Date: Fri, 13 Feb 2009 14:05:08 +0000
From: Jeffrey Fletcher <jeffyrks@hotmail.com>
Subject: Jonathan 15

This is a story that involves sex between males.  If such a story is
offensive, or illegal for you to read where you live, then do not continue,
go and surf elsewhere.

This is a work of fiction and in no way draws on the lives of any specific
person or persons.  If there is any similarity to any real persons or
events it is entirely coincidental.

The work is copyrighted (c) by the author and may not be reproduced in any
form without the specific written permission of the author.  It is assigned
to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it
may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written
permission of the author.

My thanks to John and Brian who have read this through and made a number of
corrections and suggestions.  Any remaining errors , grammatical, spelling
historical or whatever are entirely my fault.

Thank you to those who have commented on my stories.  If you want to
comment on the story then do contact me on Jeffyrks@hotmail.com.  I aim to
reply to all message.



February 11 Afternoon & evening.

Jonathan went through the open door and ran down the narrow street as
fast as he could. This street served the back of the premises, and
contained what could be called tradesmen's entrances. It was empty
except for the truck that stood outside the club. He did not know the
layout of the immediate locality, he was even unsure of the full
address.

After fifty yards a narrow alleyway opened on his right. He turned
down it. There had been no shout from behind him, but he was not sure
that his escape had passed unnoticed. In a few yards the alley opened
onto a more important road. There were buses, cars taxis and trucks
passing along it. He realised that this was probably the road on which
the main entrance to the club stood, which meant that he was in danger
of being recognised. Punters from the club would probably recognise
the uniform, the bright coloured very tight Tshirt and jeans, so he
ran on, and took the next turn to his left. This was a another
smaller and quieter road. He noticed a couple of taxis hurrying
along, so it was probably one of the 'rat-runs' they used to get
around London quickly.

He must have run about half a mile, before he realised that running
fast was causing him to draw  attention to  himself. He slowed to a jog
for a few minutes, and then to a fast walk.

He began to take a more intelligent interest in his bearings and his
predicament. He decided to make his way south. The buses had shown
him which direction he had needed to go. He knew that sooner or later
he would come to a part of London he knew. He thought he would
probably reach Oxford Street, but if he was already south of Oxford
Street then there were Green Park and St James Park, and the very
familiar sights of Trafalgar Square and The Strand, and if he was west
of that part of the West End he would sooner or later reach the
Thames, but he should see things which would give him his bearings more
accurately..

It was one of those crepuscular days which seem all too common in
February. The lights in homes, shops and offices had remained on
throughout the day. The sky was leaden. As he was walking he began to
feel the cold. Most people were wearing thick winter clothing, hoods
and scarves were up, and gloves being worn. There were a few drops of
fine rain in the air. It was certainly not the day to be out dressed
only in Tshirt and jeans.

He began to think over what he should do. He had just £25 in his hip
pocket, and nothing more apart from the clothes he stood up in. £25
would not get him far in an expensive city like London. Had he jumped
from the frying pan into the fire? Though that was not the best
proverb considering the temperature.

He suddenly came out into the hustle and bustle of Oxford Street.
There were masses of shoppers hurrying along the pavement. There were
those making their way home to bus stops or the tube stations. The
road itself was full of traffic of all sorts, nose to tail. A clock in
a shop told him it was 4.30pm, and he knew it would soon be getting
dark.

He realised he needed to do some careful thinking. He saw a cheap
looking coffee-bar where he could sit and have a warm drink. He went
inside and ordered the cheapest cup of coffee available. This set him
back £1.50. There was a counter facing the widow with stools to perch
on. He went and sat down looking out onto the street.

As he slowly sipped his coffee he began to weigh up his options. He
knew that the £23.50 in his pocket would not get him far. He did not
know the cheapest bed in London, and did not feel he qualified as a
'down and out', dependent on the charity of an organisation like the
Salvation Army. He considered going home to Luton. He thought of his
last encounter with his parents back in August, he felt the eye where
his father's punch had landed. He remembered the heat of the argument
that hot August evening. He would have to tell them what he had been
doing, and why he was now penniless. Returning home would be his last
option. Any friends in Luton would soon pass on information to his
parents. The only real friend he could trust was Robert Fox, and he
did not know where he was. University? Or where? The only member of
his family to whom he could pour out his woes was his Uncle Kevin, and
he was in New Zealand! He thought about going back to Bill's. By
going back he would prove that he could be trusted out on the streets
of London and that he would return. But Bill might well extract a
promise like those Jonathan had made at the farm.

