Date: Thu, 9 Dec 2004 23:56:19 +0000 (GMT) From: roy p...... Subject: Peter Johnson part one Here's the start of a little tale of teen angst and emotional awakening told from the angle of one of the three main players, Peter. It is all my own work; all the usual disclaimers apply. You probably shouldn't read it unless you are a 500 year old time lord living on a planet where there are no laws that say you can't. I first wrote it some years ago having wondered if I could write anything and now I'll thrust it onto an unsuspecting world. There is more of it - I'll spare you that though unless you're desperate enough to ask for it. 1 Peter Johnson woke up, slowly regaining consciousness of the world around him. One eye sleepily opened and almost focussed on the clock on his bedside shelf. Half past nine. The eye closed again and Peter reran in his mind clips of the dream he'd just broken. Oh yes, Nathan, the new boy in his class. Peter slid his right hand down his side, and round onto his crotch. Oh, no - wet again. He felt the warm stickiness on his sheet, his thigh, his dick. His mother's rantings echoed through his head. 'That's a dirty thing to do, Peter. If you cant control your filthy body, at least go to the bathroom to do it and save me all this washing.' He wouldn't have minded so much if she'd said it just to him, but she had held the dirty sheet up in full view of his father and elder brother as they sat at the kitchen table, having breakfast last Saturday morning. His father had frowned at him, with a look that said 'I'm disappointed with you again, Peter, and I'm going to have a strong word with you about this next time you want something from me.' Alan, his brother, had just looked at him with a smirk that promised unending ribbing about 'pulling his pud' in front of school friends for weeks. Hadn't any of them heard of wet dreams - it wasn't his fault that even if he'd 'relieved himself' before bed his dreams would give him an orgasm he couldn't enjoy during his sleep. Peter sat up in the bed. Here was that ridiculous feeling again - the sensual enjoyment of adolescent sexuality and the loathing of what he preferred. What wouldn't he give to be turned on by the lithe beauties in his brothers porn magazines, to get hard watching girl dancers on the television pop music shows or to have furtive grope sessions with one of the more forward girls in his class. However much he didn't want to, he couldn't stop himself stealing glances at his male classmates in the showers after P.E., or thumbing the aforementioned porno magazines hidden under his brother's shirts in Alan's bedroom wardrobe to gaze in awe at the erect studs servicing the girls that the books were really about. He became aware that his dick was standing to attention again, demanding to be satisfied. He leaned back against the wall and straightened his legs out, his hand wrapping itself around the insatiable source of his personal pleasure. Another two minutes away from the real world, lost in his own satisfaction on a higher plane where anything he liked was alright. He felt the excitement build to the point where nothing else mattered - five spurts later he was back in his old sad, sordid world with another stain to wipe from the carpet. Life sucked. Peter opened his wardrobe door and studied the tangled mess inside. He rummaged for a while and pulled out his black jeans and a black t-shirt. He felt in a black mood today - well, dirty grey really but this was the nearest equivalent that his mother wouldn't call scruffy and demand he change. Life still sucked. He dressed quickly, wasting no time on niceties like underpants or socks. The white trainers stood out from the black theme, but so what? Who would know what he meant by his choice of clothes anyway? Peter headed downstairs for breakfast, stopping only in the bathroom for a piss and to flush away the tissues he'd used to clean up his carpet. His mother was busy with the housework and he had to settle for a pop-tart and glass of milk. "The rest of the family can get up for breakfast at half-eight," his mother whined. "You can have whatever you get for yourself or go without - and tidy up after you." Life sucked even more. "I'm going to town!" Peter shouted from the front door. "Back before six!" SLAM went the door behind him, drowning any objection or reproval that was coming in reply. He pulled the contents of his pocket out into his hand. Enough for the bus fare there and back, and a McDonalds for lunch. A pound or so spare, enough for a computer magazine perhaps, or..... why did W.H.Smiths, for all their censorship and conservatism, have those magazines on display? He could stand for hours reading the computer gaming and playstation mags, avoiding the shop girls forever fussing and tidying the shelves, the infrequent visit by an assistant manager - "are you going to buy that magazine?" ("I'm not sure if I've got this one - when does next month's come out?") and glancing furtively at the copies of Hom