Date: Sun, 10 Feb 2008 21:11:07 +0000 From: pinkpanther2@hotmail.co.uk Subject: 'A Warm April Saturday' chapter 26. All the usual disclaimers apply. If for some reason, you shouldn't be reading this, then don't, okay? If you do, neither I nor Nifty will be responsible if the bogey men catch up with you! I've been very grateful for all the feedback that I've had in recent weeks; it's been very encouraging. However, more is always welcome and I never fail to reply to it. So if you have not written before, or if you've not written for a while, please send your comments to pinkpanther2@hotmail.co.uk and I'll reply as soon as I can. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX It's our Tuesday morning games class and we're playing cricket again. This time Sanjeev's team are batting. I don't bowl, so that means all I have to do is try to stop the ball if someone hits it towards me. This could get boring; still, I'll have to make the effort. Andrew opens up for us, bowling to Sanjeev. After two defensive shots back down the pitch he turns the third ball off his hip. It rolls towards me; I trot in, pick it up and toss it back to Josh behind the stumps. Well, I guess I managed that all right. Ten minutes later, Sanjeev's still batting. Zaheer bowls to him. He mis-times his shot; the ball lobs gently towards where Michael's standing. There's a cry of "Catch it!". It's a simple chance; as simple as you'll get with a cricket ball; Michael flaps and drops it. Shit! He should have caught that; I'm sure I would. The batsmen have run through for a single, so now Dinesh is on strike. Andrew tells me to move further back; Dinesh isn't as solid as Sanjeev, but he hits the ball a lot harder. Zaheer bowls him a short one. Dinesh swings round on it, sending it speeding across the grass a couple of yards to my right. I take one step then dive full-length to get my body behind it. I stop it okay but it stings my hand. Fuck! Cricket balls are hard! I spend the next fifteen minutes getting bored shitless; the ball never comes anyway near me. Sanjeev and a couple of their other batsmen are out, but Dinesh is still there and he seems to be enjoying himself. Zaheer bowls him another short one. Dinesh tries to repeat the shot he played earlier, but the ball gets up much higher on him. Instead of hitting it along the ground, it goes straight up in the air, a long way up and it's coming right to me; I'll hardly have to move. I can feel all the other kids watching me; they're all thinking the same thing, "Is the gay-boy going to catch it?" If this was a tennis ball, it'd be no problem, but it's not. Cricket balls aren't just a lot harder, they're much heavier too. If it bounces out of my hands it could hit me in the face and knock my front teeth out. As the ball starts to come down I settle myself under it. All the stuff James taught me runs through me brain: stay relaxed, let the ball come to me, catch it in front of my eyes, let my hands ride with it. As it hurtles towards the ground my fingers close round it. My hands thump down against my chest, the force of it knocking me off my feet. I land on my backside, the ball still safely clasped. I've done it! As I get to my feet I'm mobbed by Andrew, Josh and Zaheer. "Brilliant catch!" Andrew says. "It never looked like you were going to drop it!" Five minutes later we're heading back to the changing room. Alwyn trots over to me. "Never thought you'd catch that," he says. "I know I wouldn't; that was really hard." Back in the changing room the atmosphere's back to how it used to be. Even Dinesh congratulates me; that means a lot. Me being gay seems to have been forgotten. Sometimes it's strange what seems to matter; all I did was catch a ball. 0 o 0 o 0 o 0 It's five past six when the car draws up outside the house. I trot down the path and get into the back seat. As expected, Tom's already there. Liam's sitting in the front with his dad. I can see straight away where Liam gets his physique from; his dad's huge! This will be the first time I've ever run on a proper track; I'm really looking forward to it. Ten minutes later we're there. Liam takes us through to the stands where Mark's training group are getting ready. Alwyn's already there with a guy who's obviously his dad, just a bigger, older version of him, not that much taller than me but quite strong-looking. "Ken Davies, Alwyn's dad," he says, smiling warmly and shaking hands with us. "Glad you've decided to join; Alwyn struggles a bit on the track, and with you two on board we'll have a great team on the country next winter." It's a nice welcome. By half past six the whole squad's there, fifteen boys aged from eleven to sixteen. Mark sends us onto the track for a warm up jog. After a couple of laps we return to the stands to strip off our training pants and sweat tops and put our spikes on. Tom and I strip down alongside the other boys. Ken rolls his eyes. "Alwyn said you was skinny!" he says, grinning at us. "Blimey! You could find more meat on a butcher's pencil!" We all