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Cornish Tales and Piskey Tails.
By John Teller.
Part two.
Zachary Blair says...
Across the table he looks at me. Well, almost looks at me. He drops his eyes and then lifts them again, and just for a moment our eyes meet and share something that reminds me of years gone by. The second time he does it, there's a look in his eyes that tells me he's angry? That sets me back, and I try not to look in them again for fear of receiving another look like that. For my part, I was trying to tell him that I'm overwhelmed to be in his presence again, that I've never forgotten him, and that now I'm back with him, I think he's even more beautiful than when we first met those five long years ago. But turning those thoughts into looks is impossible, so when I feel the need to regain some sort of friendly dialogue, I smile at him, and ask, "How's school, Freddie?"
He shrugs his shoulders. "Fine."
His father, Ted, laughs. "That's a teenage response for you, Zac."
***********
A teenager. But not just a teenager. To me, Freddie Montgomery is the most beautiful teenager in the world. Those unruly locks of red and amber are incapable of being trained, and still hang seductively over his eyes and down to the nape of his slim neck; and the sexy lips he had as a small boy are even more sexy now than they were back then; and the beautiful brown eyes he had as a child still sparkle like faceted citrines when he flashes a glance in my direction, immediately possessing my complete being for a second time, and I know that I may have made the biggest error of my life by returning to Cornwall. Literally, I have gone and cast myself into a chasm of deep love from where is no escape. I should have known better, but it's too late now: alea iacta est – the die is cast.
********** **********
Five years ago, when we went home to Bristol, I was lost for a long time; pining for the little boy I'd fallen in love with. He filled much of my waking moments, and despite him being only a nipper and feelings of guilt afterwards, he shared my sexual bed most nights. Then I went to University, and that required a deep mental strength to try and continue life without him.
Our two families did keep in touch, but as the months and years passed, their familiarity waned. Roxanne went to University, but to Plymouth and not Bristol as I suggested; where she's taking a degree in Digital Art and Technology. James soon got over his boyhood crush, and he grew up within the same strict confines of self-attainment that I did, which meant he left behind his athletic prowess and concentrated on his education, and he'll be going to Bristol University soon to become another accountant like me and our father. Rose was single minded enough to follow the career she chose as a child, and is now an athletic prodigy under the stewardship of the national body, and is staying in digs near the national training ground. Freddie? He just grew from that beautiful elfin child into the handsome and desirable boy he is now. As for me, I gained my 1st in Economics and am qualified to apply for a job as an accountant.
That's why I'm here now in the Montgomery home on Saturday 5th June, accepting their hospitality to stay a few days so I can attend a job interview on Monday at 10 am, in Launceston, just a few kilometres from their home. Why Launceston? Freddie is `why Launceston'. Although I haven't seen him in the flesh for five years, I've watched him growing up through the photographs our families have exchanged. Still no one knows of my affection for him. I've kept that well hidden. It's through those photographs that my affection for him has remained resolute; each fresh one showing him blossoming into the delightful young man he is now. That's why, when I went online looking for my first job, the one at Launceston took my eye. I don't need to take the job, but being in North Cornwall will give me a chance to see Freddie again. That's why I asked mum to ask the Montgomery's if I could stay with them for a few days while I attended the interview. Two birds with one stone? A job and Freddie, or no Freddie and no job. It's an extremely long shot, and everything depends on how Freddie responds while I'm staying in his home. I want him. Oh, yes! I really want him in so many ways; one of them being how I wanted Jaoa in Brazil when I discovered how fantastic sex with males younger than myself can be.
<><><><><><><><><><>
Jaoa in Brazil.
I met him on my South American tour, after I'd gained my degree. I'd done the usual places: Galapagos and Lake Titicata and Machu Pichu, and was staying in Rio de Janeiro in Brazil before deciding when to fly home.
It was Jaoa who picked me up. I was lying on the beach, ogling the boys when he began to loiter. I knew of his type. Most of them are street boys needing to earn enough for their next fix, and despite my sympathy for their predicament, they had no interest to me. But the moment I met Jaoa, I knew he was not one of them. He came from a respectable home and was cruising for his own enjoyment. He was gay, and he wanted his fix, and he chose me because I was young and desirable and a completely different prospect from the dozens of older men who cruise the beaches looking for a young pick-up.
