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Jimmy the Love-Virus. 


By John T. S. Teller. 


Part eight.  


School is over, and I run home and change as quick as I can. I need to get to Rob, my beautiful Rob. We had a good text chat at dinner, and Sam was laughing at some of the stuff. I don't keep anything from Sam. He's really happy for me, even though he knows our future will be different, and he's excited that we'll be going to Portugal together, and we've been making plans all day.


I'm in Willow Row now, at Rob's house, and I ring the bell, and he lets me in. We're in each other's arms as soon as the door shuts, and I surrender myself to his passionate kisses and soothing voice. Heaven is in the arms of my lover: my Robert. He asks me if I'm hungry, but I make him make love to me first: in bed, and then we go into the kitchen, and he starts preparing our meal: a ham salad. He's got his back to me as we chat. I can't take my eyes off him: his beautiful, soft, wavy, dark hair, that has a small curl at the nape of his neck; his broad shoulders and slim hips that are well pronounced, because he's wearing a proper shirt that's tucked into his blue jeans. I love his butt. I've kissed it often enough now. In fact, there's not a single inch of him that I haven't kissed since he came home to me.


Rob turns his head towards me and asks, "Have you asked Sam if he wants to go to Portugal?"


"Yes, he's all for it. He wanted to know if there are any nice looking girls there."


"Loads. We'll find him a lover."


"Sam will find his own. He's not backwards at coming forward with the girls. They're all over him at school."


"I'm not surprised. He's a good-looking lad. If I hadn't met you, I'd have been after him."


I laugh. "What happened to that ugly, ginger haired sod you fancied? You gone off him now?"


"Not really. He's in reserve if you jilt me. Besides, he's not ugly, just not quite as good looking as you. Any port in a storm."


"I'll cut it bloody off if you so much as look at him again." I see Rob's shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.


"Best I stick to you then. Old-Faithful-Down-There won't be too pleased if he's parted from me. We've had some good times together."


That remark sickens me. It shouldn't, because it isn't just Rob who has been `about'. He senses my hurt and turns to me.


"Sorry, Jimmy. That was bloody stupid of me. I can be a bit of a prat at times. Am I forgiven?"


He's looking down at me now, with those beautiful brown eyes. How can I be angry with my Rob? I can't. "Of course you are. We're just discovering each other. No need to say `sorry' to me. I'm not a saint myself." He doesn't say anything; just turns, places the two meals on the table, sits down, holds out a hand to me, and I take it and squeeze it. We eat our meal in almost silence, and it's obvious that we need to talk. I'm dreading it, and, after the meal, he leads me to the sofa and pulls me to him, I know what's coming when he says...


"Right, we need to sort some stuff out, and we might as well do it now as later. As you say, you're not a saint, but I'm puzzled how someone of your young age is so experienced. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I don't want any secrets between us. If there's anything you want to know about me, I'll tell you. We're special, you and I, Jimmy, so let's start as we intend going on. Well?"


This is difficult: very difficult. Should I tell him about Uncle Pete? No, definitely not! I'll tell him about my Chris: my Chris who was once the love of my life, but I won't tell him the whole truth... yet. Oh dear, I'm crying now, and my tears are running down Rob's neck.


Rob lifts my head and looks into my eyes. "Jimmy! What's the matter? I'm sorry, Jimmy. I'm really sorry. Ok, if it upsets you that much, you can leave it."


Rob is angry with himself, and is holding me very tightly now. My crying has hurt him, and I know how he feels. I don't want to hurt my beautiful Robert, so I'm going to tell him about Chris.


"Hold me, Rob; please hold me."


