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Jimmy the Love-Virus.
By John T. S. Teller.
"Wakey, wakey, you pair of lovers. It's six o'clock."
I hear the faint voice, and feel a face with warm breath being pushed against my own. Lips on my eyes, and my nose, and on my own lips. It's like a dream, and, reluctantly, I open my eyes: half-light and Jimmy. Rough arms grip my head and crush it. And then I understand, and take the head that's pummelling my own and hold it close. It stops pummelling, and I hear deep sobs emanating from my lover. I put my arms around him and crush him to me. He locks onto me. Words will be a distraction now, and neither of us says anything. I know what's happened, and Jimmy has just accepted the situation. Questions are for later. This is a time to drink in the love we have for each other, to touch each other's faces, and to look into each other's eyes, to accept that we are both in a situation that can have no equal. And we do, for a long time. All good things come to an end, and I, eventually, have to speak. "You'd better wipe your snotty nose."
"You can lick it clean."
"I've already swallowed enough of it. That and your tears have made up my week's supply of salt. I'll be having a heart attack if I have any more."
"I've got something else you can swallow that will put hairs on your chest."
We're both grinning now. "I've got enough hairs on my chest, thank you. You know what you are, don't you?"
"Incorrigible, you dunce!"
"Whatever, I'm a pervert, and I love it. Are you going to do me now?"
Paula interrupts us. "Oi, you pair of lovers, if you're doing anything you shouldn't, you'd better stop, because I'm bringing you both a mug of tea in a minute. Two sugars each. (We giggle and sort ourselves out, and when Paula comes into the room with two steaming mugs of tea, we're both sitting up in bed.) Don't mess about you two. I want you off to do your papers in an hour, Jimmy."
We take the tea, and she leaves.
Jimmy sips at his hot tea. "You've got some explaining to do, Robert Spencer."
I tell him everything. When I finish, he gets out of bed, opens the top drawer of his dresser, gets out a photo, passes it to me, and sits on the edge of the bed. I study the picture. "Chris?" He nods. Chris is sitting on a fishing basket, and in his arms is a large fish. He's beaming at the camera... at Jimmy, I suspect. I study the man who loved my Jimmy, and who is now dead because of it, and, strangely, I feel very little sympathy for him. It's not jealousy: my whole feelings about the matter are entirely concentrated on the hurt Jimmy has suffered, and this good looking young man is partially responsible for it. But I don't say anything other than, "Did you take this picture?" (Jimmy nods.) I hand it back, and he puts it in the drawer. I hold out my hand to him, and he comes to me and sits on the bed. I stroke his face and hair. He's smiling at me. "Time to start a new life, Jimmy. Are you with me?"
He gets up, and holds out a hand to me. "Yes. Come on, let's get dressed and start this new life." I take his hand, and he pulls me up. We come together naturally, and our kiss is soft and gentle, and then he breaks it off. I know that devilish look by now and...
"Race you to the bathroom." He's gone in a flash.
While Paula is making breakfast, Jimmy and I walk around the living room, looking at the photographs. He explains them all to me. We laugh and giggle at the ones where he's a very small boy: `a rogue if ever I saw one', I say. Jimmy just stares at one of his sister, and strokes it. I stroke the back of his head as he does, but I don't say anything. He replaces the photo, and looks at me. The look he gives me is one of knowing that he knows that I understand. We're getting to the stage when words are superfluous. And then Paula calls us into the kitchen.
Jimmy sets into his bacon, two eggs, sausages, fried bread, and four rounds of bread and butter, as if he hasn't eaten for a month. I'm nibbling on my toast, watching him. I glance at Paula.
She's grinning, and gives me wink. "You do know lover boy is a pig, do you Rob? It's going to cost you a fortune to keep him fed."
"It won't be too bad. I've got somebody on the inside at Tesco's now. I certainly won't have to buy any underpants for him."
Jimmy looks up, and gives us both a dirty look. "Sod off you two, and leave me alone. I can't even eat now, without you have to shove your nose in! (`You two'. Those two words are so meaningful. Paula and I have become a duo. That's how Jimmy sees us now. Things are going well.) Can I have the rest of the week off, Mum?"
"No, you bloody well can't!" That's from me, and not Paula.
Jimmy looks at me with a scowl. "Since when have you been my boss?"
