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Other stories on Nifty by J.T.S.Teller. Boys can be lovers, too.

 

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Jimmy the Love-Virus. 

 

By John T. S. Teller.  

 

Part sixteen.  

 

Thursday 20th August. Sam is sitting in the window seat of the Airbus A-321, and Jimmy is in the middle as it takes off from East Midlands Airport at 8.10 am. I'm watching them closely, because this is the first time they've flown, and I smile as Sam's hand seeks out Jimmy's when the aircraft zooms steeply into the sky after takeoff. Sam was nervous when Akhtar picked us up, and I've instructed Jimmy to keep an eye on him. I've also told both of them to swallow regularly while we're climbing so as to equalise the pressure in their ears. When the plane levels out, so does Sam's heart rate... I think, because he's grinning now, and, soon, both of the lads are like junior school children as they peer down at the microscopic landscape. We're lucky today - clear skies over the UK; but the weather changes over the Bay of Biscay, and they marvel at the cloud formations. I've been flying since I was a very small child, and I take no particular pleasure from it; in fact, the opposite. The sooner I can get from A to B, the better. After two hours thirty-five minutes, B arrives in the shape of Faro Airport, and our aircraft swoops low over the marshes and lands, with only a slight bump, before taxiing to the unloading spot.

 

Customs is easy; our three suitcases all arrive on the carousel, and we make our way out. I've booked a car for ten days, and, because our suitcases were amongst the first off, we're almost at the front of the queue at the car-hire desk.

 

Its twenty minutes past midday when we arrive at Carvoeiro, a small villa-town in The Algarve, and I sweep the car up the drive to my three-bedroom villa. This was once my grandfather's home, which I bought from a few relatives who shared in his estate after he died. A third was left to me, so I didn't pay a lot for it four years ago, although it did stretch my bank balance at the time, because I wasn't as successful as I am now. Mum and Dad lent me part of the cost, and we sorted it over the next couple of years. I've always loved the place, because it's one of the older villas that were built before Carvoeiro became so popular, and it boasts a superb, uninhibited view of the sea from the patio. Grandfather was an architect, and had it built to his own specifications... and he made sure it was built correctly. From the patio, there are four steps leading down to a twenty metre swimming pool, and it's this that the guys head for as soon as we've debunked our gear. I join them, and, for half an hour, we have great fun rumbling and tumbling in the cool water.

 

The maintenance agent has arranged a welcoming pack. Amongst it is a bottle of nice Portuguese red wine, so I leave the guys, pour myself a rather large glass, sit on the patio drinking it, and watch the mad frolics of my pair of Social Housing dwellers. It's a glorious day: twenty eight degrees celsius in the shade, and about ten degrees higher in the sun, and because it's so hot, I was adamant that they didn't venture out until they were smothered in factor 24 water-resistant sun cream. The last thing I need is a pair of lobsters complaining that they're sunburnt before we even begin the holiday. Half of the pool is covered by a UV resistant shade, so they can get under it if they're too hot, just as I'm doing, because I have a roller one on the patio. I love this place! It cost me £150,000, plus my share, when I bought it. Now, painted white and a superb Moorish bright blue, with it's great sea view and seclusion, mature gardens of deep purple and crimson bougainvillea, orange and lemon trees, and an abundance of different coloured geraniums in pots scattered about the place, it would easily fetch me £400,000, if I were to sell it. But I wouldn't, because I love it too much, and when I think of getting away from stuff, this is always the first place I come.

 

The lads are racing now, and, for the first time, I see Sam getting the better of his friend. He's a superb swimmer, and he cuts a swathe through the water like a seal. Jimmy's a good swimmer, but he's not as good as Sam, and when they get out and come to me, I tell Sam that he's a superb swimmer.

 

Jimmy grins. "He should be; he swims for the county." There isn't a hint of jealousy in Jimmy's voice. That's another thing I've discovered about my indomitable twins... pride in each other's achievements.