The grip around me tightens. I can hardly breathe, but I don't care. I'm safe in Rob's arms, and they can all fuck off. Especially that fucking bastard of a Dad of mine! I look up. Tears are streaming from Rob's eyes. More than anything, that tells me how much he loves me, and I'm angry with myself now. I'm so fucking angry that I lose it big style, tear myself away from Rob, and rip off my t-shirt and throw it across the room. I fucking hate clothes! They're not what I am. It's the jeans and socks next, and then my underpants. That's it. I stand there and let my Robert see all that I am. I'm naked, but I don't have a hard-on. Everything I am, Robert, is yours. All yours now that Chris is dead. And I throw myself onto my Robert. His arms come around me and lock me in a vice-like grip. This is what I want, and what I've missed since I lost my Chris. I'm at one with my new love, and I know that if Chris could speak to me from beyond the grave, he would be telling me that he still loves me, and that this is right for me. Chris would understand. Chris always understood.


I push myself slightly away from Rob, and using both my hands, caress my lover's face, and wipe away the tears from his eyes. "It's ok, Rob. I'm sorry for getting angry. Let me calm down a bit, and then I'll tell you everything. Is that ok?"


He nods and swallows hard. He's frantic with worry. I need to explain. I'm going to tell him, and I know my Robert will understand. Robert will be like my Mum: my wonderful Mum, who loves me more than anyone in the world. She might have been able to save my Dad from a long jail sentence, but because he'd hurt me, she said nothing, and let him get fifteen years at least. That's what the judge said, and I was fucking glad he did. Although she still loves him, she also hates him for what he did to me.


The confession and the reaction.


"I remember when I was about five, I used to toss myself off, although I couldn't make sperm until I was ten, which was about the time I knew I was gay. (He gives me an approving glance. Kudos there.) I never did it thinking about girls; I used to do it to pictures of wrestlers. When I was eleven, I met a man named Chris. He was twenty-five when I first met him: a mate of my Dad's. They met at a hare-coursing event. They were into dogs and stuff. My dad tried to get me into it, but I wasn't interested. I liked fishing, but my Dad didn't, and because Chris was into fishing in a big way, I started going with him. He taught me everything I know about it. I didn't fall in love with Chris like I did with you. It was a gradual thing. Chris didn't groom me. It was always a case of me asking if I could go with him. Eventually, I realised that I was in love with him. I wanted to be with him all the time, and when we were out in the countryside, we would just sit and chat and not even bother fishing. It went from there. We were both madly in love with each other. Eventually, we had sex. It was me who insisted we did. For ages, Chris wouldn't fuck me because he didn't want to hurt me. (I look up at Rob now, to see if this is embarrassing him. He's stone-faced. Not sure if this is good or bad. Can't stop now.) Anyway, eventually, I got him to do it. So that's how I know what to do. You're probably thinking that Chris was a bastard. He wasn't. He was a paedo, but I don't care. Chris didn't make me do anything I didn't want. He would never have done that. I was the one who was entirely responsible for everything. Now I'm going to tell you something, but only if you promise me faithfully that you won't tell another living soul. (Rob looks at me thoughtfully for a while, and then nods, and promises he won't tell anyone.) I don't know how Dad found out about us, but he did, and he killed Chris. I know it was because of me, because when me and Mum went to see him after he was sent down, his first words to me were, `That's what happens to anybody who wants to fuck my little faggot. Now don't come to see me again, because I hate queers like you.'  Dad said nothing during the trial, other than he and Chris had an argument. He pleaded guilty to murder, and, because it was such a violent attack, the judge said he was to do a minimum of fifteen years. I wish it had been fifty. He killed Chris just because we wanted each other. If I'd left Chris alone, he'd be alive today. That's everything. Do you want me to go now you know you're in love with a faggot?"


(I'm looking at Rob now. His jaw is clamped together, and he's angry. I'm afraid he's going to throw me out of the house. Please, Robert, don't do that. If you do, I promise, I'll kill myself. I really will!)


"I'm not in love with a faggot, and if you ever call yourself that again in my presence, you'll see a side of me that you won't like. Trust me on that one. (I do. I can see it in the steely, angry look that's boring into my eyes.) I'm struggling here, Jimmy. How the hell did a little boy get over that? If I'd been in your shoes, I think I would have killed myself. But you're here, and you're normal, and you're still able to love and smile and laugh. How?"


