Date: Wed, 29 Dec 2021 11:58:38 +0000
From: AP Webb <pjalexander1753@gmail.com>
Subject: A Very Ordinary Boy (Part 1) Chapter 4

All the characters and events in this story are fictitious.  Any
resemblance to real people, either living or dead, is entirely
unintentional.

The story is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any way without the
express permission of the author who can be contacted at
pjalexander1753@gmail.com

A Very Ordinary Boy (Part 1)

From Chapter 3:

And talking of the gay thing, with no sign of either parent, here's a
golden opportunity to go straight up to my room, fire up the laptop, click
on College Jocks or Gayboyz4U, get naked (from the waist down, at least)
and rub one out, exactly what I've been desperate to do ever since being
literally bowled over by Noah Richmond in FfT.  Believe me, once I'm
sitting at my desk, hunky college guys going at it on the screen, shorts
and underwear (briefs if you must know) around my ankles and cock in hand,
it doesn't take long for me to produce a major cum-load onto the
carefully-placed towel that's on the floor between my feet -- the towel
that has to be regularly and cunningly hidden among the rest of my laundry
in order to conceal the results of my wanking activities from Rosa's radar.

**********

Chapter 4: This working life.

Wow, it's hard (no, not that!  Don't you ever think of anything else?)
Working, that's what's hard (okay, so, yes, my cock is too, but that's
nothing unusual and it'll have to wait a while before it gets any relief).
I've just got home from my first day at FfT and I'm shattered.  How I
managed to find the energy to ride home I have no idea.

I was awake and out of bed bright and early this morning, pretty much
excited at the prospect of starting my first shift as a working boy.  I
showered, wanked and dressed in record time and went down to the kitchen,
not quite sure what sort of reception I'd get.  My mum was drinking coffee
and reading the morning paper on her tablet, same as she does every weekend
morning.  During the week it's coffee and case notes in preparation for the
day's clients, and silence is expected of the number 1 (and only) son, but
weekends are more relaxed.  As I walked in I saw her lift her eyes up from
the screen and open her mouth ready to speak, but then she obviously had
second thoughts `cause her mouth closed and she looked back down.  I
figured she'd been about to pick up where we'd left off last night but
something made her decide that that wouldn't be such a good idea.  I wasn't
disappointed.

You remember I said things could go one of two ways once my mum found out
about the job, either, 1.) pleased with my new-found initiative, or 2.)
convinced my school grades would go down the pan?  Well, I wasn't wrong
and, lucky for me, she chose route number one.  It was all "Very
impressive" and "Real life experience" and "Widening horizons" (she really
doesn't do `normal mum' talk).  I thought I was home and dry and feeling
very pleased with myself, but then the second part of my prediction kicked
in, the, "Unimpressed that I hadn't talked to her about it first" part and
the, "You're telling me that Rosa knew about this before me?" part.
Suddenly any notion of feeling good vanished like snow in the Caribbean.  I
did try pointing out that I'm seventeen, not a little kid any more, and
that I shouldn't be expected to ask permission for every little thing,
especially if I'm supposed to be showing initiative and stuff.  After that
there was a lot of harrumphing about respect and consideration before a
truce was called and I retreated upstairs.  My dad came up later (there was
no 5-minute warning so at first I wasn't best pleased to see him,
especially as, not twenty minutes earlier, it was another `pants round the
ankles' situation -- though no on-line porn this time, just images of Noah
Richmond, naked and hard, populating my imagination).  He told me not to
take the negative things mum had said too much to heart, that, despite all
her training and experience and all the things she says about healthy
adolescent development, she is having a hard time adjusting to the fact
that I'm nearly an adult and about to "Fly the nest" and all that shit.  I
thought it was really good of him to come and explain and was more than
pleased when he told me he backed me to the hilt about the job and would do
what he could to get mum off my case.  Good old dad.  Maybe it's thanks to
him that mum kept her mouth shut this morning.  As I was leaving she even
said she hoped I'd have a good day.

It was after dad went downstairs last night that I finally got back to Dyl
and Si.  They'd been texting and leaving messages on my voice mail for
hours, asking about the interview and wanting to know when I was gonna be
starting the job, almost as if they knew I'd got it which, as it turns out,
they did.  I spoke to Dyl first and that's when I started to get
suspicious.  He sounded really shifty and evasive, as if he knew something
and wasn't allowed to tell, but I couldn't work out what it was and he
wasn't about to reveal anything.  With Si, though, there was no subterfuge
or underhand stuff, she just came straight out with it.  She knew I was
bound to get the job, she said, because she knew that there wasn't anyone
else being interviewed.  And how did she know this you're asking?  Well, it
was dead simple really.  It was because, on the day when she and Dyl had
gone in and picked up the application form from Mrs. Harrington, as they
were leaving the place, they (Si mainly) took the JOB VACANCY sign out of
the window.  Stole it, just like that!  Which explains, of course,
Mrs. Harrington's comment about not having anyone else interested in the
job.  So, basically she and Dyl had set the whole thing up.  I was so riled
up and angry at the pair of them (mostly Si) that I discontinued the call
half way through the conversation and didn't reply to any of the texts or
voice mails they spent the rest of the evening sending.

