Date: Wed, 02 Feb 2000 14:12:38 +0900
From: Andrej Koymasky <andrejkoymasky@geocities.com>
Subject: Happy Xmas 02

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HAPPY CHRISTMAS, NEIL & NORMAN
by Andrej Koymasky (C) 1999 - 2000
Written on March 23rd 1990
translated by the Author
English text kindly revised
by Scott

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USUAL DISCLAINER

"HAPPY CHRISTMAS, NEIL & NORMAN" is a gay story, with some parts
containing graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land,
religion,family, opinion and so on this is not good for you it will
be better not to read this story.
But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think
you really want to read it, please be my welcome guest.

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CHAPTER 1

He stopped to check whether he'd forgotten anything. He didn't think so
-- everything was in order, ready to return to work after this year's
long winter vacation was over. His colleagues all seemed excited,
looking forward to the long break from work. Neil was not happy -- ahead
of him loomed long days of loneliness, and being alone when everybody
else is having fun, when everyone around you is excited about the
holiday, is even harder to bear. Betty had invited him to visit, but
he*d told her that he would be at his relative's home, and had declined
the invitation. In reality he didn't want his colleagues to know that he
would be on his own, that he had nobody, that he would neither be giving
nor receiving any Christmas presents, as had been the case for years
now.

Martin asked him, as they were finishing for the day, if he would be
joining his colleagues at the Wellington for a pre-holiday drink. He
nodded yes, even though he really didn't feel like going. But he had to
be sociable -- for if he became isolated from his colleagues, his
solitude would become total. He remembered that there was another
document that needed to be included in the file he had prepared, of work
to be done on his return -- on the third of January in the new year.

Eleven days of vacation, eleven days of terrible solitude to look
forward to... but he would survive them -- somehow, as he always did.

They swarmed out of the office, laughing and joking. They went to the
pub and noisily occupied half of it. Pamela sat beside him and began to
tell him about her plans for the Christmas vacation. He listened,
nodded, and punctuated her flow of words with comments, to make her feel
that he was interested in her chat. Robert asked him where he would be
spending his vacation, and he rattled off the fib he had prepared -- he
would be in Lincolnshire, at his cousin's home...

But his mind was elsewhere. He was asking himself why Christmas was
traditionally connected with the image of snow, when for years it hadn't
started to snow until well after Christmas day. He was asking himself
when it was that all the magic of colored lights and church carols had
ended for him. The festive air now seemed to him so empty, so false, so
similar to the reconstruction of a scene on a stage -- if you look from
the stalls at first glance, everything seems real, convincing. But it is
all is false, painted, artificial. One had only to go behind the wings
to discover the fraud. And now he lived behind the wings, no longer in
the stalls. "Perhaps I've lost the capacity to fantasize, to dream," he
thought as he smiled and nodded at what Pamela was saying.

Finally his colleagues started saying goodbye and leaving. Neil waited,
sticking to his secret rule, until about half of them had left then, in
his turn, said goodbye and left the pub. He felt better, alone at last,
one of several anonymous passersby. He went to take the underground,
passed the automated barrier, went down on the escalator then changed
his mind, went up on the other escalator and left the station. He didn't
feel like going back home yet. He would be spending too many hours there
as it was, over the coming days. He decided to go to the Brief
Encounter. He didn't really expect to meet somebody, to find someone who
would want to go with him. He didn't hope for that... but one never
knew. When you are waiting for it, it never happens, and yet...

He walked slowly, barely looking at the shop windows filled with colors
and Christmas parcels, almost certainly empty, arranged just for the
display. These empty parcels possibly represented the most accurate
symbol of what Christmas had become... "We have killed Christmas", he
thought tiredly. He stopped to read a couple of playbills in front of
the theaters. And finally he reached the pub. He hesitated for a moment
before entering, as he always did on each of the rare occasions he had
been there -- almost as though he were having second thoughts -- then he
pulled the door open and slipped inside. He was at once surrounded by
the noise, by the sound of the jukebox, of the fruit machines, by the
warmth of the place, by the thin haze of cigarette smoke that floated in
the atmosphere and permeated it.