(I look up at him. He hasn't thrown me out of the house. He's more concerned for me than he is about what happened. Blimey, Robert, you're an even more beautiful person than I thought you were. My Chris would have loved you for that.)


"I couldn't at first. They sent me to see a shrink, because I was like a zombie. They all thought it was because my Dad was in jail. That was a laugh. They hadn't got a clue. I even made stuff up so they thought they could cure me. It was funny. I can laugh about it now. I told them what they wanted to hear: that I loved my Dad, and that I was missing him. Then I added a bit of spice to it, and told them that I thought I was gay. That did the trick. I got the usual stuff: lie on the couch and tell me all about your life from as far back as you can remember. I told them nothing, other than I was mixed up and that I liked boys. They could deal with that. It was, `You really mustn't beat yourself about the head with that, Jimmy. You're just coming to a stage in your life when your body is changing. We all go through that. You'll grow out of it and become normal.' Normal? What's `normal'? I am normal. I haven't got three legs or two dicks. I'm just a homosexual, the sort that likes men or boys older than myself. But they can't deal with that. They can deal with men who like boys, because then they have a molester and a victim. That's how their minds work. It's fine if you fall in love or want sex with a boy or man of your own age. That's normal. Oh yes, they can handle that, too."


(Tears are coming again. Rob sees them, puts his arm around me and squeezes me. I flop my head into his neck again. That's better. Chris would have done that.)


"Jimmy, have you got a photo of Chris?"


"Yes. Why?"


"I want to see the man who loved my Jimmy."


"Will you be jealous?"


"I don't know. Will you bring it here for me to see? I know how much you loved... love, Chris. He's important to you, and I'm wondering if you'll ever really be mine unless we take him with us."


"No, I'm not having that... `the-three-of-us thing,' that is. Chris was years ago, and I've left him behind sexually. That stopped before the shrinks had finished with me. The dull ache I felt inside every day for years afterwards, wasn't because I missed having sex with him; it was because of the guilt I felt, and also because I missed being loved like I like being loved. Today, I've talked about him, but that's only because you've made me bring him back, because you wanted to know stuff. I left Chris behind every other way the day I met you in Tesco's."


"We didn't meet in Tesco's!"


I'm grinning now. "Oh yes we did. I was in Tesco's with my Mum and Sam, and you started talking to him. I was head over heels in love with you the moment I saw you. You didn't even notice me, you swine. I kept sneaking a look up each aisle to see if I could see you again, and then pretended to Sam that I was watching to see your car when you drove off, because he'd told me about it. And then I changed my paper round to deliver your papers, and spent three months trying to get you to notice me. But you were a complete waste of space until I walked across your lawn. Got you then, though, didn't I?"


(He's giggling and laughing. I love his silliness and his posh voice, and the tension is easing.)


"Yes, you did; it was that smile you gave me that did it; that and the eye contact. I'd seen you a few times before, but never took much notice of you. The moment I looked into your eyes, I fell head over heels in love with you. And then the notes and the texting sealed it, and when Sam told me that you loved me and that you were gay... well, I've never felt so elated before. I love you, James, more than you could ever imagine. Thank you for telling me about Chris. Now we really can get on with our lives together."


"And I love you just as much, Rob. I'm sorry if any of that stuff about Chris has hurt you, but, as you say, it's best out of the way. There's only you in my life now, and as long as you want me, that's how it will always be."


"Do you fancy a coffee, Jimmy?"


"Yes, please."


"With or without your clothes on?"


I laugh, as I realise that I'm still naked. "Oops. I really threw a barny then, didn't I? I'll have to remember what the shrink said to me."


"What was that?"


"If ever you're feeling angry, try to think about the nicest moment in your life."


"And that would be?"


I kiss Rob softly on the lips. "The moment I saw you walk through the door when you came back from London."