I tried to settle down to get an early night, you know, so I could be
well-rested and full of energy for my first shift at FfT, but whenever I
closed my eyes I couldn't stop thinking about what Dyl and Si (mostly Si)
had done.  What sort of friends were they anyway, so convinced that I
wouldn't be able to get myself a job (even a pathetic part-time job in some
rubbish café/bookshop)?  That I couldn't stand up to the scrutiny of
a competitive interview?  That they had to rig it to make sure there
wouldn't be any competition?  I couldn't remember the last time I'd been so
mad with the pair of them and that meant, of course, that I couldn't get to
sleep.  Usually I'm in Nodsville pretty much as soon as my eyes are closed
but last night I lay there for more than an hour, going over and over in my
head how pissed off I was with my, supposedly, two best friends.  In the
end I had no choice, I had to resort to the traditional and guaranteed
remedy for teenage boy insomnia -- wanking!  I thought about firing up my
laptop to find one of my fave porn sites but, really, I couldn't be
bothered to get out of bed and walk over to my desk to get it so I just had
to rely on my imagination.  Enter Noah Richmond, tall, incredibly handsome,
built, naked.  Okay, so in reality I've only ever seen him with all his
clothes on and have no idea what he actually looks like without them, but
that's the beauty of imagination, you can picture your perfect boyfriend
crush however you like - smooth, hairy, muscled, skinny, bubble-butted,
big-balled, thick-dicked, cut, uncut - the choices are endless and, even
better, they're yours.

The Noah Richmond I conjured up on the inside of my eyelids was standing in
the shower, naked (naturally), warm water and soap bubbles cascading down
his all-over golden-tanned body.  The silver-blonde hair on his head (if he
lived in California it would be considered ideal surfer-dude length and
colour) a perfect match for the neatly-trimmed nest above his swelling cock
and the few short wisps on his swinging ball-sac.  I watched (with my
mind's eye) as the combination of water and soap bubbles flowed down over
the defined rectangles of Noah's chest, briefly pausing in the small
triangle of near-invisible hair in the cleft between them, before swirling
round the pair of small but aroused and prominent nipples.  To start with
Noah's hands were sweeping over his body, pushing the soapy water down
towards his toned and muscular legs, tracing the jigsaw pattern pieces of
his rock-like six-pack (this is my fantasy, remember?).  It wasn't long,
though, before his hands were tracing the twin creases at the top of those
blonde hair-dusted legs, his fingers gently rubbing up and down the sides
of his ball-sac before closing in and repeatedly massaging his entire,
beautiful package.

Oh yes, definitely beautiful and also rapidly rising to the occasion,
Noah's uncut cock gradually swelling and lifting, the pale pink foreskin
automatically being pulled further and further back over the glistening
knob.  Finally, fully inflated, the whole eight, thick, veiny inches (a boy
can dream, you know) looked as if it was throbbing with pent-up energy and
power, the skin now comfortably trapped under the ridge below the shiny,
purple head.  As my fantasy crush brought his right hand up to grasp his
rigid tool he bent his knees slightly so I could clearly see his butt-crack
as it curved towards his ball-sac.  It was almost as if he was putting on a
show for my benefit (which, of course, in my imagination, he was!)  Then,
with his green eyes half-lidded and a smile of anticipation curling the
outside edges of his oh-so-kissable lips, the middle finger of his left
hand began to slide expertly along the crack, sometimes pausing at the
entrance to his hole.  The smile widened.  He'd done this before!

With his left hand teasing his butt-hole and his right repeatedly and
rapidly massaging his raging cock, it wasn't long before my fantasy Noah's
hips were thrusting, his knees were shaking and his breathing coming in
shallow gasps.  And his breath wasn't the only thing that was cumming.
With one last high-speed wanking flourish a Vesuvius of cum erupted from
his quivering tool, spraying the glass wall of the shower and dribbling
down it to mix with the soapy water as it disappeared down the drain.