and Gay Male on the shelf opposite, daring him to grab one and rush, exact cash in hand, to one of the tills as its previous customer left, wait the lifelong seconds while the girl scanned its barcode, slipped it into a bag and hand it back to him with a knowing smile. No, he'd never be brave enough to do that. It would be less embarrassing to slip it under a coat and steal it - even if he were caught, the interrogation would take place in an office, privately. Peter got on the bus, handed the child's fare to the driver, and was pleasantly surprised to be handed a ticket without the third degree questioning about his age. He sat about halfway down the bus and studied his fellow travellers. Mostly bored families on their weekly shopping expedition to town. Young children who breathed on the window and drew in the mist that was left. Husbands glancing at their watches and wondering how much it would cost to buy their wives the 'little extras' they wanted and still get home in time for the big match on TV. How nice it must be to be that happily married that it was boring. Peter turned his head and watched the houses speed by. That old song "Little boxes" sprang into his mind. His Dad had found it in the loft once, and terrified them all by playing it with accompanying memories of his youth as one of the 'trendies', or whatever he'd called them. Peter played one of his 'on the bus' games, looking at houses and imagining what was going on inside them. Kids playing the latest computer games, couples rowing, lovers fucking, boys wanking.... Peter frowned to himself, then realised that the bus was stopping at the shopping centre. He ran down the bus and jumped off just as the doors were closing, straight into a lady laden with shopping. "I'm so sorry," he blurted out, picking up her bags and hoping nothing was broken he'd have to pay for. "Nearly missed my stop...." He recognised Mrs Warner from his road. Shit! His dad would hear of this and... "Oh Hello Peter! I'm glad I've bumped into you!" "Been bumped into you mean!" " Yes, well, hmphh, no damage done, luckily. Now, my nephew Ian is coming to stay with me next week - you remember him, don't you?" Peter remembered. A tough little kid a year younger than him, a real pain, wouldn't play but fought like a demon, especially when he found he could beat Peter every time. A textbook sadist, if ever there was one. "Well, he phoned me the other day and asked if you still lived here. I think he enjoyed playing with you when he was here before." Enjoyed hurting me, thought Peter. "So I said yes, you still lived up the road and he could go and play with you, if that's alright?" "Well," said Peter, thinking as fast as he could, "I don't know, I've got to revise for my exams and Dad's made me promise to tidy my room and...." "Good, here's my bus. I'll get him to ring you when he gets here." Life sucked ultimate. Peter wandered round the shops aimlessly. If there had been a coke tin on the floor, he'd have kicked it. There wasn't. He couldn't. No new Playstation mags in Smiths, but a new assistant manager employed, it seemed, to stand over the shop girls so they fussed and tidied at an alarming rate, and to wait for him to come in and not buy anything. "Tried the Library," he'd whispered loudly. "They lend books." He stood in front of J.B.Sports' window. Looking but not seeing. Thinking but not remembering. "You'd look really sexy in those shorts!" Peter jumped and looked round, still taking in the words that had shocked him back to reality. Nathan!! "What did you say ??!!" "Oh nothing really. I just thought that the United strip would suit you." "What?? Why?? What the hell??..." "Oh, credit me with something" Nathan said. "I couldn't miss you staring at me most of last week in school" "But..." "And you not see me looking back. Perhaps I've had more practice than you." "What d'you mean?" "Looking at boys I fancy." Peter felt the sweat run down his back, his face turn red as a stop light and the mixture of fear and anger that made him draw back a clenched fist. "Sorry, sorry!" Nathan said almost in a whisper, looking down at the pavement. "Fancy a McD? At least let me feed your stomach as well as your hate." Peter unclenched his fist, but was still guarded. "Well alright, a Big Mac, large fries and a large Coke if you're paying." "You will?! I thought you were going to lay me out." Nathan looked up into Peters face again "I wouldn't blame you. You wouldn't be the first." Peter saw the resigned look disappear from Nathan's eyes. "Not yet, I'll have your food and an explanation first." The boys walked silently in through the gaudy red and yellow shopfront, neither daring to speak because they didn't know what to say. Nathan ordered the meals, handed over a twenty pound note and looked disparagingly at the small amount of change returned. "Can we sit in the window?" he asked. "Come on then." Peter replied, leading the way. They sat eating, still too afraid to be the first one to speak. Peter eventually