Now Am I In Arden

A story by Ivor Sukwell and Kyle McKenzie. A story about a boy and a man with all that such entails. The setting is modern and based around the theatre, Not your thing? Sorry about that, we're sure you'll find something that is.  Whatever your choice, please remember Nifty needs your donations.

                                  Now Am I In Arden

                                                     Chapter ten

 

 

"Did you enjoy your venture into film, Mr Williams? Not something anyone in the business would have expected you, of all people to dip your toe into."

"And not one, to be perfectly honest, I ever expected to do. I expect the whole world knows that I have spent months attempting to bully young Jacob Wills into staying away from film, especially after the nightmare he endured with `Troy', but as I was being totally unsuccessful in that attempt, Signor Marteli was able to talk me into an if you can't beat them, join them, venture."

"So you're saying that you did it entirely because of your interest in Jacob?"

"I think that question, as it stands, could be open to a variety of interpretations, don't you?"

"Oh, no, Mr Williams, no, not my meaning at all, I assure you. I meant only your interests in his development as an actor. Nothing more, I assure you."

"I'm so glad about that. I really can't afford to hire a lawyer."

(At this point Mr Williams and I shared a chuckle, and I said that `The Stage' couldn't afford one either)

"Back to your question, Signor Marteli insisted that it would be a completely new experience for Jacob. No hundreds of retakes of ten second scenes, no standing on marked spots till a board clapped and you moved to a different marked spot. So, as a small bribe of a paid cameo part as a stage director was thrown in, I allowed Jacob, his agent and his mother to talk me into it. The fact that I received a cheque that went straight from me to HMRC was a motivating factor as well."

"And do you think it was a worth while venture for Jacob as well as keeping your tax man a little happy?"

"Tax men are always less bother when they're reasonably happy."

"And what of the film, Mr Williams? It was controversial in the least, wasn't it?"

"Very. Very brave as well. But, then, the theatre has always been brave hasn't it? Theatre can say things that, perhaps, are thought by many but never said. Theatre has always made social and political comments, hasn't it? `Romeo and Julio' used cinema and art to make a comment."

Mr Williams declined to give any opinion on the possible effects that Jacob's role in the film - the intimacy of his Romeo's relationship with the Italian boy playing Julio was central to the film - might have on the boy. "He played a role," was all he would say on that matter.

Throughout my interview with Mr Williams his, there is no other word for it, obsession, with theatre, especially Elizabethan and Jacobean work, was evident. Mr Williams lives and breathes, eats and sleeps the theatre. He is well known as being not an easy man to work with, but if young Jacob Wells wishes for somewhere to pin his hopes of being an actor and not merely a teenage phenomenon, then, if he can cope with an irascible and frequently bullying director, there is nowhere better than Mr Williams to pin those hopes on.

Extract from an article in `The Stage'

 

"So are you excited to be going to Cannes Jacob?" I start in the only place possible and it's clear from the grin on his face that Jacob Wills is excited about the nomination of his latest film 'Romeo & Julio' to the prestigious festival.

Set over a long hot summer in Verona the controversial piece centres around the relationship between English drama student Romeo, (Wills), and his Italian host Julio, (relative newcomer Gino Pirlo), appearing in an amateur dramatic version of Romeo & Juliet. Thrown together the two boys form an instant camaraderie, slouching, laughing and joking their way around the city of Verona which has never looked more lovely. Renowned Italian director Franco Marteli coaxes wonderfully naturalistic performances from his two young leads. Constantly on the edge of a puppyish playfight, the boys bicker, banter and laugh their way through a summer of football chat and illicit spliffs, their laughter turning to sulks in an instant in the way only a fourteen year old's can.

Underneath, however, the tension between the two builds. T-shirts are stripped at every opportunity and glances become ever more lingering. A night time ride on a 'borrowed' Lambretta ends with them cavorting in a fountain, laughing and dunking each other's barely dressed form. Girls are 'pulled' and 'fingered', (those of a delicate disposition will be shocked by some of the coarse language the angelic looking pair employ), but the boys seemingly only have eyes for each other. Eventually the tension does not so much break as implode under the weight of teenage hormones, as a playful xbox scrap turns into a full frontal, (and very physical), kissing session. Are the boys amante, amico or both? Marteli, whose cinematography is as beautiful as ever, leaves it for the audience to decide.