I'm rewarded, as he crushes me to him and hugs me like a bear. Although I can't see his face, I know he's crying, because I can feel the sobs coming from his chest. And, as I grip him tightly and bury my head into his neck, the tears begin to roll from my own eyes, and down the body of the man I love with an overwhelming passion.


End of confession and reaction.




Jimmy is fully dressed as we sit on the sofa and drink our coffees. I've recovered from the awful reality of hearing Jimmy's past, and now we are back to normal. "Do you like writing, Jimmy?"


He kicks my leg and licks his tongue out at me. "I wrote you a long letter, didn't I?"


I kick him back. "In a fashion."


He grins at my sarcasm. "Have you thrown it away?"


"No. I'll never throw it away. Nor the note from the day before when you said you were sorry. Mum bought me a souvenir box for my birthday ages ago, and I've got it out and your letters are in there. I'll put all your things in there, and I'll look at them when I'm an old man and I'm missing you if you run away from me."


Jimmy growls at me. "I ain't going anywhere."


I grin. "You hadn't better! Would you like me to show you how I write?" He nods. "Come on then; I'll show you, but let's clear the things up first."


I boot up the PC and sit in my chair, and scroll down to the end of my latest novel. I need to refresh my memory about where I finished off, so I then back up two pages, read them, and begin to type. Jimmy's got his arms around my neck now, and his head is resting on the side of mine, watching the words flow, and I've done two pages before I stop. I rub the side of my face on Jimmy's. "Well?"


"You're Brill! I never knew anybody could type so fast. But you're not so clever; you've made about ten spelling mistakes. Haha."


"Typos, Jimmy... typos, not spelling mistakes. I've got hundreds of typos in this book, which I'll sort out when I edit and proof it. When I first started writing professionally, I used to correct every one as it happened. That takes too long. It bugged me for a while, because I like neat and tidy. But I soon got used to it, and stopped bothering. Would you like a massage?" I look at Jimmy, and he's got a huge grin on his face.


"Dead right I would."


"Ok, come on then." I take Jimmy into the bedroom, get a double sheet out of the top box of my wardrobe, and lay it, doubled up, on the bed.  "Right, take off all your clothes and lie face down. (He does.) Now just relax and enjoy this."


I start on his neck, massaging almond oil into his skin with my hands and fingers. (I've done this many times before, but always with the ladies.) And then on to his firm shoulders, and I hear him moan as I reach the parts that are sensitive. He has his head facing to the side where I'm sitting, and I watch his full lips open slightly as my hands progress down his back. I'm on the small of his back now, and then, very slowly, I begin to massage his superb buttocks. They yield to my caresses, and, reluctantly, I progress onto the back of his beautiful thighs. The moment I touch them, he parts his legs to give me easier access. I leave his thighs and concentrate on the muscles of his lower legs, and then his feet. Jimmy chuckles as I tickle his soles.


"Right, James, turn over." He does, and reveals what I was certain would be the case: Young-Faithful-Down-There is fully erect. I ignore his swollen member and concentrate on his upper body. He's now looking at me with a smile on his face... but says nothing. He doesn't need to... we're speaking with our eyes. I continue to massage him, but the wonderful member that is throbbing in front of my eyes is bypassed as I complete the job. Finally, I move up to sit beside him, and look into his eyes, which are sparkling like brilliant blue diamonds. I lean over him, and, with my mouth slightly open, I gently brush his lips with mine, and I whisper to him, "Did you like that?" He nods, swallows hard, and tries to reply. But he can't. Words are beyond what he's feeling now. "Right, put my dressing gown on, and I'll see you downstairs."


Jimmy looks puzzled. He points to his swollen penis. "You're not going to leave me like this?"


"I am, Jimmy. Believe me, if we do anything, it will spoil what we've just had."