"Since you walked across my bloody lawn."
Jimmy laughs, and then turns to his Mum.
Paula pulls a face. "Don't look at me; Rob's in charge of you now. Thank God for that! I've been trying to get rid of you for years. You can both sod off and make your own plans now. I'm going to find myself a nice bloke with loads of money, and go and live in Australia. I tried to pinch Rob off you last night, but he gave me the big heave-ho."
Jimmy gives her a friendly scowl. "Oi! Go and find your own piece of meat, and leave mine alone!"
"Piece of meat! God almighty! Is that what I am?"
Jimmy bursts into one of his uncontrollable giggles. "Don't worry, Rob, you're the finest, bestest steak in the world. Serve you up with a plate of chips, and I'm in heaven."
We're all laughing now. There's a whole lot of love in this room, and it's flowing in a circle through all three of us.
Jimmy's gone, and I decide to walk home. I stroll through the Social Housing estate, past a burned out car and half a dozen wayward shopping trolleys. It could be from the scenes in J Zee's `Hard Knock Life' video. My feelings are a mixture of depression and sympathy for those who live here, and hatred for politicians who don't give a damn about them. Britain in the 21st century is a crime. While some are lording it in their big yachts, with obscene salaries, these people are left to fend for themselves any way they can. It's no wonder they turn to crime. And I determine to write a book about this particular injustice. It's the least I can do . . . well, apart from rescuing a couple of families from here. Oh yes! Not only do I intend to get Jimmy and Paula out of it, Debs and her lot will join them. Those are the plans running through my head as I open the door of my house, and smile at the paper that's waiting for me.
I'm writing when Debs arrives.
"Morning, Rob. Where's Billy Bobs?"
"He's gone to school. I slept at his place last night." I explain everything to her.
"The poor lad. I don't mess with your life, Rob, but you're going to have to make some serious decisions very soon."
"I know. I already have. I took a walk through your estate this morning. Jimmy's coming to live with me, and I'm getting Paula out of there as soon as I can. You're going with her."
"The bloody hell I am!"
"I can't make you, but I'd like you to."
"How do you propose to do that?"
"You and Paula can go and look to see if you can find a couple of houses you like. Nothing too expensive: just somewhere decent you'd like. You should find a couple for about two hundred and fifty grand for the pair. I'll charge you whatever Social Housing allowance you'll get, and that's that. They'll be an investment for the future. I'll give you both a foolproof lease so you're secure for as long as you want. Will you do that for me?"
With a teacloth in her hands, Debbie is leaning against the door leading to the kitchen. I turn away because tears are coming. I'm too late; she's seen them, and comes to me and puts her arms around my neck. "What's brought this on?"
I shrug, take the teacloth from her, and wipe my eyes. "Everything. I walked through your estate, and it broke my heart. People shouldn't have to live like that, and all these bastards who look down on you, don't have a clue. I hear politicians saying how they worked their way up. It's easy for people from middle class backgrounds to get on in the world. They should try getting out of a place that breeds apathy and depression. Those kids on there, well, most of them, simply don't care any more. I don't blame them."
"It's a pity there aren't more in the world like you, Rob. I'll have words with Paula, and see what we can do. Trust me on this Rob - I don't need your charity, but I'll move, because I know it will make you happy."
"I know. Think of it this way, Debs; somebody has to try and start making a balance somewhere in this immoral country. I can't do it all, but this will be a little step in righting a few massive wrongs, and if you and your family and Paula are the beneficiaries, then grab it with both hands. I reckon you'll only get one chance in life, and this is it. Circumstances have thrown us together. Life's a maze: you take one path, and it leads you into a blind alley. You take another, and there's light. I'd really appreciate it if you would accept my offer."
"This is a bit like the Co-op."
I laugh. "How will that husband of yours, Len, take it?"
"He'll like it or lump it. I won't let that idle sod spoil my kid's future. Right, I'd better get some work done. Are you ok now?"
I nod, and she goes back to the kitchen. I save the book I'm writing, and start another.
Jimmy comes to me after school, and, after we've eaten, we sit on the sofa, having fun. Out of the blue, he asks me a question.
"Rob, I'm going to ask you something, and I need an absolutely honest answer from you, and it's important that you tell me the truth. Have you ever fancied any other young boys?"