It is not the only unanswered question. Controversially both boys seem to be in a relationship with an older man. Gino with his 'patron', a man who is often seen with him at a cafe and openly gives him gifts of weed and money. Is he a rent boy or is he that man's `amante'? Similarly Romeo is holidaying with his 'Papa', a man who is only briefly glimpsed. They share a hotel room, but Romeo makes clear that his father is back in England so who is this man? His touch lingers on the boy's neck for a fraction too long, a glimpse of the hotel room reveals only a double bed. It is an unsettling mystery which Marteli again leaves open to interpretation and I begin by asking Wills directly what his thoughts are.

"It's for the audience to decide," he gives me a teasing grin, very much the teenage boy not wanting to reveal something, and I ask him what his personal thoughts are. The man is clearly not Romeo's father.

"Isn't he? Maybe it could be his stepdad, could be his uncle. You got to remember a lot of what Julio and Romeo say to each other is bullshit. They want to impress each other, be the best."

What is made clear is the depth of the boys' feelings towards each other. Watching the affection between the two develop is a moving experience, ('you own half of me' - and the other half, Romeo tells Julio as they sit on the banks of the Adige with the Ponte Pietro in the background, and the sound track fades so we never know anything about that other half), and the scenes in Julio's bedroom are, to say the least, physical.

"Was it difficult to kiss a boy like that?" Not really, Wills tells me with a shrug, him and Julio hung around a lot during filming so were comfortable with each other.

"Are the two of you boyfriends?" The exact nature of their offscreen relationship has been a source of much internet speculation.

"That really isn't a question my son should be asked. His private life is private." It is the only time Wills mother, who chaperones him during this interview, interjects and I ask her what it was like seeing him in those scenes.

"I don't think anyone Jacob's age really wants his Mum seeing him kiss someone, even if he is acting." Wills laughs and agrees.

"It's weird thinking Mum saw it, but it would be weird if she saw me kissing a girl like that." I ask her if the speculation about her son's sexuality has made her think twice about letting him pursue a career in acting.

"I do think some of the questions he is asked verge on the sordid. The film has been criticised for sexualising Jacob and Gino, but some of the questions they have been asked have been far more explicit. They might not be children but they certainly aren't adults, they need privacy to grow and decide who they want to be. As long as Jacob is happy, I am happy." Mother and son share a look at that comment, clearly sharing a private thought.

'Extract from an interview with Jacob Wills, Independent Film Magazine.'

 

I hadn't set eyes on Brat since Cannes. There were still a few days of his school summer holidays left and his mother, deciding he `needed a rest', hauled him off to the Scottish Highlands, well out of sight, if never out of mind of, in her opinion, and I accept, the opinion of a very large number of other people as well, `that dreadful Mr Williams'.

He did, however, appear, after an informatory phone call from his ice mother, on my doorstep the first Friday morning after his return from heather and gorse spotting, at precisely nine thirty, the exact hour the glacier had said he would materialise. Apparently it was a teachers' training day and Brat had a day off.

Boys change, so I have since been reliably informed, in the summer break between school years nine and ten. I had not perceived any changes in Brat while we were in Verona, but, I suppose, one does not notice subtle changes as they occur when the subject of those changes is under constant, daily observation.

Now, after a mere ten days of absence, those changes were startlingly self-evident. Brat was heading rapidly towards his fifteenth birthday, and it showed. He was, undeniably, a larger Brat than he had been, taller and more filled out. Still a boy, still a clearly adolescent boy, still very much an utterly gorgeous and desirable adolescent boy, but a larger version.

He also appeared to be a little more thoughtful, a little less of a brat, as though something, conscious or sub-conscious, was making him wonder if he should be the same when he reached fifteen as he had been for a whole long year at fourteen.

One thing had not changed. His driving force of sex remained as rampant as ever.

Even whilst I was bidding ice mother farewell, an ice mother who, I had to admit, if somewhat reluctantly, was showing definite evidence of the effects of climate change. Her eyes, when she said, `I'll collect him on Sunday at seven', five hours later than the previous cut off time, still said loud and clear, `no molesting, no interfering', but they did not even hint at `no touching'. Brat had divested himself of clothing, clear evidence that he still had no intention of being untouched.

A long, snogging cuddle, during which my shirt somehow became detached from my body was followed by an even longer indulgence in what had become my favourite meal.

Michelin needed to invent a fourth star to do justice to the plate before me that was Brat's bum, and I munched away there for what seemed like hours, and my dish of delight indicated by moans and gasps, wriggles and writhes, that he liked being eaten as much as I liked eating him.