 

"I should write a book about you two, and call it `The Hidden talents of the Under-Classes'. Or, perhaps that's one for you, Jimmy, when you decide to start work properly. Are you guys hungry? If you are, there's some stuff in the fridge and the cupboards, so help yourselves. Make me a couple of cheese rolls while you're at it."

 

Sam gives me a dirty look. "What did your last servant die of?"

 

"Disobedience... then malnutrition, Sam; now just sod off, and earn your bloody keep."

 

They're a while, but, eventually, they appear with two trays full of bread rolls filled with whatever they could find. Sam hands me two, and bows. I grin, and we all scoff away as if we haven't eaten for a week. Well, the lads do. Both could eat for the county. I'm into my second large glass of wine now, and I know I have to stop. Too much wine at lunch will spoil the evening. I need to book a table as soon as possible, so I ring Antonio's to see if I can get lucky, and, fortunately, I get Antonio on the phone, and I ask him, "Ola Antonio. Rob Spencer. Como vai? Ah bom. Posso reservar uma mesa de três pessoas para às sete e meia, por favor? Muito bom. Obrigado. O ver então. Adeus." I switch off the phone, and see the two lads staring at me.

 

It's Jimmy who speaks first. "Bloody hell, Rob, what did you say?"

 

"I booked a table for three for seven-thirty. We're eating at Antonio's tonight. You'll enjoy it there; he's quite a character." The lads are impressed that I speak fluent Portuguese. They finish their food, and then go back to the pool, but before they can get in, I shout to them. "Oi, you two, whatever you do, don't have a pee in there. Jorge puts a special dye in the water, and he knows if anyone's peed in the pool. He takes great pride in his job, and I don't want to get a rollicking because you two can't be bothered going for a piss. There's a urinal in the shower, so use it!" They look at me, not knowing if I'm fooling them or not. I am, of course, but I won't let on that I am.

 

My love for Jimmy is a wholesome thing, and encompasses all that he is: his mannerisms; the way he looks me directly in the eyes when he speaks to me; the many touches I receive for doing nothing, and I know they're no different than a kiss, other than it's his hands or fingers that are delivering them; his wonderful sense of humour; the bright smile that touches me inside every time I receive one; all that, plus our loving. From the moment he walked across my lawn on that special day, I've watched him... not missing an opportunity to feast my soul on the creature who is now my lover; but most of my observations have been at close quarters, and never have I been able to sit back and study him as I can now. He's wearing short boxer type swimming trunks (thank goodness they're not the horrible, knee length baggy things), and almost everything he is, is now mine to observe as he swims, as he sits on the side chatting to Sam, and then dives gracefully into the pool to pick up a stone in a new game they've invented. Adolph-The-Bastard would have thought all his birthdays had come at once had Jimmy applied to become a member of the Hitler youth, because he's the perfect Aryan. Sam is two inches taller than him, and slimmer. Perhaps it's the extra height that makes him look slimmer, because Sam has a good muscular body, too. But the two inches less rounds Jimmy off nicely, and gives him a more powerful stature. The sun cream Sam plastered over Jimmy has added a sheen to his skin, and it emphasizes the movements of his muscles as he plays. If I didn't like him as a person, I reckon I would still have to give him a ten for perfection, and I know that if he wasn't gay, he could have a choice of most girls. Being gay, I know he's going to have many admirers, and they'll be saying about me that I'm a `lucky bastard, and I can't see what Jimmy sees in him'. In fact, I know it's already happened. I didn't miss much both times we had a meal with Carl and Andrew. A number of younger and older men had positioned themselves so they could feast their eyes on him better, which makes me marvel that this wonderful creature chose me. I'm OK-ish good looking, and a reasonable specimen of manhood, but I'm no Paul Newman, and I know the special attraction of our table was entirely down to Jimmy sitting at it. I'll have to ask Jimmy why he chose me. That should be fun.

