Date: Sun, 18 Dec 2005 07:42:16 +0000 (GMT)
From: Mike Arram <mikearram@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Henry in the Outfield 8

This is my fifth gay erotic novella on Nifty.  The four earlier ones
chronicle -- in different ways -- episodes in the same love affair: They
are, in order: 'The Decent Inn' and 'Terry and the Peachers' in the Nifty
archive under the College section; 'The Heart of Oskar Prinz' in
Beginnings, and 'The Chav Prince' in High School.  This, however, is a very
different kind of story.  But different though it is, I have to confess
that I went under to the temptation to include some earlier characters of
whom I am particularly fond.  Nevertheless this is the story of Henry and
Edward, who, as Justin unkindly says, may sound like refugees from Thomas
the Tank Engine, but they aren't.
  The story contains graphic depictions of sex between young males.  If the
reading or possessing of such material as this is illegal in your place of
residence please leave this site immediately and do not proceed further.
If you are under the legal age to read this, please do not do so.

VIII

It was the most glorious week in Henry's life, '... so far' as he added,
when he told Ed that.
  'Oh yeah .. the bum stuff is yet to come,' grinned Ed.
  'That isn't what I meant.'
  Ed just laughed.  They went no further in their paranormal
investigations, and it seemed that the paranormal had lost interest in
them.  Their sex play continued at a subdued but very enjoyable level.  The
only panic was on Saturday when Henry fell asleep in Ed's arms, and they
awoke at ten to the sound of the vacuum cleaner in the corridor outside and
Henry's mum knocking on the door of Henry's empty room.  Fortunately she
gave up, assuming that her son was still flat out.  Henry peeped round the
door when she had gone, and scampered naked back to his bedroom, with Ed
laughing behind him.
  Dad was not at Trewern on Sunday, so Henry and Ed went off on their bikes
towards Wenlock Edge.  Henry found it difficult to keep up with the power
of Ed's cycling, but not impossible, although he eventually concluded that
his boyfriend was going easy on him.  They got to Church Stretton late in
the morning and decided to climb the Long Mynd.  Henry got off and pushed
long before Ed gave up.  Eventually they reached the top, the hills of
Wales hunched grey in the west, and the hills and woods of England receding
blue into the east.  It was a breathtaking sight, even on an overcast day.
  'Henry?'  asked Ed.
  'Yes, my Ed?'
  'Views like this set you thinking, y'know. Big views lead to big ideas, I
suppose.  Do you think we have a future?'  He caught the troubled response
on Henry's face, so he hastily continued, '... whoa, I'm not saying this
because I'm losing interest in you, no way.  It's just that we're sixteen,
right.  If a boy and girl fell for each other at sixteen, you'd not expect
it to last more than a year or two.  So what long-term chance have we got?'
  'Honest answer?  I don't have a clue, Ed.  All I know is that I love you
now in a way I've never known with anyone else, and I suspect that I never
will again.  It's brilliant.  I close my eyes, and all I can see is you.  I
think about little else all day long.  I even love your smell ... and that's
saying something.  And you may think this is gross, but if you asked me to
lick your shit off your arse, I'd do it and I'd enjoy doing it.'
  'Whoo ... strong stuff.  I don't have plans for that, believe me. Although
when we do bum sex, you'll get my stuff on your dick, bound to.  So the
question may arise.'
  'Ah ... so is this you deciding I'll be first to fuck, and you to be
fucked?'
  'No problem with that, none at all, just don't make the deduction that
you're the dominant one as a result, OK?'
  'I don't think it's as simple as that anyway.  Now.  Downhill and home ...
yay!'

