Date: Fri, 18 Aug 2006 11:10:15 +0100
From: Camy <camy@awesomedude.com>
Subject: The Millrace
The Millrace
by Camy
It was often bandied about by friends and family alike that
Davey Thwaite could sleep for England, which was apt, as
Davey, who had gone to bed early, slept through the
midnight phone call that by its very nature cancelled the
long planned family holiday. They had been due to get up at
five in the morning and set off on the long drive to Dover
and the cross-channel ferry -- the start of a meandering
journey across Europe, eventually ending up in Russia. That
had been the plan, decided by family vote after poring over
maps of Europe late into the winter nights; but when Davey
finally woke up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, he
realised something had gone wrong. The sun was too high in
the sky for five in the morning, even though it was
mid-July.
Panicking wasn't in Davey's nature. He tended to take
life with a pinch of salt, much to his best friend Jake's
chagrin. But seeing as Jake wasn't there just then, Davey
felt that a bit of panic wouldn't go amiss, since his
father had warned him that if he were late, they'd leave
without him.
Davey knew that his father would never really leave him
behind, and in fact, at just sixteen, he couldn't actually
legally be left behind, but that didn't occur to him as he
rolled over and saw the alarm clock pointing at ten to
seven and listened to a very quiet house.
He leapt out of bed and strode to the door, stumbling over
a discarded pile of yesterday's clothes his mother had
told him to put in the laundry basket.
"Hello?" he called. There was no reply, and in the
silence he could hear the ticking of the grandmother clock
in the hall below.
"HELLO!" He shouted now, and fancied he heard his voice
echo back. Starting to freak out, he ran into his parents'
room. The bed was in disarray, clothes strewn across the
rumpled counterpane, and wardrobe doors left ajar. Checking
in the bathroom, which was tidier, though still not as his
mother would have left it, he went downstairs, and was
almost at the kitchen when he heard a key in the front
door. Relieved, he went to investigate and saw his sister,
Yvonne, and her boyfriend, Stephen, struggle in, carrying
grocery bags. She looked at him and then started to giggle.
"Goodness, Davey, you've grown."
"Huh?" Davey replied, unsure of what the hell was going
on, and why Stephen now had a broad grin on his face, too.
"Where are mum and dad, and why aren't I being bollocked
for waking up so late, and why are you both laughing at
me?"
With an effort, Yvonne stopped giggling and gently took her
younger brother by the arm.
"Sweetheart, why don't you go and get dressed and then
come down and have coffee, and I'll tell all?" Davey
suddenly caught sight of himself in the hall mirror and
blushed. He was naked. Yvonne watched as her young brother
ran up the stairs, and for the first time saw him as a
sexual being. His tanned skin, brown eyes, boyish red lips,
and cheeks framed by dark brown hair and bangs gave him a
Mediterranean, almost gamin appearance.
"Some arse that kid has," Stephen said wistfully. Yvonne
laughed at his remark.
"True. Sad, but true." She took Stephen by the hand and
led him into the kitchen, patting his bottom as they
walked. "Yours isn't too bad though," she chuckled.
Ten minutes later and still with a beetroot face, Davey
appeared in the kitchen. He'd put on a pair of cut offs, a
sloppy orange T shirt, and was wearing his old tennis
shoes; pretty much his usual summer get up. He found Yvonne
and Stephen cuddling by the cooker and cleared his throat.
"Umm ...."
Yvonne gave Stephen a last kiss on the cheek and moved back
to the table, smiling.
"Coffee's made, chump." Davey heard his sister but
couldn't answer, as he'd just seen what had to be an
erection in Stephen's jeans. He forced himself to keep
moving to the coffee pot and tore his eyes away, hoping
nobody had seen where he'd been looking. Grabbing a mug,
he poured himself a cup, then paused.
"So what's going on, and where are Mum and Dad?"
"They got a phone call from Grandfather at the hospital in
the middle of the night. Grandmother had a stroke," she
said. "Don't worry, Davey," she added, seeing a
concerned look cross her brother's face. "She's going to
be fine, but Mum and Dad had to go and be with them ...."
Davey took a deep breath, thinking furiously.
"And they want you to look after me?" Davey added two
sugars and opened the fridge. " `cause I'm sixteen now,
and I can take care of myself if you two want to ...," he
took the milk out and then grinned at his sister, "... take
off or something." Yvonne grinned back. Though he could
sometimes be a real pain in the ass, she loved her younger
brother to bits. She also inadvertently knew he was going
through a tough time figuring out his sexuality. Her
computer had crashed, and rather than waiting to re-boot,
she'd popped into Davey's room to use his. Trying to find
a short cut to Google, she had seen the famed Nifty at the
top of his favourites list.
"Don't be daft. Leave you on your own, are you mad? Nope,
I spoke to Dad and I've cancelled the ferry and hotel
bookings `n' stuff, and we're going to Cornwall for a
couple of weeks," she smiled. "Invite Jake if you want.
We'll be leaving in a couple of hours."
________________________________________________
Five hundred miles to the southwest, the sun was beating
down on sixteen-year-old Jack Butcher, who was finishing up
his morning chores and thinking that working at a caravan
park at the height of the holiday season wasn't an easy
job for anyone, especially when the place was owned by your
old man. He paused, running his fingers through his
sweat-soaked hair, trying without success to get it to
behave. Humming to himself, he parked the cleaning trolley
off the main path under the branches of a stand of oaks and
walked into the toilet block for a pee.
Running a basin of cold water, he looked in the mirror
above and grinned at his reflection. It grinned back,
showing a kind, tanned face with slate blue eyes, red
cheeks and a nearly perfect set of teeth, except for his
front two, which he'd chipped coming off his skateboard.
He decided his blonde and rather straggly hair was
beginning to need a cut badly. Turning the tap off, he
cupped his hands and sloshed cold water over his face, then
removed his T-shirt and did the same with his upper body.
After double checking that there was no one in the stalls
and that he was quite alone, he undid his shorts. Though he
was now five foot eight and had a lean swimmer's body and
a reasonable six pack, he had gone through puberty later
than all his friends, and was rather paranoid about the
size of things.
Half an hour later Jack was in the janitor's hut,
refilling the cleaning supplies, when Sid Barrat, one of
the several local students his father employed for holiday
work, found him.
"Your dad says you're to spruce up the Jonah. He's let
it out to some posh tart from the smoke."