He looked around he as he made his way toward the bar. He saw three or
four faces he recognized -- regular patrons of the pub -- but he didn't
exchange any greeting. He had never known their names and in the past he
had exchanged no more than a dozen words with only two or three of them.
He ordered a mug of beer and paid for it. Looking around, he realized
there wasn't a single empty seat. He managed to find a free space
against the wall and leaned there. While he slowly sipped his beer, he
looked around him. More than half of the patrons were young people. But
there were also quite a few people that didn't appeal to him, either
because they were ugly, or effeminate, or too old for him. He noticed a
man of around twenty-eight, with a good body, who was talking to a boy
of around twenty-two. He could see his profile. The man had a fairly
pleasant, smiling face and was listening to the younger man, nodding
briefly from time to time. Neil saw that he had long, tapered hands,
like a piano player, and tried to imagine what it would be like to feel
these hands on his skin, touching his body. The younger man had a
slightly rough air about him, with the squat hands of a manual laborer;
perhaps he was a mechanic, a tradesman or craftsman... who knows. He
wouldn't like to feel these hands on him; they'd probably feel rather
course... Also, the boy's face had a crudely sensual expression,
especially his lips, which were full and fleshy. A cocksucker's lips,
Neil thought with a smile. His eyes lowered to investigate what lay
between the legs of the pair but, from the position they were in, he
couldn't see enough to get any clues. A little disappointed, he looked
away.

He noticed an old queen, his fingers loaded with gold, who was speaking,
while gesticulating dramatically, to a black boy -- evidently a body
builder -- who was laughing as though he were amused, but who was
probably in reality laughing at his companion and not at what he was
saying. The black boy had a huge basket between his legs, emphasized by
his tight gray leather trousers. All his clothes were intended to show
off the quality of the goods that he had to offer. Neil asked himself
whether the boy might be a hustler, and hoped he wasn't. Whenever he saw
a handsome boy, he always hoped he didn't sell his body, even if Neil
had no intention of going to bed with him. The idea of a person selling
his beauty seemed to him a sad thing.

He lazily looked around again. His eyes were drawn to a couple,
embracing tenderly in the corner behind the fruit machines. They were
around the same age, each with a blond mustache and an earring. The
hands of the one leaning against the wall were resting possessively on
his companion's buttocks. Now and then they exchanged a kiss, which
lasted a little longer than between two friends, a little shorter than
between two lovers. They were not talking, but were looking into each
other's eyes and kissed while remaining in a languid embrace, as though
unaware of everything and everybody around them -- in their own private
Eden.

Yes, there were four or five people with whom he would have liked to
make love but, as usual, none of them seemed to notice him. The ones
that attracted him never seemed to be interested in him, and the ones
who showed an interest in him, didn't appeal to him -- it was always the
way. Therefore, his visits to the Brief Encounter always seemed doomed
to be a waste of time. Nevertheless, every so often he went back there,
perhaps once a month or once every second week. "Spes ultima dea?" he
asked, smiling to himself. And yet, he had also made three or four
conquests there, the last one having been about three months ago.

The outside door opened and four boys entered the pub. They were
evidently together. Two of them didn't appeal to him, but the other two
did. Anyway all four had a clean look about them -- simple and almost
naive. It contrasted strangely with that of the majority of the other
patrons, and it gave him pleasure like a breath of fresh air. For a
moment he wondered if perhaps the boys didn't know that it was a gay
pub. But then he saw one of them go straight to the corner where the
latest issues of Capital Gay and The Pink Paper were available, and take
a copy of each. Then he saw another of the boys greeting one of the
patrons with a kiss. Evidently they hadn't entered the wrong premises.
He followed them with his eyes and saw that they were heading towards
the stairs leading to the lower floor. So, beer in hand, he followed
them, making his way through the crowd.

The lower floor was less crowded than the ground floor, and the music
less deafening. The four boys were buying drinks. Neil looked around and
saw a group in one corner stand up and put on their windcheaters and
coats. He pushed his way through the crowd and reached one of the now
empty spaces. He was putting his mug on the low table when he noticed
other people coming and sitting in the empty spaces beside him. It was
the four boys. The most handsome of them sat almost opposite to him, the
other one he liked was at his left and the other two sat between them.