laugh; that was well funny. The squad divides into two groups. Mark will work with us while Ken times the older boys. Our group has eight boys; me, Tom. Alwyn and another kid are in year seven, there are three boys in year eight and one year nine kid who's not even as tall as me. Mark explains what we're going to be doing, eight three hundred metre repetitions, with a one hundred metre jog in between. We're supposed to run them a bit faster than our racing pace, so the target time is around fifty seven seconds. After that we have ten minutes rest then do six one-hundred metre sprints. "You guys just stick in behind Jake and Gavin," he says to me and Tom, indicating two of the year eight kids. "They're both pretty useful." The first four reps seem easy; I know I could have run faster. Then it starts to get hard. The thing is we're only allowed a minute for the hundred metre jog and I'm starting to get tired; Tom is too. After the fifth one I'm really feeling it. On number six it's all I can do to hang on. Okay, two to go. Somehow number seven doesn't seem as bad, I guess because I know we've nearly finished. So far I've been between fifty-six and fifty-eight seconds every time, with Tom pretty close behind me. I can see what Ken meant about Alwyn struggling on the track; he's been well behind us every time. We complete our jog. "Okay lads," last one!" Mark says. We run through the start-finish line, Jake leading the way. This is quick, a good bit faster than any of the others. I get right onto his shoulder, determined to stay with him. We fly along the back straight; my lungs are on fire. As we go into the final bend my legs feel like lead. I don't know how I keep them moving but I do. Jake crosses our finish line at the top of the home straight in fifty-four-point-two, with me and Gavin right behind him. Fuck! That was hard! "Well done lads!" Mark calls to us. "That was a great session!" His enthusiasm is infectious. After our sprints Mark calls me and Tom to one side. "That was excellent," he says, smiling warmly. "Jake's already run four minutes fifty-one and he's aiming to run in the low four forties before the end of the season. Just one thing though; don't race in your training sessions; run within yourself. If Jake's a second or two ahead, don't worry about it, okay?" I seems a bit of an odd thing to say, but I sort of understand; we need to keep something in reserve for when we race. It's twenty to eight when I get home. I'm tired and hungry. I can see how important it is for me to get my homework done beforehand; I'm way too tired to do it now. I eat my dinner, chill out for an hour and go to bed. 0 o 0 o 0 o 0 I know I'm in trouble as soon as mum comes through the door; I can see it in her face. "Chris, I need to talk to you," she says in her `I mean business' voice. Yeah, well there are no prizes for guessing what this is about. I'm going to have to do a lot better than I did when Mr. Sheridan spoke to me on Monday; if I squirm around like I did then I'll be right in the shit. Still, I've got my story worked out; I've got to make sure I stick to it. I just hope I've thought of everything she could ask me. She sits on the sofa, opposite the arm chair I'm in. "So what was this I was told today?" she asks. "Last week you were seen going round with a boy who's not only known to be gay, but from what I was told, is ." she pauses; "a rent-boy, and you'd gone to the boys' room with him to er., well, I think you know. So what have you got to say?" "Yeah, I guess," I say calmly. "Only I didn't know that when I went with him." "I think you'd better tell me about it," she says, looking shocked. "End of last term, I was in the boys' room having a pee when this kid came and stood next to me, only he wasn't peeing; he was er.," my voice trails off "he was . playing with it," I whisper. "I couldn't take my eyes off him. He was well fit, you know, like these kids who model clothes for the catalogues. I'd been dreaming about., er, messing about with another boy, and suddenly there he was, and not just any boy, a really good looking one. It felt like all my Christmases had come at once. Anyway, he told me to follow him so I did. We went to the boys' room at the far end of the technology block `cause it's really quiet there. We messed about for a bit; that was it. We've done it about three times since, but last week, after we'd done it we started chatting. We walked out onto the playground together; I didn't even think about it. Well, some kids that know him saw us; it didn't take them long to work out what we'd been doing." "I'm so disappointed," she says, shaking her head. "I would have thought you'd have more about you. And you had no idea what this boy was like?" "No way; I wouldn't have done it if I had. I never found out till the stories started going round. I mean, he doesn't look like that; he's always clean, his uniform's always smart. I thought he was just like me." "So are you telling me you think you're gay?" "Yeah, I guess." "You said you'd been dreaming about