Gay. Yes, even though he was only thirteen years old, Jaoa was gay. And he was not the stereotype Brazilian boy with dark skin and hair. Jaoa was blonde and could have passed off for a well-tanned European boy. He was stunning looking, and his brown eyes were almost as beautiful as Freddie's. I didn't quite fall in love with him, but I did become very fond of him during the time we shared together.
Dressed just in beach shorts and carrying a small man-bag, he strolled past me three times before he decided I was ripe for picking, and then he wandered over to me and asked - in Brazilian-Portuguese - if I had a cigarette to spare. Because at the time I was going through a smoking phase, I did have one, and when I took the pack from under the towel I was lying on, he knelt down by my side, and when he took the cigarette from me and I was lighting it for him, his beautiful eyes stared directly into mine. There really was no need for words, but when he settled by the side of me and we began chatting in his pidgin English and my pidgin Portuguese, it soon became apparent that two like-minded souls had met.
It was Jaoa who touched me first, pretending to be supporting himself whilst stroking my left breast with his thumb as we chatted, and when I didn't reject him and fondled his thigh, he looked at me, and said, "You want come to me? I have place. I not need money."
The Place. It was a boarded up shack at the North end of the beach, and when we reached it, Jaoa went behind it and prised away some loose boards, leaving just enough room for us to scramble through. It was dark inside, and it took a while for my eyes to adjust after leaving the bright sunlight of the beach. The place had an odour of disuse and decay; not the ideal place to enjoy my very first taste of sex with a creature I desired. Previously, my fantasies had all taken place on the deserted beach of a tropical island, or in a comfortable bed. Here there was just a bare table and two overturned chairs. I was still taking in the surroundings when Jaoa came into my arms, put his arms around my neck, pulled my head down, and planted his lips directly onto mine.
I remember that kiss so well. My first kiss; my first taste of a real boy; the first time ever that I inhaled the sensual odours of what they are. Jaoa was an expert, and he forced my mouth open with his tongue and began to stir senses within me that I didn't know existed. All semblance of propriety went out along the laser-like shafts of sunlight that filtered through the many cracks of the rickety shack, and I was not reserved when my hands fondled his almost naked body and ended up feeling his boyhood through the beach shorts: my first experience of holding the genitals of a male I knew I was going to have sex with, and after exploring the small but well-proportioned jewels, I was in no doubt that Jaoa was as hungry for me as I was for him. And then the shock of reverse exploration, but Jaoa pushed down my beach shorts - which slipped down to my feet, and I stepped out of them - before he took me in both hands and squeezed and manipulated me almost to the point of climax. But Jaoa was experienced, and just before I could ejaculate, he stopped and pulled me to the table.
Then it was the super practical Jaoa who took over; taking my towel and placing it on the table before rummaging in his small man-bag and taking out a condom and giving it to me. After removing his own shorts completely, he lay back, naked and bronzed; on the table; his slim legs dangling, and waited for me to take what I desired, and give to him that which he desired. A direct beam of sunlight lit up his perfect body and his hard rod of passion, reminding me of a sacrificial offering to the Sun God: in this instance, the false idol that was Zachary Blair – pederast. Then he lifted his knees onto his chest, and I knew what I had to do.
And for an hour I had sex with Jaoa, my first taste of the delights of what I truly desired, and it was a most wonderful experience. Afterwards, we walked hand in hand along the beach, no different than the many other gay couples who traversed the vast length of that paradise. Our first time; the beginning of a wonderful romance that lasted for almost a month. Then needs must. I was running out of funds, and after phoning home and getting mum to book me a flight using almost all of what was left of them, I boarded the plane that took me home to the UK.
Jaoa went to the airport with me. There were tears in both our eyes when we squeezed hands one last time before I picked up my travel bag and went through customs. When I looked back, he was gone.
<><><><><><><><><><>
The meal is over; we've done the small talk; I've described my travels to South America, and we've all taken positions in the lounge to continue our discourse. Just the four of us. Ann is in the easy chair by the window; I'm in the other, facing her, and Ted and Freddie are on the large sofa to the left and between us, that faces the hearth and gas fire. Ted is sitting at one end of it, nearest to me, and Freddie, wearing white sports socks, blue jeans and a black, sloppy tee-shirt, is lying full length along it, his head resting on two cushions, perfectly placed to look at me or not. On the occasional table in front of the sofa is a part-full bottle of Californian red wine, the residue of what we drank at the meal. More talk of family; travel; more South America; job prospects; do-I-have-a-girlfriend; etc., etc., etc. Am I imagining it? Did I see a flicker of curiosity in Freddie's eyes when I said I didn't have a girlfriend, and that I wanted to find a job and become self-sufficient before settling down? He's saying little, and I'm wondering why. This isn't the gregarious little Freddie I knew as a small boy. But he's not ignoring me completely now, and I do get the occasional question and smile from him, and sometimes when I glance at him, he's looking at me, but nothing he's done yet has given me reason to think I'm anything to him other than a man he met a long time ago and spent a few wonderful days with. I've spent the evening looking for feminine signs in him, but the signals I'm getting are that he's all-boy.
