Johnny Come Home
by Rafael Henry
Chapter 4
I plugged in the camera and selected the 'play movie' mode. We are up in the boys' bedroom. John has set up the camera on the cupboard shelf presumably as we can see the far end of the room and John standing in the middle of the floor still in what he calls his school uniform. His ox blood jumper comes off first, along with everything underneath to reveal his bare torso. He looks good like this, still with that lean look, the musculature in the early stages of development, the nipples a dark pink. His face is expressionless as he thinks about what he's up to; his little performance. And the trouser undoing as he continues to stare at the camera. Down come the trousers and we see John in his pale pink underpants, more a peachy colour really, the old-fashioned boys' kind with what my mother called a 'door' at the front, which I roundly rejected, and through which boys struggle to find what they need to find in order to pass water. John is clearly finding this experience interesting as he slips his hand inside his pants to readjust matters.
He stands for a few seconds, arms down, palms flat against his thighs. Two hands begin to roll down the waistband to make the garment briefer until we can almost see the root of his penis as it emerges from the abdomen. There's no sign of pubic hair thus far. The boy turns away, grabs his white games shorts and stoops low to put his feet through and then pull them up into place. He picks up a book from the bedside table and arranges himself on the bed. His back to us, legs pulled up to maximise his teasing. It's a scene from my story, more or less, that afternoon at Quintus Beer's cottage, on his bed. But there's a difference. I was naked, and waiting.
He's read the story and I've shown him the map of the city so he's knows exactly where I live with my parents. We reckon it's a six-mile bike ride and no more than twenty minutes on his drop handle bar pedal cycle. It's just a matter of arranging a day for John to come over.
We ran the movie through again as John leans over the table with his shoulder hard against mine. I have my left hand free and I'm tempted to have the first contact with the boy's flesh that is revealed, as he leans forward over the table, between the top of his pants, the same ones by the look of it, and the bottom of his ridden-up shirt and jumper. I've edited out the beginning and ending of John's home movie and just left the relevant part, freezing it where he's lying on the bed in his shorts, knees bent.
'That's nice John.' I can't resist telling him. He's got the idea perfectly.
Quintus had seen everything of me by this time, and I had permission from my mother to stay at his place for the night, due to the weather being too bad to cycle home in. Up in his bedroom I was just waiting for him, and as ready as I ever would be to give him everything he desired of me. Love expressed and love returned.
'Have you mentioned me to your mum and dad John?' I ask, as we sit on the park bench. Between us and hidden, our hands are together. 'Me helping you with your IT work?'
'Yes. I told them you were.'
'And?'
'They were pleased about it. My dad said he ought to get you over to teach him too.'
'I will if you want?'
I know more about computers that anyone in the school, even down to writing basic programmes, and certainly enough to easily cover the exam syllabuses. I'm the only person doing the course in Computer Studies which I'm learning at an evening class. Maths and Music are my other subjects, which involves some piano playing.
I learnt a huge amount from Quintus about sculpture techniques, mostly in clay built up around an aluminium armature and the subsequent plaster work to make a mould from which the figure can be cast. My people at home gave me the use of a garden studio to make my messes in, which I also use as my bedroom and computer workspace. In there I have perfect privacy to explore what I like without any fear of interruption. If you said I was a fortunate sixteen-year-old, I would agree with you. When we got the news that my days at the College were over due to my dad's financial problems, Quintus gave me a ton of information about available resources, details of books and websites I could use in my sculpture adventure, which frankly speaking has grabbed my mind more than the other stuff. Mathematics I shall probably fail completely. And Music possibly. Computer Studies I could pass now, with more than a year to go of the so-called course in this place, Nonsuch Community College.
The idea of meeting John's people appeals to me. I want them onside basically. A clandestine relationship with John will be fraught with problems. I need to somehow win them over.
Meanwhile John who has taken over my digital camera now, tells me he has made another short movie, and this time he's not holding back on the content. His younger brother is again, unknowingly, the star of the five-minute show.
'I think this better be the last time I lend you my camera John.' I said with a low laugh, not meaning it. I really don't want any digital self-examination from John. We have a story to re-enact.
'Just this last one then?'
'Ok. I hope it's not you? If it is I'm going to delete it here and now.'
'No it isn't.'
No? Then who is it?