He spunked while I ate him, and when I admonished him for the waste, he merely sniggered and told me he had abstained from wanking for the past three days. "Wanted to go more," he giggled, "But didn't think me balls could manage it. Anyway, loads more in there so you can eat some a bit later on."
I was then instructed to return to my main course, an instruction I faithfully obeyed, though this time I also indulged in the delicious side dishes that were the backs of his silken thighs.

My over-indulgence in his gastronomic delights made him hard and urgent again, so he turned himself over and offered me his other delight to savour, which I duly did until he fed me his ambrosia; thicker and slightly different flavoured than I remembered, but perhaps even more delicious.

"Fuck I missed that," I let Mr Williams give me a spunk tinged kiss as we lay on the bed afterwards.

"Scotland was boring as fuck, just me and Mum." I had missed Mr Williams and our regular weekends, but it had been nice to be just with Mum and chill out. Usually she had to work loads as she was a single Mum, and the fact it was just two of us had allowed us to chat. She had asked me if I was ok with all the speculation Romeo & Julio had caused about my sexuality and whether I was being bullied at school. I'd had a few comments but nothing serious, but I felt confident enough to ask her how she would feel if I was bi or gay. She had surprised me by saying she wouldn't be totally surprised but it was up to me to decide, and she would love me what ever.

"So did that stuff we ordered ever arrive?" I told Mr Williams about what me and Mum had discussed but didn't want the weekend to be all heavy feelings chat and no fun. I was in year ten now and already thought of myself as more mature. I had got taller over the summer and with that had come a strong desire to try more `adult' stuff.

"It did, wicked boy," I smiled and stroked his hair, a brief diversion from his thighs, the part of him that I always felt were in most need of stroking.

"Tell me," I'd thought long and hard about asking him this, but my curiosity overcame everything else, "Did you ever fuck Gino?"

He twisted round so he could give me a quizzical look.

"Sorry," I mumbled, "Shouldn't have asked that. None of my business if you did or not. Just that I know Marteli hoped you would. He seemed to think Gino was a bit frigid; needed loosening up a bit." Probably not the best choice of words, I thought, and blushed when I realised exactly what I'd said and how it could be mis-interpreted.

"No, we kinda wanted to but..." I trailed off.

Gino and I had got near fucking a bunch of times but it didn't work out. Somehow I didn't have the nerve to go the whole way. I said I hadn't been quite ready for it over the summer but I was sure that now I was year ten I should shed my virginity.

"Matters not," thigh for stroking now, "Perhaps part of me wishes that you had, and part of me is happy that you didn't." Make sense of that if you can, I thought.

"Come on," he was more than anything, anxious to see the bits and pieces we'd ordered for his `entertainment', but I had more than just those to show him.
The basement had been converted, at no little expense, by a firm recommended by the place I'd shopped at as being both expert and discrete, into a play room. Not a room for boys to play in, but a room for a boy to be played with in.
The walls had been soundproofed and a carpeted floor laid. On it was a version of a dentist's chair, with bars along the sides to which a boy could be strapped by arms and legs, and a comfy, wheeled chair for the person who was to play with a boy to sit in whilst he played.
A rectangular frame stood close to one wall, thus enabling a boy to be enjoyed in a vertical as well as a horizontal position, and a table, with the toys required neatly laid out on display.
There was also a divan, large enough for two to tango on and the old chimney had been lined so that a large, gas-fired, imitation wood stove could be used to heat the play space. In addition to the items on his wish list, I'd added a paddle, an item rather like an over-sized table-tennis bat, which, according to its blurb, was `intended to ensure that no part of the rear quarters is missed, and able to produce remarkable results when used with enthusiasm.'
"Meet your requirements?" I asked an open-mouthed Brat.

"Shit!" Was all I could say when I saw what Mr Williams had created. I had expected him to buy a few ropes and cuffs off the website and play up to my teenage fantasies a bit, but he had gone far beyond that and created a really cool place for us to have fun.

"Are you like into this stuff as well?" I had assumed Mr Williams was humouring me when he agreed to buy a few bits, but the amount of time and expense which must have gone into this seemed to suggest otherwise.

"What do I like call you down here?" Online I knew some people into this called each other `sir' and stuff but that seemed a bit weird when we were so close.

