Date: Mon, 4 Sep 2006 22:03:04 +0100 (BST)
From: Mike Arram <mikearram@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: The Son of the Chav Prince - 1

This is not the usual story of alternative sexualties (though needless to
say that comes into it).  This is a story about consequences and obligation
-- about parenthood in fact.  The hero is our old friend Justin Macavoy,
alias Peacher-White.  Those who remember The Chav Prince will know that he
put it about a bit at the age of fifteen, and now his precocious sexuality
brings a package home to roost.

Deep thanks as ever to Rob and Terry, my generous and hard-working readers
and correctors.  Thank God they do it for free, otherwise I don't like to
think what they might charge me.

Please don't read this if it is illegal to read about gay sex in your place
or country of residence, or if you are underage.

This tale first appeared on www.iomfats.org/storyshelf/hosted/arram where
you can find the rest of my stories.



SON OF THE CHAV PRINCE

by

Michael Arram


I


It was dark backstage.  Although Justin could not see much, what he could
hear left nothing to the imagination.  Gasps, grunts and groans told him
that Cody was at it again.  The singer had this thing about getting his end
away before going on stage.  It was a bit like Mussolini before a speech,
as Justin's dad Matthew had told him with a grin.  Matt always had a
historical parallel.
  Somehow, Cody the Creep never had any trouble finding a girl who would
open her legs to satisfy his urge.  Justin suspected that the manager of
The Sick Boys had a private arrangement with local pimps.  Justin quietly
approved of the good sense.  It was better for Cody to screw well-paid
prostitutes than to recklessly dip his wick into underage fans, with all
the complications that might bring.
  Justin did not see the attraction in Cody Bignall.  That might have
surprised other gays, for whom Cody was something of a lust object, but
cleaning up the mess after the singer and minding his overexposed ass had
left Justin pretty well jaundiced about pop-star fame.  More and more he
was beginning to find parallels between his current job of minding boy
bands and the profession of childcare.  At twenty-two years of age, Justin
Peacher-White, divisional security manager of O'Brien Associates, was
starting to feel old.
  However, there was a job to do, and Justin could not complain that it was
badly paid.  The current tour would transfer a whacking six-figure sum from
the millions The Sick Boys earned into the deep coffers of O'Brien
Associates, and a quarter of that would be Justin's.  For he was not just
the chief showbiz consultant for the company, he had been made a partner
the previous month.  His bank account had been transferred to Coutts and
his first dividend advance had already made him a millionaire.  He would be
a serious multimillionaire after only a couple more years -- less,
probably.
  Ever since he was sixteen, Justin had moved in a world of wealth and
fame.  He thoroughly enjoyed the creature comforts they had brought him,
but the keenness of mind that made him so good at his chosen profession had
led him to realize, while still quite young, that other things in life
could be even more important than material possessions.  Love was one of
them.  Justin loved and was loved by his Nathan, a man who moved in very
different circles from him, yet was always waiting patiently for him at the
end of his contracts.  Nathan had little use for money.  Apart from Justin,
all he cared for were his plants.  His life was consumed by his
garden-centre business in Suffolk.
  Justin smiled gently as he thought of his faithful and steady lover, the
real centre of his universe, standing at the checkout in a green
sweatshirt, a pencil stuck behind one ear.  Suddenly, he just wanted to be
home in Haddesley Cottage.  It was always like this in the last week of a
contract.  The fun, the travel and the challenges were over.  He was bored,
and he wanted his Nathan.  In particular, he wanted his Nathan inside him.
  Justin checked his illuminated watch.  The warm-up band was coming to the
end of its set.  Chants for The Sick Boys were already rising in the
Astrodome.  Houston wanted the latest pop sensation.  As if recognising
this, Cody's panting rose to a climax and he groaned out his orgasm.
Justin talked quietly into his earpiece mike to his second-in- command, who
reported that the rest of the band was moving.  When Cody finally appeared,
pulling on his tee-shirt over his well-buffed abdomen, Justin was ready to
direct him to where he should join the rest.  Justin caught a glimpse of a
high-heeled woman teetering off towards an exit, another professional in
the execution of her duty.  He grimaced.