 

Sam is sitting on the side of the pool now, with Jimmy, close together, and they're chatting. Occasionally, they glance towards me, and then grin. I know they're talking about me. (That's interesting. Another thing I can ask Jimmy about.) What I do find amazing is that I have two beautiful young men in front of me, but only one is attractive to me. Sam just doesn't have the `it' thing; he doesn't do anything for me that way. He's good looking, has a fine body, and all the attributes I find sexy in a male, but the only way I'd take him to bed is if I was desperate for sex. All this thinking, and the wine, and the long journey, and the warmth is making me tired. Even the lure of ogling my beautiful lover can't stop me hitching the sun lounger back a couple of notches and catching forty winks; and only when Jimmy wakes me and tells me that it's six o'clock, do I rouse myself.

 

The villa is a single storey building, and, fortunately, two bedrooms are on one side of it, and the other is on the opposite side. Only two have an en-suite: mine/ours, and the one on the opposite side, so it's a no-gamer that Sam chooses the one opposite. I'm glad he does; Jimmy and I can make secluded love. We can also shower together before we go to dinner... and we do. We usually make love in two places: bed and the shower, and now is no different. As soon as we're in, Jimmy's arms come around my neck, and we kiss passionately; more passionately than normal. I know why; the sensuality is because both of us have been yearning to make love while we were half naked and ogling each other, but were unable to do so because of Sam. Now, uninhibited by his presence, we relieve the lust that's built up during the day. Once is good enough for me, but Jimmy insists he has a double ration, because, `I've been wanting to fuck all day'. So have I, but I'm saving up some for tonight. Jimmy doesn't need to; he's a randy little sod, and can do it more times than I can.

 

The day before we left, I took Jimmy and Sam out to do some clothes shopping, and also to get a few travelling things for them. At first, they wanted to go into Matalan, but when I reminded them that they are  now both `Ferrari Boys', they soon adapted to the better quality shops, and chose Armani and Hugo Boss and Nike and Ted Baker, and the likes. Jimmy insisted Sam have a Big Ben Sherman watch similar to his own, but, apart from that, Sam insisted he choose his own clothes, because `I don't want to look like you pair of gays'. He and we chose well, and I know that no one will look more casually better dressed in the restaurant than us. Except on Sundays, dress is usually casual in The Algarve.

 

Seven-fifteen, and we're all ready. Antonio's is a ten-minute walk from the villa, and we're seated at seven-thirty, and Antonio comes to our table. He doesn't ask, and I don't tell him, about the relationship between myself and Jimmy and Sam. He's been in the business too long to even want to know. Antonio started with a small café, and worked his way up to this, the busiest restaurant in Carvoeiro. He speaks in English, because he likes to show off that his English is good. We shake hands, and then he shakes hands with the boys.

 

"Hello, Roberto. I fully booked, but I make sure you have table."

 

I know he's lying, but I also know we're lucky; he's probably had a cancellation. Getting a table here usually requires at least three days advance booking in Summer. "Thank you, Antonio. This is the first time in Portugal for the two lads, and I wanted their first proper meal to be at your place. You are famous you know!"

 

Antonio is beaming. He's not averse to flattery. "Not famous as you, Roberto. (He's lying again...well, he's more famous in The Algarve.) I read your latest book. Is very good. My wife, she loves you. What you like to drink? And the young mens?"

 

(I'd primed the boys before we left about their drink, and both decided on beers. The reason they were so drunk on the night of the school-leaving party was because they'd mixed their drinks – they said. Beer will be no problem – they said. In moderation – I said. Ok – they said.) My favourite Portuguese wine is a Castelao Red, produced by José Neiva in the Terras do Sado region of Portugal. When I ask Antonio if he has a bottle in stock, he beams, and nods, and I know I'm lucky. I ask, "Beers for the boys?"

 

He winks. "Nao problemo, Roberto."

 

When Antonio has gone, Sam grins. "Roberto. I like that. It's a real gay name."

 

"Do one, Sam! Sammo is Social Housing heritage if ever I heard it. And so is Jimmo."

