The Composer

James

by The Composer

The last person I was expecting to see in the small High Street was James.

I knew him, but only at a distance, at the school I had left just a week or two ago. He was a year below me, in a different House, quite a good games player, popular with both girls and boys, with a reputation of a bit of a 'lad'. I remembered watching him in the House match final only a few weeks before, helping his side to victory. Yet he wasn't the hefty games playing type, but more graceful and agile. He was slender rather than slight, tallish, with a thin face and slightly spiky gelled hair. A rather full lipped mouth often hung slightly open, giving him a rather sulky or petulant look at times. And eyes that were often somewhat wary.

He was standing outside a shop, gazing into the window, wearing only jeans and tee shirt in the warm summer day, a back pack slung over a shoulder. He glanced away from the window as I walked towards him, his eyes passing over me casually, then moving back and focussing on my face.

As I said, I didn't know him well, and didn't even know if he knew who I was. But he obviously had recognised me, and turned away from the shop. He wasn't as smart as he usually was, looking a little dishevelled.

He must have seen the recognition in my eyes too, and I stopped a pace or two away from him. Neither of us said anything for a moment, then: "Chris?" he asked.

I nodded. "You're James Green."

"That's right. What are you doing here?"

I shrugged. I could have asked him the same question. "Spending a few days down here. We have a holiday home here."

"Oh." He paused.

"And you?" I asked.

He looked slightly shamefaced at the question - not the normal reaction I would have expected from someone who worked so hard on his cool image. "Well, I was going to be going to this party, but it seems to have fallen through."

I smiled. "A party? Here?"

"Sounds unlikely, doesn't it," looking up and down the High Street. "Well, a few miles away. But it's been called off - whatever."

"Sorry to hear that."

"Yeah." He paused again and looked at me once more. "A holiday home?"

"That's right. We don't use it much though. And father's in America, and mother's at some conference in Italy, so I'm there by myself."

"Oh." He held my gaze. "Can you do me a favour then?"

"Sure. What's that?"

"Give me a bed for the night. I've nowhere to stay now."

"That's no problem. Pick anyone you like."

"Yeah, well - apart from yours."

"Apart from mine. Look, I was just going to get some food. We'll do the shopping then you can come back and crash out."

"Sounds a plan."

The village didn't really rise to a supermarket, but there was a self service grocery. I got a basket and loaded it up.

"I'll pay half," offered James.

"No, that's OK."

"It's no problem. And you're putting me up for the night, so fair enough."

"OK. I'll pay, and then we'll settle up."

We walked back with a carrier bag hanging from each hand. The house was a small bungalow that had been added to and added to, and hardly an architectural masterpiece. But it was tucked away down its own little track, with a view of the sea across to Portsmouth and Chichester. It was a bit bleak in the winter, but nice enough in the summer. The garden was all overgrown - we were never there long enough to tackle it properly - but last year we had put down a patio at the back.

"Hey, this looks ok," said James, stopping briefly.

"Yeah - it's ok."

"And you're here by yourself?"

I shrugged. I was self sufficient enough not to mind that, and had a good stock of books. I took him up to the back door and pushed it open.

"Didn't you lock it?"

I shrugged again. "We don't usually bother when we're here. No one ever comes down here anyway. And there's not much worth pinching."

"Right."

We put down the bags in the kitchen and sorted things out. Then he went into the front room and gazed at the view.

"Not bad. And a patio too."

He pushed the door open and stepped out. The concrete was hot in the sun.

"A good place to sunbathe," he said.

"That's right."

He turned to me and hesitated. "Can I grab a shower? I feel fairly yucky."

"No problem. Do you want some fresh clothes?"

"No, it's ok - I've some more in my bag. Can I put this lot into the machine?"

"That's no problem either."

I showed him the bathroom. "Here's a spare bedroom."

He glanced inside. "Looks good to me."

He flashed me a smile, and I left him to it.

I was sitting in the sun when he came back about twenty minutes later in fresh clothes, his wet hair slicked back. He slumped down into a lounger next to mine.

"This is the life."

He slipped on sunglasses, then slipped his tee shirt over his head, and lay back again.

