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Jimmy the Love-Virus. 


By John T. S. Teller. 


Part six. 


Rob is still asleep when I wake. I can't believe this is true. I'm snuggled up to the most fabulous man I've ever known, and he's so in love with me that he couldn't stay away from me for more than three days. This is the stuff of fantasies, and I've had many of those since the first time I saw him. My favourite is the one where I deliver his paper, discover the door is open and I go to his bedroom, find him asleep, slide into his bed, make love to him, and sneak away without him knowing that I've been there. I can play it out now, so I raise myself and kiss his soft lips. He stirs. I stop, and then kiss him again. This time, his eyes open and he's about to speak when I put a finger to his lips to silence him. "Shhh, Rob. Pretend to go to sleep. Please." He closes his eyes; I slide the duvet from us, raise his arms above his head, and begin my exploration. I bite, chew, nibble and kiss every part of him I can see, and then, finally, I take his penis into my mouth and swallow his seed when he climaxes. Then I leave him exactly how he is, and go down to the kitchen.




Jimmy is drinking coffee when I walk into the kitchen. I don't mention what has just happened, because I'm sure I know why he's done what he's done. This will be part of what we are in the future; the games we will play together as we share our love. This game requires no words or questions. I'll play my fantasies out on him sometimes.


The doorbell rings. Who can this be? Not Debbie, surely! I open it, and it is; with a bulging Tesco's bag. She's grinning, and tells me Jimmy has got her keys.


"You could have left it until tomorrow, Debs."


"Why should I? Best get it over and done with. I've got two boys to look after now. Is he up?"


"Yeah, He's in the dining room."


She grins. "I can't wait to see his ugly mug. (She walks into the kitchen/diner.) Ooooo, ain't you just a cutie in that dressing gown, young Turner."


"Do one, Mrs. R, you nosey old bat! Couldn't you have left us alone today?"


"Sod off. Besides, your mum brought home this bag of knock-off for you two. Have you telephoned her yet, to tell her you're ok? If you two haven't had breakfast, I'll make some and have some meself. I'm starving. Well, have you phoned her?"


"No. I'll ring her while you're making brekky. What you got?"


"The works. Full English for you, me boyo. What about you Rob? Are you hungry?"


"I thought you'd forgotten me. I'll have what Jimmy has. I'm starving!"


"Good lad. (She's giggling now.) Shall I clean the bedroom after?"


"You might as well. You've got your snout into every other part of my life, so we might as well get used to it."


She's laughing now. "We! That sounds long-term. This is going to be fun."


I give her a fake, hateful stare. "Come on, Jimmy, let's get out of here. Shout at us when it's ready."


We go into the lounge, where I switch on the PC and Jimmy rings his mum. While I'm reading my mails, I hear him talking to his mother. It's obvious from the conversation that she's fully aware of everything and isn't fazed by anything that's happening. I'm learning all the time about these Social-Housing dwellers, and the more I hear, the more I like them, and, despite the rough way he speaks to her, it's obvious that Jimmy thinks the world of his mother. When he's finished his telephone conversation, he wanders about the room . . . examining stuff. And then Debbie calls us into the dining room.


I had an idea when I was dealing with my emails, and while we're eating breakfast, I bring it up. "Jimmy, have you and Sam got passports?"


"Yes, we got them last year when we went on the school trip to France. Why?"


"I was thinking. You've just had your birthdays, and I'd like to take you both to my place in Portugal for a few days after the school year ends. That's if it's ok with your parents, and if Sam wants to come."


"That will be brill! My mum will be no probs... it's her you'll have trouble with."


Debbie laughs. "Cheeky sod! Why should I be a problem? You can take our Pauline with you, if you want."


Jimmy's angry. "No! She's not coming with us. Don't you bloody dare, Mrs R!"


"Only kidding, Jimmy. I know how much you love her. She'll be disappointed when I tell her. Haha. Why do you want Sam with you, Rob?"


"It'll be part holiday and part work. I've got a lot to catch up on, so the lads can swim in the pool or go to the beach or do whatever they want while I'm working. It'll help me out if Sam comes with us. (I'm grinning now.) Besides, I don't know how Jimmy and Sam would cope being apart for two whole weeks. They're like Siamese bloody twins."


"Sounds good to me. Jimmy can ask him when he sees him. I would think he'd jump at the chance of a free holiday."


"Right; sort it at your ends as soon as you can, and then I'll sort the flights out. I need a holiday. I'm knackered."


Jimmy interrupts. "How is Sam, Mrs R?"


"He's ok, James. He stopped at your house last night. Saw him this morning first thing. He says to tell you that he's sorted his Facebook out cus he doesn't know how long you'll be here. How long will you be here?"