Then, just for a brief moment do I get a sign; a chink of light to tell me that he might like me the way I want him to like me. My glass is empty; Ann makes a move to get up and refresh it; Freddie says he'll do it; gets off the sofa and comes to me with the bottle, and after he's topped me up, because he knows his parents can't see his face, he looks right into my eyes, and just for a brief moment I see, once again, the look. Because Ted can see my face, I can't respond, but I thank Freddie as nicely as I can, and give him a warm smile. Then, when he returns to his previous position, I notice that his tee-shirt has been displaced, and the inverted curve of his waist is clearly visible. I search for a reason why that would happen, but I can find none. The natural gravity of the garment outside his jeans meant it would fall before he lay down. The other side is tucked down underneath him, but the side where I can see his waist is tucked under his elbow. Has he done it on purpose? I didn't watch him when he lay down, so I don't know. But I can dream, and part of my daydream is that it was a deliberate action... this beautiful boy who I adore and love is flirting with me? Ahem!
I know about flirting. Jaoa used to flirt with me. He'd do it as we sat at a café table... lifting his tee-shirt and pretending to scratch his upper body when all the time he was displaying his sexiness to me, knowing full well the reaction in my shorts would cause me embarrassment. And then he would giggle naughtily at me. So I look at Freddie for similar signs. There it is; that quick look and half grin before he looks away again and pretends to be indifferent. This wine is strong, and I'm a stupid twenty three year old pervert who is imagining things?
Almost midnight. The evening is over. Ann tells Freddie it's time for bed. He doesn't protest. He says goodnight to his mother and father, waves a hand to me, and goes towards the door. Just before he reaches it, he turns and looks at me. "Do you fancy a trip to the beach tomorrow, Zac? Just you and me?"
I grin at him. "It's fine by me, but won't the water be too cold for you. The last time I saw you in there, your lips were blue."
He laughs, a delightful laugh that I thought he'd lost with grumpy puberty. "I'm a big boy now, and I can swim."
I look at his parents. "Maybe we should all go?"
Ted looks at Ann, and says, "No. You two go. Ann and I will spend a peaceful day on our own. We don't get the opportunity too often these days. You'll be doing us a favour, Zac. In fact, I'll take Ann out to dinner at the White Hart at St Teath. Do you fancy that, darling?"
Ann laughs. "A day without a teenage mutant turtle. Lovely. Just what the doctor ordered."
The grin I get from Freddie is worth all the hassle I've gone through to discover if we're compatible, and I return it in a double dose. He waves his hand again, and goes to bed, leaving me on a high that I'm not completely persona non grata to him.
*********
Bed. I'm in the next room to Freddie, and just the thought that a dividing wall is the only thing between us, is sexually stimulating. Does he wear pyjamas, or is he in just his underpants, the white ones I saw just over the tops of his jeans. Is he naked? What are his jewels like? Is he a `big' boy? Does he have pubic hair yet? Is he masturbating right now, just as I am, thinking about him? Oh, my God! I want him. I want him so badly! I want to crush my lips against those sexy lips I've kissed so often in my fantasies. Even when I was kissing Jaoa, Freddie, sometimes, had taken over Jaoa's place and was my beau again. I kissed those sweet lips in The Galapagos, and at Lake Titicata, and on the high ruins of Machu Pichu. Staring at the photographs I carried with me, I made long, passionate love to him in almost every seedy hostel and hotel I stayed in, not really daring to stay in love with him, but tempering a simmering desire to, one day, possess him both sexually and emotionally.
Although I've not seen his almost naked body for five years, I remember every part of him, helped by one photo sent to my family of him standing in just swimming trunks on a beach in France just a year ago, when he was big boy. And that's the vision I have of him now as I quietly masturbate and send the seed of my loins into the handkerchief I'm holding.