I glanced sideways. His eyes seemed to be closed behind the glasses, as he turned his face to the sun. His chest and stomach seemed pale and white in the sunshine.

I suppose we both drifted off into a snooze until the sun went round behind the house. Although the concrete was still hot, the breeze and the shade were fairly cool. I woke feeling slightly chilled, and looked over to see James still lying asleep, mouth open a little way, slightly goosepimpled. I looked at him for some moments, hesitated, then reached over and touched his arm.

"What?" he asked, jerking awake.

"Sun's go round."

"Yeah." He sat up and shivered slightly, then pulled his tee shirt back on. "Any longer and I would have burned anyway."

I stood up. "Supper?"

"Sure. I'm starving. Haven't eaten for ages."

As we ate, I could see him glancing around. Then: "What do you do here all by yourself?"

I shrugged. "Read, mostly."

"Oh."

I could see that wasn't his idea of fun. That was one of the reasons why I hadn't really known him at school - we didn't quite move in the same social circles. If I had a social circle. But I knew that he was part of what might be called 'the scene'.

After we had cleared away and washed up, there was a slightly awkward moment. Then: "I've got some stuff - some weed. Do you want to share?"

I was surprised yet not surprised. I'd tried the stuff once, but wasn't really into it. But I could see him as a user.

I hesitated, then: "Sure - why not."

He disappeared for a moment, and I went outside. It was still fairly warm - the breeze had died away. Then he came back, rolling the joint. We sat down next to each other on a wooden bench, and he lit it, took a drag, and passed it to me. I puffed more cautiously.

I suppose that he must have had the larger part of the joint as we slowly passed it back and forth. Then he ground it under his shoe, and lay back.

"Hmm."

Hs eyes were closed, and there was a sensual, satisfied, expression on his face. I could feel myself responding to the drug, slightly elated, detached. We stayed there for a minute or two, then he slowly sat up. He opened his eyes, and looked at me consideringly. Then to my utter surprise, he leaned forward, taking my chin in one hand, tilting his head slightly, moving in, and kissing me hard.

I held his lips for a moment or two, then leaned back amazed. Of all the people I might have expected to do this, James was one of the least likely. I had him down as a ladies' man, and he never seemed short of female company at school. But I could see how he would act on an impulse, unpredictably, and this was certainly unpredictable.

His eyes sought mine, partly amused, partly still misted by the joint.

"No?" he asked.

I floundered. I stammered something. Then with a slight smile he leaned forward again. This time we held the kiss longer, his lips tight against mine, before he leaned back again.

"Never been kissed before," he said. It was not a question. I looked at him as his hand came up and stroked my cheek. "Doesn't matter about the party now," as he leaned forward again.

Now his hands came down and under my tee shirt. I could feel myself shuddering under his touch as his hands pushed up. As he leaned back he pulled the tee shirt off me. Then his lips went to my neck, my shoulders. I couldn't move.

Then he pulled off his own tee shirt, and I could sense my hands go out to him, moving over his skin. He paused, his face inches from mine. Now his eyes were misty not only from the joint but with lust. He stopped, and then stood up, pulling me with him. He took me by the arm, inside, to my room. He closed the door and pushed me up against it, the wood cold on my back. His body pressed against mine, and again I could run my hands over his back whilst his lips found mine, his tongue pushing through. He reached down to my jeans, and I helped unfasten them, as he in his turn tugged off his. He broke off.

"Sex in socks is naff," he whispered, as he slipped them off.

Despite the heat of the moment I couldn't help but giggle and do the same.

Then his body was against mine, his legs between mine. He pressed into me, and I could feel the heat from his groin. His head was next to mine, his breath hot in my ear. He groaned as he ground his hips into me, and I slid my hands down, under the waistband of his shorts. He pulled away, and they slid down to his ankles. He tugged at mine, and we each kicked them away. Then he was pressed into me again, the heat of his erection against my stomach. Slowly, sensuously, he rocked back and forward. Then he leaned his head back, his eyes meeting mine, but unseeingly, and his rhythm changed as he rubbed himself against me, more urgent, faster, and then his eyes rolling up as he gasped and shuddered. His head came down to mine, forehead to forehead, as I felt the hot fluid making his body slide against mine. Three or four more times he jerked, then collapsed limp against me. I clutched him and held him to stop him falling to the floor. His hands fell from my shoulders to hang loosely. His breathing was laboured; he gasped, then gulped for air.

