Date: Wed, 6 Feb 2013 20:54:01 +0000 From: Joe Ferns Subject: Blind Faith 4 Nifty needs your donations to provide wonderful stories. Or ones like this even. Please donate if you can. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html C4 Plots and Plans "What is wrong with you today, Matt?" Miss Kettel was staring down at Matt's feeble attempt to sketch the tastefully arranged still-life in the middle of the art room floor. "Is that meant to be a sunflower? Sorry, Matthew, but it looked like something ..." " ... on the pavement, outside the pub on a Saturday night?" suggested Peter who was sitting at the next desk. Miss Kettel looked severe and tutted. Turning to examine Peter's effort she murmured approvingly. "Now that is good. I like how you've got a kind of spontaneity, Peter. It's the sort of thing that looks dashed-off but actually requires ... flair." Peter smirked in Matt's direction. "You really have come on a lot," added Miss Kettel. "It's confidence, isn't it? Trusting what the eye sees, not what the brain tells it. The spirit of the thing more than the mere fact. Class! Gather over here and see what Peter has done so far. Painting in acrylic is not the same as photography. That is mere science. This is ART." The capitals were unmistakable. Peter preened a little and Matt looked daggers at him. As the others moved away and Miss Kettel adjourned to her next victim, Peter leaned across towards his friend. "You gotta get my cock out your head, mate," he whispered. "We can't all be hung like Dirk Diggler." And so saying Peter leaned back on his stool, stretched his flannels across his crotch and flexed his cock. They giggled and Miss Kettel turned towards them. "Shush!" ********************* At break the two boys went to the tuck shop. They were discussing an exchange; if one bought crisps and the other bought chocolate they could mix and match. Further down the queue there was a yelp. Turning they saw that Manley had kneed Dunsmore between the legs. Dunsmore grimaced and doubled up. "He's going to feel worse than you down there," joked Matt. "Don't remind me," groaned Peter. They ignored the fracas and headed on up the queue. Later, outside, as they divvied up the loot, Peter's cell went off. "It's Joey," he said as he thumbed away. "Hey! Big meet over his place tonight. The mob going to Glencoe. Can we go?" "Sounds good," offered Matt. "You think we can swing it with the parents?" "Why not? Joey sold it to them real good. And anyway, our parents know they can trust us." Matt sniggered at this. "No," said Peter, contradicting him. "They got faith in us. They know we're sensible guys. When we ever let them down?" Grudgingly, Matt agreed. "Get the details then. When and where. Tell him we're in!" ********************* Cornershop was playing loudly. The Mink watched from the other side of the room. Joey was leaning over the back of the chair where Peter was curled up with a can of coke. She couldn't hear what they were talking about but their faces told her enough. Their eyes seemed to sparkle and their animation was intense, intimate. She wished she could lip read for then at least she'd know what passed between the pair. But all she had to go on was the flash of teeth as the lips moved, the excited gestures that shouted connection, the easiness with which each moved in and out of the other's space. Then Joey leaned in close to whisper something in Peter's ear. Her head exploded and she turned away. Peter grinned and laughed. Matt was coming out of the kitchen where he had been grabbing a handful of crisps - Doritos, chilli cool. He glanced around. He was about to move across to where Peter sat when she caught his eye. She smiled, raised her chin and moved her chest enough to give prominence to her breasts. He stared back, his mouth falling open a little. She let her smile widen, parted her lips. It was a friendly look but she knew that it sent sex missiles flying across the floor. The Mink had perfected her armory in adolescence. `Everybody needs a bosom for a pillow' echoed from the stereo. Matt hesitated. The Mink went further, let her hands glide across her buttocks, down to her thighs. She beckoned then, mouthed his name. "Matt?" The questioning in her look was masterly. As he crossed the room towards her he adjusted himself. That movement, never subtle, did not escape her attention. She knew then she had him. "Hey, Matt, that Doritos you got?" He nodded. All he could think was that she had called him by his name. Usually she referred to him, if she referred to him at all, as 'that kid' or the 'wimp'. "You want me to get you some?" he asked eagerly. "Yeah! Great. And grab us a Bud, eh? There's a stack in the fridge." As the boy scuttled off to do as he was told an idea formed in her head. She was picturing Matt leaning into a fridge where the Budweisers were lined up. She was picturing him picking out a bottle. And then she saw Joey doing exactly the same. "Yah!" she muttered. "I got it! That's a plan!" When Matt returned she pinned him with some chatter. In truth she interrogated him but he was so besotted he hardly noticed. She asked how he and Peter had got there. She asked how school was. She asked where they had dumped their jackets. She asked about Glencoe. She asked which team he supported. She asked what cells they had. He gabbled but she got the information she wanted. ********************** They were playing 'hat time'. If your name was drawn out of the hat