"Are you sure he said the Jonah?" Jack replied, looking
directly at Sid, whom he really didn't like but couldn't
quite work out why. It wasn't the rampant acne, or the
fact that that he never seemed to wash, that put him off -
Jack wasn't like that. He never judged people based on
their appearance, and generally found that he got on with
everyone and their dog. No, there was something indefinably
off about Sid that he had been puzzling over ever since the
boy had come knocking on the office door at the beginning
of May, looking for work.
"Yah," Sid continued, looking hurt that Jack had asked.
"He said the Jonah."
"Isn't twenty-seven free though?" Jack persisted, and it
suddenly struck him that it was the way Sid looked at him
that was the problem. On the surface his smile seemed
friendly -- but it really wasn't. His smile was slimy,
lascivious, and worst of all, knowing; as if Jack were a
piece of meat and the other boy was just biding his time
before devouring him. Warm though the July morning was,
Jack shivered.
"Twenty-seven went to a party from Llandudno first thing
this morning," Sid said, and made a point of winking at
Jack before his gaze wandered slowly down to his crotch and
back again. "Didn't you know?" he added nonchalantly,
attempting to pick a piece of food out of his teeth with a
dirty broken fingernail.
"Obviously not," Jack replied. "Tell dad I'll get on
it."
"Okey dokey, Jack." Sid patted him on the arm. "I'll
let him know." Jack had to make a concerted effort not to
shudder at the touch.
"Thanks ... erm ... see you later ... mate."
"No probs, anything for a friend." Sid winked again and
walked off.
Refilling his bucket with warm water and checking he had
enough cleaning cloths, Jack walked to the end field and
along the river bank to the caravan they called the Jonah.
The end field was used for late arrivals, or those who
hadn't booked, and the Jonah was situated ten feet from
the field boundary and the bank of the river Coos, which
flowed much too fast for swimming. A mile on its course
took it over a weir and then split in two, one half
meandering out to the estuary and the sea, while the other
funnelled ever narrower into an old disused water mill, the
water wheel still in place, but locked down above the fast
flowing and lethal mill race. It was one more reason the
Jonah was seldom rented out. Oddly, even when the local
town of Coos Haven was humming and bursting at the seams
and accommodation harder to find than rocking horse shit,
people seemed to shy away from it. `No thanks,' they'd
say, `we'll just pitch a tent.' One man had even crossed
himself, Jack remembered with a smile.
Finding the key on the large bunch he carried, Jack opened
the door and was assailed by smells of damp, unaired
bedding, mixed with mould. Holding his breath, he opened
all the windows as far as possible and then set to work
making the place habitable.
The Jonah was an old fashioned oddity with wood panelled
walls and a separate toilet and bedroom area off the main
living space. Jack's father had bought it dirt cheap from
an itinerant gypsy traveller just a week after he had
closed on the purchase of the main campsite. The gypsy had
just turned up on `the off chance', or so he'd said --
the Jonah attached to the back of his lorry.
The first week the caravan had been occupied, the family
who had hired it -- a nice young couple from the midlands
with two pre-teen children -- had had an argument so fierce
the wife had slashed her husband with a broken beer bottle.
At her trial, she had stated she hadn't remembered
anything until the morning afterwards, except for
recollections of `being in hell'. She was committed to
the county asylum. After that, Jack's father, Gerald, had
decided the gaudy lime green over puce paint job should be
changed, and the job given to John Post, the camp's `old
boy', sage and occasional handyman. But John had decided
the caravan didn't want to be painted and had told his
father just that. There had been a row. Jack had been eight
at the time and had been amazed that his father had
eventually given in. "That daft old bugger John said we
should never mess with a Jonah," he'd heard his father
quietly explaining to his mother. "Yes, he's probably
right," she'd replied seriously.
As the years passed, accident after accident befell those
who stayed in the gypsy's old caravan. Sometimes no more
than a bad cut, other times more drastic. Eventually the
name John Post had given it stuck, and the caravan stopped
being number sixty-six and became `The Jonah'.
Jack decided to go and have some lunch and finish the
cleaning later, after it had time to air out. He knew his
father would probably moan, seeing as how the new arrivals
were due in the morning, but since he was the only one who
ever went near the Jonah, he thought he was on pretty safe
ground. Closing the door, he made for the reception block,
newly commissioned for the start of the summer season. Jack
waved at John Post, who was adding a second coat of gloss
paint to the window sills.
"Hi, John, how's it hanging?"
"Cheeky young pup!" John replied with a laugh. He was
fond of the gaffer's son, and secretly thought he was
turning into a right proper young gentleman. He put down
his paintbrush. " `ere Jack, I hear there are folks
booked in the Jonah."
"So Sid told me." They both pretended to hawk and spit in
unison and then burst out laughing. Neither of them liked
the young student.
"Must be damn busy for your dad to rent that one out."
"Yeah, I think we're booked solid. Probably until the end
of the season, too." Jack stretched, yawned and sat down
on the reception steps to have a natter. John was in his
late fifties but seemed a lot younger. He had long white
hair always tied in a pony tail and mostly wore tattered
jeans and a leather waistcoat. He was also Jack's closest
confidante.
"Still, that means lots of young girls for a good looking
chap like you, eh?" John said good naturedly. Jack winced.
He didn't want to be having this conversation, especially
with John, and especially after the thoughts he'd been
having for the last year.
"Yeah, sure thing, John. I can hardly wait." It came out
wrong, and Jack realised too late that John was giving him
an odd quizzical look. The older man was not a fool, and
Jack thought his lack of a girlfriend was probably already
gossip among the seasonal staff.
The reception door swung open and Sid out came and sat down
beside Jack, slinging his arm around his shoulders.
"Talking about girls, were we, chaps?" he said in overly
friendly manner. "You're too old for that sort of talk,
John, you dirty bugger," he chortled.
Jack slid away and stood up.
"Always listen to private conversations, do you, Sid?"
Jack said in a conversational tone, though he was beginning
to get angry. He dusted off his shorts, watching as Sid's
smile slowly disappeared, to be replaced by a sly look
which Jack could tell boded no good.
"Na, the window was open, dude, duh!" Sid said, flushing.
"Besides, I know which side you like your bread buttered,
Jacky me boy, and it's ..."
"Jack!" His father's voice from the reception building
brought Jack to his senses and averted the brewing row.
"Coming dad!" Jack called and bent down to look directly
in Sid's eyes.
