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Jimmy the Love-Virus.
By John T. S. Teller.
First thing after breakfast, I take Jimmy into my financial world, so he understands how and why wealth works. He's fascinated by the figures; and wide-eyed when I show him my monthly receipts of royalties and up-front payments for my work. Last month's figure of £27,320 is mind boggling to him, but as we run through them, and he discovers that is one of the lower payments, he grips my arm and tells me how proud he is of me. Then, for the first time for a long time, I make a calculation of how much I'm worth, and when I arrive at a rough figure of £1,420,000, not including property values, and over £2,200,000 when I do, he falls back in his chair, and just stares at the figure.
"Wow, Rob! All that just for writing books! I'm gobsmacked."
"It's only money, and money is a means to an end. Once you start worshipping it, you've lost all meaning of what life is about. That's why it's important that while we're together, we use money to make things better for us. We don't have to be extravagant... we just use what we need. We'll go to the bank now and get that Prepaid MasterCard we talked about. That way, you can buy stuff on your own card. How does that sound?"
"Will it make you happy?"
"Very happy. But you'll have a limit, the same as I set myself, so you'll have to work within a budget. That'll be good for you. You've got a thousand pounds on your card to start off with, and we'll top it up when you need more. That should be more than enough, and it'll also give you the opportunity to save up for something special if you need it."
"I don't need that much, Rob!"
"Yes you do. You're a Ferrari Boy now, and you need to start acting like one.
Jimmy grins, and kisses me on the cheek. "Let's get on with it then. I've always fancied falling in love with a rich bloke."
David Wright is waiting for us, and escorts us to his office. I can see the twinkle in his eyes as I introduce Jimmy. He sorts stuff, and Jimmy is like a dog with two tails as we walk out with his new bank folder in his hands, and a credit card in a brand new leather wallet that was a giveaway for opening the account. I make him use the Cashpoint, and draw two hundred pounds cash to fill it. He smirks at me, and now, I'm like the dog with two tails.
Driving a Ferrari is not for boys: they should stick to their Peugeot 305's. When I bought this car, I took an Advanced Driving Test. The skills I learnt on the ADT course are now being tested to the full, because the most precious thing in the world is sitting by my side. Jimmy's enjoying the power that the Ferrari generates, and he urges me to do things which I know are unsafe. The amazing power can be your saviour in a tight spot, or it can put you in a pine box if you misuse it. We come up behind an old guy driving a Citroen, and toddling along at about 50 mph.
"Go past him, Rob. (I sit tight... we're on double white lines.) This car's wasted on you. You should have bought a Moped. Go on, we can get past him, no probs."
I ignore his insults. "I know we can, but those double whites are the law... you don't overtake on them."
Jimmy gives me a sulky look. "Duh! I forgot. It's going to be really boring spending a lifetime with an old man."
I laugh, and Jimmy leans back and pretends to go to sleep. He's wearing blue jeans, and his right leg is relaxed near the gear stick. Since my hand is on the gear stick, I move it the short distance and stroke the inside of his thigh. He grins, but keeps his eyes shut. I move it further up his thigh and fondle his balls. Now he's giggling. The white line ends, and the road is clear. I move my hand back to the gear lever, drop it down a gear, and put the throttle to the floor. The next two miles see me using all my skills, and I cover them in less than ninety seconds. Jimmy is still pretending to be asleep, but every time I glance at him, he has one eye open. At the next junction, I turn left, stop at a country store, buy some groceries, drive carefully along a country lane, pull into a long drive, and park by the garage at the side of an ivy covered-cottage, my parent's home in the Peak District.
Jimmy looks around, and then turns to me. "Where are we?"
"Lover's Nook. It's mum's and dad's house."
"Wow! It's beautiful. Are we staying here?"
Jimmy's mouth opens wide. "You do realise that I haven't done it yet, today, don't you? I'm almost bursting; can we go right to bed?"
I punch him gently on the jaw. "No, we can't. You can ring your Mum so she knows you're ok, and tell her we'll be spending the night here. You can do it in the house. Come on."
I'm making coffee in the kitchen, and I listen to Jimmy talking to his Mum. Snippets of conversation have me grinning like a Cheshire Cat. `He drives like an old man; Lover's Nook he calls it, but it's more like a retirement home; Horlicks for supper and porridge for brekky; can you order me a taxi and I'll come back home?' At the end of the conversation, he shouts to me. "Mum wants a word."
I hand him the coffee, and take the phone. "Hi, Paula. I called at the local shop. I should have bought some nappies."
Jimmy yells, "You should have got yourself some incontinence pads!"
Paula and I are laughing.
"Good idea, Rob. I've been speaking to Debs, and she's told me what you want to do. I'm not sure I can accept your generosity."