 

Jimmy growls at me. "Oi, you two, don't bring me into your daft talk. James is the name of a king of England, and is certainly not a gay name."

 

I laugh. "You should learn your history. James the First fell in love with a thirty-seven-year-old man when he was just thirteen."

 

Jimmy looks amazed. "Did he? Wow!"

 

"Oh yes, but when he got older, he loved younger men and boys. And you don't get off Scott free, Sammo. Samuel Barber, the great composer, was gay."

 

"Ah, but he wasn't a king. Robert was a king as well, so it looks as though gays are all royals. I'm the winner... a Social Housing straight guy, so stick that one up your arses, you two fairies." In the midst of our laughter, the drinks arrive. Sam lifts his beer, and laughs. "Bottoms up."

 

I give Sam a few secret Brownie points. He more than held his own in that point-scoring banter. This friendship is blossoming into a many faceted trio, and I like it. The meal arrives, together with more drinks for the juniors. I've ordered clams, and they've both chosen perch and fries. I warned them about the bones, but they didn't seem to want to know that fish here could be any different than a cod they would buy at their local chippies. I spend most of my dinner laughing at their antics of trying to get the meat from the, seemingly, thousands of bones. Not only that, but when it was first served to them, they looked at each other in disgust, because it came complete with head and tail. When they've finished, their plates look like a fish scrap yard, and they give me scowls at my obvious amusement. Pudding is ok: they have a safe ice-cream sundae, and I choose pudding flan. I give each of them a taste of it, and it meets their approval.

 

Antonio is at his supreme best this evening, and the lads marvel at his brilliance, and those of his staff, too. Serving eighty people requires method and dedication if no one is to be left complaining that their meal is late. It doesn't happen here. The table immediately adjacent to us is vacant, and seats eight. Those not in the know would think it's because Antonio isn't fully booked. It's probably been empty since six-thirty, but when a table is booked here, no one else is allowed to eat at it during the evening. The last thing Antonio wants, is hurrying people with their meal. In fact, he won't do it. So, I know those who've booked it are coming later. At nine, they arrive, and the boys are flabbergasted. Two famous characters, G and R from a famous British television soap drama, and their families, seat themselves at the table. They're even more flabbergasted when one of them comes over to us carrying my latest book; apologises for interrupting our meal; and after telling me she's a great fan of mine, asks me to sign it for her. I do, and we chat for a short while before she returns to her table. It then becomes obvious that they're talking about us. Sam is more than happy: one of them is a lovely looking lass of about seventeen, and he's not backwards in coming forwards with his flirting... and she's sitting right next to him. It's about ten, and I'm thinking it's time to go, but our two tables have gelled into one, socially, and I'm thinking it was a good move to instruct the lads not to tell any lies about us, other than that Jimmy and I are lovers. (They're two sons of friends of mine, who've done exceptionally well at school, and this holiday is a reward for their efforts before they start the real hard work of further education.) One of the reason's we've gelled is because most of the cast of the soap are from working class backgrounds themselves. Before we leave, we've been invited to have dinner with them on Sunday at six at their rented villa by the Vale de Milho golf course. I accept for all of us, and we all part as best friends.

 

The lads have a bit of a hangover the next morning, and I suggest they take a steady stroll to the local supermercado about half a kilometre away, and get some provisions to last us a few days, while I do a bit of work and answer some correspondence. When they get back - carrying four large plastic bags full of food and stuff - Maria, the maid, is cleaning the place. Like Debbie, she's queen of her cleaning domain for an hour, and only when she's left do we sit down and eat, and the conversation turns to the invitation to dinner; an extension of our half-drunken talk as we sauntered back from Antonio's.

 

I look at Sam. "Did you bring any condoms, Sam? That Jessica fancies you big style."

 

Sam grins. "We bought some in the bogs at the airport, didn't we Jimmy."

 

I look at Jimmy. "We? So, `we're' intending to get our end away elsewhere are we? (Jimmy, stuffing a bacon roll into his mouth, gives me a rolly eyes, grins, and carries on eating.) So, you're hoping to taste the delicacies of the female species are you? Mmmm, that will be interesting."