Breathless, I lie back and think about tomorrow. He wants to be with me. More important, he wants to be alone with me. Why? More questions than answers. The bedroom is dark and almost silent. Almost, because I hear a faint creaking of bed springs in the room next to mine. Then they stop. Was he? Did he?
***********
Freddie is almost silent as I drive my small car towards Trebarwith Strand. Occasionally he gives me directions, and then looks at the passing scenery. Why is he so quiet? He was fine this morning before we left. Not over-exuberant... just a normal teenager acting as if he was going to a beach. We chatted over breakfast about whether the sea would be cold, or whether we would get a parking space. He looked at the booklet of tide-tables to check the state of the tide, and we knew that if we set out about ten, we would catch the ocean about halfway past high tide, which gave us about three hours before low tide, and a further four before we would have to leave the beach.
Although there are some clouds about, they're irregular, and it's mostly blue sky and warm. We've just filtered onto the B3314 when Freddie says, "Would you like to go to somewhere that's quieter than Trebarwith Strand? Somewhere out of the way?" Then he adds quickly, "It will probably be packed at Trebarwith, anyway."
I shrug my shoulders. "I'm easy. Have you got somewhere in mind?"
"There's a place me and some of the lads go to sometimes. We bike there. You can't get all the way in the car, but it's only about a half mile walk from where we can park it. But then we have to climb down a smuggler's path to get to it. We call it `Smuggler's Cove'." He giggles. "But I'm not sure an old man can manage it."
I burst out laughing. "An old man! You cheeky sod! If I can get to Machu Pichu, I'm sure I can negotiate a piffling smuggler's path."
The change in Freddie is astonishing. He's come out of his shell, and I begin to recognize some of the small boy I used to know returning to his character, especially when he laughs and says, "How much money have you got on you?"
I give him a puzzled look. "What do I need money for?"
He goes in his jeans pocket and fishes out a five pound note. "That's all I've got. There's nowhere to buy food or drink there, so we'll need to get some on the way. How much have you got on you?"
I don't need to look. I've got about fifty pounds in cash, and my debit card in my wallet, so I reply, "Plenty."
Freddie grins. "Good. There's a shop just down the road at Delabole. Stop there. You can get some beers there, and sandwiches and cakes."
I stare at him. "Beers?"
Again he grins. "Beers. We always get beers when we go to this place." Then he gives me a silly grin. "Don't worry, I won't get drunk."
"I would hope not!"
Just then, we arrive at Delabole, and Freddie points to a mini-market. I stop the car; we get out, and go into the shop. When we come out, we're carrying two carrier bags containing a six-pack of lager, a large bottle of Coke, eight assorted sandwiches, and a mixture of various cakes. And because I just felt like it, I've bought a twenty pack of cigarettes and a disposable lighter. When we're driving away, Freddie says, "I didn't know you smoked."
I grin at him. "I don't usually, but I like a smoke when I'm at a party."
Freddie bursts out laughing, and it takes him a while before he says, still chuckling, "Party!"
*********
Smuggler's Cove. It's only when we've struggled down the almost barely visible footholds cut into the steep, cliff-like descent that we reach it. Then Freddie grins when he looks at me, and asks, "Well, what do you think?"
I look around and begin to giggle. Whatever beach there will be, can only be accessible almost at the point of low tide, and the only places we can settle are large, flat, slate boulders that slope into the crashing waves. But the most beautiful thing about Smuggler's Cove is that there isn't a smuggler in sight. We're alone. Completely alone! No way was this place chosen on a spur-of-the-moment thought. I want to ask Freddie why he chose this place, but I daren't. If I wanted to get Freddie in a place where I could be intimate with him, then I couldn't have chosen a better place. If someone were to come down here, we would hear them well before they arrived, and because the only view into the place is from the ocean, it's about as private a place as one could imagine. I grin. "I love it. Where shall we put our stuff?"
He grins, points to a particularly large flat rock that's fully catching the sun, and says, "There."
**********
There. This is heaven. Almost shyly we remove our clothes, lay out the two large towels, use our jeans as pillows, and lie down side by side, soaking up the hot sun. After a while, Freddie says, "Do you want to go for a swim?"
I roll my head over to look at him, and see that he's looking at me. We stare into each other's eyes for a while, and then, lazily, I say, "No. Do you?"
I watch his eyes flickering, first to my hair, then my face, then into my eyes, and the look on his face becomes one of puzzlement when he says. "Why did you come back, Zac?"