Johnny's grandfather and grandmother came over from Poland in the nineteen fifties to work in the brickyards not far from the city. His father, Adrean, has a good job at the diesel engine factory and his mother works as a nurse. They struck me as nice people, quiet and unassuming. I'm told that about half of households in England now have a personal computer in the home. But Adrean is struggling to use his effectively, what with a dial-up internet connection and all that rubbish. I spent a couple of hours going through various quite elementary functions trying to din it all into Adrean, but it will take constant repetition to really make real progress with him. But the good news as far as I'm concerned, and Johnny too, is that Adrean and Anna have accepted my friendship with Johnny, based on my helping hand with his foggy understanding of Information Technology, just as I am with his mystified dad. I made copious notes for Adrean and at my third visit he had grasped all of the basic concepts of word processing, email and downloading and editing photos. There were some lovely ones of John and his brother we put up on the monitor screen after I installed a copied Paint Shop Pro. They make an extraordinarily pretty family.
Anna made tea for all of us as I had to face the inevitable questioning about my family, where I lived, what I was doing at school and so on; a hurdle I had no difficulty with, and being entirely truthful with it. After all, I know Johnny has formed an attachment with me, and I with him, so there's no way I'm going to damage our prospects of going forward with this. But I'm just a bit concerned that his people are wondering why a boy of thirteen wants to get involved with another boy three years his senior? It happened to me the other around with Quintus Beer didn't it?
My parents kindly allow me sole occupancy of the Annex, as they call it, in our garden. It was originally intended for my grandparents but they declined the offer and lived out their lives in the small house in France very close to the sea down the west coast, and where we had our annual summer holiday. Very nice too, as I watched the boys playing on the beach in the tiniest swimwear possible which barely covered their winkies, until of course it was time to change into dry ones, equally minimal, after their bathe. It was a beach where nudity was tacitly permitted and where men and women looked at boys and girls who tried not to look back at them. I was late into puberty, as my mother unkindly pointed out, and at five foot six and slim with it, I had no pubic hair and a circumcised penis that an eleven-year-old would not have been very proud of. But I was still looked at thank goodness. Five years on, things have improved.
So here's a place where I'm all set up to live and work at my own pace without disturbance. Adrean had asked me questions, unsurprisingly, about my home and general circumstances which I answered fully enough, more than enough probably, to convince them that I was an asset rather than a liability, therefore a perfectly decent guy for Johnny to be friends with, even to shelter from the metaphorical storms of life under my protective wing.
While I was working with Adrean, the boys had gone up to their room to change out of what they considered to be their school uniform, and come back down in casual shorts and football tops and arranged themselves together on the sofa made for three. John looked pleased with himself, well aware that I was making a very positive impression, while his brother Richard lay on his back, knees up with his head resting in John's lap having his face and hair gently tended to, eyes closed as he enjoys the attention of his loving elder brother. Adrean's computer sits on a table nearby, so I can appreciate the view of the boys, near the end of their day, nicely relaxed. Anna is in the kitchen, Adrean is getting to grips with Paint Shop, as I catch Johnny's eye. He smiles as he moves his fingers through his brother's hair, blonder than his, and a prettier boy by far. The way he's sitting, legs slightly apart, knees raised, gives me the classic view into his flappy shorts right to the top as his pretty winkie lies oblivious against his creamy thigh. I smile back and we keep looking until Adrean has yet another question.
I can't take my eyes off Richard as he snuggles yet tighter into his elder brother. What is captivating me has subtly changed. Is changing by the second.
It was nine thirty when Anna told the boys to go up to bed. They dutifully went without any argument. There's a tone in Anna's voice that suggests to me that she's not someone you argue with, unlike Adrean who strikes me as a far less assertive person, and frankly, not the sharpest knife in the box. Maybe I'm misjudging him. So we carry on with the lesson, cutting and pasting, for another ten minutes until he asks me if I wouldn't mind going up and saying goodnight to the boys. How very nice to be asked.
The room was quite dark, save for the light from the hallway. I went over to John who put his hand out which I held. He gave mine a gentle squeeze as I leaned over him to say the words. He let go of my hand and took my head in both hands and pulled me down to meet his mouth. We gently touched. Lightly. That's all it was. Just a gentle touching of lips. Nothing else.
'And me .' Comes the voice through the darkness.
Little brother is smiling at me as I move over to his bed, the covers down and just covering one hand, out of sight and fiddling. He beckons me lower. When my face is just a few inches from his, he pulls me closer.
'Now me.'
He's been practicing, this boy. He's prettier than John, a lighter hair colour and just a little fuller in the face, and figure too.