I'm thinking now that I need to be most persuasive, and I choose my words very carefully. "Do you remember what you said that you'd do to make Jimmy happy, when we were chatting in your house? Well, this will save you doing that. Jimmy won't be happy with you staying there, and he is the most important person in our lives, isn't he? I'll tell you what. Think some more about it, and then we'll chat over dinner when you come. Come to think about it, I've got an even better idea - ask Debs if she'll come to dinner with you. You'll have backup then. Jimmy's on my side. I've shown him my finances today, and he knows it's no big deal to me. I could buy a dozen houses if I wanted to. By the way, he's got his own credit card now. It's a prepaid one, so he can only spend what he has. We have to get the financial balance right, or this just won't work."
"I understand," she says. (I hear her giggle.) "You could come and live here and pretend to be my lover, but they'd cut my Social Housing benefit."
I laugh. "No thanks, but you could come and live with me. (We both laugh.) Do you want to speak to Jimmy again?"
"No. He's all yours now. Good luck in fighting him off."
"He's abstained all day. Perhaps that's where he is now."
We both ring off, laughing about `our' problem. `Problem' comes to me as soon as the phone conversation is over, and for the next hour makes up for his abstinence, and, afterwards, sits straddled across my legs, his face boring into mine. "I'm starving, lover."
"How can you be hungry after what you've just eaten of me?"
He's still giggling when we're eating lunch, and I see a shy side in him. That remark has thrown him, and I'm surprised. I'm also delighted to discover another small part of my lover that I didn't know before. Between his shy giggles, he rattles on about David Wright, my bank liaison officer.
"That David Wright seemed to know you well. How long have you known him?"
"We were at Uni together."
"He's really good looking; don't you think so?"
"Uh huh. Did you fancy him?"
Jimmy grins. "If I didn't know you, I wouldn't mind having his picture on my bedroom wall."
"With the wrestlers? I didn't think he was your type."
"He isn't normally, but he had a special twinkle in his eyes, especially when he was looking at you."
"You don't miss much, do you?"
Jimmy's thinking now, and I can almost hear the cogs engaging. He's grinning, and I know what's coming. "You've been to bed with him, haven't you?"
Jimmy's face is alight with the discovery. "Wow! You've got good taste, lover boy. This is awesome! I've met one of your lovers. Was he as good as me?"
I wink at him. "Better."
Jimmy snorts. "Sod off! I'm jealous now."
"No. Of you. David is going to be one of my fantasies now."
I laugh. "I'll tell him next time I see him. I'm sure he'll accommodate you. I could tell he fancied you when we were in his office. Do you want me to fix you up? He might be a disappointment."
"He's the submissive one, like you. The pair of you wouldn't know where to start."
Jimmy's in fits of laughter now, and I can't help but join with him, and I'm worried he might wet his pants again. But he doesn't. When his laughter subsides, he looks at me quizzically. "You've surprised me, Rob. I've never thought of myself as being submissive. Is that what I am?"
"Of course you are. It's the way it works."
Jimmy cocks his head to one side. "So, I'm the girly one, am I?"
"No. There's nothing girly or effeminate about you. Every partnership like ours has a dominant male and a submissive male. I'm the dominant one, and you're the submissive one. That doesn't mean you're a girl. In fact, you're the opposite. Away from sex, you're a dominant male. That ginger-haired lad, who bowled that bouncer at you, didn't argue with you when you hit him for six, and pointed a finger at him, did he? No. That's because he immediately went into submissive mode at your actions. He didn't dare bowl another bouncer at you."
"What would you have done?"
"I'd have bowled another bouncer at you."
I can see a sparkle in Jimmy's eyes, and what he says next doesn't surprise me. "Rob, don't laugh, but you saying you'd have bowled another bouncer at me has given me a hard on. Why's that?"
"I won't laugh at you; it's psychology. The reason you're getting a hard on is because your subconscious knows you're in the presence of an ultra-male. What some men don't realise when they're shagging their women, and then look down on those who perform the act with a male, is that there's no difference between them: the dominant ones, that is. Well, there is a difference, but the actual sex act is no different. Many so-called heterosexuals often have anal sex with their female partners. So, what does that make them? Sodomists, like me. Yes, I love other aspects of sex, but that's the main one, and I don't try to hide it. Why should I? It's what I am. What makes me an ultra-male is the fact that I can swing either way. I don't care who or what it is if I get sexual satisfaction. Of course, I draw the line at some things, like bestiality or the like, but, generally, when I want sex, any port in a storm will do. Right, that's me. Now I'll talk about you."
Jimmy is positively oozing curiosity, and he grins when he says, "I can't wait for this."