I know where he's going, and I'm pleased I can tell him the truth. I put my arm around him, and stroke his ear. "Most of the kids I know or see are foul mouthed little sods, and they piss me off big style. The only thing I want to do with their arses is kick them. They've got no endearing qualities whatsoever. So, the answer to your question is an unambiguous, resounding, unequivocal, N.O. spells No! Does that answer your question?"
"Not quite. So I'm a foul mouthed little sod who pisses you off big style, am I?"
"No, for some strange reason, although you're a foul mouthed little sod, you don't piss me off: in fact it's the opposite. It doesn't matter to me that we're not the same age. To me, you're just Jimmy. I've thought about it, and I'm pretty sure that, unless you turn out to be a beer bellied fat slob with tattoos all over your arse, who comes in drunk and beats me every night, I'll still love you when you're forty-five."
"What about when I'm sixty-five?"
"I think I'll have to find another bloke or a woman then, because you'll be knackered. You'll regret starting at five. I'll put you in a retirement home, and start again. I know how to pace myself. A bit like the hare and the tortoise."
Jimmy is laughing uncontrollably now, and his feet are stamping on the carpet. Suddenly, he gets up and races to the bathroom. He's in there quite a while, and then comes out holding his underpants.
"You pick the strangest times to knock one off."
Jimmy is still gurgling. "I haven't knocked one off; I've just pissed myself laughing."
Now it's my turn to break into hysterics. Eventually, I calm down. "You'd better go and wash your Tesco underpants. Don't go stuffing them down the back of the sofa. Debbie will wonder what the hell we've been doing. She'll think we're really kinky. What shall we do now?
"I was hoping we were going to bed, Noddy."
Jimmy starts to laugh again. "Yes. Noddy."
"It's my pet name for you. You're always nodding. You're like one of those dogs in the back windows of cars."
"Get stuffed! If we're going to play this game, then I reckon you're Sly or Gobbo."
"When you mention Noddy, I'm thinking of the TV series: Sly and Gobbo are the two goblins in it. Really, though, if I let you off from being Sly or Gobbo, you should be Bumpy Dog."
"Who's Bumpy Dog?"
"Noddy's best friend."
"I'll settle for that." Jimmy grabs my hand. "Come on Noddy, Bumpy Dog needs you. And he leads me to the bedroom.
Jimmy is passive as I strip him. Then he lies with his head in his hands, and watches me kissing and caressing his body. His strong thighs fascinate me: the suppleness of them, and the creaminess of the inner parts, where there are none of the soft golden hairs that cover the rest of his legs. He spreads his legs to give me better access, and I spend a long time just running my hands along them. His scrotum is soft now; and his two large balls are hanging down to the cleft of his bum. I take them in my hand, and weigh them. They're heavy. I look up at Jimmy, and he grins. I grin back at him, and then move my hand to his erection, and slowly masturbate him. He's not grinning now: his hands have grabbed the pillow, and he's pulling it around his head. I pull down the foreskin and suck gently on the glorious, swollen, purple knob, and then tickle the glans where the foreskin is attached. Jimmy is moaning now. I ignore him, take my mouth off his penis, and nestle my nose in his blond, pubic hairs, and lick the bottom of his shaft. I can sense my lover's lust building, and I position myself between his legs, and suck again on the throbbing member. Jimmy is heaving at me. I stop sucking him, and gently lift his legs. He gets the message, and draws them onto his chest. He knows what's coming, and when my tongue flicks around and into his anus, he moans and shudders. Time for the final act. The KY is on the bedside cabinet, and I apply it liberally. I'm kneeling, and my own swollen knob is positioned perfectly. I push, and it slips in. His anal skin retracts to the shape of me. I push again, and slowly insert all I am, deep into his depths. Jimmy is breathing heavily, and whimpering. I'm in full control, and my movements are gentle, and deliberate. I know what he likes best: in and out; varying the depths of my thrusts in tempo with his lustful anguish. I know exactly where we are. I know the moment he's slipping into his deepest sexual sensations, and when he begins to shudder, and his mouth opens wide, and his head thrashes from side to side, I increase the speed of my thrusts, and watch his semen spurt high onto his chest, just as I empty my love deep inside him. When it's over, we're still coupled, and we kiss for a long time.