The four chatted away quietly, exchanging short sentences and smiling,
without attracting attention. Neil enjoyed observing them discretely. He
thought that he would have liked to get to know them. Every now and then
the boys would look around, then again exchange some words -- almost
certainly making observations about the other patrons. Even though he
was so close to them, Neil couldn't make out their words, and only
picked up the odd fragment here and there. Judging from their
expressions, they didn*t seem to be making sarcastic or wicked
observations -- their remarks were made with just a slight smile. If he
hadn't been sitting beside them, what might they have said about him?

Neil looked at the most handsome boy. He was not really beautiful, but
he certainly had a clean and fresh look. They must have been barely
eighteen or perhaps even younger, as two of them had ordered beer, but
two had ordered just Coke. Maybe they just looked younger than they
were. He noticed that none of them wore an earring, and that they were
dressed in a youthful, but definitely not a showy way. The one beside
him, while he was talking, reached out and picked up the wrong beer mug
-- Neil's! He noticed it but said nothing. The boy raised the mug and it
had almost reached his lips when he noticed that it was only half full.

He looked down at the table, put down the mug and turned toward Neil,
looking slightly confused, and said to him simply, "Oh, sorry!Ý He then
picked up his own mug and sipped his beer.

Neil answered with a smile, "No problem, no problem".

Their eyes had met for a moment and Neil liked the boy's half-ashamed,
half-amused glance. Then he also noticed the amused look on the face of
the handsome boy sitting opposite to him, and the light shrug of his
shoulders -- almost as though he wanted to make excuses for his friend's
mistake. So Neil smiled back at him and nodded to let him know that
everything was OK. The boy's eyes immediately turned back toward his
friends and the small incident was forgotten.

One of the boys began thumbing through Capital Gay, and he drew his
companions' attention to the picture accompanying an ad -- it was a
photo of a half-naked body builder.

The others looked at the picture and commented. Then the boy sitting
beside Neil asked the others, "Would you like to be like him?"

The one sitting opposite Neil smiled and answered, "No, I would like to
be WITH him..." and the others laughed.

Neil thought that, if that was the boys' ideal, he was very unlikely to
interest them. In fact Neil had a lean body that was well built, but
without all those highly developed muscles that seemed to appeal to
those boys. In any case he wouldn't like to have a body like that. He
found it unnatural. And then, he thought, those hunks who were all
muscle and no brain were often also not very well endowed or at any
rate, THAT muscle was not in proportion to the rest of their bodies --
and Neil smiled to himself.

He stood up to order another beer, leaving his overcoat behind to keep
his place. When he got back, the four boys were still sitting there. The
one beside him lit his fourth cigarette. He had been smoking since he
sat down.

Neil was thinking that it was a pity for such a young boy to be smoking
so heavily, when he heard one of his companions ask the smoker, "Why are
you smoking so much today?Ý

"Nervous!"

"Problems at home?"

"Yes, the usual ones."

Neil tried to imagine the families of the four boys, but realized that
he couldn't. He also wondered if the four of them might be lovers or if
they were just close friends. One thing, he thought, was evident -- they
were not hustlers. In fact they did nothing to attract the attention of
the other patrons. "Or, if they are hustlers", he told himself with
irony, "they are on leave...Ý But he bet that his first hypothesis was
right. All the hustlers he had seen had a shrewder, more brazen and
impudent air about them. No, these boys really were too clean-cut to be
hustlers... Also their clothes were certainly not those of men who are
"in the trade" and have to advertise their wares...

Standing near to their table was an extremely effeminate boy who was
talking and gesturing, flamboyantly and non-stop, to a frowning young
man with a hard expression. Neil noticed that the four boys were also
observing them, and saw them smiling amongst themselves at the young
queen's attitude. A little further on, two other men were standing one
in front of the other, and Neil noticed that the hand of one of them was
feeling between the other's legs, as though nobody could see them. He
looked up and saw that the one being felt was smiling, pleased. Neil
thought that it would bother him to be touched in that way in public.
But the scene excited him a little.