"Not the faintest idea if I'm what you call 'into it' or not, but as it seemed as though you had a leaning or two in this direction, I thought I'd go along and find out if it had something going for it."

To be honest, I was well pleased with his reaction, and his immediate assumption that we would be spending some time in here.

"I rather like the naming arrangement we have at the moment, me as Mr Williams and you as Brat. Seems to be working quite well so far."

While he thought about that, I treated myself to a vision of him on the dentist's chair, nicely strapped down and unable to do anything to hinder my enjoyment of his thighs. I'd be able to kiss, lick nibble and slurp on those lovely legs for as long as I wanted, and, the thought became a little more wicked, if he uttered a sound of protest, I could gag him as well. I felt I knew my Brat well enough now to believe he'd enjoy such treatment.

I squirmed a bit as Mr Williams strapped me into what he called the 'dentists chair'. This one spread your legs wide but was otherwise quite comfortable, though I was too excited and on edge to really relax.

Mr Williams sat in the other chair and rolled it forward, a smile on his face. I knew he liked the sight of me naked and now I was totally on display and unable to move from my position. He admired the sight for a few minutes then ran a hand up my thigh making me moan loudly. His hands always felt good on my body but somehow being unable to move heightened my sensations and made it feel even better.

His hand ran up my other thigh and the feeling went from a tingle to something like an electric shock.

"Mr Williams, please don't." I squirmed, the feeling of the straps pinioning me in place making my body feel amazing, but the sense of anticipation was almost too much.

"The correct line. Brat, is 'please don't stop." He always looked wonderful naked, but naked, legs strapped apart and utterly helpless he looked wonderful times ten. "You are aware, I believe, that I have a bit of a 'thing' about your legs, your, so delicious and completely irresistible legs. Now, as you have been so obliging as to place yourself in a position whereby I can indulge, unrestrained," I grinned at my own pun, "In the smooth, silky delight they offer, such am I going to do."

I allowed just the tips of my fingers to brush his perfect skin, all the way up the inside of one leg, from knees to the edge of his tempting balls.

"Awwwghhhh please, please!" Mr Williams ran his finger up and down my thighs, then in circles, teasing me more.

I struggled against the straps but couldn't budge them. They were padded so weren't uncomfortable but held me in place to the seat.

"Please, Mr Williams," I was in heaven but the feelings were almost too overwhelming.

Naturally, I ignored him. He wanted me to ignore him, so I did and continued to run my hands over the perfection of his thighs, every bit of them I could get to.

Hands satisfied for the moment, I started on him with my mouth, slow sensuous licks up the inside of one, down the inside of the other; up the front of one and down the front of the other.

I got the idea that, despite his moans, he was starting to find this quite pleasurable as his cock slowly rose from soft to hard, and, I noticed with a little glow of anticipation, that it seemed to have added another quarter of an inch or so since I saw it last.

"Awwwghhhh please, please!" I wasn't sure if I wanted him to stop or do much, much more. His tongue felt even better on my thighs than his hands had and my cock was hard as the sensations grew and grew.

"Please Mr Williams! Please!" He ignored me and took a long lick up my thighs.

I'd learned so much about the delight that is a boy since Brat had come into my life, but I was conscious that I still knew almost nothing. I had no idea if it was normal for a man to indulge in boy leg as I was indulging, if boys liked having their thighs licked and kissed.

Brat was moaning, his hips were bucking when I went up and down his thighs with my tongue, so I guessed it couldn't be all bad for him.

I wanted to really kiss those legs, leave marks of my desire and leg-lust on them, but common sense prevailed. It was term time, and that meant that Brat would have to do games lessons and having love bites all up and down his thighs might take some explaining away, so I desisted.

I did have another thought though; he'd spunked earlier from me eating his bum - would it be possible to have him spunk from loving his thighs?

Only one way to find out, so back I went, licking, feeling and kissing while he moaned and writhed.

"Awwwghhhiieee" I was whining and crying, frustrated beyond belief that I couldn't get free to wank my cock. I wanted to pump it hard, make it spurt, but Mr Williams knew how to tease and excite me to just short of orgasm.

"Please Mr Williams, I need to wank! You gotta let me wank!" I was nearly crying in frustration, my cock rock hard and leaking clear pre-jizz on to my navel against which it was pressed.

"Oh thou foolish Brat," I leered at him when he begged me to let him wank, "No hand of thine that cock doth touch whilst thou my captive be." And back I went to his thighs, saliva wet thighs now, but still delicious, still needing my mouth and tongue on them.