He looked out of the window. The light was now fading fast. All the
vehicles now had their lights on. The pedestrians were hurrying by
clutching scarves and hoods to keep out  the wind that flapped at
their coats. It was going to be a cold night for sleeping in some
doorway. There was no way he was dressed for that.

Then as he sat there deep in thought, a woman spoke to him. It was
the first woman he had spoken to since his mother about six months
before! "Is that seat taken?" She nodded at the stool next to
Jonathan.

"No." he moved slightly to make some more room.

She undid her coat, and pulled open her scarf and Jonathan saw that
she was wearing a dog [clerical] collar. His face must have shown
some surprise.

"Haven't you seen a woman priest before?" she said with a smile.

"I may have seen one, but certainly never spoken to one. The Church
I went to did not have women in leadership positions."

"An Independent Church?"

Jonathan nodded.

"I notice you said 'went' - past tense."

"Yes, haven't been for a few months." He forgot his attendance at
the midnight service down in the country.

The woman looked at him, seeing him now as an individual, not just as
one of the teeming shoppers of Oxford Street. She had acquired the
gift of observing quickly the moods and needs of individuals. "Have
you? Have you run away from home?"

"Yes, August."

"You look worried, at your wits' end."

Jonathan smiled slightly, the merest twitch of the corners of his
mouth, before answering. "You can say that again."

"Why the slight smile?"

" 'Wits' end' isn't that a psalm?"

"Your Independent Church taught you the Bible. But why are you at
your wits' end?" She paused for a moment observing Jonathan
carefully. "You don't look as though its drugs or drink, I'd smell
that if it was. Trouble with the law?"

"Not really."

She paused again. "Sex?" she whispered. "Are you a sex worker, a
rent boy, by any chance?"

"Not exactly, I've been working in a sort of male brothel; but this
afternoon I succeeded in running away."

"And now you are down on your beam ends in this thriving city of
London, and it can be a cruel place for those without money."

"I have exactly, £23.50."

"And that won't get you far!"

"Exactly."

The woman had detected from Jonathan's accent and what little he had
told of her of his story that he came from a good middle class family,
and was well educated. He was not the usual sort of lad caught down on
his uppers in London, and forced to be a sex worker.

"I've earned some good money, but I can't get my hands on it."

The woman looked at her watch, and an expression of shock crossed her
face. "My name's Maureen, by the way. I was due to see someone five
minutes ago. I must fly. But you stay here. I'll just be half an
hour, and then I'll be back and we can sort something out. Your
name?"

"Jon."

"Okay Jon, I'll be as quick as I can."

She stood up and went across to the serving-counter. She was
obviously talking about Jon to the older man in charge.  She paid some
money, and with a quick wave at Jonathan she hurried out of the shop.

A few minutes later the man came across to Jonathan. "The vicar
bought this for you,." He placed another much larger coffee in front
of him, and a plate with a doughnut on it. "The Reverend is one of
the best. She's restored a little of my faith in religion. She's not
all preach and no action. She'll help you if anyone will."

Jonathan sat back, and drank his coffee, and ate the welcome
doughnut. Was Maureen to be trusted? He remembered what had happened
with Keith and what that had led to.

Ten minutes later the man came back with another coffee and doughnut.
"The Reverend often pops in here for a coffee. She does a lot of work
in stores and offices. Just pops in for a quick coffee, and  then she's
off again."