messing about with another boy. So how long's that been going on?" "About a year," I say evenly. "Chris," she says, looking worried. "I'm pleased you've been truthful with me and not tried to make excuses, but I'm getting a bad feeling about this. That was around the time that I started going out with James. You two weren't ., you know, were you?" This is it. I've rehearsed this over and over in my head; now I've got to deliver. "I wish," I say quietly, giving her a wry smile. "Chris!" she says, sounding even more shocked. "What's that supposed to mean?" "When he first started coming round here and started helping me and that I couldn't believe it; I thought he was the most wonderful person I'd ever met. When you weren't here I'd try to get as close to him as I could; I don't think I really understood why I was doing it. Anyway, he was looking after me one evening when you had to work late. We were sitting on the sofa watching the telly. I snuggled right up to him so my leg was rubbing against his. My ., my thing got stiff," I say, my voice trailing off again. "I was only wearing soccer shorts and a tee-shirt; it was sticking right up in my shorts. Well James noticed; he could hardly miss it. Suddenly, he just turned off the telly and told me he knew exactly what I was doing and that I had to stop it. He said if I didn't he'd have to tell you about it and then he'd have to stop coming round." "I don't know what to say," she says. "I'm horrified. So then what?" "Well, I didn't want him to stop coming round; I didn't want you finding out what I'd been doing either, so I had to do as he said. He was really kind afterwards; didn't make me feel bad or dirty or anything. He told me lots of boys like to mess about together when they start growing up; he said I might grow out of it. I don't know; I don't think I will. Did he tell you his brother's gay?" "Yes, he did. So he told you that too?" "Yeah; I guess he wanted me to know I'm not a freak or anything. Seems like his brother started messing about with one of his friends from school when he was about my age. I don't know if James and his brother used to mess about together; he didn't say." "So when you messed about with this boy at school, that was the first time you'd done it?" "No," I say quietly, looking down at the carpet. "So when was the first time?" she asks. "Remember when we were in Spain?" She pauses for a second. "Stephen? The blond boy?" she says, sounding like she can't believe it. "I'd never have thought he was like that!" There's another short pause. "He didn't, er, make you ." I shake my head. "No; I think I wanted to do it even more than he did." "Hmmm! You're not making yourself out to be any sort of saint," she comments. "Well, I guess I'm not, am I?" I tell her, still looking at the floor. There's a long pause. It seems to last forever; the tension's almost unbearable. But I've said what I've got to say; I'm not going to screw it up by saying anything else. I bite my tongue and keep my mouth shut. "I don't have a problem with you being gay," mum says at last, "if you are, that is. Lots of gay guys work in retail and most of them are, well, just like anyone else, really. When we first moved here the store manager at the time was gay. He's the best boss I've ever had. It's just come as such a shock, especially with you being so young. I knew you'd start growing up sometime in a year or two; I didn't expect it to happen as soon as this." There's another short pause. "Is this why you and Michael have fallen out?" she asks. "Yeah; it freaked him out, I guess." "You hadn't been trying to ., you know?" "Not really; we talked about sex a few times but all he wanted to talk about was girls, so I knew I wasn't going to get anywhere. A few weeks ago we met some girls at the pool. Michael asked one of them to go to the pictures with him. He wanted me to ask her friend to go too, you know, so that we could all go together. He was really pissed off with me when I didn't." "Well," she says, "If I'd known that was what you were doing, I wouldn't have let you go in any case; you're certainly too young to be going out with girls! Michael's parents seem to let him do what he likes as long as he stays out of trouble." Well, she's got that right, no argument. There's another pause. I'm almost through this. I've just got to wait for mum to make the next move. "I'm told that these boys that saw you have been bullying you," she says, "calling you names and stuff." "Yeah, a bit; it's not too bad though. Mr. Sheridan spoke to me on Monday; he said if it's more than name calling I've got to tell him and Mr. Birkett will keep them under supervision for a week, so they can't go out at breaks and lunchtimes." "Yes, well make sure you do," she tells me firmly. "You've done so well; you're not going to let these idiots ruin it for you. And if Mr. Sheridan doesn't get it sorted, you've got to tell me, understood?" "Yes mum." "And I hope you're going to carry on with you're running." "Of course I am! Liam and Alwyn asked me to