"Later, Sid. I'll catch you later." He saw a hint of
fear cross the boy's face, and wrinkled his nose as he
caught a whiff of his rank breath. Sid's expression turned
blank as Jack stood up. "See you soon, John." He grinned,
and John grinned back, doffing an imaginary cap.
"Yeah, bye, Jack." They watched him walk into the
building, then John continued, "leave him be Sid, leave
him be." Sid gave him a withering look.
"What do you know, old man?" And he walked off towards
the camp gate.
________________________________________________
Davey was almost regretting not taking his sister up on her
offer of inviting another friend, once Jake had
apologetically said he couldn't come at such short notice.
The car journey was long and incredibly tedious, the
traffic on the three lane motorway stop-starting for well
over an hour as they crawled around Birmingham onto the M5.
Davey was sure he'd loaded his I-Pod with enough music to
last an age, and yet whatever he decided to listen to
didn't seem to be there. Sighing, he gave up and put it
back in his knapsack.
"Are we going to pick up hitchhikers?" he asked out of
boredom, not particularly interested in the answer except
that it got his sister going.
"Sure," Stephen answered, "if you see anyone you fancy,
just holler." It wasn't the answer Davey had expected,
and he tried to see Stephen's face in the rear view
mirror.
"Stop it, Stephen, don't wind him up." Yvonne poked
Stephen in the arm, at which he yelled as if being
attacked.
"Help! You saw it, Davey, she attacked me! You're my
witness!" They laughed good naturedly, and it was then
that out of the corner of his eye Davey saw the boy in the
car next door. He was probably fifteen or sixteen -- Davey
wasn't that good a judge of age -- and had spikey blonde
hair and a stud in his right ear. He was wearing a day-glo
pink T-shirt with the slogan `SUCK? YUP THAT'S LIFE!'
and he was looking directly at him, smiling. Davey flushed
and looked away, then down at his hands. The boy was
definitely gorgeous, but so what? It wasn't like they were
going to see each other again; they were in different cars,
on a motorway, and for all he knew the boy might be insane
... though it wouldn't hurt to have a look.
His sister and Stephen were still arguing about what CD to
put on, so Davey boldly looked in the boy's direction and
ran his tongue around his lips in a seductive manner. As
his tongue got to the corner of his mouth, he realized it
wasn't the boy he was looking at, it was an elderly woman
who was knitting, in the back seat of a different car. She
looked horrified, and Davey blushed, mouthing `I'm so
sorry' through the window at her. As he turned back to the
front, he spied the boy in the car ahead. He was still
looking at him, this time through the back window, and he
was laughing hysterically. He'd obviously seen Davey make
a fool of himself. Davey gave him a good natured bird and a
grin, and was appalled that the boy mouthed back `I love
you' and then blew him a kiss.
He was even more appalled a second later when Stephen, in a
puzzled voice, said, "Davey, why is that boy saying `I
love you'?" Yvonne, who had watched it all in the vanity
mirror, smiled and kept quiet.
________________________________________________
Jack sat down for his lunch in the staff canteen. He could
have gone home to eat with his mother and father, but he
wanted to try and fit in with the rest of the students, and
he felt that playing the `I am the boss's son' card
wasn't the way to achieve it. The canteen had two long
tables with benches. The older employees were already
tucking into their meals, and he nodded to them as he sat
down on the other empty table.
"Hi, Jack." It was Sid again, sliding along the bench
next to him until their legs were almost touching. "Mind
if I sit here?"
"Do I have a choice?" Jack was fed up with Sid's
attention but bit back any caustic remarks, not knowing
quite what the other boy knew or thought. He felt the gaze
of several of the other students on them, including
Anthony, who he knew was eighteen and heading for
university on a sports scholarship come the autumn. "Give
me a bit of room here, Sid, would you?" Jack dug his elbow
into Sid's ribs, and the boy moved away a couple of feet.
"Why, don't you like me, Jacky?" Sid whispered, and
Jack, who had been putting a fork full of lasagne in his
mouth, nearly choked.
"Like you?" He sputtered, and Sid took the opportunity to
thump him on the back.
"Yeah, Jacky, `cause I like you," Sid whined, adding
under his breath, "and you know exactly what I mean. I
know you do. You and I could have a lot of fun." Jack
could see Anthony was paying more attention to them than he
was to his friends, one of whom was telling a really rude
joke about a nun, a donkey and a cucumber seller. He caught
his eye, and Anthony winked at him. Jack, who was finding
it all a bit surreal, came to a decision. He stood up,
causing the bench that he and Sid were sitting on to fall
backwards, depositing the startled youth on the floor with
a clatter.
"Right, Sid," he said in a intentionally loud voice.
"Firstly, don't ever call me Jacky again. My name is
Jack, or Butcher if you'd rather. Secondly, don't ever
touch me again. Ever! Do I make myself clear? And
thirdly," he continued, not giving the boy a chance to
interrupt, "go away and leave me alone." The students on
the other bench started clapping, and Jack, looking at Sid
lying on the floor humiliated, realised he'd probably gone
too far and made an enemy. His anger faded away, and he
started to feel guilty. As a gesture, he offered Sid his
hand and was amazed when the other boy took it.
"Call it quits, Sid? After all, you can be really
annoying." Jack laughed nervously and hauled Sid to his
feet, then righted the bench, waiting for a reply. Sid sat
back down and picked up his discarded fork. The room was
quiet. All the students as well as Jack were waiting for
Sid's response. Sid looked at the fork for a moment and
then turned to look at Jack directly. He smiled, and Jack
knew the rage boiling in the other boy's eyes was meant
just for him.
"Sure, Jack, quits. We're quits if that makes you
happy."
________________________________________________
Saturday mornings were the official change over day at Coos
Haven. Guests leaving were due to vacate by ten, whilst
incoming guests could arrive when they wanted, but could
only get the key for their chalet or caravan after two in
the afternoon. This gave the cleaning crew the time they
needed. Jack was always amazed at the different ways people
checked out. Some made sure they cleaned up behind them and
left tips, whilst others left without a care in the world.
After all, they had paid, so what did it matter if the
toilet was covered in vomit and there were used condoms in
with the soiled linen?
"Agh, fuck!" exclaimed Jack, as he found three used
strawberry ribbed in the bedside cabinet on top of the
Gideon Bible, along with a partly used tube of KY.
"Peasants!"
"They were surely that," replied Anthony from the living
room, as he put crushed beer can after crushed beer can
into the garbage sack. "I bet they weren't even sober
enough to drive."