I drop him off at home, and make him promise me that he won't relapse into his illness again. He's fine now, he says, with a knowing grin, and I don't get a telephone call from his mother. Instead, we have a text chat before we both turn in.
I'm at my PC when Jimmy delivers the paper on Friday morning, and walks straight across my lawn to deliver the one next door. I just grin, and shake my head. We're both still laughing as he walks down the other side of the street, and disappears out of view. There's a note with the paper, so I open it with Celtic.
I might be late tonight, because we've got the school dance to celebrate leaving, and then we're going for a drink after, so if I'm drunk, don't take advantage of me. Or you can if you want, because I'll be staying over. You can do what you did last night. It was the best ever. I'm the happiest person in the world. I love you so much I just want to sit down and cry. I know I'm daft, but I can't help it. I love you, Rob.
The note makes my eyes mist over. I kiss it, and store it with the other notes. I'm sure that one day, Jimmy and I will laugh at them. Deb comes and does her usual stuff. I don't mention my offer of getting her out of that place, because, very probably, she and Paula will sit down and discuss it and let me know in their own way what they want. But one thing I do decide, is that I need to speak to Jimmy and Paula alone. There are a thousand and one things to sort out, including his education, and, somehow, I need to redress the unequal balance of our finances, which are a barrier to our association. I need to speak to David Wright - who is both my bank liaison officer, and a personal friend - about the situation. In between my thoughts and sorting stuff, I'm well into writing the beginning of my new book. It's dealing with poverty in Britain, and how families cope with the stresses of life. The plot is already in my mind, so it's a matter of forming the words to make it work. I'm not finding it difficult. Debbie leaves, and I phone mum and dad to make sure they're OK. I sort some business stuff out with Clive Borthwick for the forthcoming trip to Europe, and then I ring David Wright. We're on the phone for quite a while, because I miss nothing out about either Jimmy or my plans. I've no intention of hiding stuff, because David knows me from our days at Uni together. He's fully aware of my dual sexuality: he should; he's gay, and was one of the guys I went to bed with when we were there. When I tell him how old Jimmy is, his comment: `You're pushing the boundaries there, old chap, and I'm dying to meet him', and my reply: `You're to keep your beady eyes off', has us both laughing. He gives me some invaluable advice, and we arrange for Jimmy to have a prepaid credit card, because he's too young to have a proper one. I give him Jimmy's details, and he says he'll arrange it, but Jimmy will have to go into the bank to sign the forms. His last piece of advice is something I hadn't thought about: he tells me to check the age of consent, if I'm taking him abroad, because what's legal here may not be in another country.
As soon as we've finished, I go online, and sort that out. It's a minefield, but, thankfully, the places I intend to visit are all sixteen. I'm amazed that Spain is just thirteen for all kinds of sexual contact. In Portugal, it is illegal to perform a sexual act with a minor between 14 and 16 years old `by taking advantage of their inexperience'. No problems there with Jimmy. He's forgotten more than I know. I have dinner alone, and am still waiting for Jimmy at half past eleven; and I'm getting worried. A long ring on the doorbell is my cue to stop worrying, especially when I open the door and find not one, but two very drunken young men, swaying and giggling in the doorway: Jimmy and Sam.
"Come in Sham." That's from Jimmy. I'm grinning as I escort them both into the house and into the kitchen, where they flop themselves into chairs at the dining table.
"It looks as though you two have had a good time. I'll make you both a strong coffee."
"I love you, Rob."
"I love you, Jimmy."
"I love you ash well, Rob."
"I love you, Sam."
"We all love eash other then, don't we Sham?"
"Yesh, we do, Jimmy. We love eash other, an' we're alwaysh goin' to be together."
It's taking me all my time not to burst out laughing at their drunken talk, but I manage it. "You two are going to have a massive hangover in the morning. Get this coffee down you, and then get off to bed, the pair of you. I'll ring your mothers, and tell them where you are."
Jimmy has a lopsided smile on his beautiful face. "Ok, Noddy. He'sh my Noddy, you know, Sham, an' I'm hish Bumble."
"I think you mean `Bumpy Dog', Jimmy."
"Yesh, thash it. I forgot. I love you, Bumpy Dog."
