Date: Wed, 16 Apr 2014 13:16:00 +0100
From: grumpygutz1@gmail.com
Subject: Bus Stop Boy, part#6

Chapter Six

	Ben's tearful voice had been playing over and over in my head as I
wandered around the supermarket in town, picking up a few things that I
needed. I was alternating between feeling terribly hurt and angry with him,
and having violent thoughts towards his games teacher, then back
again. Somehow, being angry at Adam was not one of the emotions I was
experiencing; I could see that he was the innocent in all this, and not
fully aware of the ongoing agreement that was supposed to still exist
between myself and Ben, the beautiful fifteen-year old schoolboy who had
stolen my heart, I tried to talk myself out of the maelstrom that was going
on in my head – and that had prevented me from doing anything
constructive all day until I decided to catch the bus into town – to try
to distract myself. I had debated driving, and – as soon as I was on the
bus – really wished I had done so, as it was the time of day when
parking was actually fairly easy in the town centre. Was I punishing
myself, I wondered? Was I actually angry with myself, for getting mixed up
in the dynamic between, now, three teenage boys who were coming to terms
with their sexuality, and allowing myself to become so involved that it was
affecting my ability to function? Perhaps. But my anger at this Mr
Greenaway was justified, and I should admit that to myself, for one thing,
even if I was the last person who could do anything about it without my
own, illegal, actions coming to light as well.

	He had called me at 11pm the previous night, which itself was not
unusual, but he was sobbing down the phone from the moment I answered, and
it took a long time for me to gradually tease out the story of what had
gone on earlier that day. After an afternoon out on the hockey pitch,
playing a game against a visiting school, both teams had headed for the
changing rooms. He had received quite a whack on the shin during the game,
and so was delayed by a quick visit to the school nurse – who cleaned
him up, and gave him a dressing to apply after his shower – and headed
to the games block. I remembered that he had mentioned Greenaway before,
saying that everybody thought he was a bit creepy, and supervised the boys
in their communal showers rather too closely, so my heart skipped a beat
when he described being the only one still showering when all the others
had left, and that this guy was still hanging about by the entrance to the
wet room. As Ben emerged, he had offered to help him with the dressing, and
followed him into the changing areas, which consisted of a series of bays
in between tiers of lockers that made the bays invisible from each
other. Ben had tried his best to keep himself covered as he dried himself
and put his shorts on, but Greenaway was sitting right beside his locker,
and was leering at him the whole time. As he 'helped' Ben, by volunteering
to apply the dressing and support bandage to his shin, he was touching him
far more than was necessary, and his hands wandered up Ben's leg. He had
started to tell Ben that he had 'heard things' about him, and that they
were the sorts of things he wouldn't want others to hear. He mentioned the
upcoming parents' evening (the manipulative fucker!) and that he had a
'duty' to pass on anything of this kind. Ben's mum was very close to him,
and had hinted to him that she was aware that he was gay, and that this was
something she had no problem with, but had made it clear that he was far
too young to be sexually active yet. Greenaway was being very clever,
though, and allowing Ben to think that he had heard more than rumours he
had been sexual with other boys, that maybe there were other things that he
had heard ... and Ben had immediately thought of me. I could almost imagine
the scene in my mind; my poor, dear Ben in turmoil, just as concerned about
what it might mean for me as he was for himself, if anything about our
relationship came out in this way. He described the teacher as young,
probably still only in his twenties, but 'ugly'; whether or not this was
for my benefit, he was clear that he was not remotely attracted to him, and
found his whole demeanour unpleasant. Greenaway had persisted with his
attentions, as he sat in front of my Ben – who had one leg up on the
bench, to allow him to apply the dressing – and had started quite
obviously to feel his way up his leg, to his thigh, and then actually ran
his hand into his shorts, and grabbed his cock. The bastard had laughed at
Ben as he pulled away, and dressed hurriedly, telling him that he would
have to be more cooperative than that if he wanted 'his secret' to remain a
secret, and then Ben said that he had made a run for it.

