WARNING: This story is about an affair between a boy and a young man. Do not read the contents if it will offend you. If accessing this story causes you to break local laws (village, town, city, county, province, state, or country, etc.), please leave now.

 

Any characters portrayed in this story are fictional and not representative of anyone living or dead.

 

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All rights reserved. All parts of these documents are © Copyright 2012 John T. S. Teller, and may not be reproduced in any form without the author's consent. Nifty.org have permission to reproduce it on their website.

 

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Meeting Rebel.

 

By John T. S. Teller.

 

Part 3.

 

The contact of Rebel's small knee against yours under the table is causing you problems. You're in that very uncomfortable position of wanting to keep the contact, but also not daring to make it firmer, which makes your leg begin to tremble. Your mind is buzzing to solve the problem, so you turn to your right and pretend to look for the waitress, which makes the contact a firm one. The trick now is to turn back to the table and keep the firm contact. And that's exactly what you do, and you don't miss the fact that Rebel has not moved his leg away. It would be nice now to slip your hand under the table and thank him by pressing his thigh, but you're leagues away from that yet. His knee length cut-off jeans will have risen up his legs, so the part touching you will be a naked knee. Now you've made contact, you try to concentrate on other matters. But at least you've had a brilliant start.

 

      Andrew (kid brother, who is a cute about-seven-year-old) doesn't like you. You know what he's thinking: who is this stranger who dare make jokes with his family without invitation! Well, Sonny Boy, this intruder is about to attempt a smash and grab on your big brother, and hopefully have the kind of friendship he's been seeking since he was old enough to know what he was about. But first, Sonny Boy, the intruder needs a disguise. He has one: that of an affable stranger who has a sense of humour and who can be friendly, and the first place to start is with Number One Enemy when the waitress brings the drinks and buns.

 

      You've taken two bites from your cream bun when you look across at Andrew and grin at him. He looks puzzled. You pull a face, point at him, and boldly say, "You've got cream all over your face."

 

      Mother smiles (a part victory there) and turns to look at her youngster. She giggles. "You've got more on your face than in your mouth!"

 

      Andrew glares, and then he points at you. "So have you!"

 

      You look surprised. "I have not!"

 

      "Yes you have! On your chin!"

 

      You turn to Rebel, and ask, "Have I?"

 

      Rebel's sparkling blue eyes look directly into your own, and then he says with a wide grin on his face, "Yes. On your chin."

 

      You give Rebel a look that says `hello', and then you say, "So have you!"

 

      He giggles. "Where?"

 

      Still looking directly into his eyes, you point to his nose. "There. On your nose."

 

      Rebel wipes his nose with his finger, looks at his finger, and says, "No I haven't!"

 

      You grin, and then you wink at Andrew. He giggles. He's getting to like a stranger who can make fun of his big brother. You take another bite of your cream bun, and this time you make sure you get plenty of cream on your face, and then you munch away while both boys giggle at you. Mother grins at you. You grin back, and mumble through a mouthful of cream bun, "It's called `Cream Bun Fun'. We boys like playing the game." You look at both boys (who are now really chuckling) and mumble, "Don't we boys?"

 

       The `Don't we boys' is a prelude to all three of us creating havoc with the cream buns while mother looks on, and then, with amusement clearly in her eyes, she shakes her head and says, "How old are you!"

 

      You grin. "Twenty-eight. David Johnson-Greene; Cream Bun Eater Extraordinaire; Doctor of Living Sciences and Master of Biology at your service, Ma'am." You congratulate yourself for the ease at which you laid yourself on the line. Impressive, eh! Then you make a decisive move. You reach into your jeans pocket and pull out your wallet, and from it you take your business card, which you give, not to her, but to Rebel, who takes it and studies it before giving it to his mother. Then you say, "I need to have some new ones made to take account of my cream bun eating prowess."

 

Rebel is clearly impressed, because he looks at you with almost astonishment when he says, "You're a doctor?"

 

You give him your best smile. "Yes, but not the type of doctor who looks down your throat and makes you say `Ahhhhh'. I'm a scientist, and I can prove that you really do have cream on your nose this time."

 

Rebel grins. "Prove it then!"

 

You take the middle finger of your right hand and wipe the tiny bit of cream from the tip of his cute nose, proudly display it, and while looking into his smiling eyes, you boastfully say, "Exhibit 4a, M'lud." He giggles; Andrew giggles; mother chuckles. Then you say, "I like the logo on your shirt."

 

Rebel lifts the polo shirt up with his fingers to look at the logo, and when he does it, you get a glimpse of his milky-white tummy. It lasts for just a brief moment before he drops it and it settles on his lap. Then he grins, and is that a hint of a blush you see on his beautiful face when his eyes once again settle on yours?

 

Mother to the rescue, or rather she changes the subject when she asks, "Is that a Kindle you have there?"