Slowly he subsided, but I still held him against me, until his head came up again. There was a faraway look in his eyes, then the hint of a smile of satisfaction. He nuzzled his face into my neck, then leaned away from me. He stepped back, and with his feet pushed mine together. His knees grasped mine. He reached down for me, stroking me gently. My legs pushed against his, but he gripped all the tighter. He arched his body forward, pushing my shoulders back with his, as his hands worked me faster, until as I came I almost lifted him off his feet, as my own hot fluid spattered against each of us. Then, as he released me, he leaned forward, cementing us together. Now it was my turn to be held as I stood gasping, feeling the warmth of his flesh pressing against mine, the warmth of his breath on my cheek.

I have no idea how long we stood there, our hands occasionally caressing each other. But eventually I looked up, and he raised his head in turn. That smile was there again. I reached up a hand to run it over his hair, to smooth it down.

We had said nothing other than his one brief quip. We still said nothing. Slowly we pulled apart. He looked down.

"A bit messy," he said eventually.

I smiled. "Not surprising."

"You enjoyed that." Again, it was a statement, not a question.

"Yes. And you surprised me."

"How?"

I shrugged. "You were the last person who I thought would be doing this with me."

"Party cancelled. And I don't read books. But I do like sex."

"Yes, but..."

"You thought I was girls only?"

"Yes."

"Given a choice. But sex is sex - with whoever."

"Gee thanks."

"Hmm," he said, "with more practice, you could be good."

"Gee thanks," I said again.

He laughed. "Do you want more practice?"

"Stupid question."

"Yeah."

I hesitated. "How did you know ... well, am I that obvious?"

He thought about it. "No. But this afternoon, when I took off my tee shirt, I saw you look at me."

"Your eyes were closed."

He laughed again. "Not completely. And so I thought, well, it might be worth a try. You're not that ugly."

"Gee, thanks again."

He touched his stomach. "I think we need a shower."

"Yeah."

Now we did move apart, and I led him to the bathroom.

"You go first."

"OK."

I watched him as he stepped in. He knew I was watching him, and as he soaped himself and rinsed himself off, I could sense he was posing himself for my benefit. He knew of his power to attract attention.

He finished, and I washed myself down in turn. He was looking at me as I stepped out. I didn't have the self confidence in my body that he did in his. But he gave me a slow smile of appreciation as I stood dripping and naked in front of him, reaching for a towel.

Then we went back into the bedroom, tumbling down onto the bed, warm and damp, tired, in a tangle of limbs. In some ways we clung together rather like the young boys we had been such a short time before.

I pulled the duvet over us, realising he was already on the point of sleep. So was I.

Dawn comes early in July, and there was already a faint light filtering through the curtains as I slowly surfaced from sleep. James' body nestled against mine, giving out a fierce heat where his dry skin touched mine. Slowly I stroked his shoulders, his arms. He murmured something as he slowly woke. My hands moved lightly over his chest, his stomach, to that tangle of hair. I moved my hand to the smooth skin on the inside of his thighs. His legs parted, and slowly he began to turn onto his back. I reached down for the bottle of lotion I had brought in from the bath room, and anointing my hands, began slowly to smooth it up and down his hardness. He murmured again and slowly raised his arms above his head as my fingers worked on him. His breathing was deeper now, and in the faint light I could see his head turned to one side, his neck tendons tight, his body beginning to arch upwards, every muscle in him now taut, as he whispered, "Chris ... Chris ... faster, please ... faster."

As slowly as I dared I increased the rhythm, as he started gasping, gulping, his head now thrashing from side to side, his body jerking, and then the flood as he came, my hands still keeping their steady rhythm, until he cried, "No ... no.. stop, please ... now," and his hands came down to grip mine. He collapsed, every muscle now limp, and then I anointed his body with more lotion, and myself, and stretched out over him, slithering my own body against his, moving as slowly and steadily as I could bear, but even so came shuddering to a climax too soon; too soon yet so intense that I almost passed out with the pleasure.

