WARNING: This story is about an affair between a boy and a young man. Do not read the contents if it will offend you. If accessing this story causes you to break local laws (village, town, city, county, province, state, or country, etc.), please leave now.
Any characters portrayed in this story are fictional and not representative of anyone living or dead.
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By John T. S. Teller.
Your week has gone slowly. Work doesn't help. Biochemistry can be both exacting and tedious as you work on complex multicellular forms of Algae. You work for a large oil company. It's in their interests that they're above the curve when sourcing new fuels. Algae is the future. Trillions of dollars will be made from your work. Well, not just your work. You're a very tiny cog in a massive machine; a very diverse machine, much like being a lover of boys in a world full of perversions. But the world doesn't see it like that. Caravaggio and Michelangelo can spend years trying to recreate the beauty of the boy child, and be lauded by the art world for it, but you express the view that they're the most beautiful creatures on earth, and you're a pervert: the lowest of the low. That's why you hide amongst the perverted masses. But they've not taken control of your brain yet. They try; the control freaks who've given you all the same name: Paedophile. But what name can they put on a boy child who desires an intergenerational love affair? They try to pretend it doesn't happen, and when it does, they dismiss it a flight of fancy by an immature youngster. But they're as stupid and ignorant about that as they are about you. History tells us that boys have desired relationships with men, countless times. Did the twelve year old aristocrat, Alain-Philippe Malagnac d'Argens de Villèle, not fall in love with the sixty four year old Roger Peyrefitte during the filming of his novel, Les Amitiés Particulères, and remain his true and special friend for decades after? Did Polydeukes not love his adoring mentor: Herodes Atticus? So, why should twelve year old Rebel not have affections for twenty-eight year old David Johnson-Greene? It's possible, and as long as it's possible, there's hope for you.
Saturday 22nd June, and unlike last Saturday, it's quite warm today: 24 degrees Celsius, and that's why you're just wearing grey jeans with grey, slip-on casual shoes; no shirt... just a white, woollen, v-neck pullover with the sleeves rolled up to show off your well-muscled forearms and your black chronometer that you wear on your right wrist, and just a hint of the dark hair on your chest. They go well with your dark hair that you had styled last evening especially for Rebel. And you smell nice, too, since you showered and applied plenty of Brut anti-perspirant.
Rebel and his mother and kid brother are usually in the mall at around 2.30'ish. Last week they left at exactly 3.20; about twenty minutes after they first sat down. So you've arrived at 1.30 just to be on the safe side. When you've parked the car, you wander through the revolving doors into the large, spacious, indoor mall that's milling with lots of shoppers. There are far more people than last week, and that might pose a problem if the café is packed. Your eyes search everywhere for Rebel and his family, but you can't see him. He may not be here today. If he is, he could be anywhere amongst the myriad of shops. You wander into Next and purchase a couple of t-shirts, and then into HMV for a Frank Turner CD: Sleep is for the Week. You like Frank... he ticks most of your musical boxes. Then you see 100 Hits – Soul, on offer, so you buy that, too. That's two bags you've got. Now you look like a proper shopper. One more will do, so you wander into M&S and buy a bag of Luxury Italian ground coffee, and a bag of Classic House Blend. Job done. Time to wander. So you do, almost everywhere in the mall without seeing him. Eventually, because the time is passing quickly, you decide to go to the café, hoping that Rebel will have managed to wangle things so you can meet again. If he hasn't, you're going to be a disappointed scientist when you leave the mall. Rebel sat down at about three o' clock last week. He might make a non-show, but if his mother is following the same pattern as the previous Saturdays and Rebel wants to see you again, then you should take your seat no later than 2.45. You've got your Kindle, so it's time to make your move.
As you thought, the café is busier than last week. Although one might become vacant at any time, there are just three empty tables now: a two-person one, and two, four-person ones. But they're all far apart. That won't do. You're becoming both nervous and exasperated. If you and Rebel are so far apart when you're seated, it makes a mockery of all your careful plans. You've gone through too much trouble to arrange and make this `date' for you to balls it up now, Johnson-Greene! There's only two things you can do; wait until Rebel arrives (if he does) and then try to get a seat near him, or take a four-person table and spread your bags so wide that nobody will want to sit with you. If that works, there's the possibility that Rebel might even barge in on you. Be brave and hope for the best!
You take a seat at a four-person table near the main aisle. You can see the waitress isn't too pleased that you've taken a four-person table when there's a two-person table available, but she isn't waiting nervously for his very first `date'. You are, so sod her! You order coffee and then put the M&S and HMV bags on the table opposite you, and spread them out, and the Next bag you put on the seat beside you. To all intents and purposes, the table looks as if it's reserved, and you're just waiting for friends to join you. You're a crafty sod up to yet, Johnson-Greene! And just as you've settled and the waitress has brought your coffee, you see two sets of three people walking directly towards the café. Rebel is approaching with his entourage, and so are a man and a woman and a little girl. They say that fortune favours the brave, and the man and woman and little girl arrive first. Naturally, they don't go to `your' table because it looks as though you have company. Instead, they go directly to the empty four-person table, which leaves only an empty two-person one... and your table for Mrs Rebel to choose if she decides she wants to sit outside. Hurriedly, you scoop the bags from the table and from the chair beside you, and place them by your feet. Rebel and Co arrive just after you've done it and are now reading your Kindle. You don't even look at them until Mrs Rebel asks, "Do you mind if we sit here?"
You look up into her blue eyes, and you want to hug her and kiss her and slam her into a seat opposite, but instead, you give her your very best smile, and say, "Not at all."
Rebel is a good boy. Rebel is a clever boy. Before his mother can make the arrangements, he's taken the seat next to you, which means his mother and young brother have to take the seats opposite. You can't look directly into his eyes now, but because the table isn't a large one, you can, if you play your cards right, make contact with his leg under the table. That's if he wants to, of course!
Today, Rebel is dressed to impress. On his feet are black and gold Adidas trainers with white trainer socks, and above the knee length cut-off blue jeans he's wearing is a gold and black, horizontally striped polo shirt with a logo that makes you chuckle inwardly. Underneath a picture of a long-eared donkey, it says: KISS MY ASS! How he's got that one past his mother is open to conjecture. Most probably, he's promised to keep his room tidy for a week, and put his soiled clothes in the wash basket instead of leaving them on the floor in his bedroom, rather than waiting for the invisible clothes collector to whisk them off and return them all clean and pressed.
The waitress arrives to take their order. A pot of tea for mother; Cokes and two cream buns for the boys. The waitress looks at you inquisitively. You smile and say, "Another coffee, and I'll have a cream bun, please."
She looks puzzled. "Are you all together?"
You smile at her. "No, but you can add my coffee and bun to their bill if you like."
She grins and walks away. Mother smiles. Andrew (Rebel's kid brother who was named when they sat at the table) frowns at you for daring to be so forward. Rebel giggles, but he doesn't look at you. You relax, allowing your legs to open slightly. Then you feel a small knee resting on the outside of your calf. Although your outward demeanour is one of nonchalance, your throat is dry and your heart is beating wildly. Contact!
To be continued...
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