"Who the hell were they, Ant?" Jack said, cursing as he
found another tied and full condom chucked under the double
bed.
"Fuck knows, bro," Anthony replied, peering into the
bedroom and catching sight of Jack's arse as he cleaned
under the bed. He was wearing cut offs from old jeans he
had grown out of months ago, and consequently they showed
his assets off rather too well. Anthony gulped and ran his
tongue over his lips, wishing he had the guts to tell Jack
what he was thinking. He blushed as Jack got up and caught
him day dreaming.
"Ant?"
"Hmm?" Anthony replied. He was wearing board shorts and a
loose, un-tucked T which was a godsend, as it covered what
was swiftly becoming an embarrassment.
"You're gay ... right?" Standing there, Jack was five
inches under Anthony's six foot one, and looked so
vulnerable and young that thoughts of anything more
personal fled.
"Ah ... yah, I am, Jack ... so?"
"Well, I ... ugh ... it doesn't matter."
Anthony walked around the bed and took Jack gently by the
hand and led him into the living area and sat him down. The
boy was shivering. Anthony sat down opposite him, well
outside his personal space. Jack started chewing his index
fingernail. Anthony started slowly.
"Your family's been good to me these last two years. I
started here when I was your age and you were what?
Fourteen?"
"Yeah, I'm just sixteen now."
"I'll bet you don't feel it though, huh?" Anthony
laughed. "God, I was so confused when I was sixteen ... I
wish ..."
"What?" The reply was instant, and Anthony smiled.
"I wish I'd had someone to talk to, Jack, someone who
understood what I was thinking, what I was going through."
He could see Jack start to tear up. "What I'm trying to
say is that if there's anything you want to talk to me
about, or tell me, or ask me ... I'm here for you." He
paused, then added, "no strings."
________________________________________________
Sid licked his lips and wrapped his hand around his swollen
cock, flinching with pain. He knew he should give it a rest
and let his red raw chap recover, but he simply couldn't.
He loved Jacky, and every time he thought of him, which was
nearly all the time, he had to masturbate. So what if Mr
Butcher had begun to ask where he was slinking off to? So
what if the pain almost exceeded the pleasure? He needed
the release, he needed Jacky ... his Jacky.
Sid closed his eyes and Jacky was above him, smiling, his
naked muscular body bronzed by the sun, his blonde hair
waving in the breeze. Gently, Jacky lowered himself so his
erection was rubbing alongside Sid's, and their lips met
in a tender but crushing battle that ended when Sid gently
nibbled on Jacky's lower lip. Jacky moaned, and the smell
of Jacky's hair, the musk of his scent, sent Sid over the
top, and they came, together in one glorious moment of
ecstasy.
Sid opened his eyes and licked the cum off his palm and
fingers, reaching for a crusty towel on the rubbish strewn
floor. Josh, his roomy, banged on the partition.
"For fuck's sake, Sid, stop playing with yourself.
You're late for shift."
"Piss off, Josh!" Sid muttered under his breath, not
wanting to upset the six foot four behemoth he lived with.
Fondly, he fingered the clasp knife he kept under his
pillow and started humming as he got dressed.
"Come on!" Josh battered on the partition again. "Jesus,
Sid, you've already been threatened with the sack." Sid
slid the knife into his back pocket and opened the
partition door, glaring.
"Right, Josh, let's go be nice to the happy fucking
campers."
________________________________________________
Davey was in a righteously good mood as they turned into
the Coos Haven Caravan Park. The journey had taken almost
nine hours, and other than thrashing Stephen and his sister
at I Spy a couple of times, he'd spent the whole journey
thinking about things he'd tried so hard to bury and deny:
about who he really was and what he really wanted. He
thought a lot about the boy he'd briefly seen in the car
and who had to have been gay, and he'd come to the
conclusion that whilst his parents weren't around and he
was miles from anyone he knew, he'd explore a little.
Yvonne, who had driven for the last couple of hours, pulled
the car into the reception car park and switched off the
ignition. They all got out, stretching arms and legs,
Yvonne hiding a yawn.
"We'll go and sign in if you want to hang here, Davey,"
Stephen said. He took Yvonne by the hand, and they
disappeared inside.
The park was split into sign-posted sections, with the
small touring caravans and their cars nearest to the
reception block. In the near distance, Davey could see
larger static caravans arranged on a terrace system that
stepped down to a river. They were all complete with
outside tables, barbeques and happily smiling residents.
There were a lot of little children thundering about, and
he heard squeals and splashing coming from the pool area.
Davey started feeling a little self-conscious when he
noticed that a boy around his own age sitting on the
reception steps was casually checking him out. The boy was
definitely good-looking, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and
wearing cut offs and a `Coos Haven 2006' T-shirt.
Davey, who was starting to blush, was relieved when his
sister reappeared, followed by Stephen and another blonde
guy who he guessed was around nineteen or twenty.
"Davey, this is Ant, the brother of a friend of mine,"
Stephen said, clapping the tall blonde on the back. "Ant
managed to get us a booking at the last minute, and Ant,
this is Davey, my fiancee's younger brother."
Davey felt his jaw drop, and Yvonne, tutting, said, "Way
to go, dunderhead. He doesn't know yet." Stephen went
bright red, and Anthony laughed, looking at Davey with a
twinkle in his eye.
"Well, he does now. I guess `welcome to Coos Haven' is a
little sub par for conversation after finding out your
sister's engaged, anyway. Let me introduce Jack, who's
going to show you to your caravan." He paused as the boy
on the steps got up, walked over, smiling, and offered
Davey his hand.
"Nice to meet you, Davey."
Anthony, looking a tad guilty, turned to Stephen and
Yvonne. "We've been booked out for weeks, but when you
phoned ..."
Jack interrupted. "What I think Ant's trying to say is
it's a dump, but it's the last dump in town. I'll take
them, Ant." So saying, Jack walked over to an electric
luggage cart and got in.
"Wanna come with me ... Davey?"
"Yeah! `k," Davey grinned. "Love to," he said, still
in awe at the tingling sensation Jack's handshake had
given him.
"OK, you guys, follow us."
Jack waited until Yvonne and Stephen got in their car,
spending the time surreptitiously checking out Davey some
more. They pulled out onto the camp's main thoroughfare,
Jack and Davey in the lead.
"You work here then?" Davey said, keeping his eyes on the
roadway ahead and off Jack's legs, which is where they
were demanding to wander.