broke the spell, with a mouthful of burger he said, "What's it all about then? I didn't speak to you at all last week, I know you're new here and that's all I know about you. I wasn't staring at you at all, you're just new, I was trying to weigh you up, that's all." "Sorry again. I misread you then. My fault. I don't blame you for flying off the handle. Perhaps..." "What?" "Perhaps I saw what wasn't there because I wanted it to be. Now you've finished and I won't spoil your meal I'll tell you. It'll get out soon enough anyway - it always does. I'm used to the gags and beatings now. It happened all the time at my last school.. I deserve it anyway. I'm gay. A faggot. Poof. Shirt lifter. Shit shoveller. Whatever you want to call me, I am, I always have been and I always will be. Please wait till we're outside before you hit me - I don't want you to get into trouble over me, I'm not really worth it." Peter sat open mouthed listening to Nathan's outpouring. "God, how can you say all that?" he said at last. "I've never heard anything so brave. Or stupid." Nathan looked into Peter's eyes. For once, he wasn't going to get battered. Yet. Was that a tear?? It certainly was, and it started his own waterworks. The two boys, thrown together by chance, frightened in different ways by themselves, were crying. Then smiling. Then laughing. "Was I that obvious?" Peter asked, between giggles. "Yes, I'm afraid so." Nathan replied. "That's why I spoke to you back at J.B.'s. A day or two staring, yes, but all week - that's either infatuation or hate. The smile could have been you thinking what you would do to hurt me. I had to know, and I'd rather have you on your own than with a gang." "Well I think you know now, don't you?" Peter said. "How can you be so open about it though? Nobody, but nobody knows about me." "I do." "Well, yes, but - I didn't tell you, you guessed." "I could have guessed wrong!" "You didn't. But if you'd have asked me, I would have laid you out!" Nathan remembered for a moment. "Self-denial is a terrible thing. You can keep the secret from everyone, but to hide from yourself is the worst torment you can endure. When I was outed at my last school, I wanted to die on the spot. Really wanted the Earth to open and swallow me up. Some bully guessed I was gay, pretended he was too, led me on until I thought he was genuine and opened my heart to him.. I loved him, and I told him so. God I lusted after his body! He said he would be OK with it, he just wanted time to adjust - only a day he said. Next day at school he led the biggest gang I've ever seen up to me and told them I was queer, a faggot and had wanted to suck his cock.. I was battered almost senseless and had to have three weeks off. I dreaded going back, and when I walked back in, some of them shouted 'Hey gay boy' and without thinking I turned round and answered "Yes?" I realised at that moment what I was, and whatever it was called that's what I was, and it didn't matter. The names, the stares and finger pointing, the beatings, whatever, didn't matter - I could live with what I was even if they couldn't." Peter sat back in the uncomfortable McDonalds chair. "Wheew!" was all he could say. "Wheew!" A moments silence. Then "And I thought my life was shit! Fancy going through all that! Is that why you left there?" Nathan relaxed back in the chair. "No. Dad got a new job here and we had to move. I was just getting settled again, you know, finding friends who didn't care about what I was if they found out, and putting up with the stick from those who did. They were getting bored with it anyway, I was no fun if I didn't fight back." "And now you think you've got to go through it all again?" "Yes, I know I have to." "Well, Nathan, I think you've found the first friend who knows and doesn't mind." The boys had long finished their meals and walked out of the restaurant. They spent the afternoon exploring the shops and walking round the town, Peter being the tour guide. Talking and joking normally. Except nothing about their sexuality was mentioned again that day. Eventually it was time to part and return to their respective homes. "See yer Monday, Nat!" "Yea, see yer, Pete!" Peter didn't look at anyone on the bus home. Nor at any of the houses. Neither did he think about Nathan. He was just happy being himself. Peter did think about Nathan later though. As he slipped into the warm clean sheets on his bed. Nathan. How could he not have remembered before! Who had just walked into his life, his dark, sad, sordid world and make it all sunshine and light again. He'd sat with his family at dinner, enjoyed their company, joined in their conversations, laughed at their jokes. Alright, they'd looked at him a bit strangely at times, but they hadn't scowled or frowned at him, derided or argued with him. Life was great. He'd even sat and watched the quiz shows his mother watched on TV, answered a few questions with her and felt proud of her when she got the jackpot question right. She should be on