"You're special, because you can climax without touching your penis. You do that when you're penetrated, because your G Spot is in your anus. I've never come across it before, but I've read about it. I once read a book by Richard Burton, who travelled to the Middle and Far East. In one of his anecdotes, he describes a beggar boy, sitting on a stage, who ejaculates without touching his penis. He made a good living out of it. (Jimmy is fascinated now, and stares up at me.) What the audience couldn't see was the beggar's mate sitting under the stage, fingering his bum and massaging his G Spot."
"Wow! What a great idea! We could do that here, and make a bomb."
I laugh. "Outside the Social Services?"
Now, we're both helpless with laughter.
And then Jimmy becomes serious. "Rob, you've just explained more in fifteen minutes than I've learned in a lifetime, and do you know what? I feel so much better for what you've just told me; I don't feel dirty any more."
I put my hand out to him, and he takes it. "Jimmy, I want you to promise me something. Never, ever, feel dirty about yourself. You're a submissive homosexual, and, believe me, there's plenty `out there' who make you look like a new pin when it comes to sexual deviations. I'm not going to go into it, but some of the things people do to satisfy their sexual needs are truly, truly amazing. I won't judge them, because who am I to judge anyone else? I have one philosophy in life regarding sex: If it's consensual, and does no harm to anyone else, and especially the vulnerable, then it's ok by me."
"What's your view on Paedophilia?"
"That it is complex. As I said, I try not to be judgemental about other people's sexuality, and paedophilia means different things to different societies in different countries. I went online recently, to make sure you and I wouldn't be getting in trouble in other countries. If we lived in Spain, we could do it if you were thirteen. In China - twelve. The general consensus is about sixteen, and I'm happy enough with that. You're the perfect example of a sixteen-year-old who knows exactly what he is, and what he wants. I suppose you asked the question because you were thinking about you and Chris? (Jimmy nods.) I'm not going to be the judge and jury on Chris. Only you can give a completely honest answer as to whether it was right or not."
Jimmy smiles at me. "I need a cuddle."
"Let's go into the lounge then, and watch some TV, and I'll give you a cuddle. Come on."
Jimmy sinks into me on the sofa, and I hug him close, and give him lots of love. It will be a long time before he's really mature and can handle the shit he's taken in the past; I fully intend to be part of his cure. When we go to bed, he pushes me onto my back, lies on me, and strokes and kisses my face, and, when our lips part, he seeks out my tongue, and sucks every vestige of saliva from it, which he then swallows. He again enters my mouth, and grips my tongue in his teeth. I understand; he wants to eat me. I look directly into his beautiful blue eyes. "I'm yours Jimmy, for as long as you want me."
"I know. Can we have sex?"
"Of course we can. Shall we pretend you're still my paper boy, and you've sneaked in my house and found me asleep, and you cuddle up to me?"
Jimmy laughs. "Is there nothing I can hide from you?"
"Nothing. You love me too much to hide anything, and I love you too much to miss anything. I have fantasies, too, you know."
"Tell me about them."
"I can't tell you all of them now; I've got loads. (Jimmy's giggling now.) I'll tell you what . . . turn over with your back to me, and I'll tell you one. (He turns over and snuggles back into me; I know he's enjoying this.) Right; you know the picture on the front of the book? Well, let's get into that position. (We adjust our positions to match the cover of the book.) OK, just imagine we don't know each other, and, after having spent a morning talking about the picture shoot, we fancy each other. Then the shoot begins. Right. I'm hiding the thumb of my right hand under my left hand, and, while they're messing about, I start to tickle your belly with it. (I'm enacting the movement, as I tell Jimmy the fantasy.) I know you like what I'm doing, because I feel you pushing your bum back into me. My arms around you grip you tighter, and we get up a rhythm, but no one can see it, because it's just pressure from both of us. I've no doubt you can feel me getting hard, and that makes you push harder. I'm whispering to you now, and directing your rhythm. You respond, and I can hear you taking short breaths, because you're so worked up. And then we just can't help it, and climax in our pants at the same time. Then, after the photo shoot, we part, and I never see you again."
Jimmy gets the KY, lubricates us both, and then assumes the same position we were in when I was describing my fantasy. He guides me in, and I push until my pubes are nestled against his soft buttocks. This is a good position: I can masturbate him as we fuck. Jimmy turns his head up to me, and our lips come together, and our tongues perform a dance: first, a slow waltz, then a fandango, and finally, as we both climax, an erotic and ferocious tango.
The Sandman is taking my consciousness, but before he does, I realise that today has been a tremendously complex one. I hope tomorrow is a little less stressful. But, then again, maybe not. Stressful or not, life with Jimmy the Love Virus is amazing.
To be continued...
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