"Yeah, my dad owns ... " Jack slammed on the cart's
brakes to avoid running over a squirrel and put his arm out
to stop Davey from hitting his head on the plastic
windshield. "Sorry ...." He found his hand was pressed
against Davey's chest, and he let it rest there a second
or two longer than necessary, hoping to God his gaydar
wasn't off.
"No probs," Davey said, grinning at him, "I'm always up
for saving shrub rats who don't know the green cross
code." The dark haired youth had a voice that sent shivers
up Jack's back, and he felt himself getting aroused, half
hoping that it wasn't too obvious, half hoping that it
was, and that the next fortnight would turn out to be
memorable.
"So I ...."
"New punters, Jacky?" Sid appeared next to the driver's
side and leaned in across Jack, holding out his hand out
affably. "Hi, I'm Sid, one of Jack's co-workers and his
friend." Davey took the proffered hand and quickly wished
he hadn't; it was clammy.
"I'm Davey, nice to meet you," he replied, his manners
taking over. There was something going on here, some
undercurrent which felt weirdly off kilter to him.
"Jack's just showing us to our caravan." Davey glanced
at Jack and saw the boy had clenched his jaw.
"See you around then, Davey. Bye, Jacky boy." Without
waiting for a reply, Sid walked off, whistling. Davey
prodded Jack, who was now grinding his teeth and hadn't
moved.
"He's odd."
"Ya, no kidding." Jack replied and put his foot on the
accelerator.
The metalled roadway petered out, and they crossed the last
field at a much slower and bumpier pace, winding between
tents and haphazardly parked vehicles, ending up some ten
minutes later at the Jonah. Jack had explained the
caravan's history, and Davey was rather excited. He leapt
out and opened his sister's door.
"It's cursed, isn't that cool! We're gonna be staying
in a haunted caravan!"
"Never heard of one of those." Stephen looked at Yvonne
for confirmation but saw she was looking at the river and
not paying the slightest attention.
"Is it dangerous?"
"What?" Stephen asked, exasperated.
"The river." She looked at him and smiled. "It looks
dangerous, and Davey's not that strong a swimmer."
"Aww Sis!" Davey complained, knowing Jack, who had walked
over to them, could hear what they were saying.
"There's no swimming allowed. The Coos goes over a weir
just down stream from here, and then it splits in two, and
one half goes through an old water mill. It's dangerous,
and honestly not worth the risk ... anyway, we've got a
great pool up by reception." Davey watched Jack speaking
and was lost. He wasn't sure quite what was happening to
him, but he knew that he fancied the hell out of this other
boy. Nervously, he ran his fingers through his hair.
"So what's to do around here then, Jack?"
Yvonne saw what was going on and interrupted. "Stephen and
I are going to get settled in, so if you want to go off for
a while, young brother of mine, then shoo." Davey looked
at his sister, and then at Stephen, who was head into the
tailgate, pulling out bags.
"Thanks, Sis ... can I ...," Davey started, and stopped
when Jack grinned at him.
"Wanna hang with me for a while? I get off in an hour-ish
and we could go into Coos Haven and grab a bite."
Shyly Davey smiled. "'k, that'd be cool."
Following them without being spotted had been difficult for
Sid, but he'd managed it and was hiding behind an
unoccupied tent not thirty yards from the Jonah. He was
annoyed he couldn't get any closer, and he couldn't
exactly hear the conversation that went on, but the body
language was fairly telling. Sid pulled the clasp knife
from his back pocket and with a snicker snack the blade
flicked out and locked. All was right, and his darling was
as sharp as she ever was. Giggling quietly, he viciously
stabbed the earth next to the tent. This new Davey kid was
in for a hell of a shock if he thought he could cozen Jacky
away from him, oh, yes indeedy.
________________________________________________
Sunday morning was bright and sunny, with not a cloud in
the air above the Coos Haven Caravan park. Jack was in a
fantastic mood, and it showed. He'd got up extra early and
had a longer shower than normal, and put on his best
clothes. He'd also managed, through the wonder of being
the owner's son, to re-arrange his shifts, and had taken
the day off so that he could show Davey around the area. He
was just sitting down to breakfast when Anthony came in.
"Hiya, Ant!"
"Hey, Jack. You're looking happy this morning," he said,
helping himself to a large bowl of cornflakes. "`sup?"
"Well ...," Jack looked around making sure they were
alone, "I think I'm .... " If he was totally honest with
himself, he wasn't sure what he was, or what label to put
on it. All he really knew was that being with and around
Davey made him feel amazing.
"Ah ...," Anthony said, swallowing and putting down his
spoon, "Davey." He saw the younger boy was looking
confused. "Rumours spread like the plague in a holiday
camp, you should know that ...." He paused, reaching for
the teapot and pouring himself a mug, "want one?"
"Yeah, thanks."
"De nada." Anthony poured a second mug and passed it
across. "So go on then, tell all. I'm guessing you like
him," he said, picking up his spoon and diving back into
his cornflakes.
"Huh?"
Anthony put down his spoon again and looked at Jack
quizzically. "You're not daft, Jack Butcher, unless one
night out with a good looking boy has addled your brains
...." Jack was blushing and Anthony thought it made him
look cute. "Well? ... You, Davey, the evening in Coos Haven
that John told me about, go on, tell all."
"I ... erm ... it was ok."
Anthony finished his cornflakes and reached for the toast.
"That good, was it?" he said, then realised that Jack
probably thought he was teasing. "Sorry, kiddo," Anthony
smiled kindly. "I didn't mean to pry. I'm just happy for
you is all. Honestly, though, I'd be careful what you say
to Sid."
"Sid?" Jack asked, glad that Anthony seemed to be ok
about it. Anthony slowly put down the butter knife.
"You do know that Sid has a thing for you?
"A thing? ... what d'you ... No! You're not serious?"
"'fraid so," Anthony said. "It's obvious if you know
what to look for." He paused, waggling his eyebrows and
making Jack laugh, "honestly though, he's an odd
character, and I don't think he's entirely all
`there'."
"Shit! We did see him a couple of times last night ... or
rather I think we did. I can't be sure ... I wasn't paying
that much attention."
"I'll bet you weren't! So what are your plans for
today?"
The room started to fill up with other camp staff having
their breakfast before their shifts began. Jack was
preparing himself to have a quiet word with Sid. He didn't
like the other boy, no one really did, which Jack thought
was rather sad. He knew Sid went to a single sex boarding
school and Jack thought that was probably the reason he was
so weird, but he really had had no idea that Sid had a
thing for him. He shivered, his mind giving him images
he'd far rather included Davey. The room cleared, and only
Anthony was left.