	Then came the part of the story that caused me upset for more
selfish reasons. I wondered why Ben had not called me immediately this had
happened, or at least when he had got over the shock. I felt bad that I
doubted him, when he said that Adam had happened to call him when he was
waiting for his bus home (a bus that didn't, I should remember, come past
my flat), but something in the tone of his voice made me think it was
actually he who had called Adam. As far as I knew, the two of them were
barely acquainted – although they had become much better acquainted in
my flat the previous Wednesday, of course – so I was a little surprised
either way. The same bus went near Adam's family home, though, and they had
agreed that Adam would catch one going the other way, and meet Ben at his
place (which he had to himself, as his mother was working, and his sister
away for a few days on a school trip).  Having recovered his composure a
little, whilst telling me the story, Ben now became very upset again, and
it was difficult for me to understand the detail of what had transpired
... I knew, though, before he had told me, that they had ended up having
sex together. I understood, of course I understood, that Ben had been very
upset (and rightly so) about what had happened, and that they were, after
all, both fifteen, and that Adam was an absolutely gorgeous young man, and
... it was all totally understandable, and probably of no significance for
Ben's relationship with me, especially as he was telling me almost
immediately, and was so obviously sorry it had happened, How could I be
angry with him, really? But, it still remained, the fact that he had not
called me, and this was something I could not quite understand, but had not
the heart to ask him directly last night. What else could I have done but
listen, and be sympathetic to him? The most important thing was the
appalling behaviour of this Mr Greenaway, and his unwanted sexual attention
and manipulation, which really amounted to 'grooming'. Thinking about it, I
was quite certain that he could know nothing of me, or my relationship with
Ben (and Adam ... and Paul) and, anyway, he would be in no position to
exploit such knowledge now.  However, my desire to get at him in some way,
to make him pay for this behaviour through official channels, was thwarted
by the inevitable question that would arise, whatever I did; how did I know
Ben?

	I looked at my watch; it was just before 3pm. Ordinarily, being a
Thursday, Ben and Paul would be arriving at the Y.M.C.A. about now, for
their gym session (that took the place of a 'study period' they both had
that afternoon). My phone had been silent all day, which had contributed to
my turmoil, even though it was not unusual for Ben not to call until he had
finished for the day. I decided to bite the bullet, moved to one side in
the supermarket aisle (I hadn't actually put anything in my basket, despite
being in the place for over twenty minutes) and sent off a text message to
him:

		> 'Hope you're feeling a bit better today? Remember,
		I'm 100% on your side, and not upset with YOU at
		all! Any chance of seeing you? Let me know how you
		are Dxxx'

	I stared at the screen for a good five minutes, as if an immediate
reply was bound to arrive, before moving off, giving up on the shopping
basket, and leaving the shop to head for my bus stop home. I arrived at the
empty shelter, sat down, and then checked my phone for any replies:
nothing. There were many reasons why this was quite normal, I told myself,
and it shouldn't bother me at all; it did, though, and I debated phoning
him, before deciding that I'd wait until I got home. I remembered where I
was, just over the road from the Y.M.C.A., and looked over at the building,
willing Ben to be just arriving, or just leaving. Then, I remembered that
Paul went with him on a Thursday, and realised that, much as I liked him, I
didn't really want to see the two of them together today. Of my three new
schoolboy friends, Paul was probably the one I clicked with the least,
emotionally, as he was the less mature of them by quite a long way; his
parents were far more affluent than either Adam's or Ben's, and he was
ever-so-slightly spoiled, and I also didn't have quite the same trust in
his ability to keep confidences. Another pang of emotion hit me, as it
occurred to me to wonder about what he might have given away to this
Greenaway creep. As soon as I had talked myself out of that, another pang
hit me, as I imagined Ben and Paul together, and the chance that they might
be ...  oh, this was hopeless! I was driving myself mad imagining all kinds
of things.