It was forty-five minutes and four mugs of coffee later that Maureen
came back into the coffee-bar. She was talking on her mobile phone.
She ordered a coffee and came and sat next to Jonathan. "I've been
thinking. Your immediate problem is tonight, and you need some time
to think and work out your next move. So, I've got a suggestion to
make. My husband and I have a smallish flat about a quarter of an hour'
s walk from here. It's our base in London.  We have a cottage which is
our real home in one of the Essex villages. I've just been on the
phone to Ray, my husband. It's okay with him for you to come back and
spend the night. There is a spare bed in a rather small room, but it'
ll do you for the night. He is getting us a meal for us, so I suggest
we go back to my place, have a meal, and after that we can discuss
your next move."

Jonathan's memory went back to his encounter with Keith, and all that
had followed. Was Maureen to be trusted? The man in the coffee bar
spoke of her as a vicar, she said she had a husband. He had seen the
weather deteriorating outside. "Yes, please. I'm very grateful.
Will you let me give you something for my stay?"

"Good Lord, no. If you're ready, let's move."

They said goodbye to the man in the bar, and  went outside.
There was now a very strong wind blowing. Bits of paper, and the odd
plastic bag was being blown along. The rain was coming down heavily.

"It's not worth trying to get a bus, they all seem to be going in the wrong
direction." Head down and into the bitter wind Maureen led the way.
Most of the time Jonathan followed as she wove her way in and out of
the other pedestrians. Jonathan felt all the colder coming  out of the warmth of the coffee-bar.  Soon his bare arms were covered in goose
pimples, and he felt the rain seeping through his Tshirt and jeans.
In the one or two places where they could walk side by side Maureen
filled Jonathan in on her domestic set up. "My husband's name is
Raymond...........He is a Reader in Civil Engineering at the University.....
all our children have more or less left home..........have three of them...........
though the youngest is still at University................going to be
grandparents in the summer."

Jonathan presumed this referred to Maureen and Ray and not their
youngest child.

It took them twenty minutes to get to Maureen's flat. When they
arrived Jonathan was frozen and soaked to the skin. When they went in
through the front door Maureen called out, and Raymond appeared with
flour covered hands and an apron round his waist. "This is my
husband, Ray; and Ray this is Jon."

She turned and looked at Jonathan up and down. "I think a shower for
you, to warm you up. And we can get your clothes into the drier.
Ray, I am going to let Jonathan use some of the clothes you rarely
wear. This is the bathroom." She bustled around, soon reappearing
with some of Ray's clothes and a towel. "Now get in there and have a
good shower. The meal will be another twenty minutes."

Jonathan undressed and got under the shower. The hot water soon made
him feel less shivery. He soaped himself, and just stood letting the
water wash the suds away. He then got out of the shower and dried
himself.

He bundled up his clothes, and made his way out of the bathroom. He
appeared at the door of the kitchen where Maureen and Ray were putting
the finishing touches to the meal. "I feel better for that."

"Good. Now do those clothes need to be spun-dried first, or not?"
She took them and felt them. "Perhaps we should to get them dry
quicker." When she put them in to be by spun-dried she noticed that
there were just four garments, two socks, one Tshirt and the jeans,
there were no (under) pants. She made no comment.

Ray opened a bottle of wine  to have with the meal. That ate it at the kitchen table.

"We don't often entertain here. This is our work base," said
Raymond. "We usually do our entertaining at our place in the country."

Maureen and Raymond talked through their day, Jonathan listened. He
asked Raymond a few questions about his work at the University. "I
should have been into my second term at Bristol now, if things hadn't
gone pear shaped" was the only personal comment he made. At the end
of the meal they decided to have a cup of coffee when they'd cleared
up the meal. Maureen asked Raymond if he had to do some University
work. He did, so it was arranged that he would go into what they
called the den, while Maureen and Jonathan could be in the very small
sitting room.

"This is the best cup of coffee of the day. Coffee bar coffee is a
necessary fuel, but this is totally different."

Maureen sat in the one arm chair, while Jonathan sat on the sofa.

"Now, young man, do you want to tell me more about this gay club you'
ve been working at, or can we take that as read and move on to what
you might do now?"

"I think we can move on. One option would be to go back home to
Luton. But I left home after my father had given me a black eye, when
he found out I was gay. I don't want to go back to face an
inquisition, especially about what I've been doing. I got a punter to
give them a ring, to say I was all right and earning some money. I dread
Mum and Dad's reaction."