you had to perform the deed on the slip of paper drawn out of the other hat. There had been a few songs, badly sung to much derision. Vern had had to demonstrate the latest in street dance. The Mink had done a wonderful take-off of Marilyn Monroe singing 'I wanna be loved by you'. That she had directed much of her lascivious pouting in Matt's direction was interpreted by Matt in one way and by all the others present in another. "Peter!" Peter paled when he heard that his name had been plucked from the hat. "Yo! What's he gotta do?" shouted Joey, raising his bottle. "Tell a joke about a butterfly!" Peter stared blankly, unseeing. A panic arose. All power deserted him. He knew he could not stand up. He knew his tongue would not move. Perspiration gathered coldly on his brow. He could feel it. He knew the others could see it but he had ceased to care. He wanted to run, to escape this room, this flat. He never wanted to see any of these people again, these people who were witnessing his humiliation. "Butterfly," sneered the Mink. "Not a fucking impersonation of stage-fright!" A ripple of laughter gathered, began to swell. Joey leaned forward and hissed in Peter's ear. "Ignore the cow. Go for it, man! You can do it! I know you can. I believe in you!" Peter vaulted from his chair with a sudden, unexpected burst of energy. It was his 'yes I can' moment. He stood in the middle of the floor and the sniggering fell away. He adopted a pose, half crouched, arms outspread for dramatic effect. He paused and silence fell, a deep quiet as those in the room strained to listen. Then he began, softly at first but building to a crescendo. "The cow stood on the railway track, a train came whizzing by. Wham! Bam! Alakazam! See the butter fly!" There was a stunned silence and then a roar of laughter as the joke took effect. Applause now swelled, replacing the earlier mocking laughter. The Mink decided at that point. Enough was enough. She strode across the room. "That was pure dead brilliant," she enthused. Throwing her arms around Peter, she kissed him. Matt, standing a few feet away, felt his jaw drop and could do nothing about it. Joey assumed a quizzical expression and then thought no more about it. "What about you go get me a Bud from the fridge to celebrate?" Obediently, flattered, Peter trooped of to do as instructed. Moving to a suitable vantage point the Mink took out the camera. Surreptitiously she took a shot of Peter leaning into the fridge and another of him emerging with the bottle. As he came out of the kitchen several others came across to congratulate him. She got another good shot of Peter surrounded by the guys, bottles and glasses in hand, patting him on the back, offering high fives. When he finally came over to her with the Bud she asked him, would he mind, could he go over to Manda and cadge a fag for her? "Pleeeeeease," she whimpered. At the far side of the room, Manda looked puzzled but extracted a Regal from her packet and handed it to Peter. That too was snapped. As the evening wore on she got another few pictures; she was particularly pleased to get one of Joey leaning over the back of a chair in which Peter was coiled. The way Joey held his bottle of beer it did look as if he was giving Peter a swig. That done, she adjourned to the loo. There, she flicked through his contacts list and sent the snapshots to Peter's mother. Feeling well pleased she went into the small front room where the jackets were piled on a bed and slipped Peter's cell phone back into his jacket pocket. "What ya doing?" She spun round. It was Matt. The Mink was unsure about how much he had seen. She smiled seductively, sashayed across towards him and, coiling one leg around his waist, she allowed her hand to brush against the fly of his pants. As she hoped Matt's brain went into tailspin. He started to stutter incoherently. She uncoiled herself and, taking him by the hand, led him back into the main room. "You wanna dance?" ********************* "Party over. Us guys have business to discuss," Joey announced. "This was meant to be a serious meet until Manda and the Mink decided to party it up." There was a groan from around the room as it was still early. However Joey was adamant. The whole point of the gathering had been for the Glencoe team to discuss their plans. That others had tagged along for the ride was immaterial. Firmly Vern and Joey ushered the hangers-on out of the flat until there remained the party of six who were to take part in the Glencoe expedition. Vern told them that he had arranged to borrow his dad's van which would take the six of them with plenty space for stowing away their gear. Joey for his part had arranged for them to get the use of a cottage for the weekend. "We can use it as our base camp. It's close enough to where we want to climb, just a bit after the bridge, near the James of the Glen monument. Know where I am?" Matt and Peter looked at each other with blank expressions but the others nodded. "There's enough of a kitchen for us to feed ourselves but there's just one bed so it's a toss up who gets that. The rest of you ..." "That sounds like somebody is staking a claim to the bed," chipped in Ally Hastings. "... will have to sleep on the floor. You all got sleeping bags?" continued Joey ignoring the aside. Joey passed round sheets he had printed off of the gear each lad was to bring - suitable clothing, footwear and the like. "Ally, you okay to get the gear from the club? The