It was a long time before I regained my senses to feel him protesting against my weight, and was able to roll off him. We lay side by side in a half sleep.

I suppose it was mid morning before we finally sat up in bed and looked at each other. Finally, he said: "Jesus. For someone who's never done this before, you're a fucking expert."

"You said I could be good with more practice."

"You can practice on me any time. That was fucking amazing."

I suppose I felt a touch of smug satisfaction at that. Then: "I need a shower," he said. At this rate, we were going to be a very clean pair of teenagers.

We stood under the water together, yet neither of us felt the need to reach for each other bodies. We were perhaps too sated.

Having dried off, James strolled out into the front room and onto the patio, standing there naked in the sunshine. More inhibited, I hung back. The sun glittered onto the blue water in front of us, and white sails dotted the sea. In the distance a cargo ship made its way up the buoyed channel. He stretched, and I looked at his tall slim form, remembering how it had been wrapped in mine. Then he turned, and came in.

"I'm starving," he said.

I nodded. "Breakfast."

He seemed unconcerned about sitting there eating with nothing on, and I continued to give him covert glances until he smiled.

"You're still checking me out."

"Yeah," I admitted.

There was an element of narcissism in his exhibition of his body.

Then breakfast cleared away, he announced: "I'm going to soak up the sun."

He spread himself face down on the lounger outside.

"You'll burn," I warned him, looking at the pale flesh.

"Then get some sun cream for me," he mumbled.

I spread it slowly across his shoulders, enjoying the feel of his skin, working my way steadily down to the small of his back.

"Will my bum burn?" he asked, in a soft low voice.

I smiled. "I'd better make sure."

And I spread more lotion across him.

I was darker skinned than he was, and had already soaked up some sun in the past day or two. I lay down on the other lounger, and I think we both drifted off into a sunlit doze.

But, intermittently, I woke to look at, to admire, the figure stretched out next to me. I knew I had had fantasies before, of being here alone with people from school, and what might have developed. But now, in such an extraordinary and unexpected way, it had happened. And with James Green. One of the people I might have admired at a distance, but would not for a moment suspected. It seemed too good to be true. And I knew, deep down, that it was. But this was not a moment to be introspective, but rather, carpe diem - seize the day.

When, in the early afternoon, the sun went round, and we were once more in the shade, I sat up and gazed across the sea, then reached over and nudged him awake.

"What?" Then he grumbled: "It's gone cold."

"Sun's moved round."

Slowly he stirred and swung his feet to the ground.

"I needed that. A bit of sun to warm the skin." He looked at me then grinned. "I've got all this sun cream stuff on me now. You're going to have to wash it off."

"Another shower? You certainly like being clean."

The tip of his tongue showed momentarily on his lower lip. "I'm thinking of something else."

And once sluiced down, he switched off the water and reached for the soap, gently moving his hands over me, grasping me, once again bringing me panting for breath. Then the shampoo on me and over himself, as he pressed his body to mine, gripping me, holding me against himself, his face against mine, as he thrust himself against my wet slippery body, to reach his own climax. He obviously liked sex standing up.

We collapsed onto the bed for another doze - it seems that we were to spend our time with sex and sleeping. But then another appetite make itself felt, and we prepared some supper.

Afterwards, James asked: "Have you any gear?"

I was momentarily baffled. Then I shook my head. I wasn't into the drugs scene.

"It's ok. I know where I can get some."

He went for his mobile and rang a number, going outside so I couldn't hear what was being said. Then he came back, slipping the mobile into a pocket.

"Have you some money for a taxi into Newport?"

"Sure."

"It'd better be just me going - they know me. I shouldn't be away for very long." I fished out a twenty from my wallet and gave it to him. "I've ordered the taxi - it'll be hear in ten minutes or so, he said."

He went to put on some shoes and a denim jacket, then came back, slightly awkward.

"Don't know when I'll be back. But I don't suppose I'll be late. OK?"

I nodded. Whatever he was going to do, I didn't really want to know about.