  Ed had to check in at his boarding house on Sunday evening, but they
managed another lavish dinner before he went, and as he went, Henry was
moved to see that his mum went to hug and kiss Ed, and his father reached
up and ruffled his blond head before they took the bags to the Volvo and
disappeared into the evening.  Henry and his mum stood waving in the door
and looking after him.
  'A very nice and a very good-looking lad that, Henry, but so sad.'
  Henry's jaw dropped, 'What makes you say that.'
  'Oh Henry, you can see how wistful he is around you and us.  He's not got
a happy home behind him has he?'
  'No, Mum.  It's a terrible hell hole: a drunk for a dad and a
cold-hearted cow for a mother.  They're divorcing.'
  'And he tells you this?'
  'Yes.  Everything.'
  'Then he's made the same conclusion about you that we have.  You're a
special boy, Henry.  You're wise, kind, funny and sensitive, and the sort
of person that can be trusted and easily loved.  We do love you, darling.'
  'Thanks mum,' he said, his eyes suddenly full.  But as he said it he
guessed that there was more being said than the words signified.  They
knew, he was sure.  But they would happily wait till he was ready to tell
them.
  There was nothing like striking while the iron was hot.  'Mum ... Ed is
going to be abandoned by his parents this summer, packed off to his grandma
in Scotland, who's in her seventies and lives in a tiny flat.'
  'And you want him to stay with us?'
  'Er ... yeah I do.'
  'Then of course he can stay, Henry.  He can even come with us on the
exchange, if he'd like.'
  'I love you, mum.'

The weeks passed.  Henry and Ed revised together in the Year 11 prep room,
and socialised with the Year 11 alpha gang around Westenra, except when
sport was in the offing.  But Henry even went to cheer on the team now, and
got very interested in the laws of cricket.  It was discovered that he had
an almost supernatural ability to spot no- balls.  He was unanimously
appointed team scorer, and so he found acceptance on the field, much to his
surprise and secret pleasure.  It kept him close to his Edward.  He was
even in demand on Saturday to score for the First XI, and manage the board
with Ed and Mark Peters.
  The Saturday before the GCSEs began he was organising the numbers in the
pavilion on his own, while the rest were at lunch with the away side, when
a looming shadow made him look up. 'Hello Outfield,' said a tall prefect he
had yet to talk to.
  'Oh ... hi, Worsman.'
  'My name's Guy, believe it or not, and you're Henry.'
  'That's right ... Guy.'
  'Guy the Gay!  Funny that innit?' said the young man, laughing to
himself.
  'Not really.  Is that what they called you in Year 11?'
  'That and a lot of other things.  Henry, I just wanted to say hello ...
also, that I'll keep what's going on between you and Ed to myself.'
  'Thanks.'
  'You're a lucky kid y'know.'
  'Yeah, Ed's brilliant.'
  'That's not what I meant.  I meant that you at least have another boy as
a partner.  I'm still in search of one y'know.  Never found a kindred
spirit in Medwardine.  I even tried hanging round seedy bars in Shrewsbury.
Nothing.  I'm pinning my hopes on university.  Cambridge is the fashionable
gay university and I've got a place at Trinity.  So who knows?'
  'Best of luck, Guy.'  Henry gave his quirky smile.
  'Will you two come clean about your relationship?'
  'We're still thinking about it.'
  'There's a lot to be said for openness.'
  'What bothers me is the school's reaction.  Ed's a boarder and I bet that
there'll be an immediate clamp down on his social life so that he can't be
seen to be doing gay stuff on the premises.'
  'You may have a point, Henry.  You want to get as much of good sex as you
can.  I speak as a gay virgin here.'
  Henry was a bit taken aback at being envied by a god-like upper sixth man
on his way to Cambridge and quite open about his lack of sexual experience.
But he rallied, 'It won't be for long Guy, I 'spect.  I could fancy you ...
if you weren't so old.'
  Guy Worsman gave a loud guffaw of a laugh.  'I'm sorry I'll not be seeing
much of you, Henry.  You're a good kid.  We could easily have been
friends.'
  They smiled at each other, said goodbye, and Worsman wandered off into
his future.