ropes and things?" "Yep. Nev is going to sort it and go over it with me before we leave. Shouldn't be a problem." "So. What else? Supplies. I propose we divvy that up. Decide who's responsible for bringing what. Okay guys?" The meeting proceeded in a very organized way. Peter was impressed. Okay, he knew that Joey was far from drunk but he had had a couple of bottles of beer. It was clear however that everything had been well planned, well thought out and that Joey was determined that all the boys going were clear about what was expected. "Remember guys. This is serious. This is not some daft romp up a Munro in a pair of trainers. We're doing some serious climbing and that's not a cross your fingers and hope for the best job." *********************** It was after nine when Peter got home. He had told his folks he'd be home soon after eight but he had not taken into account the improvised party that had preceded the meeting. He had no sooner closed the front door than his dad was in the hallway. "Hi dad!" But Peter's father did not reply. Instead he circled his son suspiciously, sniffing as he did so. "Well?" Peter's mother spoke as she emerged from the living room. "I can't smell booze on his breath but there is a smell of tobacco." "Smoking! Have you been smoking?" Peter was taken aback. He explained that some of the people there had smoked and maybe the smell lingered on his jacket but he reassured his parents that neither he nor Matt smoked. Questioned further he admitted that there had been some beer around but that neither he nor Matt had partaken. His mother snorted. "Well, my boy, you made a big mistake. I do not know who they were intended for but your mother got these disgusting photographs." "Quite," said Peter's mother. The boy was confused. What photographs? And why this sudden hostility? "You'd better come in here. We need to talk." Dad ushered Peter into the living room and both parents followed. "Look, dad. Mum. Honest. You know you can trust me. Me and Matt, we weren't smoking or drinking anything stronger than cola. There were some ... (he nearly said girls but thought better of it) ... people there who smoked and some of the boys had a beer but they are over eighteen and they wouldn't let me or Matt have any, even if we had wanted to. Honest." Peter sat down opposite his parents. Their expressions were still grave and Peter was troubled. He always had been truthful with them - within the limits allowable to any teenager. So what was up now? And away at the back of his mind he was still trying to work out what his mum meant by disgusting photographs. All he could think of was him and Matt in the dressing room that morning. "Peter ... is there ANYTHNG you do need to tell us?" The emphasis on 'anything' in his dad's question puzzled Peter. He wasn't sure what to say. "Son, you know we trust you and you should know by now that you can trust us to be sensible. Has anything happened that ... you know ... troubles you?" "Oh, don't beat about the bush, Willie. Peter, has that man Joey been doing anything? I mean interfering with you? THAT way." His mother's emphasis on 'that' was unmistakable. Peter could not help himself, he blushed a deep red. Instantly he saw his mother draw back in her chair, a look of horror on her face. His father looked slightly irritated. Was he annoyed at mother's bluntness or angry with Peter? All of this added to Peter's confusion. "No, no! Not even at all," he stammered. "Really. Of course he hasn't. Not how you mean. Not anyway at all." There was no sign of a relaxation on the part of his parents. Did they not believe him? Or maybe they thought he wouldn't really understand? And anyway, it was him and Matt in the dressing room. So why did they drag Joey into this? "Son," said dad and his tone was gentler now, "you're growing up but you've a way to go yet. You need to be ... careful around ... older boys ..." Peter could see his mother was getting impatient again. "Peter, you know as well as we do about those things. I know your dad spoke to you about that. You might not be aware of it. That's the point really. I mean, the newspapers are full of it. We're not stupid, Peter. Me and your dad are very up to date on these things." "Look, you've met him. Joey isn't ..."Peter hesitated. "And you've known Matt for ages." Peter would have liked to say that Joey had no interest in boys but he could not bring himself to go that far. A part of him hoped it might be a lie and he didn't want to lie. "Okay, okay," said dad. "You'd best get off upstairs and check your stuff for school." "But think about what we said," added Peter's mother. "You know?" She didn't need to say any more. He knew well enough. He wanted to ask to see the photographs. He wanted to ask if he could still go to Glencoe. But Peter was not stupid. He knew that such things were better raised when things were calmer, when daylight had broken on the issue. He left the room saying goodnight to his parents. He was tempted to linger at the door for he was certain they would now be discussing the evening's events. He decided against. Eavesdropping might look suspicious, as if he did have something to hide. Peter's problem was that he did have something to hide but he wasn't clear in his head exactly what that was. That would be like expecting a teenager to understand his emotions. Teenage boys don't do that. They have emotions but they don't acknowledge them far less pretend to understand them.