join the athletics club at the match on Friday, after this happened. They're okay about it, so are most of the kids." "Well that's it then," she concludes. "Just remember what I said!" She goes into the kitchen to get dinner ready. Whew! I made it. That's down to Vince; if he hadn't helped me I'd have messed up big time. 0 o 0 o 0 o 0 The bell goes for the end of school. "Okay!" Mr. Sheridan says, "Chris, I want a quick word with you; the rest of you put your chairs up and make your way out in an orderly fashion." I wait as the other boys head out onto the corridor. I didn't need this; if I leave at the same time as all the other kids they won't do anything `cause there are too many kids around. Then Brad meets me by the door onto the playground and that's that. But if I leave a bit late . "So how's it been going?" Mr. Sheridan asks. "Okay, thanks sir." "So no major problems then?" "No sir." "Good! Off you go then!" I leave the classroom. The corridor is already deserted. This is trouble, I can sense it. I reach the top of the stairs. They're waiting for me. "Oh, look, it's Batty Boy!" Courtney sneers. "Wanna fight, hey? Wanna suck ma dick?" I just stand there staring back at him. Suddenly he spits at me; I get it on my blazer, my shirt, my tie; it's disgusting. They run off down the stairs laughing. "Suck my dick!" Dalton squeals as they reach the landing halfway down. "Gonna kill you next time!" Courtney snarls. Then they're gone. I'm left standing there, frightened and angry. Suddenly Daryl appears, like out of nowhere. "I saw what they did," he says quietly. "You've got to tell Mr. Sheridan." "Where did you come from?" I ask. "I heard them talking; I knew they were planning to get you so I hid." He looks me right in the eye. "This is my fault, isn't it?" he says quietly. "They're doing this `cause you stood up for me that day." "That's not your fault," I say. "They're just arseholes." "Yeah, well come on, we've got to go back to Mr. Sheridan's room, you've got to tell him." I don't want to do it, but I know he's right. We head back to the classroom. "What's happened?" Mr Sheridan asks, clearly surprised to see us. I let Daryl tell him the story. "Courtney said he'd kill him next time," he concludes. I've never seen Mr. Sheridan angry before; he is scary! "I'm sorry, Chris," he says. "I shouldn't have kept you behind; I didn't realise they were making such an issue of it. Well, I'm going to see Mr. Birkett before he goes home to get Courtney taken out of circulation from now till half term. He's been in a load of trouble with Mr. Birkett as it is. He'll have to be with either Mr. Birkett or his form tutor Mr. Standen every minute of the day when he's not in class, and we'll organise prefects to escort him between classes. You won't get any trouble from the other two if he's not around. And I'm going to have more than a few words with Dalton; this is down to him. He must have told Courtney that I kept you back. Do you want me to go downstairs with you?" "No sir, they've gone," Daryl says. "We'll be okay now." We leave for a second time. As we reach the ground floor, Brad's just coming back into the building. "I've been looking for you," he says, grinning. "Something kick off?" "Yeah, Mr. Sheridan wanted to speak to me at the end of our tutor period. When I got out, Courtney and the others were waiting for me at the top of the stairs. Courtney spat on me." "Yeukkk!" he says, pulling a face. "That's disgusting!" "Yeah, well Daryl saw him so we went to tell Mr. Sheridan." "Cool! So Courtney's going to be getting to know Mr. Birkett, is he?" "Up till half term, that's what Mr. Sheridan said." "Yeah, well maybe he'll get the message; maybe he won't. I wouldn't count on it," Brad says. "Anyway, this is Daryl; he's in my tutor group." I say. "Daryl, this is Brad. He's one of the good guys." They greet each other. Suddenly I get a strange feeling; there's something odd going on." "Well, gotta go!" Brad says brightly, giving me a cheeky grin. "You won't need me; those three arseholes pissed off ten minutes ago. See ya!" He trots off across the playground and out through the gate. "I need to go to the boys' room," Daryl says. Instinctively I glance down. He's got a hard on. So that's it! I don't have much homework to do so I've got plenty of time. Even so, it's not ideal; two of the workshops are used for activity clubs on Thursday afternoons, but they'll already have started by now. It's worth the risk. "Not this one," I tell him. "I'll show you." We walk across towards the technology block. "Is this where you came with ., you know?" Daryl asks. "Anthony? Yeah." "I've seen him; he's gorgeous," he comments. "But I thought the technology block was locked at lunchtimes." "That's what most people think," I say grinning at him. "The door at this end is, but the one at the far end's left open." "Oh, so that's why you were walking round the building," he says, the light beginning to dawn. "Yeah." That's not what we're going to do now, though; someone in one of the workshops