"Back?"
Freddie takes a deep breath, swallows hard, and says, "Uhuh. Back. Launceston isn't really the place someone like you would want to work. Why did you come back?"
"I like it down here. I have some wonderful memories of being down here.
"What sort of memories?"
"Lots of memories. We spent lots of holidays down here." I smile at Freddie. "I remember especially the one when our families met. It was lovely that summer, wasn't it? Can you remember it?"
"Yes... I remember it well. Why do you remember it so well?"
I grin at Freddie. "I met you for a start. You were the cutest little bugger on earth I thought at the time." I give him an even bigger grin. "I'm surprised you still remember me. Can you remember when I used to take you into the sea and you'd cling to me like a leech? I can still hear you screeching every time a roller went over us, and I can still see you and James running across the sands holding hands. But you were probably too young to remember much."
I expect Freddie to shrug his shoulders and dismiss what I've said, but his face is serious when he says, "Yes, I remember all those things, and I can remember feeling what it was like when you picked me up and kept me safe from the sea." Freddie stops looking at me, and stares at the sky before he continues, "What did you mean when you said you thought I was a cute little bugger at the time?" Then I sense a bitterness in his voice when he says, "Does that mean you think I'm just ordinary now?"
Am I imagining things? Are those tears running down his cheeks? Surely not! But they are, and I'm very much aware that his last question has taken on a meaning that I thought couldn't possibly exist. Freddie is concerned that I actually might find him ordinary now. But why would he do that? Although I've always hoped and prayed that he would, I resigned myself a long time ago that Freddie could not have the same feelings for me that I have for him, and even when I was coming down here I was pretty certain that I was pissing in the wind as far as resurrecting what we had, but it now seems that it's important to Freddie that I still find him cute. But how do I answer him without revealing some of my true feelings for him? Perhaps I can let a little out without giving too much away, so I reply, "No, I don't think you're ordinary, Freddie, but telling a thirteen year old that he's cute might not go down very well. If you know what I mean."
Still staring at the sky, Freddie asks, "So you still like me then?"
"Of course I like you. Did you think I wouldn't?"
Freddie shrugs his shoulders. "I actually thought you might have forgotten me."
I roll over on my side, prop myself up on an elbow, and look at him when I say, "No, I could never forget you Freddie. As a matter of fact, you broke a couple of hearts when we went home."
"Broke a couple of hearts?"
I grin at him. "Yes. You were our little bro, and we missed you like hell."
"You and James?"
I add a couple of nods to a smile. "Yes. Especially me. I told you that you were a cute little bugger."
"But that's all I was?"
I'm as nervous as hell now, and I think my voice doesn't sound right when I say, "What would you say if I told you that part of the reason I'm staying with you is because I actually wanted to see you again, and that I wanted to meet the little boy I met so many years ago, and that I wondered if he'd forgotten me?"
Freddie rolls over onto his side so he's facing me, wipes the tears from his eyes, and curls his legs up. He shakes his head. "No, that little boy never forgot you. But he got used to not having you around."
We're not a metre apart; our knees even closer. I search Freddie's eyes for signs of anger that I've come back into his life again, but I can see none. But I do detect sadness in them as we look at each other, and I ask, "Should I have stayed away?"
Again he shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know. I'm all mixed up. Yes and no probably." Then he stares into my eyes, and says, "You don't know what happened, do you?"
I'm puzzled. "What happened? I don't understand, Freddie. What do you mean... what happened?"
"I know mum told your mum, but they obviously didn't tell you. Maybe that's because I said it was James."
"Said it was James? Said what was James? I'm lost here Freddie. Sorry, but you'll have to explain it to me. What about James?"
Tears again, and Freddie stops looking at me and looks at the stone slab in front of him when he says, "I told them that it was James who I had a mad crush on, but it wasn't."
I'm beginning to understand, but at the same time I'm still not sure where this is leading us even though I'm hoping I know where it's leading us, so I ask, "Then who was it?"
Freddie stares right into my eyes. "I know you'll think I'm daft, but it was you. I was crazy about you, and then you went away and it made me ill. That's why I wasn't very nice to you yesterday. I didn't ever want to see you again."
"Why didn't you ever want to see me again? Surely you've got over it now?"
Freddie sort of leers at me. "I didn't expect you to understand. How could you? I was just a cute little bugger to you. And no, I haven't got over it. You don't understand!"