"It doesn't look like he's gonna bother with breakfast
today," Anthony said, pulling Jack back from his reverie.
"Who?" Jack asked, still thinking quite how to broach the
subject.
"Sid. Want me to stay with you and we'll go and find
him?" he asked.
"You're a really good friend, Anthony, and yes, please,
if you don't mind."
"It's what friends are for, mon ami."
They put their crockery in the dishwasher and walked over
to the reception block. John was standing outside, looking
grim.
"Ah, there you are. I think you two should get over to the
Jonah right now," he said, looking over his shoulder at
the reception door. Then taking the two boys by the
shoulder, he walked them to the electric luggage cart.
"What's going on, John?" Anthony asked, puzzled by the
older man's behaviour.
"Nothing, `cept Sid apparently has gone over there to
`sort out a little problem', and you, you daft young
fool," he added, prodding Jack in the chest, "have opened
a right can of worms, which I'm going to try and sort
out."
"Me?" Jack started indignantly, "What have I done?"
"It's not so much what you've done, as how you went
about doing it," John replied, lightening his tone and
ushering the two boys into the cart. "Go and check on your
friend, and make sure that fucker Sid doesn't do anything
he shouldn't. Go on. I'll take care of your dad."
"My da ... dad?"
"He knows lad, he knows, and he's not very happy about
it."
Jack hadn't cried in years; the last time he remembered
crying was watching the end of `Pay it Forward', but now
he felt the tears welling up behind his eyes, and felt his
lower lip begin to quiver.
"Go on, Anthony, quick as you like," John said, then
turned and walked back up the reception steps. Anthony
drove off down the camp road. He could see Jack was in hell
and put his arm around his shoulders.
"Cheer up, Jack, we'll have a good laugh about this
later." It was lame, but really, he couldn't think of
what else to say, and he was very worried about what Sid
might be up to. He hoped they weren't going to be too
late.
The last week had been very warm, drawing in sea breezes
along the coast. On that Sunday morning they joined forces
with a wet southerly air flow and shot upwards in a
dangerous mix of warm, moist, highly unstable air. Nearby
Coos Haven Moor thrust up the air mass even higher.
A line of thunderclouds rocketed up over 12km high, their
tops streaming into anvil shapes as high-level winds swept
air away from the storm, helping suck more air from below.
The thunderclouds grew so tall that they created intense
downpours, leading to more than 5 inches of rain falling
around the head of the Coos in just a couple of hours. If
it had been a normal year, the water would have soaked into
the moor. But with the ground already saturated from recent
rains, the storm waters had nowhere to go and were
funnelled down the steep upper river valley of the Coos,
turning the normally placid river into a raging torrent in
minutes and lifting the level of water some four feet.
The holiday makers had no idea of what was about to descend
upon them as they happily cooked breakfast and lolled about
on their deck chairs, planning their day.
Jack and Anthony could see the fight long before they were
able to intervene. Anthony thought it could have been a
scene in `The Karate Kid', albeit with a different cast.
As his friend floored the accelerator, Jack stood up on his
seat, holding on to the top of the windscreen and shouting,
"SID! SID!" at the top of his lungs.
Neither of the combatants paid them the slightest
attention, possibly because they were still too far away to
be heard, but more likely because they were too focused on
the fight. What Jack's shouting did achieve, however, were
lots of heads peering out of tents, which in hindsight
probably saved a lot of lives.
If an electric cart stopping on grass could have left skid
marks, theirs would have, as Anthony and Jack leapt out.
Both Davey and Sid were panting with the adrenaline rush by
this time. Davey was gleefully laughing at Sid, partially
because he knew he had the measure of the other boy, and
partially because he hadn't felt this good since he'd
been awarded his brown belt. Sid was scowling, because he
knew the little shit had the better of him at hand to hand,
and was planning on ramping up the fight and planting his
knife somewhere in the little fucker's upper torso. He was
just annoyed he couldn't decide where.
Through the red mist of anger, Davey and Sid finally heard
Jack screaming, "Pack it in, you two, pack it in!"
It was this that caused the two boys to lose focus. The
fight stopped, and Davey dropped his stance, unclenched his
fists and started to walk toward Jack. Then he paused and
turned to look, as they all heard the roar of the water
coming from up river.
In a moment of utter clarity, Sid realised he was finished.
He'd lost Jack to this northern upstart, and at the very
least he was going to be fired, and possibly arrested for
assault. With a guttural roar, he took the one chance he
had of winning: he charged Davey. Picking him up by the
waist and throwing him over his shoulder, he ran the ten
paces to the river bank and jumped.
They hit the water together and the current took them. Jack
could see that Sid was still trying to punch Davey's
lights out, and that neither of them could sense the
imminent danger they were in.
"Stop it, you two, and swim for shore, SWIM! IT'S A FLASH
FLOOD!" Either the boys couldn't hear Jack's warning
over the roar of the water, or they didn't give a damn.
"THE WEIR!" Anthony and he shouted together, and Jack saw
Davey suddenly register the danger. It was at that moment,
when Davey was distracted from the fight, that Sid struck
him with a roundhouse to the head, and Davey went under.
"Nooooo!" Jack roared. "Anthony, get help and get to the
weir!" And ripping his shirt off, he dived into the
maelstrom.
Anthony stood there open-mouthed and then bolted down the
river bank, trying to keep both Jack and Davey in sight and
reaching for his back pocket and his cell phone. He used
the speed dial and got through to the reception, and
Suzzie.
"Coos Haven Caravan Park, could you hold?" her bored
voice answered.
"NO! I couldn't!" Anthony shouted, "Suzzie, it's Ant,
send an ambulance and the police to the weir. Sid's
attacked Davey, and Jack's gone in after him."
"Oh, my God!" Suzzie sounded more intrigued than
panicked, and Anthony began to worry.
"And tell the old man, too."
"What, Mr Butcher? I can't disturb him, he's in a
meeting."
"Suzzie, I'm not kidding you, you stupid woman. His son
is in danger of fucking drowning!" Anthony disconnected
and dialed the emergency services.
"Ambulance, Fire Brigade, Police or Coastguard?"
"Send them all! The weir on the Coos, near Coos Haven.
NOW!"
Strong though Jack was, he was finding it difficult to make
it across the current to where Davey was floating; so
rather than trying directly, he swam an almost parallel
course, letting the current do the work for him. He kept
Davey firmly in his sight, swearing to himself that he'd
only just met him and he wasn't going to let him drown.