***

`What are you going to do this summer, Danny?' Dad asked.
  `Er ... dunno.  You think I should be doing something?  You mean like
work?'
  `That's exactly what I mean, son.  Work.  The thing that distinguishes
humanity from the rest of the animal kingdom.  We have jobs.  We have
currency.  And we have pay packets that nicely match the two concepts.  And
my pay isn't sufficient to keep four kids in the things they would like to
enjoy.  So, yes.  Get a job.'
  Danny gave his father a quirky look.  Dad was an English teacher in the
local rural comprehensive, the same one from which Danny was about to
graduate to sixth-form college, once GCSEs were out of the way.  Danny's
brother was already in the sixth, and his two sisters were lower down the
same school.  Danny realized that money was tight at the moment, or tighter
than usual.  Mum had just lost her job in the shutdown of the local branch
of the bank where she had worked.  Danny knew a lot more was riding on his
dad's light remarks than was being said, so he didn't express the faint
resentment that bubbled up in him.  Instead he asked, `Any ideas then?'
  Dad smiled approvingly at his son's willingness to at least listen.  `The
free sheet has just come through the door.  See what's in it.'  He took his
mug out of the kitchen and disappeared up to the shelter of his den.
  Danny leafed through the Classifieds -- nothing there for
sixteen-year-olds.  Feeling strangely and uncomfortably adult and
responsible, he grabbed a jacket and walked out into the Saturday afternoon
quiet of Castringham village.
  When Danny was seven, the Hackness family had settled in a former Rural
District Council house on a quiet estate originally intended for farm
labourers.  Nowadays, Castringham Crescent chiefly housed commuters to
Ipswich and Cambridge.  Danny's house was situated at the end of a
cul-de-sac, with nothing but fields and woods beyond.  In some ways it had
been a perfect place to grow up, and Danny, his siblings and friends had
enjoyed an idyllic country childhood.
  Now he was sixteen and this sort of picture-book world was beginning to
seem tame and boring.  He could not wait to get away from it.  But where?
He mused.  Maybe think of university, or maybe he'd go directly into the
world of work.  He knew he was bright.  Most of his friends hung round the
village green, worrying the older inhabitants with their coarse language
and ostentatious cigarette smoking.  Danny did not care for that.  He
wanted to make something of himself.
  He emerged on the green.  It was a nice-looking place, the sort that
people took Sunday drives to see.  It had a duck pond, a line of thatched
cottages, a medieval church and a red pillar-box.  But Danny wanted the
post office.  He looked at the display of want ads and notices in the
window.  It was not promising.  He didn't fancy Pilates classes in the
village hall.  He also had no interest in delivering papers, suspecting the
reason why they were always advertising for paperboys had something to do
with the conditions of the job.  Oh why was there no McDonald's or Pizza
Hut in Castringham?  He knew the answer to that one, of course --
Castringham was the back of beyond.
  Suddenly, a nicely typed notice hijacked Danny's attention: Haddesley
Hall Garden Centre and Pet Supplies.  Manager, N. Underwood.  Assistant
needed.  Reasonable rates.  Ring this number and ask for Nate.
  Haddesley was the next village along.  Danny knew the garden centre well,
having been dragged round it often enough as a kid.  He was aware it had
been under new management for the past three years.  There was something
else his brother had told him about it, too.  Oh yes.  Now he remembered.
The guy who ran it was a poof.  Danny played that piece of data through his
brain, then shrugged.  He was sufficiently alienated from his rural
background to affect to resent backwoods prejudices.  This Nate was a poof,
so what?  Just try making a pass at him and see what happened!
  Danny had his mobile, so he rang the number immediately, standing outside
the window.  He had just got the cut-glass tones of the answerphone lady
when she was cut off by a pleasant male voice: `Hi!  Garden Centre.  Nate
speaking.'
  `Oh ... er, hi!  Er ... my name's Danny.  I saw your ad in Castringham
post office for an assistant.  Is there still a vacancy?'
  There was a pause.  Then the voice recommenced, `Could you tell me how
old you are?'
  `Sixteen last March.'
  `Well, normally I prefer to employ sixth-formers, but you're nearly there
I suppose.  I've actually got two jobs going, since a couple of my old
regulars are moving on to uni.  I have to tell you that at the moment I've
got six applicants.  Still, could you come for an interview tomorrow at
... say, eight in the morning?  Even though it's Sunday, it's a working day
for us.'
  `OK, I guess so.'
  `Good.  Give us your details then, Danny.'
  When Danny hung up, he found he had mixed feelings about this.  The idea
of an interview scared him slightly.  What sort of questions would he get?
He knew little about plants and gardens.  Also, if the guy was gay, good
looks might swing it, and Danny was no Adonis.  Indeed, he was just an
ordinary, mousy-haired kid, with no special talents he had ever discovered.
  He strolled back up the Crescent, wondering where he had put his National
Insurance card.  Mum would know.