 

Jimmy grins, and takes another bite of his bacon roll.

 

Sam dips his bacon roll into tomato sauce, takes a bite, and interrupts. "No. I told Jessica he's gay, so she's inviting a gay lad from the next villa to join us. It should be fun. Looks as though you'll be on your own, with the old people, Rob. And I'm not fooling you!"

 

"Are you serious?"

 

"Dead right I am. He's nineteen. George, his name is."

 

"I don't believe you. He's telling lies, isn't he, Jimmy?"

 

Jimmy's still eating, and shakes his head, and tries to keep a straight face.

 

------------

 

Sunday evening, 23rd August, and we walk the twenty minutes to the rented villa of our new friends, including Jessica, and, to my amazement, George. There are also three youngsters: Jordan, who is about thirteen; Lauren, who is about ten; and Bridie, who is eight. My guys have brought their swimming costumes, and as soon as we arrive and introductions have been made, they go off with the others, change, and dive into the swimming pool that is immediately in front of the patio where we adults are all sitting, having drinks before dinner, which, I'm informed, will be about seven-thirty. G&T's are served, and we progress onto a nice red wine, and the congeniality is excellent. Of course, while I'm chatting to mine hosts, I'm also keeping an eye on the lads... and their `partners'.

 

Sam is well away. I watch Jessica as he puts on a powerful swimming display, and I can almost see the lust in her eyes as his body ripples through the water; and when he's finished his manly courtship, he goes to her, and they touch and laugh. It probably won't be this evening, but I'll wager that Sam will not go home from this holiday without he's coupled with her. Good on you, Sam!

 

George is a big strong lad, with an excellent physique, and the thought goes through my head that he is the stuff of Jimmy's fantasies, and, as time wears on, it's obvious that Jimmy is the stuff of George's fantasies, because he can't take his eyes off him, and neither does he stray out of touching distance. The real giveaway is when, after they've been wrestling in the water, I detect a large bulge in George's baggy swimming costume. Jimmy keeps casting grinning glances at me, and I know he's teasing me. I pretend I'm not the least bit bothered, but Eccles is: he's stirring in my pants. Why shouldn't he? Whatever I think of George, Jimmy is playing an erotic game with me... and he and Eccles know he is, and I reckon he and I and Eccles and Willie will have a good time later.

 

And then a strange thing happens. Jimmy loses interest in George, and begins to play with the small girl, Bridie. She's the youngest, and as pretty as they come... with beautiful blonde hair and large blue eyes, and when they're called out of the pool to get dressed for dinner, Jimmy is holding her hand. I think I know what's happening, because, at certain times, when other small and beautiful blonde-haired girls have been in close proximity, Jimmy's eyes have often followed them. I've never mentioned my observations, because I think Jimmy is seeing his little sister, Jade, who died so young; and when we're seated at the table, Bridie insists she sit next to Jimmy, and he doesn't protest, even though Bridie is between him and George, who, by now, has become a complete non-entity. So have I, but I understand, and don't mind one bit.

 

The meal is an excellent one; veal with all the trimmings, and the company are equal to the meal.  Afterwards, we split into two groups: the youngsters sit on armchairs and the sofa and play games on a Playstation, and we `grown-ups' sit at a table, chatting and supping wine. R remarks that Jimmy is getting on famously with her daughter, Bridie, who is now sitting on his knee, while he takes over her controls to make sure she doesn't get beaten. Poor George, who is sitting next to Jimmy on the sofa, and has his arm around his shoulders, is still getting the cold shoulder treatment.

 

I've had more than my share of wine, and it's probably this that loosens my tongue, and, because we're out of earshot of the Playstation players, I explain about Jimmy's sister, Jade, dying of meningitis a few years ago.  Immediately, that gets the sympathy vote from the ladies. The conversation turns, inevitably, to my relationship with Jimmy and Sam. I try to be as honest as I can, and explain that they come from a disadvantaged background, and that I want to secure their future, because they're both bright lads who need a helping hand. More sympathy votes, and then the dreaded conversation about Jimmy being gay. Well, it would have been dreaded if these people hadn't been actors, who have a disproportionately large percentage of gays in their profession.