After he left, I settled down with a book. The past twenty four hours had been so intense that an hour or so's relaxation would be welcome.

But the hour turned into two, and three, and four. Whilst I knew there was little point in worrying, I couldn't help glancing at the clock. One book read became two. It was 1 a.m. before I heard him coming through the door.

He blinked at the light, and I could tell by the way he moved that he was high on something. He stood looking at me with a faint smile.

"Reading?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Yeah, well, I was longer than I thought I would be. Bumped into some people. We had a bit of a party, you might say. Sorry about that."

I said nothing. Suddenly he looked very tired.

"Come on," I said. "Bed."

He yawned. I could see there was something about his eyes - his pupils seemed unnaturally large, and his expression was slightly glassy. He was certainly on something. "Yeah, why not? I'm deadbeat."

In the bedroom, he peeled off his clothes and dropped them at his feet, then collapsed onto the bed, eyes shut. More sedately, I climbed in next to him. He smelled of something - scent, of something else as well. Tentatively I reached out for him, but he was limp, unresponding.

"No use," he said thickly. "Would you believe two more times this evening? If I try and use it again, I think it'll drop off."

He'd had sex somewhere else, and by the smell of him, with a girl. I lay back, staring into the dark. What had I to complain about? He'd had casual sex with me. He'd had casual sex with someone else. And he was sufficiently amoral not for that to be a problem. In many ways, I envied him. But I knew I wouldn't be able to emulate him.

But whatever he'd been on, the effects had worn off by the morning. We woke slowly, wrapped in each other. Whereas before I suppose our lovemaking had been driven by urgency, now we were more relaxed, warm under the duvet, content to let our hands wander over each other's bodies, feeling the contours, enjoying the caressing. We kissed more gently this time, our lips brushing against each others. I kissed his face, his neck, his shoulders. We entangled our limbs around each other. I felt his hands in my hair, his fingers running through it. It seemed to last for ever, until eventually we roused each other to our final climax. And even then, after that, we lay together, still relaxed, still holding each other, still enjoying the simple touch of skin to skin, his breath warm on my shoulder.

But eventually the more mundane problem of bladder pressure forced us out of our nest and to the bathroom. When I came back, James was sitting on the edge of the bed, head in hands, elbows on knees. I sat next to him.

He looked up and drew my head to his for one final kiss.

He gave a wry smile as he looked at me. "I don't think you need any more practice, Chris."

I took his hand, opening the fingers, and traced small circles on his palm. "I'm glad it was you," I told him.

Another smile. "But don't ask too much of me."

"I know. I've worked that out."

"Yeah." He stood up. "Shower time."

I had been wrong - not just sex and sleep - sex, sleep and showering.

I followed him through and watched him wash himself down. I envied those easy graceful movements of the natural athlete. Then I too soaped myself down.

Back in the bedroom James slipped on tee shirt and jeans. With easy familiarity, we dressed and found something to eat. Then across the breakfast table, James caught my eye, looking at me steadily.

"I have to be going," he said softly. I nodded. He paused, then said: "You'll be all right?"

I nodded again. That was an insight I hadn't expected from him.

He stood up and went to gather up his things. I stayed at the kitchen table, clutching my coffee mug, thinking over the past forty eight hours. He came back, standing in the doorway, ready to go.

I stood up and went over to him. He looked at me steadily for a minute or so, then leaned forward to give me a very gentle kiss.

"Take care, Chris." He turned away and went to the door, opening it, and we blinked at the sudden glare of sunlight. He turned back, and handed me a scrap of paper.

"Here're some phone numbers. Those two there - well, they're people who you might like to get in touch with. For a bit more practice, perhaps. I think you'd like them. And the last number's mine."

I nodded and stared at the scrap of paper. The numbers were blurred, but by my tears rather than by the writing. He hitched his back pack over his shoulder.

"Take care," he said again, and his hand touched my arm briefly.

He began walking down the path to the road. He didn't look back.

We support Ukraine — Мы поддерживаем Украину — Ми підтримуємо Україну

We support Ukraine — Мы поддерживаем Украину — Ми підтримуємо Україну

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James

by The Composer