"Please! Please let me go!" I wasn't sure I wanted to be unstrapped, the feeling of being helpless was amazing, but my need to jerk was all consuming.

From his begging it didn't seem that adoring his thighs would be enough to make him spunk, but I wasn't going to give up yet. The fronts and sides were the bits my hands liked best, but he seemed to moan louder when I licked and kissed the soft insides, so on the insides I concentrated. More sensitive there, more responsive to my tongue. Five more minutes, I decided, five more minutes of inside thigh adoration, and if he hadn't spunked after that, I'd have to conclude that it wasn't possible to make a boy cum that way after all.

As his tongue found the inside of my thighs my back arched and I strained hard against the straps.

It felt amazing, the soft insides of my thighs tingled and then exploded in pleasure as he kissed and licked them. He went down then up, and as he got to the top, the most sensitive part, my cock twitched and exploded as I let out a loud half squeal half moan.

He spunked! He actually spunked! His cock jerked and jerked and out shot his ambrosia, the first shot almost reaching his face. As fast as I could I grabbed him and got my mouth round him as the last spurts came, and those eaten, I carefully licked the others from his neck and chest.

He sagged, his body limp. Far limper than he went after a normal spunking, and while he was breathing in shallow gasps, I undid the straps that held him to the chair.

He didn't have the strength to sit up, and it was a good minute and a half before he opened his eyes.

I moaned as I finally came round, rubbing my wrists a bit. My body was slick with sweat and I ran a hand through my hair as I got up from the seat to wipe it away.

Being restrained to the chair had felt amazing and while I was tired I was anxious to try more, so gave the table containing his 'toys' a lingering glance.

One thing I had learned about Brat was that he was hormonally overcharged. Even now, clearly exhausted, he was still thinking sex. "Later, my Brat," I put a hand round his sweaty waist, as much to steady him as to enjoy the feel of him, though that I did.

"Upstairs now, quick shower and then a spliff. We've got all weekend, far longer than we normally have, so let's not rush, eh?"

We did have longer than normal for a weekend. Brat had been delivered at nine thirty, just after breakfast, and wouldn't be collected until seven on Sunday, an extra fourteen and a half hours, and all of them waking hours. Indeed there was no rush.

I had a mental grin, as I assisted Brat to mount the stairs up from the basement by means of an unnecessary hand on his lovely bum, that, for Brat, a waking hour was synonymous with a wanking hour. He'd been here less than three of those hours so far and had indulged in three, very large orgasms., and hazy thoughts of number four were already cruising around his mind. For Brat, every waking breath was merely a preparation for his next orgasm.

Perhaps all fourteen, almost fifteen, year old boys are like that? I didn't know, and, let's be honest, I didn't care. Brat was, and that was more than good enough for me!

That he was an extraordinary boy there could be no doubt, I mused as I made hot chocolate while he was in the shower. He had arrived on my doorstep, entered the house of a man who made no pretence of hiding his antipathy towards all things boy, and almost immediately removed his clothes. His instinctive, innate thinking had, I now understood, been 'You might not like me dressed, let's see if you change your mind when you see the real thing.' And, of course, my mind, which had been fighting against that change, gave up the fight and I was his to do with as he would.

I wasn't complaining about being his, I revelled in being his, and I had been his for long enough to begin to understand that he craved attention. Fame and fortune in film, on stage if needs be, satisfied some of that craving, but only because it allowed him to gain satisfaction, of a sort, from his real craving, the attention his body unrelentingly demanded.

Sex crazed he may be, but he was far from stupid. He, I now knew, was an avid a reader as he was a wanker. When he asked, very shyly, if the play room had been expensive, which it was, I dismissed his enquiry by saying that 'Titus' had paid for it, and he grinned and said that he had no objections to my eating him as often as I wanted, but would I please not bake him in a pie first.

Something, though, was, I was sure of it, a little trouble to my Brat now. He'd given himself so avidly for the past three hours and I couldn't help wondering if he'd done that in order to conceal something, from me, from himself or from both of us.

Boys changed as they grew older, Marteli had told me that. Was my Brat changing?

Perhaps he would tell me, perhaps he wouldn't.

"That felt amazing," I leaned back on Mr Williams' sofa stretching my legs out and taking a long drag on the spliff he had rolled. The game had exceeded even my fantasies and I was excited to see what would happen next time.