	I was so caught up in the arguments going on in my mind that I
hadn't noticed a figure approaching the bus shelter, and I didn't register
him at all until he was just a few yards from me. I almost physically
jumped as I caught sight of a bright green school blazer, and then began to
take in the wearer. I saw black hair – cut quite short, but with a
straight fringe to the front – over a face that was café-au-lait
brown, with almond-shaped eyes, quite a wide nose, and full lips. There was
far-Eastern heritage here, for sure, but perhaps mixed with something
else. His face was quite rounded, but not flat. It looked as though he had
had some pretty bad acne, poor lad, but now just had a scattering of scars
across the upper part of his cheeks. He was quite short, probably shorter
than Ben's 5'8", and his age was difficult for me to determine just by
sight; he could have been anything from 12 to 18, I thought. He was
fiercely attractive, and his eyes were alert as he approached, with an
expression that was difficult to interpret. I found myself smiling broadly
at him, more broadly than I would have intended to; the look on his face
didn't change in response, but he shifted his sports bag – which he had
been carrying in one hand – back over one shoulder as he arrived at the
stop, and peered at the arrivals indicator on the wall to my right. He
tutted loudly, and sighed:

'Oh, fuck!' he said, almost to himself, in a slightly accented voice.  I
sniggered a little, as I looked at the board, saying, 'Bit of a long wait
ahead?'  'Yeah, almos' half an hour! These buses are no good.'  'Oh, the
641, yes. It's rubbish,' I replied, quite truthfully, 'They run a bad
service, nobody uses it, so they make it even worse.'

	He fixed me with a look that, once again, was difficult to
interpret, then came to sit down next to me. The bench would take four
people; I had sat in the centre when I was alone, so slid across to my left
a little, still leaving room for an imaginary person to my left. The
newcomer sat himself down gently, leaving perhaps 40cm between us. He
looked sideways at me, and then asked:

'Which bus you waiting for?'  'Well, your 641 would take me to my flat, but
the 520 does me, too, as I live on the way to Hawley, just outside
Crampton,' I realised I was gabbling even as I spoke.  'Oh, just ten
minutes, then,' he responded in a singsong voice, as he looked at the
indicator again, with a slightly Americanised accent on the vowels, 'You
lucky!' and there, finally, was a big smile and a little laugh.

	I laughed, and smiled back, turning my body slightly in his
direction. In my mind was the idea that I should be conversational, and no
more, and that I should remember Ben, and that not only did we have an
agreement, but that also I was concerned for how he was today. These were
just thoughts, though, and I found no feelings to back them up. I had done
too much thinking already today, I told myself, and it had done me no good
at all.

'I've not seen your green blazer around before,' I continued, 'Is it a
local college?'  'I go to Moseley Academy,' he replied, proffering the
badge on his breast pocket in my direction, 'Long journey home; two buses!'
'Oh, Moseley's quite a way, yes. You live in Hawley?'  'With my uncle's
family,' he nodded, wrinkling his nose.

	So, we chatted, with me asking most of the questions, but also
fielding a few. He was called Lorandz, and was from the Philippines, where
his immediate family still lived. By some arrangement – of which I could
not quite see the legality – he had come to the UK three years
previously, when he was twelve, to live with the family of a man he called
'uncle', but who was seemingly not, in fact, the brother of either of his
parents. His mother was from India originally, and had come to Manila to
find domestic work. Having met his father, they moved to a smaller island
and bought a small piece of land, which they farmed. It was in a very rural
and undeveloped place, and the school education Lorandz would have received
sounded quite limited. I could see that official UK qualifications would
give him much better prospects, but it also seemed to me that he was paying
quite a price, missing his family and home severely. It sounded as though
this 'uncle' was more interested in extracting money from his parents –
large amounts, for them, that they could ill afford – than offering any
kind of family environment, and Lorandz was additionally expected to pay
for his little room by acting as an unpaid servant and domestic for his
whole family. He managed, though, with the ever-wonderful spirit of youth,
to see through the challenges he faced with optimism. Our conversation
paused, and he gave me a searching look:

'You want to be my daddy?' he asked, apparently seriously, taking me
completely by surprise.  'Well, I ... errr ... ,' I blustered, completely
lost for how to reply.  'You very nice guy, I like you a lot,' he went on,
'I can look after you!'  'What time are you expected at home?' I asked, as
completely changing the subject was the only thing I could think of doing,
Lorandz looked a little upset, but replied, 'Any time. Uncle doesn't check
on me, just as long as I am there to do the dishes.'  'Well, why don't you
come back to my flat now, and we can talk a bit more? I don't mean to be
rude, but I don't know how to answer your question right away, you
understand me?'  He smiled again, 'Yeah, I get it. I scare you! Sure, we
can talk some more.'