Jimmy looks at me. "I dunno. Depends on Rob."


"No, it doesn't. It depends on your mother and school. We'll work around those two things. School ends soon, doesn't it?"


"This week. Friday."


"Right. You go to school this week, and then we can go from there. You can come here every evening if you want, until you leave school. How does that sound?"


"Not good. There's nothing going on at school this week, anyway. I can't see the point in it."


"I'll bet Sam will want you there last day. Aren't you having a leaving party?"


"Yes. Ok, I will. Sam will want me with him."


"Sorted then. And that will give you an opportunity to sort things with Sam about the holiday. Best thing, don't you think so, Debs?"


"Definitely. One step at a time, I say. Now you've finished brecky, get out of my kitchen the pair of you. I've got work to do. And get dressed both of you. I need to sort out the bedroom."


Jimmy and I go upstairs, and I shut the door of the bedroom. We're soon in each other's arms and our shower together is full of giggles and innuendo, but we don't make love. That's for later, when Debbie has gone. We spend the morning talking and making plans, and when we go into the garage, I'm amazed at the good job Jimmy and Sam (as he tells me later) have done on the car. They've even found the trim-black, and done all the trim with it. It looks almost new, and I tell him how pleased I am, and that we'll go out for a run in it later. I can tell he's pleased with my compliments, but when I mention the drive, he tells me he'd rather go to bed.


It's almost 1 o'clock when Debbie leaves. "Right, you pair of lovers; I've put a meat and tater pie in the oven, and it'll be ready in an hour. Then just put this pastry on, and give it another half hour.  The gravy is done, and you'll just need to pop it into the microwave for two minutes, and you've got your dinner. See you in the morning, Rob. See you later, Jimmy."


"See you in the morning, Debs. Thanks for everything. I'd marry you if you had your hair dyed blonde."


"I've got enough with one wastrel without another, thank you very much. Besides, I can pick better than you, now you've made me famous."


No sooner has she gone than we're back in bed, and three quarters of an hour later, we're showering again. "My water bill will rocket at this rate. You'd better start paying some board, Jimmy Turner."


"I'll pay you in kind. I reckon you owe me already."


I laugh at his cheeky remark. "Indeed I do. I'm glad I came home."


Jimmy puts both arms around my neck, kisses me, and looks into my eyes. "It was Sam, wasn't it?"


"What do you mean?"


"I'm not daft. Something made you say you loved me and made you come home, and I reckon it was Sam. And I reckon he'd been reading that letter you sent me to get your mobile number."


I'm thinking now. Do I betray Sam, or do I tell a lie? "You're one clever sod, Jimmy Turner. Remind me never to tell you a lie. Yes, it was, but don't let on that I've said so."


"I won't. At least I know now why you came home. I thought it was funny how it all happened so quickly. What did he say?"


"He asked me if I was gay and if I loved you. He sort of cornered me and blackmailed me into telling him. He was worried to death about you. Apparently, you had some sort of a hissy fit after the interview. I thought you'd be watching the show, and I did my best to tell you then how I felt. It seemed to go over your head, though."


"Sorry, Rob. I love you so much that the slightest thing you say is misconstrued in my daft mind."


"That's a big word. You might make a writer one day if you keep that up."


"What else did he tell you?"


"Nothing much; just that you thought I was in love with Kath and that I should make myself clear, because it was upsetting you. When I knew you were upset, that was enough to make me think about coming home. You see, Jimmy Turner, you're more important to me than anything: books, money, and career. I should have said something to you earlier, but I didn't know how you felt about me. Debbie told me about your dad, and I thought you might just want friendship: somebody to talk to. I would have settled for that, and lived a lie."


"What did Mrs R. tell you about my dad?"


I intuitively know there's more, but this isn't the time. "Just that he'd murdered a bloke and is doing time for it. It can't be easy for you and your mum."


"No, it's not, but everything is fine, now I've got you. Promise me you won't get rid of me. Please."


There are tears in Jimmy's eyes now. "I promise. I've just fallen in love for the first time in my life, so I'm not likely to do that, am I? Shall we go for a run out in the car later? It will be your wages for doing such a good job."


"Good idea. But I'm starving. We'd better get that meat and tater pie before it's burnt."


After the `meat and tater pie', We spend a few hours watching TV, and making sure neither of us is out of the other's sight for more than thirty seconds, plus lots of reassuring each other of our love, and then I get the car out of the garage, and we set off.


My precious VIRUS, in my Ferrari? It doesn't get much better than this! I drive carefully; my instinct is to protect him from harm, but I know he just can't wait for me to `floor it'. Should I give him what I think he wants, or should I keep him safe?


To be continued...



Other stories on Nifty by J.T.S.Teller: Boys can be lovers, too.