"So have you spoken to Marteli since Cannes?" The two of them hadn't become as close as Gino and I during filming but I was still curious to know what he was up to and, more importantly, if there might be a good part for me in whatever he was doing.

"Only for him to say a 'thank you' and an extra 'thank you' to you for, 'making Gino less frigid' were the words he used."

I sniggered. "Not sure I did that. Only thing I got him into was kissing boys and fingering them." I knew these were hardly small things but Gino and I had not gone all the way and had sex.

That had been a disappointment but I convinced myself that neither of us had been brave enough to initiate it. I knew he had wanted to, and knew I did, but going for it had proved beyond me.

"Well, whatever you did, it appears to have had some effect. Gino, so Marteli told me, has changed his address. He's now living openly with a very contented Signor."

"Really?" I was pretty shocked. Gino was younger than me so I was amazed he could just live with an older man.

"Do his parent's know?"

"They live down south, somewhere around Naples, I believe. I understand that people around there have a slightly different attitude towards some things than people do in London." I had, truth be told, had a couple of long chats on the phone with Marteli, and he'd told me that, whilst it was not a hugely common thing, a boy living with his man was not something that caused a great amount of fuss.

"People are really ok with it? Doesn't Marteli get grief from the newspapers?" I couldn't imagine how it could be possible, and I tried to imagine the reaction in London if even half of what me and Mr Williams got up to was known.

"From what Marteli has told me, the matter is not one of any importance to anyone." Like Brat, I found this somewhat difficult to understand, but, and this I told Brat as he sipped his hot chocolate, it was accepted as a matter of course that boys would be boys with other boys, and some of those boys would be boys with adult men, until they changed their minds and found girls. Then, later, when those boys were men themselves, they may well re-discover boys. "Probably something to do with the weather, I expect."

"The weather is nicer there," I gave him a smile, wondering what it was like to live openly with a man like that.

"It is," I agreed, "But, make the most of what we have, I suppose," and wrapped an arm around naked Jacob Brat who, hot chocolate finished, had clambered onto my lap, to thoughtfully roll an overdue spliff.

I snuggled into him and let his hands roam my body as we smoked the spliff together. He never tired of stroking and feeling me, (something which I also enjoyed immensely), and I guessed that living without a boy his whole life he was making the most of having one now.

"Do you miss Gino?" Something was troubling Jacob Brat, I could feel it in his body. Oh, he wasn't distant, not at all, he snuggled in, enjoying the adoration he was receiving, and his smiles were the same wonderful smiles they always were. But, below the silky warmth of his skin there was a hint of tenseness. Perhaps the playroom, and my total immersion in the wonder of his thighs had been a bit too much, too ............ too greedy.

"A bit," I admitted. I had loved hanging around with Gino and having fun with him. Not just sex fun, but fun as mates.

I was often away from school doing acting and while I had a few friends I wasn't really close to many of them. Gino and I had really hit it off and I just missed having him around to have a laugh with.

Plus I was regretting not having sex with him. I had really wanted us to fuck me but it hadn't happened. Now I seemed to have missed the opportunity and was regretting it immensely.

Just a bit? No, something more than that. "Anything you can tell an old fool who adores you?" I left his legs alone, they'd had too much attention already, I thought, so I stroked his back and shoulder instead. I had to stroke some part of him, and those bits were handy.

"I want you to take me to Italy and live like that." I had half formulated the idea already but it seemed to just slip out.

I knew it was an impossible dream, that he would never want to live openly like that but he had asked and I had told him!

"A man's reach must exceed his grasp," naturally I quoted - why wasn't it possible to think up things like that to say all by myself - "Or what's a heaven for?" Not Will, but not bad for an ordinary poet. "And, my lovely Brat, I fear that heaven is beyond both our grasps. A boy's mother wouldn't see heaven in the same way, I fear."

"I dunno," a few months ago I would have assumed that there would be no way Mum would let me, but now she was letting me take more responsibility for my career.

"She's talked about me going to drama school again. If it was in Italy..." I let my voice trail off knowing I was dreaming again.

"Then woulda you a have a to learna to talka Italian," I hammed to make a joke of it, and added, for good measure, "And they don't do Shakespeare there."

I huffed a bit knowing it was true. A school in Italy teaching drama in English had always seemed unlikely, plus it would have needed Mr Williams to move to Italy and for Mum to agree to the whole thing.

