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 fourteen
Brat was back in England. Time had ticked its relentless way around the stars and Brat was back!
I didn't meet him at the airport as I wanted to. Sis talked me out of that.
"Poor kid'll be jet-lagged to buggery," she had said, "No way he's gonna want a luvvy huggy greeting at Heathrow."
What she meant, and what I knew she meant, was that if Brat didn't want to know me anymore, then the arrivals area at Heathrow was not the place for him to make that evident.
"Wait, Rich," she advised, "Few more days won't make any difference."
Not to her maybe, but they did to me!
In fact it was several thousand seconds before I had a call from Brat's mother, saying that the legal people felt there was absolutely no need for contact not to be re-established and, if I wished, she'd bring Brat on Friday for the weekend.
If I wished?!!
"If he'd like to," I attempted to sound in control of myself.
Apparently he did want to!
Brat was back.
"Excuse me, Mr Williams," a no longer ice mother said when she arrived at my door, "I do rather need to use one of your bathrooms. And," she added over her shoulder as she made her way into Arden House, "I expect you two want to say 'hello' after all this time."
"Hey Mr Williams," I wasn't sure how he would react to me after all this time, would he think I was too old, would he know what I had been up to?
It was Brat. My Brat.
A bigger, taller and well-tanned Brat, but still my Brat.
Almost scared how he would react, I stared into his green eyes, praying I wouldn't see rejection in them.
I didn't!
Tentatively I opened my arms, inviting a hug, and joy beyond joy, Brat was in them, hugging close, as tears of relief flooded my eyes. "So frightened I might have lost you," I whispered as he clung to me.
"Never, never" I promised him, then broke the hug as I heard Mum flush the toilet and said a few muted goodbyes as she left.
"I didn't think you would want me anymore," I told him as he made me a cup of tea. "I thought I would be too old."
"Too old to want me anymore was my fear," I told him, putting tea in front of him, but before he could answer that my phone rang.
"So sorry, Mr Williams," Brat's mother was saying, "But I forgot to tell you. Jacob's GCSE examinations start in two week's time and he is now on what his school terms, 'study leave'. I think, if it's amenable to you, of course, that he may be better off doing that study with you. I understand that his only hope of good grades are in English and Drama, and it is possible you may be of some assistance to him with those."
"Brat," I covered the mouthpiece, "Your mum. She's saying something about you doing study leave or something here. Perhaps you should talk to her."
I passed over the phone. This was a development way beyond anything I had expected; way beyond any dream as well.
"What for the whole two weeks?" I couldn't quite believe she was suggesting I spend two weeks' study leave with Mr Williams.
"But what will you do?" Mum was, well, my Mum and I couldn't really imagine her being able to fill two weeks if she didn't have to look after me.
"Oh, well, er, say hi to him from me." I put the phone down and looked at Mr Williams a bit in shock.
"She says Steve is coming to visit," I mumbled. I definitely didn't want to be home for that!
"Perhaps she's missed him as well," I said dryly.
Brat was still dressed, still wearing clothes. I didn't want Brat wearing clothes, but, perhaps as he was now almost sixteen, he didn't feel comfortable being naked anymore.
The age thing was something I knew we had to get sorted. Several times before, Brat had said things about him not being fourteen anymore, me not wanting him anymore because he wasn't fourteen any more, and there was more than an element of truth in that.
Even Sis had fastened onto fourteen when she told me to go out and find a rent boy.
Fourteen was how I pictured Brat in my mind. Always fourteen.
"Sis told me to go and get a rent boy while you were away," I tried to make it sound casual, everyday sort of thing, "Said I'd find a nice skinny fourteen year old one if I had a look around."
As a way of getting round to clearing up the age thing between us, it was a pretty clumsy start.
Brat's green eyes widened in shock.
"If you don't want me anymore," I tried to make it sound like no big deal, like it wouldn't break my heart. "I know you like younger lads, like I'm not like I was when we first met."
That was true. I was virtually as tall as him now, not broad but still growing, and my body was no-longer the skinny lithe form which had been perfect as Puck. Now I was getting muscular, not like a body builder but just as I filled out my height and I knew I could be described as a young man rather than a kid.
I poured us both another tea - what had things come to? Us drinking tea? "I do still, and always will, think of you as the fourteen year old elfin angel who dragged me, not screaming and not protesting, into a real life. I know you aren't Peter Pan, can't stay fourteen, and it's not fair of me to want you to stay fourteen.
Deep down, though, somewhere deep inside you, I suspect you also wish you were still fourteen."
I nodded sadly. "Everything was so exciting then, I could do anything, be with anyone, now..." My voice trailed off, I knew I should do what Steve had advised and tell him everything but that just seemed so hard.
"Couldn't we just pretend?" I asked tentatively, worried he might think that I was being, well, to say the least, strange. "I've heard of a thing called role play. I suppose it won't work if you got hairy legs now, though," A joke was always the best way to say something really important.
"We could," I quite liked the idea of pretending to be a shy schoolboy virgin, though in truth I was still a school boy virgin.