"Have you any other family that's likely to be more sympathetic?"

"I have a gay uncle, but he lives in New Zealand."

"And your twenty odd pounds won't get you that far."

"You can say that again."

"You did mention you had some money, but couldn't lay your hands on
it."

"I was paid for what I did at Bill's. It has crossed my mind to go
back, but I think if I went back now with my tail between my legs I
would be allowed back, but an even stricter eye would be kept on me."

"Do you want to go back?" Maureen looked Jonathan in the eye.

Without any hesitation he replied, "No, not at all."

"So let's rule that out, or at least put it on the very back burner."

"Have you any friends you could contact?"

"I don't know what's happened to my school friend with whom....I had
fun. He may have gone up to University, but I think, knowing his
family, they would have done their level best to pack him off
somewhere to be cured."

"He's from a fundamentalist family like yours."

"Yes, every bit so. Family friends are all Church members, and if
I made contact any of them my parents would be told very quickly."

Maureen sat thinking. "Is there no other member of your family,
apart from your New Zealand uncle."

"I do have another uncle, he's married, what his attitude is I don't
know. Probably as homophobic as my parents."

"Who were you closest to in your family, apart from your immediate
family"

The answer was immediate, "Gramps, my grandfather."

"How close?"

Maureen noticed that Jonathan's eyes had immediately lit up with the
mention of his Grandfather Pridham. "I would say very close, from my
childhood."

"Is he the same side of your family as your gay New Zealand uncle?"

"Yes, why?"

"How did he take one of his sons being gay?"

"Well enough for him and Gran to go out to New Zealand to stay with
Uncle Kev and his partner."

"So your grandparents are not homophobic when it comes to members of
their own family?"

"I suppose not. It is only Gramps now, Gran died last Easter time.
He lives on his own."

"Could you tell your Grandfather that you are gay?"

"I expect he already knows. I'm sure my parents would have told him
that."

"You need help. Would your Grandfather help you financially? A
couple of hundred pounds or so to tide you over, until you can get a
job, and get some money of your own; and possibly get your hands on
the money that is owed to you? You should be able to get some sort of
job."

They talked this suggestion over for several minutes.

"Why don't you ring your Grandfather and see how it goes? Do you
remember the number?"

"Oh yes, that's no problem."

Jonathan sat there thinking.

"There is a phone in the kitchen, why not do it now?" suggested
Maureen softly.

Jonathan stood up, and looked at the clock on the mantlepiece. The
time was nearly a quarter past ten, he reckoned his Grandfather should
still be up. "I'll do that." He walked slowly towards the door.

"All the best."

He went into the kitchen, and stood in front of the phone for several
minutes thinking what he was going to say. Then he lifted the
receiver and pressed down the numbers.

It rang several times before there was the click of the receiver being
lifted at the other end. "O1438 12345678 Malcolm Pridham"

"Gramps?"

"Jonathan! Jonathan is that you?"

"Yes, Gramps."

"Good to hear you, Jon. Where are you?"

"In London. I've got a problem. My situation has changed. I have
earned quite a lot of money, but cannot get my hands on it
immediately, and I'm short of cash."

"You sound rather like your father was at your age. You want your
Gramps to give you a loan?"

"Put bluntly, yes."

"But what have you been doing since you ran off? Why haven't you been
in touch before? Why those rather cryptic messages about you,  phoned
through to your Mum and Dad by that man?"

"It's all a long story. Not a very nice story, I'm afraid."

"Why? What's been happening?"

"It's a long story. I'd rather not start telling you over the phone.
It's the sort of story I'd rather tell you face to face, if I really
have to."

Malcolm paused before replying. "You want a loan? How much?"

Jonathan now paused wondering how much he dared ask from his
grandfather. "Five hundred?"

"That's quite a lot of money, even for these days." He paused.
"Will a cheque do?"

"I need it in cash. I haven't got access to my account at the
moment."

"But didn't you take your cheque book and so on with you when you ran
away from home?"