"Plus," and really I wasn't thinking too well when I said this, not thinking properly of a boy's feelings and emotions, "You may not want to even know an old fool in a week or two, a month or two and almost certainly not in a year or two."

Make the most of him while you have him had been my thought ever since he came to me. Heaven is not forever.

"Of course I will!" I was a bit hurt that he thought I would fuck off at the drop of a hat.

"I've been with you for a year, I really care about you."

"Not quite a year," I said pedantically and thoughtlessly, "But you are getting older, and will probably want something different. There are girls out there, you know."

I didn't want him to find anything different, but, if nothing else, I was realistic. Dreams are fine on the boards, but in real life?

"What if I'm happy with you?" I got off his lap angrily and stalked across the room.

"You know if you wanted I would go to Italy and live with you despite what everyone would say. Bet you wouldn't do the same for me!" It was harsh, I knew he would be judged more harshly out of the two of us if we were ever caught but I was annoyed and it just came out.

The boy meant it! Right here and right now he really meant it!

"Jacob Brat," I searched my quotation filled mind for words to say and, for the first time since I was a callow youth, couldn't find any, so had to make do with my own, utterly inadequate ones, "I love you, I adore you, I worship you, I live and fucking breathe you! You are more important to me than Kyd, Fletcher, Webster, even Marlowe. I'd throw them all in the bin just to be with you. Not so sure about Shakespeare, though." A feeble attempt at a joke, but I could see the anger on his face turning to shock and I had to do something to lighten the mood, however pathetic it was.

"Sorry, it's just...". I knew keeping everything secret and only seeing each other was as hard for him as it was for me, worse perhaps as he was the one danger.

"Didn't mean it," I slipped back into his lap and gave him a gentle kiss by way of apology.

"Of course you meant it," I welcomed him back on my lap with a shoulder squeeze, "You're still fourteen, if only just. Why shouldn't you want everything? Ambition be a bit pointless if you didn't want everything, wouldn't it?"

I giggled, "Yeah I know. It just seems so unfair we can't be together and Gino and Marteli can." His hand felt good on my shoulder and I squeezed it back.

"But you can be a real actor. Gino will almost certainly become something else when he discovers girls and forgets Marteli. They both know they're just making the most of a moment. I want to see you do a Dick Two or a Mercutio."

I knew `Dick Two' was Richard the Second and had been reading both the play, and as much as I could find about the king himself.

"You know Richard the Second stopped the peasants' revolt when he was my age?" I had been fascinated by the story, surprised that a king who had done something so brave at 14 had ended up as a failure.

"And did you know that Bolingbroke hated him from when they were both that age? And was he really a failure? In life, I mean, not the play. And was he a failure in that? He lost, but did he win as well?"

What could have been a quarrel turned into a lesson. How did that happen?

"Well he lost the war and ended up being killed." That sounded quite like a failure to me, but then I thought about it more.

"I suppose he is more famous now, but mainly cos of the play. Anyway why did they hate each other?"

"Story goes that the rebels had taken a load of lords and lordlets prisoner, and were systematically chopping off their heads. Richard wasn't exactly a prisoner, but he was not really in any position to do anything about it. Apparently, young Bolingbroke was next in line for the axe, but the guy swinging it needed a rest, and peace sort of broke out before he could get started again. Young Henry never forgave Richard for not stopping things himself. And for hanging onto his head because some peasant was too tired to chop it off."

"And spotted anything in Richard that might fit with something in you if you were ever to play that part?" As sex was always what Brat looked for, what, I wondered, would he find to fit that in Dick Two?

I thought for a long time.

"For a long time other people did everything for him, so when he did it himself he tried to do too much and that was his downfall." I was taking more and more responsibility for my career, Mum still had her say but now I chatted alone with my agent, and I could sympathise with wanting to finally be able to do what you wanted with no-one interfering.

"Not bad," and indeed it wasn't bad for a boy still fourteen. "How about the mood changes, and the sense of humour, wicked at times, gallows humour at others. Anything in Brat that echoes those aspects?" Brat, having just gone from loving to angry to loving in less than three minutes, should surely spot that.

I waited, stroking his shoulder, while he did spot that, grasped the significance of his predictably unpredictable behaviour, and his green eyes glinted with mischief. "Cunt," he said, with a smile most sweet.

Still stroking his shoulder, well, why not? He had delightful shoulders and they deserved some adoration, I launched into a bit of Dick from memory,

`Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs,
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes,
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.'