I'm almost in tears myself when I move a little closer and take hold of the fingers of Freddie's hand that are playing with the stone in front of him, and say, "I think I do, Freddie. If it's any consolation to you, I had a mad crush on you, too."
Freddie glares at me, and then almost growls like a dog when he says, "You had a crush on me! That's the whole point!"
I can hardly believe what's happening here. His emphasis on the word `had' is screaming at me that the whole point is that Freddie still has a crush on me, and I can hardly believe my ears. I've wanted Freddie's affections for years; I've dreamed that he would still have feelings for me, but realistically, I dismissed it not long after we left all those years ago. No way would or could an eight year old harbour such strong feelings for more than a few weeks at most. It's impossible. Well, I thought it was, but maybe I've been wrong all these years? I have to find out, even if I make a complete fool of myself, and that's why I ask Freddie, "Are you telling me that you still have feelings like that for me?"
More tears, rolling down his cheeks now, and then he spits out the words, "Yes! And you think I'm a stupid idiot kid because I do!"
I really, really want to burst into a flood of tears, tears that contain love and relief and sorrow and so many other emotions, but I have to remain strong to clear this lot up. So I stare at Freddie, and say quietly, "No, I don't think you're a stupid kid because you still have feelings for me, and the reason for that is because I've still got the same feelings for you Freddie. That's really why I came to stay with you. Because I still have those feelings, I wanted to see Freddie Montgomery again just so I could look at the boy who makes me feel like I do."
Freddie leers at me again. "You're saying that to make me feel better."
I shake my head. "No Freddie, I'm saying it because it's true. But I'm puzzled. What do you mean when you say it made you ill?"
"I was ill. Proper ill. If you felt the same way as me, then why didn't you come to see me? Why didn't you write or keep in touch?"
I shrug my shoulders. "Life. I was eighteen. You were just eight years old. It was impossible. That's why I gave you to James."
There's no amusement in Freddie's face when he says, "I liked James, but that wasn't how I felt about you. Do you want a cigarette?"
Although I don't, I feel that Freddie's diversionary question is because he doesn't want to talk about things any longer, so I give him an out by saying with a smile, "Yes. Get them out for me."
Freddie grins. "Idle sod!" Then he gets up and fiddles about in the carrier bag to find them and the lighter. While he's doing it, I study him. No, he's most certainly not the little boy I knew so many years ago. His body has filled out; fleshed up, and he's exquisite, with firm legs, and the cute bum is still cute, but now it's much fuller, as are the developing muscles of his torso. He's hunched down, and I can see every vertebrae from his coccyx to the cervical ones that disappear under his hair, and when he gets up, I watch the growing muscles flexing all through his torso, and when he stands and I can see the outline of his penis stretched across his lower abdomen, I know it's not the small, underdeveloped organ of his childhood; it's about the same size as Jaoa's was. He sees me looking at him, and just for a moment he hesitates to allow me to feast my eyes on him, and then he comes to me and squats beside me.
Deja vous. I've been here before - the day that Jaoa came to me and squatted beside me just like Freddie is doing now. His legs are open and I can see right along his inner thighs to the bulge of his testicles beneath the short blue swimming trunks he's wearing. I know exactly what will be behind the thin fabric; every minor detail of what constitutes a boy just reaching puberty; the rod that will grow stiff when it's highly aroused; the fraenum beneath the foreskin that will be sensitive to tongue caresses; the ballsac that will hang low or crinkle into a walnut-like globe, depending on how he's feeling, and how it will almost empty when he reaches the magic moment and his testicles withdraw into his beautiful body; the perineum, like a long line drawn purposefully to lead to Nirvana; to that tunnel of passion. But that was Jaoa, and this is Freddie, and sexually they may be two different animals. That's why, despite the revelations that we've just outed, I can't make a move on him. That's why I have to wait for Freddie to make the first move and desire what I desire. But Freddie is a mixed up kid, and what we've just talked about was feelings. At no point was desire mentioned. Well, not the sort of sexual desire I feel and have always felt for Freddie. I love Freddie with a passion it's difficult to imagine, but I want to give my love to him while he's naked in my arms and enjoying mutual sexual pleasures.
He takes a cigarette out of the pack, places it in my lips, shields the lighter with one hand, flicks it to make a flame, and brings it towards the end of my cigarette. I notice that his hands are shaking slightly, and when the cigarette is lit, he looks right into my eyes, and says, "Tell me about the way you feel about me?"
To be continued...
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