The noise from the weir was getting louder and louder as
thousands of tons of water from the heavily flooded river
cascaded down the manmade slide. Once, when he was
thirteen, Jack had swum the weir as a bet, and even though
the river had been a sleepy Pussycat compared to the
roaring Tiger it was now, he had come away with some bad
bruises, and had nearly broken a leg. This was going to be
worse, a lot worse.
Anthony made it to the weir as Davey was still some three
hundred yards upstream. He could see Jack slowly crawling
across the current and finally make it to Davey's side. He
cheered as Jack got Davey in the rescue position, but could
see that the younger boy appeared lifeless. Then, as he
started to wade across the half submerged bridge that
crossed the top of the weir to try and catch them, he
caught a glimpse of Sid's greasy locks appear just yards
behind Jack. Then they were over the bridge and onto the
weir itself, crashing down the man made concrete slide
together like rag dolls caught in a washing machine. They
disappeared into the white water below, and Anthony had
tears running down his cheeks as he heard the faint sound
of sirens in the distance. Nothing could survive that.
Gerald Butcher was having a row with John Post when Suzzie
timorously entered his office.
"I said I wasn't to be disturbed," he spat, squeezing
frantically on his stress ball, still appalled that John,
for all their bickering one of his oldest and dearest
friends, would be arguing on behalf of his pansy son.
Didn't he know anything?
"Sorry, Mr Butcher, but it's an emergency. Anthony just
called and it's Jack."
"What about him?"
"He's dying."
"Jesus." All of the problems Gerald was trying to come to
terms with disappeared in the instant he got to his feet.
"Where?"
"The weir, sir, you have to get to the weir."
Davey had a dream, at least he thought it was a dream,
though dreams weren't supposed to hurt, were they? He was
floating and being pushed from side to side by lots of
hands, invisible hands that had no form but whose fingers
seemed to pinch and prod unmercifully. Then one set of
hands caught him, and the love he felt from them warmed him
to his very core. The dream changed, and Davey was looking
down on himself. He was being held in the arms of Jack, and
they were both floating in water, angry water. ... Jack
seemed to be very worried and was shouting something he
couldn't hear. Davey wished he could see more of where his
other self and Jack were, and instantly his view changed,
as he shot upwards to hover some fifty feet above the
raging torrent, his view widening exponentially. They were
in a river -- was it the Coos, he wondered, and knew it
was. He wasn't sure what was going on but felt a deep
sense of danger.
He rose higher and could see that the bridge over the weir,
which was normally ten feet above the water, was nearly
totally submerged, just the top of the railings showing
above the white water. Anthony, waist deep, was wading out
onto it. His viewpoint changed again, and he was hovering
behind Anthony's left shoulder as Jack and his other self
were swept over the walkway and down the steps of the weir.
Davey could sense Anthony's love for Jack and his
confusion over his feelings. Then, seemingly half drowned,
Sid appeared and caught hold of one of the bridge's
stanchions, screaming for help. Before Anthony could reach
him, his hand slipped and he, too, was swept down the weir.
Davey didn't like the dream anymore. It felt like it was
turning into a nightmare.
Gerald Butcher's Land Rover skidded to a halt twenty feet
from the bridge and he leapt out, followed by John Post.
They could see Anthony, standing waist deep in the middle
of the river, looking down over the weir to the torrent
below. The river was now well over its banks and flooding
into the surrounding fields, and still the rain fell.
"ANTHONY!" Gerald called, and could see the dejected
slump of the boy's shoulders as he turned to them. "WHERE
ARE THEY?" It was difficult to hear over the roar coming
from the angry water.
"OVER THE WEIR A SECOND AGO!" Anthony shouted. Gerald
could hear the pain in Anthony's voice, and his heart
sank. He turned to John.
"Jesus Christ, John, what am I to do?"
John clapped him on the back. "Don't panic yet." He
strode as close as he could to the river bank, his legs now
knee deep in water. "ANTHONY, ESTUARY OR MILLRACE?" he
called, dreading the answer. He watched as Anthony, who had
a much better view, looked and then turned back, his face
draining of blood.
"SHIT! THEY'RE ALL HEADED FOR THE MILLRACE."
"ALL? ... WHO?" John asked, confused.
"JACK, DAVEY AND SID ... ."
Sid was nearly there, his obsession giving him strength he
never knew he possessed. Twenty yards, just another few
seconds, and he'd be able to relieve Jack of the burden of
that bastard interfering boy and save him from the perils
of the millrace. He'd be a hero: Mr Butcher would give him
a permanent job, and he would live with his darling Jack
for ever and ever. Oh, he knew Jack would be upset at
first, after all they'd had their differences ... but he'd
see sense in the end, even if he had to tie him up! The
thought sent a shiver of anticipation to his groin.
"JACK!" Sid cried and saw Jack turn his head, taking care
the bastard boy's head was still above water. "SWIM TO
ME! I'LL SAVE YOU!"
"FUCK OFF!" Jack spluttered. The effort of holding
Davey's head above water was sapping his reserves, the
dead weight of the boy threatening to drown them both.
Worse, Sid was getting closer second by second, and Jack
could see ... he could see a half submerged tree bearing
down on the other boy, who obviously hadn't spotted it. He
was about to warn him when he caught a glimpse of the
maniacal glee in Sid's eyes, and knew, knew without a
shadow of a doubt, that Sid would kill Davey if he had the
chance. He shut his mouth with a snap at the same time as
the tree, which must have weighed several thousand pounds,
hit Sid squarely on the shoulder. Over the cacophony of the
water, Jack heard the crack of breaking bone, and the boy
screamed, suddenly incapacitated, his good arm snaking
around a branch to prevent himself being dragged under.
The momentum of the tree trunk swept it and Sid slowly past
Jack, who managed to catch hold of the other end close by
the root ball. Dully, he realised the current seemed to be
getting faster. They were being pulled into the right bank,
and the channel that led to the millrace. Sloughing off
feelings of despair, Jack hoicked Davey onto a narrow ledge
formed by the tree's tangled roots. The boy was still
breathing, though unconscious, his brown hair plastered to
his scalp.
"Leave him, Jacky, I love you more than he ever will."
"You're fucking mad," Jack said tiredly. "I could never
even like you, let alone love you. You don't know the
meaning of the word. Besides which, I don't love anyone. I
don't even know if I'm gay!"