I had to tear myself away from him. The little lip touches that John gave me promised everything, but this was for now. I felt Richard's tongue penetrate my mouth, twisting and turning around mine in that way Robin's did just before he came, with both hands holding my head, preventing any thoughts of escape. With one hand now, he pushes the covers down far enough to show me. Breathless and released, I have to look. What perfection! What was growing on the sofa with his brother is now fully developed as it twitches gently within the boy's fingers.
I had to stand in the upstairs hallway for a minute to gather my thoughts after leaving the boys' room, for obvious reasons. Downstairs a grateful Adrean offered to drive me home, an offer I couldn't refuse. He parked the car outside the house and turned off the engine.
'Thanks for your help tonight Alex. I think I'm getting there, slowly.' He says with a chuckle. 'And thanks for helping John too. He's started to talk about you. He seems to be quite excited by everything at the moment.'
Oh is he? Umm.
'He tells us that you make things at home. Figures in clay. Is that right?'
'Yes. I had a teacher at my last school who taught me some sculpture techniques. Clay modelling and plaster casting mainly. He's been a big influence on me. You don't forget that, ever.'
'Were you fond of him? Boys can get quite close to their teachers.'
'I agree, they can.'
'John's feelings can run deep.'
'That's not a bad thing, is it?'
'No of course not. Do you mind?'
'Mind what?'
'If he wants to get close to you? Both Anna and I think he does, even if he doesn't realise it himself. Would you run away from him; if that was the case?'
'No of course not! Never, not in a million years Adrean.'
I looked at the clock in the hall. Just after ten, said 'hello' and assured my mother that I had eaten and was going to bed. The annex struck warm as I plugged the camera into my desk top. I was quite keen to know what use John had put my camera to the night before last. I told John about the sound function and how it worked, and how it can enhance the visual effect. We'd practiced in the library a couple of times until he got the hang of it. I had placed a tiny piece of sticky tape over the red light that lit bright when using the video programme so it wouldn't unnecessarily alert the subject.
The curtains in the boys' room are closed but it's light outside so there's enough inside to get the gist of what's going on. The boys' beds are maybe five or six feet apart and John has got my camera uneasily lodged under his pillow which means there's inevitably a little movement, but not enough to spoil this show. The sound element is activated too, enhancing the effect hugely.
There were two distinct elements to John's short piece, shot in the half light of morning in the boys' room; sound and image. Richard, alone in his bed and uncovered, has already begun his morning routine. It was the sound of John's breathing that really got to me. His mouth is so close to the camera. This must be for my benefit surely? The sound of his breathing is the most erotic sensation I have ever experienced. I'm utterly spellbound by what I'm seeing and hearing. A whole five minutes of it. No doubt inspired by his brother's progress, John's breathing inexorably quickens in increments, synchronized with Richard, until that plateau is reached and there's no return, only that final release of built-up tension, pumped out, as bodies rise up and gradually fall back as the bright colours fade and breathing begins to slow, gradually, deeply relaxed now. And so the sounds continue. Richard's body has done its job as it returns to its normal form, slumped to one side, shrinking, being played with still. The boy raises his head to inspect, finger and thumb involved too. The aftermath. Consequences dealt with by his now sullied underpants discarded onto the floor. A finger-tip that touched his lips, and the head turned to one side. The boy turns, covers pulled over cooling body, and eyes close. A new day has dawned. The screen goes black.
Friday lunchtime, and it's our daily meeting up in the under-used school library. John's idea about a re-enactment of my story, Johnny the Gardener, I thought a great idea.
'When can we start Alex?'
'As soon as you're ready John.'
'Tomorrow. It's Saturday. I always go for a bike ride on Saturdays. How long will it take? What should I wear?'
'What I did in my story.'
'Was it true; what happened?'
'Yes. Ask your parents first. Tonight. Ask them tonight.'
'Will you?' he asks with those eyes. I might.
John had told Richard what he was doing tomorrow morning; he was going for a bike ride, on his own.
'Where?'
'Nowhere in particular. Just out.' The last thing he wanted was his little brother following him to Alex's house.
The boys always go up to bed at the same time, do the things they need to do, and get into their separate beds; and then the fiddling starts. Both of them. John has been fiddling successfully for a couple of years now, and inevitably the curious Richard cottoned on some while ago to the that pleasure that his brother was enjoying and wanted to know what it felt like. Pretty good was the answer. So how does it all work John?