	He shifted himself in my direction on the bench, so that his
shoulder was pressing against my upper arm. I told myself, once again, not
to think, but just go with the flow of this extraordinary situation,
remembering that I was dealing with a lonely and vulnerable boy, who needed
my understanding. I shut my mind to thoughts of Ben, although noticed that
images of him with Adam had come quickly to mind. It was quite a relief to
see a bus with '520' on the front draw up, and I stood, turning to Lorandz
and smiling. He rose from the bench, and followed me onto the bus.

	As I stood to one side, and ushered Lorandz into my living room, I
reminded myself once again that he was just a boy, and that his apparent
confidence was to be kept in perspective. He could quite possibly do with a
friend, and that should be my only consideration. If that was what he
needed, I should be very careful about what he might assume he had to 'do'
in return. I indicated one of the armchairs, and he put his bag down to one
side, then took off his green blazer, handing it to me, before sitting
himself down. As I held his jacket and observed him making himself
comfortable, I couldn't help but register his lithe body, loosely covered
by his white shirt and black trousers. As he turned away from me before
sitting down, my eyes ran down his body and rested on his backside. Its
size seemed slightly out of proportion to the rest of him; not exactly fat,
but much heavier and prominent than I had expected. I had a sudden thrill
of excitement as I drank in the way it pushed out his trousers, so that the
material was taut over his buttocks, then he turned at sat down, and I went
to hang his jacket on one of the hooks beside the front door, returning
immediately.

'Would you like a drink of something?' I asked, as he looked about the
room.  'You have a Coke?' he replied.  'Errr, well, no, I'm afraid. I've
some fruit squash, or some lemonade?' I replied.  'Fruit squash is fine,
thank you' he smiled.

	I returned from the kitchen with two glasses on a tray, then took
the armchair immediately to his left. Lorandz slurped loudly as he took a
drink of his squash. I decided to follow up on his alarmingly direct
question straight away.

'So, Lorandz,' I began, 'what did you mean, exactly, about my being your
daddy?'  'You were so kind, listening to me. I can tell you are a good
man,' he answered, looking directly at me, 'And I like men like you; big,
with beard and a bit of a belly!'  'Well, you were very honest with me, and
you are away from the people who love you,' I continued, trying to be very
careful about what I said, 'so it seems you need a friend, maybe an older
friend. But I don't expect anything in return, you don't have to think
about paying me just for that.'  He looked thoughtful, then continued, 'No,
I understand. But you like me, yes?'  'You're very attractive, yes.'
'Well, I like you, too. You are my type,' came the straightforward reply.
'Maybe we shouldn't move too quickly, you know?' I answered him, 'We have
just met. We can talk, we can be friends; maybe that's enough for now?'
'You don't trust me,' he replied, looking at me accusingly, 'You think I
steal from you? Maybe I lie to you?'  'Honestly, Lorandz, I don't think
either of those things!' I protested, 'But an hour ago we'd not even
met. We know very little about each other yet.'  'I think I go now,' he
replied, sounding hurt, and making to stand up.  'Please, Lorandz,' I held
up my hand to stop him, 'You don't have to go! Let's talk, and understand
each other a little more?'

	He remained seated, but still clearly felt aggrieved. Part of me
actually wanted just to let him go, could not understand why I wanted to
persuade this boy to stay. Didn't I already have enough trouble with young
men? Why did I want even more, complicated by cultural differences in
communication? But then, what a position he was in, and how isolated he
must feel! I reminded myself of what I had resolved earlier, to remember
that he was young, vulnerable, and that what he actually said was going to
be influenced by very strong emotions; he might need a friend, and that
should be enough for me to try my utmost to be exactly that, until I
thought otherwise. I looked across at him, and the angry look on his face
had been replaced by a wide- eyed sadness, as he stared into the middle
distance.

'I think you need a friend,' I began, 'and maybe a friend like me, who is
older, and has a bit more experience of life, who can listen to you and
give you a chance to say how you feel. It sounds as though nobody really
listens to you at the moment, to me.'  'Nobody,' he stated, quietly, and
sadly, 'I have nobody.'  'Well, then, Lorandz ... hey, Lorandz, look at me,
here; come on,' I chided, in an attempt to sound light-hearted, 'I'm
here. I'm listening. You don't have nobody at the moment!'