Oh wow!  I've just gone back over that last section and, unlike my usual
style, it seems like I really let rip with the purple prose (we've been
studying different writing styles in English with Mr. Miles).  It's almost
like I'd made it up for some saddo reader of one of those on-line gay story
sites, but we both know that that's not true.  Anyway, no sooner had Noah
emptied his load all over the shower screen (in my head, of course) than I
realised that he wasn't the only one who'd cum.  Honestly, I had no idea
I'd even been hard.  I'd been so caught up in the vision I was creating of
Noah doing his thing.  It must have been my first ever `hands-free', my
cock and balls getting excited all by themselves, and only a few hours
since my last session.  Amazing!  Whatever, once I'd wiped myself down with
my trusty, crusty (and still damp from my previous wank) cum towel,
specially hidden under my bed for exactly that purpose, I was asleep in
seconds flat, and stayed that way till my alarm went off at 7 this morning.

After my non-conversation with my mum as I wolfed down two slices of toast,
a bowl of fruit Cheerios and half a carton of orange juice, I was out of
the house and cycling towards town in good time to be at FfT by 8.30 a.m.,
as instructed by Mrs. H.  She explained that she wanted me there early on
my first morning so I could get to meet her daughter, who'd be running the
show, and have a few minutes to begin to find my way around the place
before the first customers arrived.

Okay, so the daughter turned out to be the chalk to Mrs. H's cheese.  At
first I didn't even believe they could be related, much less mother and
daughter.  You remember I told you that Mrs. H was all bangles and floaty
fabrics and wacko hair?  Well, not Michelle, the daughter.  Michelle was
all professional-looking with black shirt, long white apron and short, neat
hair.  It definitely wasn't what I was expecting and it must have shown on
my face as I walked in `cause she laughed and said that, despite all
appearances, she really was Mrs. H's daughter and that, yes, they were
different but also very close.  She said she'd heard good reports about me
(from her mum) and was looking forward to getting to know me and to us
working together.  A good start, eh?  She said she'd been told I was keen
on reading and books, especially art books, and that, apart from busy times
like lunchtime and the mid-morning `I can't go another minute without a
caffeine hit' crowd, she was happy to leave me to the book side of things
while she concentrated on the café stuff.  Suits me. Then she
quickly showed me how to use the on-line ordering and stock management
system, the card-reader and cash register and left me to it, said she'd got
a batch of buns to get out of the oven in the small kitchen upstairs.  (I'd
been wondering about the fantastic smell.  Apparently she does all her own
baking, apart from some of the more- fancy patisserie stuff which she pays
an old friend from cookery college to make for her.)  And that was it, not
exactly the most comprehensive new-boy-on-the-job induction there's ever
been but, hey, how hard can it be?  (Stop it!  I've told you before about
your one-track mind.)

For the first hour or so there was a small but steady stream of customers
for the café but pretty much no-one who ventured as far as the book
area, just an elderly couple who came in to enquire about a book they'd
ordered a while back, wondering if it had come in yet.  It hadn't, at
least, according to the computer it hadn't and I definitely couldn't find
it behind the counter on the shelf that was reserved for books awaiting
collection.

Although the book part of the place was at the back, it still meant that I
had a good view of the café area at the front, and so, with hardly
any customers seeming to be interested in buying a book in the first hour,
I had both the time and the opportunity to check FfT's customers.  I was
surprised what a mixed bunch they were.  I'd expected them to be mostly
middle-aged or elderly, taking a break from their weekly shopping but, no,
not a bit of it.  Okay, so there were some who were the wrong side of
forty, but there were lots of young families, couples and, most
surprisingly to me, a steady stream of high schoolers (who knew they'd even
be awake and out of bed at that time on a Saturday morning?)

The lack of book-buying customers meant I had time to begin to get to know
the book stock and I soon realised that old Mr. Harrington really knew his
stuff.  The shelves were crammed with a very impressive range, fiction and
non, new and second-hand.  Surprise, surprise, it wasn't long before I was
engrossed in one of those old fashioned and glossy coffee-table books about
the art of Renaissance Florence, lots of paintings of the Madonna and Child
and suffering saints, but also a double-page spread of photos of
Michelangelo's statue of David taken from every possible angle.  Way sexy!
Get Mr. Google to give you the tour.

Then, just after 10.00, things started to hot up for Michelle and she roped
me in to take orders to customers sitting at the tables and to clear away
when they left, leaving her to do the serious stuff of making the drinks
and plating up the food.  After that it was non-stop until well into the
afternoon and so it was quite a surprise to take a drinks order -- one
skinny latte and one diet Coke - to one of the smaller tables and find Dyl
and Si sitting there, looking very pleased with themselves.  They (Si
mostly) were desperate to get me to give them the low-down on my first day
at FfT but I still hadn't forgiven them for the stunt they'd pulled to get
me the job, stealing the job advert out of the window, so I was in no mood
to chat.  I just put down the drinks, along with the bill, and walked
away. I couldn't see of course, but I was sure Si would have been giving me
the dead-eye behind my back -- she hates it when things don't go her way.
It wasn't long before I saw them leaving but I pretended not to have
noticed.  There's gonna be payback, I know there will, but it'll be worth
it to have got one over on the pair of them.