I'm on the sofa when my lover comes downstairs, naked except for the dressing gown, and snuggles beside me. We talk and laugh and make plans, and I tell him what I have in mind about getting him out of that hell-hole where he lives. I ask him what he wants to be, and he says that he doesn't know yet, but he wants to go to college and then university, now that I want him to. He likes languages, but he's not so good at science. We decide that the next two years will give him time to think what he wants to be, and he can make up his mind where he'll go from there. Just talking about our future, as we relax together on the sofa, is perfect. Occasionally, we kiss; nice brushing kisses to reassure ourselves that we love each other; and when the dressing gown slips open, I run my fingers over the creature I love. I think the words I spoke to him after the massage have hit home, because he doesn't make me do anything, even though he's aroused. Jimmy refastens the dressing gown, and goes to my music collection, and is impressed that I'm into rap. He selects some Eminem and J Zee, and the new sensation, Tinchy Stryder. When the music begins to play, he dances in front of me. He's got no inhibitions, and he performs his routine brilliantly. (Is there anything he's not good at?) He invites me to join him, and laughs at my silly efforts at dancing, so I retire to the sofa and watch my love. (I could look at him forever.) I make supper for us - Spaghetti Bolognese. Hysterics again, as we eat . . . this time, because we have a contest who can suck up the longest strand of spaghetti. The sucking takes on a sexy theme, and we have to give up before we make utter fools of ourselves. Afterwards, we go back to the sofa and cuddle. Jimmy gets up and goes to the bookcase, selects the same book he's taken home with him, and hands it to me.


"Read it to me, Rob."


"I thought you wanted to read it yourself?"


"I will. I've had a quick look through it at home. It's a beautiful love story; not quite like you and me, but I can fantasize and pretend that it is. Besides, I love your posh voice, and I just want to snuggle up and listen to you."


So we make ourselves comfortable. I sit at the end of the sofa, and Jimmy relaxes full length with his back resting on my shoulder. I open the book, and begin to read. I'm halfway through the book when I look at the clock. "Ten-thirty. You need to be getting home, because you've got your papers and school in the morning. Come on, get dressed, and I'll run you home."


Jimmy grins at me. "Can we have sex before we go? It won't take long."


I push him away from me. "Get off your arse and bugger off! You're incorrigible!"


"What does that mean?"


"It means you're an incurable sex fiend."


"Would you want me any other way?"


Jimmy goes upstairs and gets dressed, and when he returns, I ask him if he's got a CD player in his room. He says he has, so I go to my music collection, search for a particular album, select one, walk to the hall and put on my coat. Jimmy joins me, and we kiss softly. "I love you, Jimmy."


His eyes are moist. "I love you, Rob. Have you got a photo of yourself?"


I think for a minute. The only recent one I have is the one taken for the back cover of my books. Mum had it framed and gave it to me. My camera is in the same drawer as the photo, so I shout to Jimmy to come back into the lounge. "Take off your coat, and get on the sofa. I want to take your picture." I ignore his remarks that he'll strip off if I want to take some naked shots of him to bed with me tonight, and then it takes me about a dozen attempts before I'm satisfied I've got one without him pulling a face. And then I bundle him through the door.


Jimmy is looking down, holding my photograph in his hands between his legs as we sit in my car just a short way from his home. I know he's sad, and doesn't want to go home. I don't want him to go home, either, but until I can sort things, this is how it will have to be. "Bugger off. Text me later. When you're on your own, play the CD. Select track four first, and make sure you've got your handkerchief with you, because the words of the song are what I feel about you." He looks miserable as he gets out of the car. I watch him walk away, and almost break into tears. He turns the corner and is gone. I can't bear to see him walking away from me any more, so I reverse the car and go back home.


I lie on my back in bed, my hands behind my head, staring up at the ceiling... thinking about things. No-one lives in the area Jimmy lives in by choice, I'm certain of that. Just being there for a few minutes made me feel uneasy. Parting was hell, too. Jimmy's mum's been preying on my mind, a lot. How much does she know, and can she really be happy about my VIRUS being with me? So much has happened so quickly, my own head is reeling. Thankfully, the Sandman takes me away from my worrying thoughts.


To be continued...



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