 

Brian, the husband of R, is astute. "I feel sorry for George. I don't think he's got a clue that Jimmy's partner is here."

 

I smile. "You're very observant, Brian."

 

"I have to be; I'm a psychologist, and I can also guarantee that nothing untoward happened before he was of age. Am I right?"

 

"You're absolutely right, but how do you know it didn't?"

 

"Because I've also worked you out. You're too staid and middle class to break the law."

 

I laugh. "It would have been difficult to break the law in this instance, because I didn't meet James until he was sixteen, but I've wondered what would have happened if we'd met when he was, say, fourteen or fifteen?"

 

"He'd have been disappointed. I'll bet you keep within the speed limit, too. Am I right?"

 

"I break it on rare occasions, when I'm showing off. I've got a Ferrari, and the temptation is just too great for me sometimes. So, project that onto my personal life and..."

 

Brian laughs. "I'm not always right."

 

"Just as an aside, how did you work it out about Jimmy and I?"

 

Brian winks at me. "I suggest you both wear large, dark glasses, so no one can see how you look at each other."

 

Now I laugh. "It's a fair cop, Guv. (I look at my watch: eleven thirty.) I think we'd better be getting back. It looks as though Bridie is ready for bed, too. (She's asleep in Jimmy's arms now, and Sam and Jessica are talking sweet nothings to each other.) That was a wonderful meal, ladies; thank you, and the company has been excellent. I'm afraid I'm not into cooking, but you're welcome to come and visit me, if you wish, and then I'll take you all out to Antonio's in the evening, if you'll allow me. It would be my pleasure. Jimmy's and Sam's, too, I'll wager."

 

They all agree, and we decide on Tuesday evening, if I can get a table, so I ring Antonio and ask if he has a table for twelve available for seven-thirty. He has, and I book it. George is not included in our plans of meeting at my place at three, before we go to dinner in the evening. But I won't tell Jimmy that.

 

Because I'm slightly drunk, the twenty-minute walk takes half an hour, and both Jimmy and Sam link an arm on each side of me, so that I keep a straight line as I'm walking. We laugh and giggle at the evening's entertainment, and I'm well-ribbed by Jimmy about how gorgeous, George is, and how much better looking than me he is.

 

"If he's that good looking, then how come Gorgeous George isn't the one taking you to bed in half an hour then? You'd only have to give me a nod and a wink, and I'd have slept in the spare room, or with Kiss-me-Quick here, but he'll be knocking off half a dozen thinking about his new girlfriend. I feel sorry for GG. He had a hard on sitting on the side of the pool."

 

Jimmy's gurgling with laughter now. "I know. He was rubbing it against my arse when we were in the pool. He's well built."

 

"You cruel little sod. At least he'll have something to think about when he goes to bed tonight."

 

Jimmy tightens his grip on my arm, and gives me a devilish grin. "So will I. It will make a change from thinking about old men."

 

When we do go to bed, I make him pay dearly for that remark by ignoring him until he's begging and apologising, and promising he'll never look at another man again in his life if I'll just make love to him. Finally, I accept his grovelling, and we make love, and there's no doubt that the eroticism of the frolics with Gorgeous George have heightened our sexual urges, because I do it twice, and Jimmy, three times. And then we giggle ourselves to sleep.

 

But, before I do go to sleep, the thought crosses my mind that one day, Jimmy might slip up and cross that line between fantasy about other men, and the reality of actually doing it. The old saying that `a standing prick has no conscience' has often been proved right. I need to keep a very careful eye on Jimmy, because he is so over-sexed!

 

To be continued...

 

 

Other stories on Nifty by J.T.S.Teller: Boys can be lovers, too.