So that's how little brother learnt the pleasure ropes. John showed him how, with two fingers and his thumb.
'Now you do it.'
It took a few goes but in the end it worked, even to the point where a little sticky came that could then be smeared over a smooth warm tummy and gone. Not so bigger brother. Richard wanted to do it for him and John liked the idea of that. In fact he was so excited by the idea of someone else involved, his own sticky came faster than either of them expected, much to Richard's delight. He let out a little squeak when the warm liquid arced up and all over big brother's tummy in separate tiny pools. He kept rubbing hoping for more but just ended up with a dribble over his thumb. John put the tips of his fingers in it, brought them up to his mouth and tasted, so Richard copied him. To him it didn't taste like anything he had tasted before. Pretty weird in fact. Despite that he wanted to kiss, moving his head toward his brother's, feeling grateful that he'd been privy to such a private thing. But John directed his face away from his.
The long hard thing has changed into what Richard imagined a soft sausage would feel like if he put the whole thing in his mouth, but it didn't taste anything like any sausage he'd ever eaten. It was that same taste again, like before.
The boys' clothes were still on the floor where they'd left them. Ordered by John, Richard picked up his brother's pants, the creamy-coloured ones he liked best, and wiped up the mess John had made in the rather non-absorbent material. John had told him to do it, like it was part of the game. By the morning it would all be gone, so he thought.
It didn't take long to get Richard's penis hard as he lay flat out on his bed with his hands behind his head so he see what was going on. He'd done it for John, so now he wanted the favour returned. John had always wanted to do this for his brother; feeling Richard's thick pink worm in his mouth, and you never know, even make his feeling come if things progressed well.
John's saliva oiled the works, so to speak, as the boy's skinny bit slipped back to reveal the most sensitive parts. And his balls too. This felt like nothing he's ever felt before. He hadn't used his tongue on his brother like John was doing to him now. Up and down it went, along the entire length, up and down, up and down. And those lips. Lips and tongue, round and round they went, exploring every surface. Every tiny detail, again and again. Exquisite!
He felt like he was dreaming, so quiet now, his head on one side, his eyes closed, as he waited. It felt like it did when he was close to his feeling. Everything welling up, like it did when he knew he was going to cry. But it was nothing like that. Not really. But he knew it was coming. Eventually, if he kept concentrating on what John had done when his feeling came so quickly. It was the sounds John made. He couldn't help himself now, making the same sounds as his dear brother had made. When he did himself he could keep quiet, or he thought he could, mostly. He'd listen as John got close and made those noises, getting more and more breathless, a quiet breathlessness, trying not to be heard. But he was heard. It was all so much louder than he thought. Was it a word he was saying, a kind of mixture of words like…..ooh, ooh, or ahh….ahhh, all with quicker breathing. He didn't really know, not really aware of the noises he makes when the pot comes up to the boil.
Everything spilled over him as he raised his head to look. There's more this time as he lets his head go back onto the pillow, breathing out loudly, turning to see if Richard was watching this time. He is.
John fiddles for a minute or two, making sure he's got all he can out of this ever-new experience he's just had. He feels the stuff in his finger tips, lying on his tummy, going decidedly cool now, all that initial warmth gone, expelled from his internal body heat. He uses his pants, as he always does, to wipe up and then discard the folded little bundle back onto the floor. They'll be nothing left in the morning, or so he thinks.
Anna was the first to realise John had started in earnest when she emptied the dirty clothes basket in the boys' room. With his slimmer frame, John wore the same size of underpants as his thicker set brother. So who was it? Obviously that thought came to focus on John. She hadn't noticed any pubic hair on the boy when she accidentally saw him getting out of the bath. But she had noticed the progress her son was making in other respects. It looked like he was taking after Adrean. She had been filled by him in every respect that first night together, the big man that he is, something else that gave her the idea that he was the one she wanted. It was unprotected sex they'd had and it was a while before her body had finally given up all that he's given her. Home afterwards and back in her bedroom, undressed down to her knickers, inspecting, she found she was soaked, not at the front but at the back. It wasn't just the result of her arousal during the heavy petting session they'd had, it was his too. She'd worn a skirt. They hadn't undressed each other, just pulled things down enough for her to get her legs apart and up onto his shoulders to enable coitus, very successfully for him. At least that's what it felt like when he came, breathlessly. He felt the little internal pump in his bottom start doing its thing. Pushing out his sperm. But it wasn't really vaginal intercourse he wanted, which would have almost worried her, but for the chance of an unwanted pregnancy. Usually it was up her back passage but not this time. She had insisted. Once married and with one child, the pretty little baby John, she began to wonder why he insisted so often to have her the other way around, and not facing her. She wanted to see him when he gave her plenty of what he seemed to produce in quantities; to see his face as he came, which in turn inspired her own orgasm, shaking her like a leaf in the wind. Again she had found she could reach herself easily enough so she didn't miss out, if not at the exact moment but soon after as Adrean lay on his back, panting, rubbing himself to get the very last vestiges of sensation. And then Richard came along not much more than a year later. What a sweet baby he was.