All the way through, right down to the end of 'How can you say to me I am a King?' and all done with no movement, no acting, just the words and the stroking of his shoulder.

I've always thought Dick to be Will's greatest creation, and having Brat, who, for me, was life's greatest creation, on my lap while I said Will's words, seemed utterly natural and fitting.

He looked up at me, his face amazement, even wonder perhaps, that I should have reeled off thirty or so lines from memory, and reeled them off, if I say so myself, with at least a touch of skill.

I smiled, but there was melancholy in that smile. Brat, my Brat, was growing up, almost fifteen now, fourteen near behind him. So wonderful had he been at fourteen, What would fifteen bring?

'I wasted time,' I said, to myself, but still loud enough to be heard, thinking of how quickly the months had flown, of how many hours had been wasted; 'And now doth time waste me.'

"I think we made good use of all the time we had." I gave him a gentle kiss, thinking he was talking about all the years he had denied himself what he wanted.

"And I think we've still got plenty of time before you don't fancy me anymore." That was an uncomfortable thought, but I knew it would happen one day. Mr Williams liked boys, and I wasn't Peter Pan so would one day grow up.

"Before I don't fancy you anymore?" Incredulity! How could such a gifted boy be such a stupid boy? "To me thou art a sign of love," I mangled the original, but let Will say the rest. "And love to Richard, is a strange brooch in this all hating world."

I smiled, a bit sadly, thinking he didn't want to hurt my feelings. "It's ok, you like boys and one day I won't be one anymore. We'll still be friends but you won't look at me in the same way." I loved the way he looked at me, the way he would smile at my unclothed and naked form and run his hands over my body. When I was a grown up I knew all that would end.

I was sad about that but not overly so. It would happen and there was nothing I could do about it. "It's a bit like Richard, he is going to lose his crown and can't do anything to stop it."

"He can't. And time doth not allow you to remain the wonder that you are." Hide behind mock Will, it's easier. "You can't stay fourteen, lovely, wonderful fourteen. Fourteen and you do, perhaps, fourteenish things, but when fifteen doth come, things of fifteen may prompt thoughts different than those that came with fourteen. That, Brat, is my fear. Not that you will grow too old for me to love, but that you will grow too old to let me love you."

I was, and now understood that I was, a puppet on his string. He had dragged me, protesting not too much, from the safety of the loveless world I had lived in, and he could, with one snip of scissors, send me back there.

"Thinkst thou, that I who hath seen the face of Brat, could be content to be deprived of it?" I mangled Marlowe this time, just for a change.

"I won't, I won't," I protested, though I knew I couldn't really promise him that.

"I think I will always love you, even if it is as friends and we just have the memory of you finding me beautiful." I looked at him thoughtfully.

"We should promise to make the most of every minute we have together, make it like we might not get another." I knew it sounded dramatic but that's how I felt.

"And we might not, my Brat," I agreed; time, convention or his mother could rob me of him in the blinking of an eye. "And some of that time must be meaningfully spent, not passed in dalliance alone."

Disentangling myself from him, I fetched a copy of Dick Two, re-entangled myself with him, opened to Dick's 'What must the king do now' speech and told him to look at it, think about it and then read it out loud. "Just read, no actions, no attempt at acting with the body. Just let the words flow."

And while he did the reading and the thinking I played with the soft essential of him, partly to see if he could concentrate, but more because it felt so good to play with.

Soft and pliable, I bent it in my fingers, cupped it in a hand, not ignoring his not-wishing-to-be ignored balls. It stayed soft, relishing, I felt, being adored in repose as much as it did when called for active duty.

"What must the King do now," I started as Mr Williams fondled my cock and balls. It wasn't making me hard, and he wasn't trying to, it was more just a light stroking to let him enjoy the touch.

The first time I ran through it I tried to inject a bit of life into it, but Mr Williams stopped me and made me start from the beginning and after a few times through the words began to come out more naturally. I was concentrating on the words so much I almost forgot his hand on my cock.

"Good, my young thespian, good." And good it was; he'd at last allowed the words to do their job and not tried to do that job for them. And, and this I was really pleased with, he'd separated Brat from role without ever losing sight of Brat. His conscious mind forgot the fondling of his cock, that I stopped not all the while he spoke, but his subconscious forgot it not, and when he finished, he smiled, looked down at his still softness in my hand and grinned a "That's nice."

 

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