, Tim, I'm really sorry. But you need to find someone your own age, someone you can experiment with together. It's the only fair way, the only right way." "But why!? I know you. You're my uncle, in a way. I trust you. Why can't I learn it from you? You know all about it, don't you?" "Because I don't know what it would do to you. It's a very, very strong emotional thing. I'm careful even with the adults I do it with. It can turn a person inside out. I can't risk harming you in that way, Tim, can't you see that? You're - you're too important to me." He paused, then smiled wanly. "Well, I had to ask." "I'm proud that you did. That you trust me that way." "Thanks." "Find someone your own age. If you want advice, I'll always be here. Anyhow, what on earth would Mira say? I couldn't risk getting on her wrong side!" He laughed. "We'll see about that!" "You wouldn't!" "I might." "Does she know about you? That you're interested in these things?" "I haven't told her. But I think she may guess. A bit." I yawned. "Look, I think we should go to bed. We need to get up early tomorrow, to ring her." "Okay." He stood up. "What's the thing doing here, anyhow, right in the middle of the living room?" "Usually it lives downstairs, in the basement. I brought it up here because I was doing some work down there, and when Mira called I didn't have time to put it back. I didn't know you were coming." "I didn't know there was a basement!" "Behind that door. It's, it's where I do my things, usually. I suppose you could call it a dungeon." "A dungeon!? Let me see." "No way. Definitely off limits." "You never let me have any fun!" He pouted, miming a spoilt child, and I laughed at him. "Off to bed, monkey!" "Okay." Then he was hugging me. "Thanks for the things you said," he murmured in my ear. "That was really good." "You're a pretty good person yourself, kiddo. 'Night." "'Night." I pottered around a bit, thinking. Then I rang up Andy, and put him off. He was disappointed, and I felt somehow that I had burnt a bridge, an important one. But some situations are just too difficult to be worth getting into. Then went to bed myself. I set the alarm clock for 6:30. An hour later I woke, and tiptoed to the kitchen for a glass of water. I could hear that in his room, Tim was quietly weeping. I returned to my room, cursing everything.