Date: Sat, 1 Jan 2005 23:42:51 +0000 (GMT)
From: roy p...... <sunbeamtb@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Peter Johnson part 8

The angst continues. They've been caught, again. If Peter had his
wishes granted, there'd be Grand Canyons all over their town
where he'd wished the ground to open under him! Don't read this
if you shouldn't, or if it offends you. (Eh? And you've got this
far??) It's all fiction, a figment of my twisted imagination.
With a hint of the truth. For me to know, and you to guess.
(unless I've told you already! Thanks to all who have written,
including the budding author whose work you'll be reading soon,
I'm sure.


                             Part 8


Mrs. Davies closed the front door and looked at the two boys,
expressionlessly. They had parted, and stood side by side, heads
bowed, faces red, embarrassed as hell. "I'd rather you told me
you'd got a boyfriend than flaunt yourselves in my face like
that." She said, sternly. She walked past them as if they weren't
there, towards the kitchen. "She's annoyed," whispered Nathan,
rather needlessly. 'Shit' thought Peter again.

"You'd better come in here and sit down." she called from the
kitchen. The boys heard the sounds of a kettle being filled and
switched on. They dragged their feet into the kitchen, and sat
down at the formica-topped table, heads still down. Mrs. Davies
prepared a cup of tea for herself alone, and sat opposite them.
"Well?" she said, staring at Nathan's hair, as his face was
almost hidden, "What have you got to say for yourself?"
Nathan knew she was angry, furious. His mind raced through
reasons, excuses, explanations. "Nothing, mum." he said.
"Nothing?" exclaimed his mother, "Nothing? I walk into my own
home and find my son with his neck in some boy's arms and their
tongues down each other's throats just inside my front door, and
you've got nothing to say? How long has this been going on, may I
ask?"
"Just over a week, I suppose, mum."
"Just over a week, you suppose, and you never thought to tell me?
How the hell do you expect me to prepare myself to meet your
boyfriend if I don't know you've got one, eh? Just answer me
that, Nathan Davies!"

Nathan looked up in shock, disbelief that she wasn't angry about
him having a boyfriend, just not telling her he'd got one! "Don't
you mind, then?" he asked, sheepishly.
"Of course I mind, I'm your mother, unless you've forgotten, I
need to know these things!"
"About me liking - boys, not girls, I mean, mum?"
There was a 'please don't beat me' about that she didn't like
perhaps she was a bit off the deep end with him, she thought.
"I'm your Mother (emphasising that word), Nathan, I've known that
for years. Mothers know those sort of things about their
children, they notice everything about them, what they like
doing, who they play with, what they look at when they're out
together, and so on. Just like your friend here is wishing the
ground would open and swallow him up at the moment because we're
embarrassing him. Now please introduce me!"
"Sorry mum. This is Peter Johnson, mum, he's very special to me
and I do hope you like him because I want him to be near me
forever. Peter, this is my mum, Mrs Sheila Davies. Despite what
you've just heard, she's the best and only mum I could ever wish
for." Peter stood and shook Mrs. Davies hand, overpolitely, and
said "Pleased to meet you, ma'am." Sheila Davies nodded politely
in return.

"Now Peter," she asked, sounding more friendly and mother like,
"As my son can't be bothered to tell his mother about you, I'll
have to ask you myself. Tell me a bit about yourself please, and
what you think of  Nathan."
"Oohh, I love him to bits. He's the best lov -" He stopped, just
in time. "I - I mean, he's the best friend I've ever had, he's a
tower of strength to me when I feel down, and I don't think I've
ever felt so happy in my life, even my family say I've changed
and -"
"So your parents don't know either?" There's a bit of mother's
logic for you.
"N - no" Peter gulped. "Don't you think they ought to?" Sweet
motherly smiles can be so demanding.
"It - it's difficult. The time's not right yet."
"As you saw earlier," Sheila Davies laid on the 'sweet mother'
act so deep you could swim in it, "The time is never right. It
just gets more wrong the longer you leave it. Now, Nathan, get a
glass of pop for Peter and yourself while he tell me a bit more
about himself."
Peter told Sheila Davies about the best parts of his life
history, his family, their house, how he was doing at school, how
he'd met Nathan and what interests they shared together (a
heavily censored version, of course. After all, it was Nathan's
Mother!) She noticed how he'd often glance at Nathan and the glow
that came to his face when he did so, the smile curling his lips
every time. She drifted back years in her mind, to when she felt
the same about - about - she shook her head to refocus her
attention. When he had finished, she patted the back of Peter's
hand as it rested on the table. "Thank you, Peter" she said. "I'm
glad Nathan found someone as nice as you. Just remember what I
said about telling your parents." "I will." Peter replied.



Nathan told his Mother that he was going to walk Peter home, and
that he wouldn't be gone long. As they walked the short distance
together, Nathan said "They're all saying the same, you know. I
know you don't want to, but you're going to have to tell your
folks something soon." He knew Peter was anxious about this, and
didn't want to force his friend too much, but it had to be faced
sooner or later and he was worried by Peter's fears that his
parents would force them apart, maybe even send him away. Peter's
sharp reply hit him hard. "Alright, alright, I'm going to. Just
give me time to work out how and when, O.K?" Nathan held up his
palms defensively "O.K, O.K, sorry!"



"I just wish everybody would stop bugging me about it, that's
all." They walked the rest of the way in silence. Nathan felt
that painful. Just before his house, Peter stopped and faced
Nathan, saying "Sorry, Nat, I didn't mean to bite your head off,
its just difficult. Very, very difficult." Then breaking into a
smile said, "See yer tomorrow, Nat." and finally taking his
lover's hands in his own and looking deep into his eyes, added "I
love you!"