"I did. But I haven't got access to it at the moment." Jonathan
realised just how flimsy this all sounded, but the truth of the matter
was he hadn't seen his cheque book since the first weekend at the farm
and his subsequent kidnapping. He was wondering if he would ever see
his cheque book again, and have access to the money he had earned while
working at Bill's. "All that is part of the long story."

"Which you can't tell me now over the phone?"

"Gramps, I'd rather not start. I want to be able to see your
reaction when I tell you."

"As bad as that is it?"

"It's not a pleasant story, I'm afraid. Please, Gramps."

"So you want us to meet somewhere, and me hand over to you five
hundred quid. Will you tell me what's been going on then?"

"Yes. Preferably somewhere where we can talk privately. I don't
think it will take just ten minutes. Maybe a couple of hours."

Malcolm paused again. "Okay then. I'll come up to town tomorrow. I'
ll take you out for lunch and you can tell me then?"

"I'm not well enough dressed for me to go to one of your smart
places."

"I'll gauge that when I see you."

They then started discussing where they should meet, and arranged
that they would meet at 11.30 the following morning on the steps of St
Martin's in the Fields, and, if it was raining, just inside. Eventually
they rang off.

Jonathan made his way back into the sitting room.

"How did it go?" asked Maureen.

"Fine. I'm going to meet Gramps tomorrow morning. I've asked him for
a loan, and he's agreed."

"You're happy with that?"

"Yes. It means I'm back in contact with my family after about six
months."

"Jonathan, I have looked out some old clothes of Ray's. A thick
pullover, and a waterproof jacket. They're old, and he's happy for
you to have them. Getting him to get rid of old clothes is like
extracting teeth. He's happy, he sees you as a deserving cause."

"Thanks"

They made arrangements for the following morning.

***

Malcolm stood looking at the phone. He then looked at his watch, it
was a quarter to eleven; but though he thought Michael and Lois would
be in bed he decided the news was too important and good to be kept
until the morning.

It was a rather irritable and sleepy Michael who answered the
phone.

"Michael, Dad here. I've just had Jonathan on the phone."

"Jonathan, or the guy who's phoned with messages from him?"

"No, Jonathan himself."

"Where is he? What's he doing? Why hasn't he phoned before? Why
didn't he phone us?"

Lois had heard something of the conversation, and was now standing in
her dressing gown listening in to the conversation.

"Michael, there are many of those questions I cannot answer. He is in
some sort of difficulty. What exactly I don't know. But I'm going to
meet him up in town tomorrow morning. He says he'll tell me the full
story then."

"I'll come up with you."

"No Michael, I think that would be most unwise. I think if you came
he'd never trust me again. At long last we're back in contact. We
mustn't do anything that might risk breaking the rather tenuous contact
we now have."

"Your father's right. If anyone can do anything sensible with
Jonathan he can," said Lois.

"But I'm his father."

"Yes, dear, but you didn't part on the best of terms. We can trust
your Dad."

Michael thought for a moment. "Okay, Dad, and the Lord be with you
tomorrow. When you see him tell him how very sorry I am that I hit him
way back in August. Ask him to forgive me."

"I'll do that, Michael. I know what you've gone through over these
months because of what you did. I'll tell him that.

"Did he ask about us?"

"No. I think he was preoccupied with his present situation. He has
asked me for a loan."

"I thought he was earning good money."

"Apparently there are some problems. He has said he'll tell me all
tomorrow."

"Let me give you the money."

"Don't be silly, Michael. My aim will be to get him back fully into
contact with you. I'll keep you posted as to how I get on."

"Give him our love," said Lois.

***

Lois and Michael went back to bed, and talked over the news for
nearly an hour. There were so many unanswered questions, but at long
last Jonathan was back in contact, and things were beginning to move.

Malcolm went to his computer,  for there was someone else he wanted to
tell. When he was on line he typed the following.

Hi Kev,
I thought you would want to know that I have just been on the phone to
Jonathan. He has asked me for a loan. Why? I don't know, as he is
supposed to have been earning good money. I'm meeting him tomorrow
morning up in town. I'll keep you posted. Love to Owen, Love Dad.

All those involved eventually went to sleep happier than they had done
for a long while, but all wondered what would happen the next day

****

Jeffrey at jeffyrks@hotmail.com