  Ed stayed that night and the next in Trewern, on an out-pass from his
housemaster.  They kept to their own beds, indeed, beds hardly featured in
their weekend.  They were up till two the Saturday night and till one on
the Sunday.  They were up and dressed by six, poring over sheafs of notes
and testing each other.
  They solemnly shook hands with each other, with Peters, Ahmed and the
rest before they went into the examination hall.  And so it went on for a
fortnight.  Henry was exhausted by the end of it all.  Mark Peters's dad
however did a generous thing, and threw a Year 11 party on the last day of
exams.  The school bussed out the boarders to Huntercombe.  Henry was
hanging round the farm gate as Ed's minibus arrived.  He joined the crowd
as they pressed into the farm.  The back garden had a marquee, trampolines,
bouncy castle, and sumo suit wrestling.  There was music, but being all
boys (apart from Peters's sisters) there was no dancing, which suited them
all down to the ground.
  No alcohol was allowed, naturally, but somehow it made an appearance.
Henry suspected the complicity of Ted from the King Billy, who seemed to
think that it was a good thing to get boys hooked on drink as early as
possible.  Henry kept off it, and since Mark amused everyone by his account
of Henry's first foray into a pub, his abstinence was not taken as him
being prissy.
  Around ten thirty, Henry found himself gratefully alone with Ed, down by
the stream that ran past the house.  It was dark, but the garden was
floodlit and so they could see each other well enough.  They sat by the
gurgling water and held hands, risking a kiss every now and again.  There
was little danger.
  'Jed and Nathaniel seem to have left you alone, Henry.  Do you think that
they're just being considerate about the exams?'
  'Dunno.  They didn't have school exams in their day, so I doubt it.
Maybe it's all over.  Maybe Jed's made his point, whatever it was.  But
somehow ...'
  '... you don't think so, do you.'
  'No.  Something more's on its way.  I can feel it.' He paused, 'Ed?'
  'Yes?'
  'Mum and Dad want me to ask you if you'll stay the summer with us.'
  There was silence.  'There's nothing in the world I'd like better, Henry.
You know that.  But it depends on my parents, and the state of their civil
war.  I'll ask.  I wish it'll happen, but I daren't get my hopes up.'
  'Then I'll pray,' Henry said simply.
  'You sweetheart,' he said, and they kissed again, before heading back to
the paddock and the buses home.