In an instant he'd turned and gone, running to his front door and
inside. Nathan stared at the door, still seeing in his mind the
vision of beauty that was now hidden behind it. Those few seconds
of their farewell was witnessed by Marjorie Johnson, watching
from behind the net curtains of the front room. She saw it, said
nothing, and deliberately forced herself to think nothing. She
turned from the window and saw him walk past the doorway. By the
time she'd reached the hallway, he had reached the top of the
stairs and she watched him turn towards his bedroom. The door
closed behind him. 'He'll tell me when he's ready', she thought,
then turned her mind to preparing the family's dinner.




Peter lay on his bed, dressed except for his blazer which was
draped over the schoolbag on the floor in the middle of the room.
He pulled off his tie, and dropped it on the floor beside his
bed. How should he tell them? One at a time, or all together?
What should he say? What could he say? How could he tell them how
important Nathan was in his life? How complete he made him feel?

He stood alone in the town's Central Square. Naked. Alone. He
looked round, and there was a crowd watching him, staring,
pointing, whispering, laughing. He looked at their faces. His
Father, Mother, Brother and Sister. His Teachers, lots of boys
from school, the children from his junior school. Neighbours,
relatives from far away, faces he'd seen once, but couldn't
remember where. All looking, pointing, laughing, accusing,
threatening. Where was Nathan? The crowd closed in on him, yet he
grew further away, smaller, shrinking. The crowd closed in on
him, their heads were almost touching now, looking down on him,
pointing, sneering, He blinked his eyes and they were gone - he
was alone again. No people, no buildings, no cars, no roads,
nothing at all. No Nathan. Just him. Peter Johnson. No, not even
that, no identity. Nothing except the visions in his eyes. He
crouched down and curled up into a ball, the foetal shape he'd
been once, surrounded by liquid warmth. Safe.




"PETER!" He woke with a start, the dream shattered into a million
pieces and fell like snow, rain, wet. His shirt was wet, soaked
with sweat. "Peter! Come down NOW! Don't make me come up there -"
He jumped off the bed, and ran to the stairhead. His Father stood
at the bottom, one foot on the bottom stair, anger in his face.
"S - sorry Dad, I must have been asleep." He smelt the cooking
aromas drifting up from below. Dinnertime! "I'm on my way!" He
ran back to his room, threw off his wet shirt and grabbed a t-
shirt, pulling it on as he ran down the stairs. As he reached the
meal table, where his Mother, Brother and Sister were already
sat, eating, his Mother asked "Are you alright, Peter? I've been
calling you for five minutes!" His Father joined them at the
table, and scowled at him. "Sorry, Mum, Dad, I must have fell
asleep. It's been a hell of a day." "PETER!" his Father almost
shouted. "Sorry, I mean, I've had a difficult day." Anne-Marie,
his little sister, giggled. "Petey swore!" she said. This is NOT
the time, Peter thought.




"Well?" Nathan's voice quizzed down the phone, a couple of hours
later. "No, not yet." Nathan sighed, "Come round and help me with
the maths homework," he said, changing the subject. "I don't
understand there equations, I wasn't paying attention in class.
Too much distraction!" Peter remembered the class, a couple of
days ago, and smiled. They'd sat together in a double desk at the
back of the room, hands in each others' laps most of the time.
They had been late for dinner afterwards, spending ten minutes in
the end cubicle of the science block toilets, wanking each other
to a quick satisfaction, giggling at the evidence they'd left on
the wall, then a passionate kiss making them want to do it again.
'Twice in ten minutes!' Peter had said, 'Hots for you, Kid!' Nat
had replied.

"I'll be round in five!" Peter said, dropped the phone in its
cradle, and ran upstairs to change. Ten minutes later he was in
Nathan's bedroom, their lips pressed together, their jeans
hanging open, their hands quickly stroking each others'
erections. Their climaxes were quick, exciting - yet clinical.
Afterwards they sat on Nathan's bed, holding hands, having a
'meaningful moment' together.

"It's not easy, is it?" Said Peter, more a statement than a
question. "What?" asked Nathan. "Being in love." A moment's
pause.

"I mean," continued Peter, "I do know I've got to tell them, it's
just - just - very hard." Nathan squeezed his hand. "I'm not
stupid," Peter carried on, "I know you got me to come round to
try to convince me, but I know anyway. I just don't know how. Or
when. I know about 'the longer I leave it, the harder it'll get',
but whenever I try, something isn't right. It has to be the right
moment, or -" "Soon, Pete, please soon. They have to know for us
to go on." Nathan pleaded, trying not to pressure his lover.
Peter stared into Nathan's brown eyes. Nathan could see the plea
in Peter's eyes, 'help me' they pleaded, 'be my strength' they
implored. "I can't," Nathan replied in response to what he saw,
"It's the last battle you have to fight on your own. I promise."
"Help me, Nat, tell me how?"



Nathan thought for a second. Thought for himself, not Peter. He
had to be strong, he'd hate himself after, but to help Pete the
only way he could, he had to be hard. "Do it by Christmas." He
said, harshly. "Do it by Christmas or - or - I'm gone. Out of
your life. For ever." He let go of Peter's hand and Peter looked
at him in horror. Nathan tried to be strong, to look stern,
angry, but he had to fight himself to do it. Peter jumped up and
ran from the room, the house. He ran and ran and ran. Eventually,
completely exhausted, he collapsed on someone's front lawn, too
upset to even cry. After a time, a fairly long time, he stood,
replenished, sad but proud, walked home, and went to bed.