that show, he told her she could have won us that car. Nathan. Yes, he would think about him now. He got out of bed, found a clean pair of boxers and put them on. Back between those warm sheets. Nathan. Mmmm. Eyes closed, Nathan's smiling face on his mind. Sleep. That eye opened sleepily again and almost focussed on the clock. Eight o'clock. Breakfast. Nathan. Mmmmmm. Peter threw back the bedcover and looked down. Damp on the boxers, but dry on the bed! Yessss! He got out of bed, slipped off the boxers and wiped his damp pubes with them. Nathan. He grabbed another clean pair of boxers and a white t- shirt from the wardrobe drawer and covering his front with them, opened his bedroom door. All clear. He ran to the bathroom and locked the door. A quick pee, then on with the shower. He shivered with pleasure as the warm water ran down his face, his arms, his legs and his back as he turned round. Mmmmmm. Nice. Nathan. Mmmmmm. Nice! He soaped himself all over, feeling the soft lather on his skin. He rubbed his hard dick with a soapy hand, but only to wash it. Nathan. Mmmm. He turned slowly under the warm spray, washing off the lather and the night's sweat. Nathan. Mmmmmm. He dried himself off on a soft warm towel from the airing cupboard. Nathan. Mmmmmm. He pulled on the clean boxers, carefully tucking his semi-erection inside and fastening the button. He even threw the towel in the washing basket. Grabbing the t- shirt again, he walked back to his room. Where's that body spray - here it is. Psssssssss, pssssssst. Into the wardrobe and out with his new dark blue Levi's. The white t-shirt. White socks. The cleanest pair of trainers. In front of the mirror with a comb. Nathan. Mmmmmm. Me. Mmmm. "Mornin' Mum. Any breakfast yet?" "Good lord, what's up with you? Nice as pie last night, up early clean and smart this morning! Sunday, too!" Marjorie Johnson peered at her middle child. The mistake. The disappointment. The cause of so many rows with Henry in the first two years. Now look at him! Her heart swelled with pride. He might turn out alright, after all. "I haven't started breakfast yet, I'm letting your Dad sleep in a while this morning - something's troubling him at the moment, and he wont tell me -" She stifled the next sentence - too much already. "Can I help, then? Put the bacon on, or something?" "Yes, please." Peter watched the bacon brown slowly under the grill, and stirred the pan of beans he'd put on as well. His mother edged into his space by the cooker and cracked an egg into the fry pan. Henry Johnson strolled into the kitchen, wearing slippers, his dressing gown and a day's stubble. "Mornin' Marje." He looked at the boy, clean, smart, helping his mom. Henry rubbed his eye, pleased at the sight. It deserved some praise. "Mornin', son." Peter didn't expect any more. Henry couldn't give any more. It was enough for them both. "Mornin' Dad. Breakfast's nearly ready." Marje placed the five meals on the table. "Alan Anne-marie!" she yelled towards the door. "Breakfast!" Ten minutes later the family sat facing their morning meals. Alan felt fragile, a thumping headache. Too much lager last night. He looked at the breakfast and felt the bile rise in his throat. He pushed the plate away. "Sorry, Ma! I couldn't face a thing today." Anne-marie played nonchalantly with her new doll. Held it over the food, waiting for it to eat. "Yes. Alright!" at her mother's insistence that she eat the breakfast. Peter finished first. "Can I be excused, please?" he asked the gathering in general. "I'd like to watch the computer game programme on the telly for a while." "Alright", his father replied, "you can." Peter stood up, and placed his chair up to the table. "Mum, call me when you've all finished - I'll wash up for you." Marjorie and Henry looked at each other quizzically. 'A girl, perhaps' they both thought. Peter flicked through the channels till he found the show he wanted. He watched intently, but took none of it in. Nathan. Damn - I don't know where he lives, don't even know his phone number. "Peter!" his mum's voice jerked him back. "They're in the sink ready for you!" Later that afternoon the phone rang. Henry Johnson answered it, hummed and mmm'ed into it for a moment, then turned and said "Peter! Its for you!" Peter leapt to the phone, his heart in his mouth. "Hi!" "Hi Pete! Its Ian! Remember me?" Peter's heart sank. Ian. Damn. "Hi Ian, yes - I remember you." The disappointment was noticeable in his voice. "Do you want to come and hang out?" Ian asked. "I'm surrounded by boring old farts here and if I don't get out, I'll take up knitting or something." "Well," Peter hesitated, grasping for an excuse, "I'm a bit busy right now, later perhaps...?" "Look," Ian said, "If its about last time, I'm sorry. I'm not into belting people now, I just want to chill, kick a ball, anything." Peter didn't know why, but he suddenly felt a little pang of sorrow for this guy. Pushed out to an aunt so's his folks could go off on holiday again, he thought. "OK