***

Danny did have one talent, though he had never looked at it that way.  He
was, even at sixteen, very much his own man.  He was rarely flustered by
anything that happened around him, and he couldn't care less about his peer
group and what they thought.  The consensus in year 11 at his comprehensive
had been that Danny Hackness was cool.  It made him quite a hit with the
girls.  And if he was still a virgin, it wasn't for want of opportunities
not to be.  The fact that his father was a teacher in the same school had
not bothered Danny either, the way it did his sisters.  It gave him little
fear of the rest of the staff, and he tended to talk to them with an air of
confidence.  He was never disrespectful, far from it, but he looked adults
in the eye when he talked to them.
  He rode his bike the three miles through the country lanes to Haddesley.
It was a fine, warm early morning.  There were no cars around, and the
hedges and trees were full of birdsong.  Danny was not immune to the charms
of nature, which made him feel quite cheerful.
  Just outside the village was Haddesley Hall, a stately home set in its
own private park.  It was a long red-brick house of eighteenth-century
vintage, with a flat parapet and an ugly Victorian portico added to the
door.  Next to it was Haddesley church, whose bells were chiming
seven-thirty just at that moment, echoed by the stable clock behind the
hall.
  Danny was early.  When he dismounted and pulled off his helmet, he
realized he was sweating from the ride and smelled a bit niffy.  Across the
low park wall and through the trees he could see the flat grey surface of a
lake spread out, with reed beds along its banks.  It looked so inviting
that he leaned his bike against the wall and hopped over.  Going down
through the thin line of trees behind the wall, he found a sunlit miniature
beach along the lake bank, sheltered from either side by tall reeds.  He
quickly stripped off his top and knelt down to splash his face and rub his
armpits.  The water was chilly but very refreshing.  He bent down and
plunged his head into its cool depths.
  As Danny pulled up out of the lake and shook his long hair, he heard a
voice, and not a friendly one.  `Here, I say!  You!  Do you know you're
trespassing?  This is a private home.'
  Danny wiped the water from his eyes and stood up.  The voice belonged to
a tall boy, probably much his own age.  Danny saw he was red-faced about
something.  The bright- red cheeks didn't go too well with his thick blond
hair.
  `Is it?' Danny responded mildly.  `I'd better be off, then.  Sorry to be
a bother.'
  The other boy seemed even more peeved by the mild answer -- either that,
or Danny's usual careless and confident tone had further irritated him.
Perhaps he felt he was being made fun of.
  `That's right, now clear off.  Bloody village kids.  Treat the park like
a bloody playground!'
  Danny was becoming amused.  The strange boy was clearly trying to be
something he was not.  He seemed too mild a boy for the aggression he was
displaying.  Danny slowly put his top back on, smiling as his head emerged.
`What's your name then, mate?' he drawled, deliberately proletarianising
his accent to that of the local townies.  His mother would have been
appalled.
  `My name is none of your concern,' snapped the irate boy.  Danny was
rather surprised that he hadn't been called `My man' or `Fellow'.  The
other boy's accent was distinctly upper class as he continued, `Be off with
you, or I'll ... yes, I'll get the police to you.'
  Danny was now very amused.  `OK, chief.  No need to get your knickers in
a hernia.  I said I was goin', dinn I?  You live here then, mate?'
  The red-faced boy balled his fists.  Danny really began to believe that
he was about to get hit, so he put up his hands pacifically.  `OK, goin'
now.  No need to call out the gamekeepers and `ave me `orse-whipped.  Bye.'
  Danny wandered back to the wall, taking his time.  As he hopped over he
looked back.  The boy was still by the lakeside, and still had his fists
clenched.  But now he looked uncertain and a bit lost.
  At 7:55, Danny propped up his bike outside the garden centre and locked
the back wheel.  He looked around.  The gravelled car park was empty but
for a small red Clio on the other side, next to a cottage.  No one seemed
to be around.  He tapped on the garden- centre door, but everything was
locked up and dark inside.
  Then he heard a voice calling from across the car park.  He looked
towards the cottage where a big bloke was waving at him.  He walked over.
`You Nate?' he asked.
  The big bloke smiled.  For the first professed gay Danny had seen close
up he looked pretty normal, which was almost a disappointment.  He was
wearing a green polo shirt with the garden-centre logo in yellow, cargo
trousers and trainers.  His wide face, seemingly set in a permanent smile,
was framed in rich auburn hair that tumbled over his ears.
  `Nathan Underwood.  Pleased to meet you, Danny.  Fancy a coffee or
something while we have a chat?'  His voice was a pleasant baritone.
  `Coffee's fine,' Danny smiled back.  They went into the cottage, along a
corridor and into a bright and neat kitchen with an Aga range to one side.
The smell of fresh coffee and warm croissants was very seductive.
  `Help yourself.'  As Danny poured his mug and selected a croissant from
the basket, Nathan added, `Tell me about yourself.'
  Danny gave him a potted history of who he was and where he lived.  It
didn't take long.
  `Ever had another job?' Nathan wanted to know.  Danny shook his head.
  `You got problems with regular weekends?'  Danny said no.  He had been
into rugby at school, but had no interest in pursuing sports outside it.
As for holidays, the family had no money at the moment, so there was little
chance of interruption to his work.
  `If I give you the job, when can you start?'  Danny said any time.
  `OK, then,' Nathan continued, `I'll let you know.  I'm seeing the others
today and tomorrow.  Hopefully I'll have made a decision by Tuesday.
Thanks for coming over.'
  `No problem, Nate, it was an enjoyable ride.  Er ... by the way, don't
mean to be nosy, but who's the dark-headed guy in the pictures with you?'
  Nathan laughed.  `That's Justin, my boyfriend.  I'm gay, if you didn't
know.'
  `Someone mentioned it.'
  Nathan laughed louder.  `I'm not in the least surprised, Danny.  Villages
are like that.  Does it bother you?'
  It was Danny's turn to laugh.  `No, not at all.  But I'm glad you cleared
it up.'
  They shook hands.  Nathan had a powerful grip.