might see us and realise what we were doing. We go in through the main door and head straight down the corridor into the boys' room. As expected, the place is deserted. "Cool!" Daryl whispers. I take him into one of the stalls and bolt the door. We hang up our blazers. I wrap my arms round him, pulling gently into a kiss. He responds beautifully, his tongue wrestling with mine, his dick pressing against the top of my thigh. I start to undress him. "Been with anyone else since ., you know, back before Christmas?" "Never had the chance," he says, shaking his head. Ties and shirts are off. We undo each other's trousers. They fall around our ankles. We pull each others underpants down. "I love your cock!" he whispers. He sinks to his knees and takes it into his mouth. He's so good at this; it's hard to believe that this is only the second time he's done it. I run my fingers through his hair. It's really thick like Danny's was, but not silky like his. I'm getting too close; I don't want to cum yet. "Okay, you'd better stop now," I tell him, easing myself out of his mouth. I sit on the toilet and return the favour. His cock's only small but it's hard as steel and throbbing beautifully. I suck it slowly, flicking my tongue out to lick his balls. I slip my hand between his legs, my finger quickly locating his bum-hole. He's making no attempt to stop me. Is he up for that? My dick's still quite slim so I reckon I could do it without hurting him too much. There's only one way to find out. I retrieve the little tube of KY from my trouser pocket. I lube up my finger and return it to his back entrance. I work it round the edge for a few seconds then push inside. There's no protest, even though he's very tight. I push in deeper. He gasps as I hit his prostate, his cock jerking between my lips. I do it again. He's well into it, holding my head, his hard spike fucking my mouth. It's time to find out how far he wants to go. I let my finger pop out of his bum and release his cock. I get to my feet, putting my arm round his shoulder. "D'you want me to fuck you?" I ask, whispering right in his ear. "Yes," he says, smiling up at me. "It'll hurt a bit when it goes in," I say gently. "Just try to relax; push out like you're having a shit." We move into position. I lube myself up and work some more KY into his bum. This is it! I guide my dick onto its target. Pushing gently isn't going to work; he's too tight for that. I put my left hand round the top of his legs and push hard. His muscles resist for a second or so, then suddenly the head of my dick slips inside him. "Ohhhh!" he gasps. "You okay?" I whisper. "Yeah; I think so." he says. I wait until I feel him relax a little then push in deeper. There's another gasp before he relaxes again. I give him some more, pushing right over his prostate. He moans with pleasure. One more push and he's got it all. Wow! I've popped his cherry! That is awesome! I hold him around the tops of his legs, slowly pulling back till he's only got an inch or so still inside him, his bum clamped firmly round my dick; he's way tighter than any of the other kids I've fucked. Very steadily I push it in again; there's no other way. For the next couple of minutes I keep it slow, fucking him with long, even thrusts. Gradually the pressure starts to ease. I move a little faster. "Ooooh, yeah!" he moans. I speed up a little more, closing my fingers around his cock. It's harder than ever. I gradually build up the pace, till I'm totally going for it, fucking him with everything I've got. Suddenly he begins to shake, his bum gripping my cock even tighter. A moment later his cock jerks wildly between my fingers. Nothing comes out, but I didn't expect it to. A few more thrusts and I'm there as well. I slam right into him, holding on tight as my cock swells and jerks, my spunk spurting right up his arse. Fuck! That was so intense! I take a few seconds to get my breath back then gently pull out. To my surprise, his bum closes up immediately; he doesn't even bother getting rid of my spunk. We get ourselves dressed and head back the way we came. "Are you okay?" I ask. "Yeah, that was wicked!" he says, grinning at me. "I've been wanting to do that for months. Now I've got your spunk inside me." "Oh! So how did you know about guys fucking?" "Off the internet; stories mainly, but I've found some pics too." "Oh, right!" "Chris," he asks, "is Brad gay?" "Oh, yeah," I say casually. "He loves fucking." "Does he fuck you then?" "Yeah, why d'you ask?" "Oh," he says reflectively. "He was nice. Has he got a big cock?" "Not huge, bigger than mine though. So d'you want to meet him some time?" "Isn't he your boyfriend, then?" he asks. "Nah, he's got a boyfriend, lives across the road from him. Doesn't come here; goes to Wyndham Park." "Oh! Well I'd love to, if you don't mind!" he says, grinning at me. "Nah, that's cool." I say. "I'll tell him; he'll be well up for it." I stride out of the gate and head for home, leaving Daryl to put in a rather late appearance at the Art & Design Club.