then, I'll come down." "Cool. See ya!" Peter thought he could hear a smile in Ian's voice. Alright then, he'd go. He could always leave if Ian got heavy. And tell his aunt not to ask him again. "I'm going down to Mrs. Warner's. Ian's staying with her again." he said to his folks. "Won't be long, I expect" "You be careful, Peter. I remember he wasn't good for you last time." his mother warned.. "I will. Back soon." Ian Price was waiting on Mrs. Warner's doorstep. "Hi Pete, come in. The old farts are in the back, nattering. I'm out of my tree!" They went upstairs to Ian's room. Ian's room. Not the spare room, Ian's room. Books, posters, clothes strewn around - and a computer on a desk. "What's going on?" Peter asked "Your folks off on a world cruise or somethin'?" "Not quite," Ian sighed. "They were to go on holiday this week, but then Mum came home early one day and found Dad in bed with our neighbour Mrs Burns. Huge row, mega fight, the works. She nearly killed him. Threw him out, trashed his clothes, everything. Now they're divorcing and I'm told I've got to decide who I want to live with." Ian looked into Peters eyes. "How can I do that? I love them both. I know they've been crap with me sometimes, but I saw why before this. They were very close and had to be together. I just got in the way at times so they'd pack me off to relatives and have a holiday together. That sucked and I became an arsehole to fight back. Demanding attention, I suppose." Peter could see Ian's eyes watering up. He couldn't take this, from a kid who'd taken delight at bashing him up at every opportunity last year. He would go. Make an excuse, say he hoped things'd get better and go. Now. Too late, Ian's emotions exploded in a sea of tears and he threw his arms around Peter. Peter held his arms back, away from Ian. This was too gross! "Wanna know why I kept beating you up last year? 'Cause I'm gay and I fancied you, that's why. I hated it, because I wanted to be like my Dad, loving a girl who loved him so much that she wouldn't share him, even with their child." Ian's sobbing overwhelmed him, the tears running down his cheeks onto Peter's shoulder, soaking into the clean white t- shirt. Slowly Peter brought his arms round onto Ian's back and held him tightly. After a moment or two, Ian straightened up, pulling out of Peter's grasp. He looked down at the floor and folded his arms on his chest. "Sorry about that." he said, not looking up. "It's that all my stuff here because I've come to live here." Peter looked around again. So the tough guy's life has come to this. A back bedroom at a sixty-five year old relative's house and a few of the many luxuries he had enjoyed as a spoilt only child. The pathetic tragedy of the situation exposed itself to him, a spoilt child who could have had everything for the asking, really got none of what he really wanted - love. "Whaddaya mean, fancied me?" he heard himself say, Ian's earlier words having finally sunk in. 'Don't answer that' he silently wished. 'I don't need this, I don't want to hear it.' "Like I say, I wanted to be in what is - was a regular relationship. I saw the strength it gave my folks, the lifestyle that went with it. I wanted to be as happy as they were - were." He looked down again as he repeated that word, this time as a past tense. "But I couldn't hack it. None of the girls did anything for me. I thought, well its just a case of waiting for the right one to come along, I'll just wait... but then I came here last summer and ...well, when I saw you, I had the feeling I knew I'd been waiting for. But you were....a boy! I hated you so much for that, you just had to pay. So I hurt you every way I could. You ruined my dreams, my life, all my plans for my future. Then when I went back home I realised you hadn't, it was me. I'd not wanted to be like someone else, I'd wanted to be someone else. I'd never thought about me - the real me. I didn't even know the real me - and I didn't want to. I hated the real me, and didn't know why until my folks had the break- up. All I knew was, I had to come back and see you, because you held the key to why I was so mixed up. And now I know and so do you. Sorry. Its your turn to hurt me now - go on - I won't fight back." Ian flinched as Peter raised his arm, but instead of lashing out, it stretched forward a hand of compassion onto his shoulder. "No need," Peter said. "No need." Ian and Peter sat on the bed and talked for hours. Eventually Marjorie Johnson came to collect her son, who had missed his meal by two hours. "Jeez, sorry, mum. Ian and I've been talking and I never noticed the time." turning to Ian he added "You going to our school, then now you're staying here awhile?" "I will be," his new friend replied " but not this week. I've got a week to settle in first. See you soon?" "Yeah, sure. Can I drop by after school tomorrow an' see how you're getting on?" Marjorie thought it strange that the boys shook hands as they parted, but then, it had been a strange weekend.