He sipped his beer and asked himself whether he would like to take to
his bed one of the two boys sitting beside him that had attracted his
attention. Perhaps he would, even though he considered that they were
too young. But he probably would have preferred simply to get to know
them. Anyway, he would not begin a relationship with a boy younger than
21, as he didn't want to take risks with the law, even if at times, some
of these boys exuded so much sensuality that he found them to be highly
desirable. But he told himself that if they are too young, apart from
the legal problem there is another factor -- they are almost always too
inexperienced and in bed they are not skilled. And even if they are
skilled in bed, they are usually emotionally immature. No, a boy between
21 and 22 would be much better * definitely!

The boy sitting to his left moved his leg and it touched Neil's leg.
Neil froze, wondering whether the boy had done it on purpose or not. He
started trembling slightly, waiting to see if the boy would move his leg
away or, instead, press it against his own as a signal of interest in
him. For a while the boy didn't move and Neil could feel the gentle
warmth of the leg against his own. Then the boy moved and the contact
ended. It had been an accidental movement, Neil concluded, half way
between disappointment and relief.

The boy took out his fifth cigarette and tried to light it, but his
lighter seemed to be empty. He asked his companions for a light but they
didn't have one.

So he turned toward Neil and asked him for a light. "Sorry, I don't
smoke..." Neil answered, and thought that he should always carry a
lighter with him -- at times it might prove to be a good way of
approaching someone.

"Bah, it's better if I don't smoke anyway..." the boy said, smiling at
him as he returned the cigarette to its box and turned back toward his
friends.

It was the second time that Neil had met the boy's eyes, and that the
boy had smiled at him. Yes, he would have liked to take him to his bed,
all things considered. But Neil was too shy to make the first move,
especially if the other didn't give him any sign of interest. He had
always been this way, since he was a boy. Who knows how many
possibilities, how many chances did he had missed because of his damned
shyness. But he couldn't help it. That*s the way he was.

Apart from the last quickie in the car, three months before, how long
had it been since he had made love, for god's sake? Since spring, over
eight months ago. It had been a one-night stand at the place of a
handsome thirty-year-old man that he had met at Riders Bar. After that
night, they hadn't met again. They hadn't exchanged telephone numbers or
addresses. Neil didn't even remember his name. But he remembered his
body perfectly -- his beautiful chest covered by a fine, light brown
down; his smooth, strong member; his nice ass warm and welcoming...

He checked his watch -- he would have to go if he didn't want to miss
the last train. Time had passed much faster than he had realized. He
drank his beer quickly, stood up and for a moment he thought about
saying goodbye to the four boys, but he didn't have the courage and went
out without even looking at them. He checked his watch again -- he was
in time, there was no risk of missing the last train. Besides, he could
always catch the night bus, even though it was really less convenient.
He could even go back home by taxi, just for once. But, all things
considered, he preferred to take the last train, and went towards the
station. Inside, he looked at the electronic boards to check which
platform his train was on that night. Who knows why they always changed
the platform?

Beside him, sitting on the floor, his back leaning against a pillar,
there was a boy with blond, softly curly hair, his head tilted back.
Their eyes met.

"Do you have some change?" the boy asked, without smiling.

Neil looked at him. He wore a green shirt, jeans, and sandals on bare
feet. Neil thought that the boy must have surely been feeling cold. He
put a hand into his pocket and pulled out a five-pound note.

"Here, take this..."

The boy looked at the note, looked Neil in the eye, slightly astounded,
and pocketed it without thanking him. Then he asked, "Do you have a
cigarette?Ý

"I'm sorry, I don't smoke."

"Shit! It's cold." the boy said, more to himself than to Neil, and
looked away.