They both break into a fit of drunken giggles, and I'm still desperately trying not to laugh at them. They're in no fit state to be going anywhere other than straight to bed, and I need to make sure they're safe. I don't want either of them choking on vomit. Jimmy's the first. I see his face change colour, and I've got him over the sink while he spews his guts up. That sets Sam off, and I manage to get him to the sink before he does it all over the kitchen tiles. I have to support them both for a long time, until I'm satisfied they're done, and then I lead them both to my bedroom, and wait until they're both snoring. I intend to have my pound of flesh for their misdemeanour, so I strip them both naked, and then pull the duvet over them. I'm sure they'll remember very little in the morning, and I can then rib them about what I've done to them while they were helpless. That should be fun.
Debs finds it hilarious when I explain it all to her, and she says she'll be round in the morning to help me clean up. Paula is laughing, too, and while I'm talking to her, I arrange for her to have dinner with Jimmy and I on a convenient day, because we need to talk about stuff. We agree on Friday evening. And then I settle onto the sofa with a travel rug, and drift off to sleep with a grin on my face.
I'm up at seven, and the first thing I do is go to the two boys to make sure they're ok. They're still fast asleep... both snoring. Sam's behind Jimmy, and he has his arm thrown over him. Two young spirits together, and I truly love them both. Differently, of course. I lean over, and kiss both of them on the cheek. They stink of ale. I can't wait to see what Debbie does when she finds them. She arrives at eight. I'm at my PC, and point to my bedroom, and she goes up to them, and comes back down, laughing.
"Sorry about this, Rob."
"No probs, Debs. They'll be the sorry ones when they wake up. You'd better get the Paracetamol ready."
"I'll give them more than bloody Paracetamol when they get up."
"I reckon that will be a while, yet. It was midnight before I managed to get them to bed. They both kept telling me how much they loved me. I'm going to give your Sam some stick. I stripped the pair of them when I put them to bed, so I'm going to tell them that we all had an orgy. It won't bother Jimmy too much, but I can't wait to see Sam's face when I tell him. He'll go mad."
Debbie and I are almost in tears now, and I hear her giggling to herself in the kitchen while I'm working. At eleven, we hear the first signs of life. The first to surface is Sam, and he wanders in, in just his underpants, holding his head. I keep a serious face, and point towards the kitchen, and he staggers across the lounge.
I hear Debbie's raised voice. "What the bloody hell do you think you've been up to, lad?"
"Oh shurrup, Mum. I don't need your shit now. Get me some headache tablets. My head's bloody bursting."
"Serves you bloody right, you drunken little sod. You're as bad as your bloody father, you are. I don't know how you dare darken Rob's doorway in the state you were in. If you'd come home to me in that state, I'd have chucked you out, and you'd have slept in the bloody gutter, you drunken sod. Now sit bloody down and I'll sort you out."
I decide to save Jimmy from this humiliation, and go to him. Gently, I wake him, and he stares at me through bloodshot eyes. I quell his questioning look with a finger to his lips, and bend over him, and kiss him softly. "It's ok. You and Sam ended up here after your boozing night. I'd stay in bed if I were you. Debbie's in the kitchen, giving Sam some stick. Trust me, you're better here than in there. How are you feeling?"
"Rough. Dead rough. Sorry, Rob."
"It's ok. Apart from you two having hangovers, no harm's done. I'll get you a couple of tablets and a glass of water, and you go back to sleep. Ok?"
He reaches out a hand to me, and strokes my face. I take it, kiss it, get him what he needs, and give him the tablets. He's asleep in no time, and I kiss him on the cheek, and leave him.
Out of Sam's view, I wink at Debbie. "You've got a real swinger here, Debs."
"What do you mean, Rob?"
"Sam. He swings both ways."
Sam glares at me. "I bloody don't!"
I spend the next fifteen minutes making him squirm by telling him how he, and not Jimmy, was the instigator, and how I had to fight both of them off, and that he ended up crying because I refused to take advantage of him, even though he stripped naked and put it on a plate for me. "It's a good job for you that I was sober, otherwise we would have had a real good time."
Sam is getting angrier. "You're telling bloody lies."