'I'm taking the boys to the swings Adrean. Do you want to come?'
He did. He enjoyed their trips to the play park, and helping John on the equipment there. The climbing frame was always fun, skirts in the wind, the boys in their Mothercare shorts that hid nothing up there on the bars with Adrean looking upwards. Dresses in the wind up there, innocence on parade alright, and sex years away. The boys would never notice him looking, his wife sitting on the warm metal bench, wondering about him. There were nice things to look out at the play park, dresses in the wind, boys on the slide, legs apart.
Both John and Richard made friends easily enough, and they came round to play at weekends. Adrean was always on hand to help. Just a she did at bath time, not that for one minute Anna thought anything of that. He'd do the boys together after they'd finished playing in the bath. Dry them thoroughly and get them into their pyjamas. Another father might have thought that odd, suspicious even, Adrean's attention to detail, but they need not have been concerned. He just loved his boys, all the boys, as any father should, and wanted to see. There's no harm in that?
Anna had got good at oral sex. She needed to be. It would deal with Adrean's needs, and as quickly as possible, hence the need for good skills. She'd listened to a friend her who made sensible suggestions in terms of technique. The best use of her tongue, lips and whole mouth; and a couple of fingers in Adrean's back passage. She knew how far up he wanted it, which was about as far as she could get two fingers as she waggled his prostate gland effectively. He'd rarely last more than five minutes this way, coming into her mouth for what seemed to her ages. She didn't swallow but returned most of it back to him, the conduit being two mouths together and via a long kiss as she felt him against her, still hard her stomach.
And now he had this computer thing. A serious bug that occupied him every night it seemed, not that she minded. A boy had come to help him with it. Alex. Anna likes Alex, the handsome boy with that lovely smile her son had fallen for at school. She'd noticed the change in her boy alright. She'd put it down to puberty. He had started masturbating some time ago but left nothing. She knew he was active in that way now because he was leaving it in his pants, the one's he wore the previous day and left on the floor for her to pick up. It smelled like Adrean's did after she'd mopped him up.
Alex had been round, maybe ten times by now, teaching Adrean his computer tricks. Unbeknownst to her, Adrean had asked Alex to help him explore the internet, and after the boy had gone home after saying goodnight to the boys upstairs, he carried on looking. Alex hadn't yet gone into details of how to do certain things after his searches, like deleting browsing history. The next time Alex came round, he looked up Adrean's searches and found a few things Adrean wouldn't have wanted him to find, if he knew. There must have been fifty searches, all on the same theme. Alex looked down the list. He had rather a dark thought at the end of it, before Adrean came back into the study. If that's what he wants, I could help him find it.
Johnny's dad, Adrean, wanted to show me some photographs he'd been experimenting with, using the Paint Sop Pro disc I had copied for him. It was all just simple stuff like cropping and playing about with colour saturation and contrast. They were all images of John and his delightful younger brother, Richard, playing rugby. It's a soccer playing school really, but two young teachers started up an alternative sport that appealed to a number of the boys, John and Richard included.
'What do you think Alex?'
'You've got the hang of it now Adrean.' I said encouragingly.
'Yes, thanks to you.' He says. And then, quite out of the blue……
'What are you up to this weekend Alex? Working on another piece of art?'
'Yes, probably.'
'We were wondering if you might let John come and look at what you do sometime? He seems interested in that kind of thing. Would that be possible Alex?'
'Yes of course, if he's interested. Any time. Any time at all.' I said, trying not to sound too enthusiastic.
'Great. I can drive him over, or he could cycle. It's not that far.'
'No. It's not. He can stay as long as he wants to. I can teach him the processes. It takes quite a long time. Would that be alright; if he's out all day?'
And all night. Something I didn't dare suggest.
'Yes. He's often at a loose end at weekends. That would be brilliant.'
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