It was Monday and a very different Henry was standing in the kitchen.  He
was in a dark suit, with a pale blue shirt and a cool tie he'd bought in
Shrewsbury; it had Buddhist symbols down the front.  He'd gelled up his
hair.  This was the new sixth-form Henry, because Year 11 ended with the
GCSEs, and lower sixth studies began immediately.  The upper sixth had
officially finished, the farewell service had been on Friday, and today
Henry was beginning duty as a house prefect.  A blue gown with his name on
it was already hanging in the fabled confines of the sixth form common
room, into which he would be inducted today.
  Mum looked at him with sparkling eyes, 'My little boy's all grown up,'
she said.
  'Aw mum ... please.  Got to go.  It's the bus.'
  Peters and the other day boys from Huntercombe were also in suits and
ties, and poor Halliwell, still only Year 9, found himself in a minibus
with four sixth formers.  He tried to shrink into the corner.
  Mark stretched when they got out, 'This is so cool,' he said.  They used
the main entrance, a privilege of teachers and sixth form, and -- more
excited now -- pelted up the main stairs to the celestial gates which led
to the paradise of the sixth form block.  And there it was ... the pool
table.  Westenra was already waiting at the door, as deputy head boy.  He
was grinning.  If this was Paradise, he was St Peter's assistant.
  'OK.  Outfield, old mate.  You're on assembly duty coralling those nasty
little Year 7s.  Assume the robe, and don't let 'em pick their noses.
Peters, it's worse for you.  You have Year 8 to supervise.  Make sure the
little buggers go in the right rows.  This first day is to be picture
perfect.  I will not be humiliated by the incompetence of my minions.'  A
round of raspberries from the minions reminded him that he was in fact only
mortal.
  The comparative freedom of the sixth form was what Henry really learned
to love.  If there was no class, then you could do what you liked.  You
were expected to be in the library or the sixth form study centre, but you
could go to the common room, or just wander off into town or into the
grounds.  No one stopped you.  For the first time in his life, Henry began
to feel like a grown up.
  It was with a sense of real euphoria that he returned home to Trewern
that night.  His shoulder bag was heavy with new files and textbooks and
study plans were already floating around inside his head.  He had to go
through every detail of his day with Mum and Dad; they were nearly as
excited as he was.
  The week passed blissfully.  Sixth form study was so much more
relaxed. You chatted with the teachers rather than just listened to them.
The work was harder, of course, but you'd chosen your favourite subjects
and favourite teachers.  The disappointment was that there were only three
of them doing RS.  Henry felt sorry for Mrs Prendergast who was, in his
opinion, the best teacher in the school.  There were three groups of
fifteen doing History, and Mr Bloch and Mr Hutchins were no more than OK.
  On Friday it was another big day, Richard was coming back from Manchester
University.  Dad went to pick him and his girlfriend up from Church
Stretton station at tea time.  They were already there when Henry got home
from school.
  His big brother hugged Henry when he came in.  They had always been
close, and Richard had been his confidant, protector and playmate for his
whole life.  'God, Henry.  You've done some serious growing since Easter.
How's the snob school?'
  'I like it, Ricky.  It took me a while, but I've finally fitted in.'
  Mum added, 'He's made lots of good friends.  He spends a fortune on his
mobile.'
  'Great, little one.  I knew you could do it ... this is Rachel, say hello
nicely.'
  'Hello nicely, Rachel,' said Henry with a grin, and then was disconcerted
when she did not smile back.  Didn't she realise he was being funny?  Not
very funny, true, but at least mildly amusing.
  'Er ... hello,' the woman said.
  Henry was taken aback.  'Hello' would have been fine, even without a
smile, but 'Er ... hello' was different, it said, 'You are a small boy and
I'm not used to little people like you, being myself so much older and more
sophisticated.  You are my boyfriend's little brother and so I have to
acknowledge you, but acknowledgement is all you're getting.  Don't bother
me.'  That was a lot to read into one remark but Henry was, as has already
been said, sensitive.  His mother's eyebrow twitched, and the ambient
temperature in the kitchen dropped, for she too had picked up a subtext.
  The full nature of the subtext unrolled over the weekend.  Rachel was
undoubtedly a very clever woman, a first year mathematician of real
promise, as Richard proudly said.  She was also a rationalist, not merely
vaguely contemptuous of religion but of most of the arts too.
  'Mum,' said Henry reluctantly on Sunday morning, 'I know we must not
judge, but Rachel doesn't seem to me ... er, comfortable with us.'
  Mum gave a tight smile, 'We can't expect everyone to be as we'd like,
Henry.  Ricky's devoted to her, and that's all that's important.'
  'But you'd expect her to make an effort to fit in with us, just a teensy
bit.'
  'She's an only child of quite old parents, darling.  I had you when I was
only twenty two, it makes quite a difference.'
  Rachel had just distinguished herself by laughing lightly at the idea
that her Richard -- never Ricky -- would be going to church with his
family.  'We think that church is all very well in terms of affirming
morality in society, and church schools do a good job in that regard.  But
Richard and I have come to the conclusion that the honest intellectual
position on religion is agnosticism.'
  So Richard stayed a little sheepishly in the kitchen, with Rachel talking
brightly about how she would replan it to be more practical and
user-friendly.  Dad and Henry walked across to the church.  Dad put his arm
round Henry's shoulder just before they reached the churchyard gate.
  'The phrase you may be looking for, Henry, is "as sensitive as a runaway
Panzer".'
  Henry was still laughing as they got to the vestry.  Just before the
vestry prayer his mobile chirruped.  'Henry!' tutted Dad.
  'Sorry, sorry ... it's a text.  Oh wow!  Sweet!  So cool!  Totally minted!
This is too good!  Ed's had the OK to come stay the summer with us, after a
few days with his gran in Edinburgh.'
  Dad smiled, 'Excellent.  You told him about the exchange in August?'
  'Yup.  He's bringing his passport and stuff.'
  'Oh, this is an answer to prayer!'
  'Good.  Because that's the business of the day.  Te Deum laudamus.'