	He looked up at me, and the most sincere and beautiful smile
suddenly lit up his face, his dark eyes shining through the tears that had
begun to fill them a moment earlier. Then he suddenly leapt across,
throwing himself into my arms as I sat forward on the chair next to him,
with such enthusiasm that I was pushed back into the leather seat. His arms
were around me, his head buried into my chest, and he was gripping my right
leg between his thighs just as fiercely. He let out a sob; he was trying
not to cry openly, but his slim body was shaking and I felt his chest jolt
a few times as his diaphragm jerked upwards. What could I do but hold him
in my arms, support the back of his head, and allow these waves of emotion
to roll. We sat like that for some minutes, as his shaking gradually abated
and his breathing settled down. He pulled his head up from my chest, his
sharply handsome features mere inches from my face, and looked at me with
the warmest expression, before leaning forward to plant his soft, luscious
lips against mine. He held his mouth against mine, motionless. I could only
last so long before planting a kiss against them, then, as he stayed quite
still, after a few seconds, another, longer and more definite press and
release. Suddenly, he opened his mouth, and caught the upper and lower
borders of my closed lips between his, as he bit his teeth together; they
pressed warmly as they slid together over mine, in a beautifully intimate
way. He did it again. My heart was beating faster, and there was a hollow
feeling in my chest. Then he pulled away again, and we locked eyes for a
moment, before he returned his head to my chest, higher up this time,
moving onto my right shoulder. I could feel a movement in my underwear,
with a telltale wetness that indicated arousal. But I was not going to lead
this lad anywhere right now, lest he even get a hint of an idea that he
'owed' me something. He shifted his legs, coming to lie more comfortably
between mine, forward and across me, and seemed quite content to stay like
that for now; as was I. I looked down at the head beneath my chin, at the
shiny, perfectly black hair, each strand seeming so wonderfully thick and
strong; down across the slim body beneath the clean, white shirt, to those
surprisingly substantial buttocks, there between my thighs, with their
slightly flattened roundness beneath the dark cloth of his trousers. He had
an exotic smell about him; almost salty. I looked where his hair,
close-cropped at the rear, gave way to the skin of his neck; richly tanned,
and beautifully smooth.

	Our reverie of togetherness was interrupted as my phone gave its
SMS signal. I knew it would be Ben before I reached out for it. Ben! My
goodness; in all that had happened since the bus stop where I had been
joined by Lorandz I had completely put Ben, Mr Greenaway, and Adam out of
my mind.

		> 'Sorry, babes, got roped into moving chairs about
		before the school play I'm on the bus, on the way
		to you So need to see you! 10 mins? Bxx'

	I felt knocked completely sideways. How was I going to explain my
guest to Ben? What was he going to make of it, so soon after his adventures
with Adam the previous night; would he not immediately think I was trying
to get my own back? My mind ground to a halt; I had done so much ruminating
that day, imagining all sorts of things, with my emotions swinging
backwards and forwards, I simply couldn't do any more. This was probably
just as well, as another text message then arrived. And it was from Adam!

		>> 'Hey Guess you know about last night? Best we
		clear the air in person, like you always say is
		best? Should be with you and Ben in 30 Ads'

	I found myself laughing, as I held my phone behind Lorandz, who had
returned to our embrace as soon as I picked up the phone.

'What's funny?' came his voice, echoing through my chest as he spoke.  'Oh,
I don't know. A nice surprise. Two of my friends are coming to visit.'
'Oh!' Lorandz pulled back, and looked at me sadly, 'So, I have to go now?'
'No, not at all!' I said, with a hysterical edge to my voice, 'You must
stay, they'll definitely want to meet you, and I want you to stay, too.'

	He smiled happily, and then returned to his position against me. I
felt totally out of control of the situation now, but – strangely – a
little relieved. Seeing Ben was very important; I knew this. What would be
said, and what would transpire, when he, Adam and Lorandz were here with
me, though, was anybody's guess.


The End of Chapter Six


====================

Things are getting complicated, and more and more unpredictable. Ben, Adam,
and now Lorandz. And what of Paul?

As ever, any suggestions, comments or constructive criticism is very
welcome, to: grumpygutz1@gmail.com

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to them if you can

====================