"I'm not hairy so that won't be a problem," with my fair hair and complexion what little fuzz I grew was albino, and I usually shaved that off as I found it annoying.
"You want me to dress like a fourteen year old?" I had a naughty idea.
"You could," I agreed, weights lifting a little as I realised I hadn't fatally upset him. Those weights lifted far enough for me to take a risk.
"And you could undress like a fourteen year old as well."
I waited for him to shake his head, to disagree and look sad.
"Whatever you like," I gave him a little smirk, remembering how confident I had been when we first met, and shimmied out of my hoodie and t-shirt.
"This what you want to see?" I asked teasingly.
"You have no idea just how much I've dreamed of seeing that," and I don't suppose he did.
I just let my eyes feast on his bare chest, on his fuller and more rounded shoulders, on his nipples, on the flat sweep of his stomach down to the waist of his jeans and the longing and desire I felt must have shown in my eyes because he gave a delighted little giggle, much more of a fourteen year old giggle than a four weeks off being sixteen year old giggle.
Giggling I undid the top button of my jeans and slid down the zip so the white of my underwear was revealed.
"I'm well fucking horny," I told him, standing closer so I could feel his breath on me, "I wank my fourteen year old cock at least three times a day. All the girls in my year fancy me, but I want my drama teacher to bend me over his desk and fuck my fourteen year old arse." I knew I was overdoing the dirty talk a bit, but I was horny and getting into the pretence.
He'd said something similar when he first came into my life, and I knew he was only partly pretending, but now was not the time for that.
Perhaps, one day, it would be the time. Not now though.
"Your drama teacher isn't here, I'm afraid, but there is someone here who is desperate to suck your cock and eat your spunk." Dirty, role play talk? Perhaps. Real 'let me suck you dry' talk? Definitely!
"Not sure I should let an older guy do stuff with me," I shimmied out of my jeans and socks so I was just in my boxer briefs.
"Not sure I should let him suck my dick even if I wanted him to." I wrapped my arms around his neck so he could touch me, wrap me in his arms, do whatever he wanted with me.
"Understandable," I purred into his neck and stroked his back while I purred. "No reason why a wonderful boy should want an old man to suck his cock, is there? Would be a dreadful thing to happen to a sweet, innocent schoolboy, wouldn't it?"
I slid a hand inside the rear of his boxers, cupping and squeezing a still glorious bum cheek.
I giggled, then moaned as he squeezed and cupped my bum cheeks.
"Might be fourteen but I'm not innocent," I told him with the sort of bravado I had when I was that age. "You like my bum Mr Williams? Want to see my fourteen year old arse?"
"Oh, you are, my lovely Brat, you are innocent still. Not the purest white of freshly driven snow maybe, but still innocent enough to allow an old man to love you."
I went from his bum to the back of a thigh, still a smooth and wonderful thigh. A thigh to be adored.
"More than that, though," I teased back, "I want to see your cock."
"Then you gotta take my underwear off," I told him, wanting him to undress me. "Been wearing `em all day in my year nine classes."
"A very unnecessary item of clothing," I eased the unwanted garment down, pushing it south of his knees. "A boy of your inclinations should allow things to be free," I moved my hand to the front of his leg and slowly upwards till I found his already hard boy delight, "So things like this can happen," slowly easing his long and pliable foreskin up and down, "To something like this." A full fist squeeze to demonstrate my point.
I put my hands back and moaned loudly.
"Fuck yeah, wank me, fuck, fuck," my eyes were screwed close and I bucked my hips forward as if to hump his hand.
"Yeah, yeah, I need it," I clamped my mouth on his and tongued him.
And need it he clearly did. Though if his need was greater or lesser than mine would have been a matter for considerable debate.
Mouths locked and tongues entwined I eased him backwards till his bum reached the table edge, where he took the hint and leant backwards, thrusting his groin out and up and presenting his cock in an ideal position for sucking.
I practically fell backwards on to the table, my groin thrust out. Mr Williams clearly didn't need me to ask, my cock was jutting out at a right angle and he was on top of it in an instant.
More cock than when I had last seen it. How could a boy's cock grow so much in three months? Still slender, still with that wonderful foreskin, but probably now its full adult size. It measured later - it had to be measured just for the sake of the records - at a tiny fraction over six inches and it filled my mouth with pure delight.
I was greedy to begin with, cock-deprived for three long months, but did manage to control myself and think of boy and boy pleasure and not simply of my own need.
I gave him my best treatment, slow licks of the soft underside, tongue twirls round the head, full mouth swallows and ball sucking as well.
My Brat did not stop moaning for the whole time that it took to coax out his spunk, wonderful, thick, creamy spunk, no mere taste and hint of ambrosia now, a full meal of it, and not one single drip went to waste.
"Fuck yeah," I lay back on the table as he milked the last of my spunk from my balls. It felt like I had emptied my body of spunk, the sort of load I hadn't managed to produce since I was last with him.