After the lunch rush things quietened down again so Michelle had me
emptying the dishwasher and re-stocking the gaps in the tea and coffee
shelves from the morning's sales.  Eventually she seemed happy that there
were no more café jobs that needed my help so I was free to go back
to `my' books and, you guessed it, Michelangelo's very naked David.

It was mid-afternoon, and after a busy hour of book-buying customers I was
back with David and many miles away from reality, when I was interrupted by
the sound of a forced and demanding cough.  I looked up into the jade green
eyes and wide smile of my late-night wank fantasy.  Have I ever boned up so
fast?  Then my attention flicked sideways to see Tani van Meyer draped
round Noah's neck like a human boa constrictor.  Have I ever boned down so
fast?  I hate to admit it but they really did look good together -- both
tall and tanned, clear-skinned and bright-eyed, white-toothed and
shining-haired.  Noah's perfect fringe was sexily curved across one eye and
Tani's expensively-manicured fingers were repeatedly rubbing up and down
the flesh of Jason's chest, exposed by the three unfastened top buttons on
his shirt.

It turns out they hadn't only come in for the free drinks and cake (he is
Michelle's cousin after all) but for Noah to apologise, all over again, for
his human steam-roller act yesterday.  He said Tani had insisted that he
should finish work early enough to come into town and tell me, again, just
how sorry he was for being so careless and stupid yesterday.  I tried
explaining that it was all good, that I hadn't suffered any lasting damage
and that he shouldn't beat himself up over a silly accident.  He looked
genuinely grateful that I was taking it so well and relieved when Michelle
came over and dragged Tani away, something about a new shortbread recipe
she wanted her opinion on, leaving me alone with Noah Richmond!  What would
I say?  Would I even be able to speak?  Here I was, Jack, totally ordinary
Smith, alone with the amazing and beautiful Noah Richmond who, only a few
hours ago, was making my cock and balls erupt without even being touched.
Shit!

With no Tani to take up all his attention, Noah's gaze travelled downwards,
coming to rest on the full colour images of the statue of David in the open
book in front of me.  Talk about embarrassed.  I could feel my face turning
lobster and beads of sweat forming on my forehead.  My brain went into
overdrive, desperately trying to come up with some sort of reasonable
explanation for my choice of undeniably oh-so-gay reading material.  But
once again my secret crush took me by surprise, telling me that, he too,
was a fan of Renaissance art and then walking round the counter to stand
beside me.  While I was trying to get my head around this completely
mind-blowing revelation, Noah was flicking through the pages of the book,
finally stopping at another double-page spread showing another statue of
David, this one by Donatello (No, we're not talking ninja turtles here) and
oh so different from Michelangelo's masterpiece.  If you went looking and
happened to find real life versions of these two statues when you logged
into your fave on-line porn sites, Michelangelo's David would definitely be
on Hunky Jocks or College Dudes 4 U while Donatello's would be on Flaming
Twinks or Boyfriend Fantasies.  No prizes for guessing my choice.  I was
just trying to find the balls to ask Noah which he preferred when Tani
reappeared, instantly grabbing her boyfriend's attention.  Apparently they
had, "Places to be and people to see."  Noah nodded and turned to go but it
looked to me that, given the choice, he would have preferred to continue
scoping out the works of 15th century Italian masters -- pathetic wishful
thinking on my part or what?  Just before he was dragged away he glanced
back at me, smiled and said he'd see me again soon.  And I swear that,
along with the smile, there was a wink.  Really - a wink!

The last hour or so of my first shift at FfT must have happened but I don't
remember anything about it.  I was still in a state of shock over the way
Noah had seemed reluctant to go.  And then there was the wink.  For me.
From Noah Richmond.  Too unreal.  And what about the two Davids --
Michelangelo's and Donatello's?  And how come Noah knew about Italian art
in the fifteenth century?  So many questions.  My head was all over the
place trying to come up with answers.  So when Michelle came to tell me to
cash up, tidy up and get off home I had no idea that so much time had
passed.  And then, just as I was opening the door to leave, there was
another surprise, my share of the tips.  I definitely hadn't been expecting
that, hadn't given it any thought in fact.  But Michelle explained the FfT
rule, that all `gratuities' (apparently that's the correct term for what
tips the customers leave) are shared between whoever is working that
particular shift, no matter who was doing what and however many hours
they've worked.  My share came to more than my official day's earnings.
I'm liking this working life more and more every minute!

**********

As an author, it's REALLY encouraging to know that there are people out
there who are taking the time to read what's been written, and then
bothering to send a response.  So please do feel free to write to me at the
email address given at the top of the chapter.  I welcome all comments and
guarantee to write back.  PJ

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