 

You take another bite of your cream bun, pick it up, switch it on, and hand it to her. "Yes. My trusty Kindle. I never go anywhere without it."

 

She studies it. You tell her which buttons to press, and she's impressed. Then she says, "Lucas wanted one for his twelfth birthday last month."

 

You smile, and point to the logo on his polo shirt. "Twelfth? I thought he was at least a teenager!"

 

She laughs. "He acts like one. I'm ashamed to walk about with him with that on his shirt."

 

You return her laugh. "He's getting to the age where he knows what he wants in life, and it's not always what his parents want."

 

Just for a split second, you get a sense of having said something wrong, but then it goes away when Rebel says, "Can I have a look at it, please?"

 

Good boy, Rebel. You've given us a few moments to be intimate, and you don't waste the opportunity to be closer to him when you show him what it does. Your leg under the table presses more firmly against his, and he returns the pressure. Your forearm touches his, and then your fingers while you're demonstrating. You get a whiff of anti-perspirant, and the side of your face touches the softness of his recently shampooed hair. Then you decide to break the contact for propriety's sake, and leave Rebel looking at it while you continue the conversation with his mother. "They're very educational, and if your boys like reading, it can save you a fortune on books."

 

You spend a while talking and finishing off your cream bun and coffee, and they finish theirs. Suddenly, Mother looks at her watch, and says, "Oh my goodness. We've missed the bus! Damn and blast!"

 

You look all apologetic. "I'm sorry. It was my fault for taking up your time. How long do you have to wait for another bus?"

 

When she says, "Two hours," you're amazed! What bus service only runs every two hours? Then she adds, "We can get home earlier, but it means us changing twice. The Mall runs a special bus direct from here that passes through our village, but they only run every two hours."

 

Who dares, wins! That's the motto of British Special Forces, so you adopt their ability to adapt to ever changing battle conditions, and your face is serious when you ask Mother, "Where do you live?"

 

She's hesitant for a moment, and then, reluctantly, she says, "Burnston-with-Hampton."

 

Because their home is actually not far from where you live, you holler inwardly with delight knowing that when you tell her, she'll not feel that you're putting yourself out when you offer to take them home, and you say, "I have a small cottage in Leaston, which is not far from you." Then, with an apologetic smile, you add, "You wouldn't have missed your bus had I not been playing silly games. I'm sorry about that, but I live alone, and having company sometimes brings out the worst in me." You grin. "I haven't played the cream bun game since I was a small boy." She laughs. Well done, you! You've put her at her ease. You need to fortify the advantage, so you look at both boys, and say, "Would you like to be chauffeured home by the cream bun champion?"

 

They grin. Then Rebel nods, and you can see that he's pleased at how clever you are, and just to confirm it, he presses his knee against your leg. You press your leg back, just a single, sharp movement that cannot be misinterpreted. Last week you were both in limbo when you parted, but this week you've laid firm foundations for whatever may follow; for whatever Rebel desires from your association. Just then, the waitress arrives and asks if everyone is all done. Mother says that they are, and you nod that you are, too. The waitress is totting up the bill when Mother says, "Put the gentleman's coffees and bun on my bill, please." You look at her as if to protest, but she smiles, and says, "Bus fare." You nod your acceptance.

  

     

Mother and Andrew are walking slightly ahead as you walk to the car park. Rebel is by your side, carrying your M&S bag. You're very nervous. You suspect Rebel is, too. But Rebel is a good boy. Rebel is a clever boy, and when he knows you're out of discernible earshot of his mother, he says, "Can you take us past where you live?"

 

      You look at him and see the questions in his eyes. He wants to know where you live, and probably a lot more things about you, just as you do about him. But you need confirmation that you're both on the same wavelength, and you ask, "Why?"

 

      He doesn't answer your question. He needs to know more before he does, and he asks, "Are you married?"

 

      "No. I live alone, and I'm at home every day after five."

 

      "Can I text you?"

 

      You're surprised at his question. "You don't have my mobile number."

 

      He grins shyly when he looks at you. "It's on the card you gave to mum."

 

      You grin back at him. "I didn't know whether you'd pick up on that."

 

      Rebel giggles. "I'm not daft. Can I text you?"

 

      When you look at him again, both your eyes are serious when you reply, "Yes. I'll drive past my place and show your mum where I live. She'll feel easier knowing I'm not a tramp posing as a scientist."

 

Rebel laughs, and you both walk silently to your car. You're not sure what Rebel is thinking, but you can imagine it's the same as you: that your association is just beginning.

 

To be continued...

 

You can find my other stories on Nifty here. If you wish to comment on this or any of my other stories, just drop me a line to john.thestoryteller@gmail.com Genuine comments will be appreciated. All flames will be extinguished in the trash bin.