"Don't say that, Jacky..."
"DON'T FUCKING CALL ME JACKY!"
The current, which was spinning the tree around and around
like a catherine wheel, finally delivered them broadside on
to the mill race channel entrance. They hit hard, with a
crunch of splintered wood, and Jack realised the length of
the tree trunk might just save their lives. They were
jammed across the channel entrance, Sid's end stuck in the
bank, theirs in the main flow of the river, the channel
pier acting as a pivot point.
Jack could see the huge mill wheel turning and knew the
brake had been released by the watchman to prevent the
torrent ripping it from its foundations. It was almost
certain death to anything caught in the millrace.
"Sid. Help, please go and get help," Jack called, hoping
that his tone would calm the other boy and get him to see
sense. He was watching Sid's face and saw the boy was
crying with pain, saw the hurt and anguish as plainly as if
it were his own, and his compassion took over. "Look, Sid,
go and get help, and I'll try and get dad to keep you
on."
"You ... you'd do that for me?"
"Yeah, look, can we talk about this later? We really need
some FUCKING HELP NOW!" He choked, knowing that if Davey
wasn't taken care of soon, he might not make it.
"You love him, don't you?" Sid was looking at him now,
peacefully, his eyelids closing and opening again slowly,
his greasy black hair matted to his scalp. Jack chose to
avoid the question.
"Are you ok, Sid?" His concern for the other boy, who was
looking as white as a sheet and seemed to be slipping away,
was real now, and he also knew Davey desperately needed a
doctor.
"I ... I can't feel my arm. It's caught between the tree
and the bank." Sid closed his eyes, and felt the cold
creeping up his body. "I really do love you, Jacky." This
spoken so quietly that Jack didn't hear it over the
roaring water and the faint wailing of sirens coming from
the direction of the weir.
________________________________________________
Davey was woken up by the sun streaming through slatted
blinds. Cautiously, he opened his eyes and saw his sister
and Stephen asleep on a couch across the room. His body
ached all over, and he found it was painful if he breathed
too deeply. His nose started itching, and he tried to move
his right hand to scratch it, then realised he had an IV
attached. His left hand seemed stuck, and looking, he
realised with a flood of emotion it was being held in place
by a gently snoring blonde head. He wiggled his fingers and
the resultant "Mmphuh" made him giggle.
"Jack," he whispered, trying not to wake his sister or
her fiance before he could have a quiet word with ... with
.... He flushed, realising that now he was awake, he badly
needed to pee. "Jack!" He wiggled his fingers harder,
stopping once he realised he might poke the boy's eye out.
"Jack, I need to pee!"
The door quietly swung open and a nurse entered, her shoes
squeaking on the polished floor. She cleared her throat.
"Morning, Davey. It's good to see you awake." She winked
at him and pointed to Jack. "He hasn't left you since you
were admitted. Refused to leave last night, and as he
wouldn't go, your sister had to stay, too."
"I'm not deaf, you know." Jack raised his head blearily
off Davey's arm but left his hand there, his fingers
intertwining themselves with the other boy's. He looked a
mess, Davey thought, but a wonderfully cute mess
nonetheless. His hair needed a good wash, and his breath
was awful, but Davey knew that if the room had been empty,
he'd have demanded a kiss. He blushed.
"I really, really need to pee."
"So do I dude, but you just go ahead. You're all plumbed
in."
"Huh?"
"Catheter," said the nurse succinctly, "don't mind
me."
"Bu ... but ...."
Five days later, Davey was released from the Coos Haven
Cottage Hospital. He sat on the bench by the entrance, his
head still bandaged, waiting to be picked up and wondering
about the speed of change in his life. He counted the
points off on his fingers.
One: ten days earlier he had known he was probably gay, but
had never told anyone or kissed a boy in his life. Two: now
he had a boyfriend, who had risked his life for him when he
had nearly died. Three: his sister was totally cool with
the whole thing, and had said she'd always known. He knew
he was going to have to find out how at some point, but it
could wait. Four: He had been interviewed by the police,
and had told them it had all been an awful accident. Sid
and he had been ragging about and had fallen in, and how
were they to know there had been a flash flood? Five: he
had a wonderful boyfriend.
Davey giggled, knowing five was cheating, but then he did
have a wonderful boyfriend, and so what? He dozed a bit,
and was woken by the minty smell of Jack's lips bussing
his nose.
"Get off, you weirdo!" he chortled, rubbing at his nose.
"Aww, can I try somewhere else then?" Jack had his hands
on his hips and was pouting, his blue eyes twinkling in the
sunlight.
"Sure, but not here, `k?" Davey replied, grinning.
"No probs, dad seems ok with me. He's accepted what John
told him, and believe it or not, we're ok to stay in the
summer house `till the end of the season."
"You mean ...."
"Yeah. Together ... and there's Sid's job going, if you
want it."
"Oh ... how is he?" Davey frowned.
"Do you really care?" Jack returned Davey's frown with
one of his own. He was finding it hard to accept the fact
he had been the object of the Sid's obsession, and because
of it Davey had so nearly died. He was also finding it hard
to accept that Davey could forgive Sid so easily. Davey
patted the bench for Jack to sit down, and then took his
hand in his own, relishing the warmth and contact.
"I've got you now, Jack; you're mine, and I'm yours. I
really don't care about the past .... The guy lost his arm.
That's got to be punishment enough, hasn't it?"
"But what if he comes back?"
"What, like `the Fugitive'?" Davey laughed, wincing, as
his head wasn't one hundred percent yet. "Are you kidding
me?" Jack didn't respond for a minute, studying his
fingernails, knowing Davey was watching him. Then he looked
back at him. He was, without a shadow of a doubt, a
beautiful young man -- his beautiful young man -- and his
spirit and love shone. Jack leant forward and kissed him on
the lips.
"Just no sequels, huh?"
"Ok, Jack, no sequels."
____________________________________________________________________________
The Millrace by Camy Copyright 2006
Thanks for reading this tale - I really hope you enjoyed it.
Thanks also to Kitty for all the editorial input and tweaking.
She has made this tale much better than it was. Gassho.
Please send feedback to: Camy[at]awesomedude.com It would be
adored ... honestly, no kidding.
--- visit: www.camy.awesomedude.com ---
________________________________________________
This story was originally written for the 2006 Gay Authors Summer
Anthology - www.gayauthors.org
Gay authors is a great site, and has heaps of great fiction,
writers and discussions.