"Am I? I can prove I'm telling the truth. Did you wake up with any pants on this morning? No? See, there's your answer. Maybe Jimmy will remember, and back me up. Don't worry, you kept your virginity. I made sure of that. You should be careful how much you drink in the future, if you're that way inclined. It seems as though you're anybody's for a couple of beers and a few wine gums. To tell you the truth, I'm looking forward to Portugal even more now."
"If you come near my bed, I'll bloody kill you."
"I won't go near your bed. It'll be you trying to get in with me and Jimmy."
"I've had enough of this. I'm going home."
"You'd better get dressed first, and don't wake up Jimmy. He can sleep it off."
The paper drops through the door, and I go and fetch it. It's the bloke who owns the paper shop, delivering this morning. I'm wondering how many paper rounds he's had to cover today. He'll have another one in the morning, because Jimmy will be here. Or maybe not. Jimmy can go and do them from here. I don't want him getting the sack until I've sorted out his financial affairs, and when I have, he'll be packing up the paper job, because it's going to interfere with what we are now. Debs has done now, and she and Sam are leaving. "Call any time, Sam. James and I will accommodate you."
The last I see or hear of them is Debs grinning from ear to ear, and a retort from Sam of, "Do one, Rob!" as they go through the door. I wouldn't like to be in Sam's shoes now.
At five, I hear the shower going, and I know Jimmy is up, and when he comes to me in one of my dressing gowns and puts his arms around my neck, and kisses me, and I taste the toothpaste, I'm relieved. I know how he's feeling: I've been there a few times.
"Nothing to be sorry about, James. You had a night out and a bit too much to drink. Can I get you anything?"
"I'd love a mug of coffee, please."
"Sit on the sofa then, and I'll get you one. (I make us coffees, and return and sit with him.) Are you feeling delicate? (He nods.) You'll be ok tomorrow. You need peace and quiet and rest now. You haven't done anything I haven't done in the past." I then tell him everything that happened to Sam after he got up, and he's giggling like mad when I describe how I teased him. I manage to get some lightly buttered toast down him, and it stays down. A good sign. By ten, I know he's feeling a lot better, because he's trying to get me into bed. I finally give in at eleven, but not before I shower and strip and change the bed linen. I reckon the alcohol must have lowered his inhibitions, because we have a great time.
I pretend not to wake in the morning as he plays out his fantasy, and I don't even mention it when he brings us coffee and joins me in bed, and we spend a pleasant couple of hours chatting and loving each other. Eventually, but reluctantly, we get up and spend a wonderful lazy Sunday together. In our conversations, I bring up the subject of his paper round. I needn't have bothered - it's already sorted. Sam has jumped at the chance to earn an extra fifteen quid a week, so, from now on it will be Sam delivering `our' papers. It's strange, but without either of us making plans, the `our' situation has evolved naturally. We're now partners, and we both talk about it as if it always was. I have just one worry, and that's how Paula will cope without him. Sam, too. The `Sam situation' will improve when they go to college together, so that takes care of that. Also, I tell Jimmy that Sam can come and stay whenever he, Jimmy, wants him to. Paula, too, if he wants her to. My home is now open house to all Jimmy was, and I don't mind one bit. In fact, I prefer it that way. Our life will need to change from love and loving and eating and sleeping, to one that encompasses everything else life has to offer. Ambiguity is good. We decide to go out in the car for a drive tomorrow, and see where we end up.
Our last meal of the day is supper, and after Jimmy has scoffed four rounds of toast, I get out some jam tarts. I take a Strawberry one, and Jimmy does the same. I have a blackcurrant one, and Jimmy does the same. "You know what we're doing, don't you Jimmy? We're flirting with jam tarts."
He's grinning from ear to ear. "What will it mean when we have the lemon curd ones?"
"It will mean I want to kiss your arse."
Jimmy grabs both, and stuffs them in his mouth, and then spits them out, because he's choking with laughter. I am, too, and tears are running from my eyes. Even more so when he dashes to the toilet and returns with his underpants in his hands. The rest of the evening is spent breaking into fits of giggles, and even when we're making love, our amusement hasn't subsided. Jam tarts will always be a fun part of our life now.
As I drift off to sleep, I reflect on the day, and the words to a song my dad used to sing come back to me.
Tonight you're mine completely.
You give your love, so sweetly.
Tonight, the light of love is in your eyes,
But will you love me tomorrow?
To be continued...
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