Neil looked at the board again and saw that now the train was leaving
from platform four. He was about to go, then he pulled his woolen scarf
from around his neck, folded it and handed it to the boy. The boy again
looked at him in amazement, but took it and put it around his own neck.
Neil smiled at him and went to his train, flashing his ticket in the
direction of the sleepy ticket collector at the platform's gate. He
wondered whether the man mightn't actually be sleeping... He thought
about the boy again -- he hadn't returned his smile, but had accepted
both the five pounds and the scarf. Neil walked halfway along the
platform and got on a carriage. There were few passengers, so he chose a
seat near a door, so that he was sitting facing the direction in which
the train would be travelling, as he preferred.

He checked his watch again -- still seven minutes to departure. He
settled more comfortably on the seat. In front of him, but across the
aisle, a black boy was sitting. He was really beautiful, around twenty
five years old. Neil was aware that he found black people to be either
extremely ugly or extremely beautiful. He had never seen a black man who
was in between. Who knows why? He had made love with a black man just a
couple of years before, and it had been really pleasant. And he, anyway,
had not been super-hung as all blacks are said to be. Either he was an
exception, or it was just a myth. Anyway, the boy had been skilled at
using it... Orientals, on the other hand, seemed to Neil to be neither
handsome nor ugly... Funny, isn't it? But he had never had the
opportunity to make love with an oriental.

"I must try, sooner or later" he told himself. But that black boy, there
in the train... he would have him lying on the seats and he would have
made love with him right there... He also was of the right age...

The door near to him opened and somebody entered the carriage. He turned
to look. It was the boy with his scarf. The boy entered without looking
at him, passed in front of him and sat in front of the black boy. The
black boy, who was reading a newspaper, looked up momentarily, then
continued reading. Neil felt the desire to turn and look at the boy with
his scarf, but didn't have the courage. The train started moving. Neil
looked out of the window, into the darkness, at the lights of the city
passing by. The train crossed the Thames. But Neil wasn't really looking
at the lights, he was thinking about the boy with his scarf, who was
wearing summer clothes in the middle of winter. Who knew where he might
be going? Did he have a home? "Possibly he didn't even pay for his
ticket", he thought. Probably the collector had indeed been sleeping.
The boy was tall, probably a little taller than Neil, and was skinny. He
looked around twenty years old and he hadn't smiled. "Probably he
doesn't have too much to smile about", Neil told himself. The train
stopped at Waterloo East, then at London Bridge. Neither the black boy,
nor the blond boy got out. The train stopped at New Cross, then at
Lewisham. Neil got off and closed the carriage door behind him. He went
through the deserted barrier and went out of the station.

Halfway down the hill, for no reason, he looked back and saw the boy
with his scarf. He hadn't realized that he had also got off the train.
Evidently he hadn't got off immediately, because Neil had closed the
carriage door behind him. Reaching the bottom of the hill, Neil turned
right and went under a bridge, After a while he looked back and the boy
with his scarf was following him. He walked faster, but didn't run. He
crossed the road and continued to walk fast. He went under another
bridge without looking back, and walked past the door of his house,
turning right into a blind alley and stopped around the corner. Through
the two corner shop windows he watched the street he had come from.
After a short while he saw the boy with the scarf coming. When the boy
reached the junction, Neil walked out in front of him, blocking his
path. The boy was startled but looked Neil straight in the eye, in
silence.

"Why are you following me? What do you want?"

"Nothing."

"But you are following me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"To^Ô talk?" the boy said, more as a question than an answer.

"To talk? With me? You could have done it at the station, or on the
train..."

"No, I didn't want it to be quick. Do you have some time?"

"Yes..."

"There's nobody waiting for you?"

"No, and for you?"

"Nobody."

"Pubs are closed. I don't feel comfortable about taking you to my home.
I don't know you."

"Let's walk."

"Walk? At this hour?"

"Let's go out into the open, where there*s more light."

"Light?"

"So that you won't be afraid."

"Afraid? Of you? Why should I be afraid?"

"You said it -- you don't want me at your place."

"Let's go then. Come on inside with me."


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CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 2

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In my home page I've put some of my stories. If someone wants to read
them, the URL is
http://www.geocities.com/andrejkoymasky/
If you want to send me feed-back, please e-mail at
andrejkoymasky@geocities.com

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