"So good," my cock slipped wetly from his mouth and I lay panting, letting him decide what to do next. I was in fourteen year old mindset, letting the adult decide what he wanted to do with me.
I understood Brat wanted me to take control, but that was not the way things had worked between us before and, sentimentally, I wanted things to be as much as they had been before as was possible. As far as things of the flesh were concerned, Brat called the shots, not me.
I did have some control in other areas though, and these I exercised.
"Lounge, spliff, booze and lap," I said and Brat grinned. He seemed very happy to be home again. I was delighted beyond delight that he was home again.
I giggled as he led me into the lounge, pouring the drinks as I rolled a spliff and lit it.
"You think a fourteen year old should be smoking this?" I asked him, blowing smoke in his face as I sat in his lap.
"Of course not. That's why all the fourteen year olds who have sat where you now sit have smoked one." He knew no other boy had ever been where he was now, but a little tease was fun.
I giggled more and let him take a drag on the spliff before taking another one. "Not worried I'm going to puke up over your carpet?" I asked him, taking a swig of the booze.
"Never happened before."
His thighs were irresistible, so I made no attempt to resist their appeal and stroked them lovingly and adoringly.
"Still got wonderful legs, my Brat," I said, bringing him back to almost sixteen.
"They'll always be your thighs," I told him, giving him another snog. His hands were confident now, stroking my thighs as if he had stroked the thighs of a hundred boys and I moaned happily.
"Not too old for me, Brat." I could be confident now, the fear had gone, the ice broken. "Love you just as much. Love you just the same."
He snuggled in closer, taking care not to burn me with the spliff. It was what he wanted to hear. His fear had been the same as mine and we had kissed and sucked that fear into oblivion.
"Thought I'd be no good to you," I confided, "thought you would want a younger boy."
"I didn't fall in love with Jacob Brat because he was fourteen, I fell in love with him because he was, and is, Jacob Brat." This little moment of seriousness, this moment of confessing our groundless fears, was important, and would only need the one doing of.
"Oh, yes, Jacob Brat at fourteen was a vision of perfection; that I can never deny. Michelangelo would have carved statues of him by the hundred. But, I do have to say, the present edition is pretty damned good as well."
"And I fell in love with Mr Williams because underneath he wasn't the mean ogre everyone said; he was kind and lonely and just needed a boy to show him how to love."
We kissed more, his hands on my body, and I moaned happily in his lap.
Two weeks then of pure bliss, and for not one single second in those two whole weeks did Brat allow a single item of clothing to touch his perfect body.
Three times he lay on the dentist chair for me and twice I made him spunk, cock untouched. Once on his thighs and once his nipples. His armpits were an orgasmic failure, sad to say, but a splendid and wonderful failure nonetheless.
Both the paddle and the crop lived up to their makers' claims, Brat asking each time if I would use them for him. The crop proved exceptionally effective, leaving heart shaped marks all over the front of Brat's upper body. I had protested that if I wounded his thighs I'd have nothing to enjoy later, so he just gave his wicked grin and said, "Go somewhere else then."
But although we played a lot, smoked a lot and drank more than we should, Brat still did his work, revised for his exams and almost made me cry when he told me that he was going to do a Shakespeare soliloquy for his Drama practical. What had he chosen? What else but Queen Mab.
"Jesus Jacob, if you don't get full marks for that I don't know what will." Mr Reynolds, my head of year, was escorting me back from my Drama Practical which I had to deliver to an outside examiner. I had done Shakespeare's Queen Mab speech, and while they didn't give you the mark on the day I knew it had gone down well.
Mr Williams had coached me for two weeks, taking me deep into every line of that speech while making sure the whole thing still worked as a complete piece. I was sure it would get me an A, but if it didn't it wasn't going to be a big thing. I had already decided to leave school and concentrate on my acting full time, and was deciding what I would film that winter ready for the next summer.
'Hawaii Hack' hadn't been high art, but it had done what Paul wanted and been a feel good film which had got decent reviews and made the studio good money. Doing a bit of a comedic film had helped my profile, showing I could do a whole range of material and my agent was sitting on a number of offers.
"You're really going to do Equus?" It was the question everyone was asking and I gave Mr Reynolds a shy smile.
"Yeah don't tell anybody, but rehearsals start today." Mr Reynolds gave me a sour look and I guessed he didn't like the idea, but as of ten minutes ago I was no longer a pupil at his school, so didn't give a shit.
No-longer a schoolboy. The idea was strange, and I wondered what Mr Williams would think as I walked out of school for the last time and headed for where his car was waiting.
"Sixteen, no longer at school. You my boy, are legal now," I grinned and hugged him as he sat in the front passenger seat of my car, and, wonderfully, I didn't give a stale turd who saw.
"And so to Equus," I released him, though he gave no indication that he desired releasing, "And that, my love, is going to be like nothing you have ever done before."
"I know, I know," people kept telling me that and already it was getting a bit annoying.
Annoying and true. I knew this performance would have to be my best, that there would no hiding anything (quite literally) when I was up there.