Chapter One.
"No, Valerian, I didn't. It's not my style." Even though it was electronically disguised, I was convinced my voice sounded strained, as I played back the recording of the Internet voice call I'd just finished. "And if you continue accusing me of crap like that, we'll have to call it off."
"Are you threatening me?" His voice, disguised too, was full of undercurrents that made me involuntarily shiver. "Don't think for one minute that I can't find you should the need arise, and DON'T FUCK ME ABOUT!"
"I wouldn't dare…." Then the line went dead.
I was about to play the recording again when I heard my mother's footsteps in the corridor. I took off my headset and invoked the screensaver as the door opened and she walked in.
"Are you deaf?"
"Sorry, mum?"
"I asked if you were deaf. I called you three times. He's arrived."
"Ok, mum, I'll be right down." I didn't stand a chance. My mother stood there, tapping her foot impatiently. It was a family trait.
"None of your 'I'll be right down', young man. Now, this instant!" I looked at her, and she couldn't help smiling. Being strict wasn't in her nature. Sighing heartily, I shut the computer down.
"I was just about to go skating." I quivered my lower lip pathetically. It didn't work.
"After you've met him, sweetheart. Besides, your father and I are going out tonight, so I'm sure it won't take long."
It had been a long hot June, and now in July, the weather in town was stifling. Due to a county wide hosepipe ban, one visible result of global warming were the dead and dying lawns which made for dramatic headlines in the local paper.
I was sixteen and a bit and on summer holiday from a day school where, to be honest, I paid not the slightest attention. My term reports were always terrible, with 'could do well if he tried' as the common teacherly cop out. My parents, bless them, tried. My father, who worked all the hours under the sun to keep my mother, sister and me living in the style to which we were accustomed, regularly told me how much fun learning was, how much I'd enjoy it if I actually bothered. I always agreed, and then instantly forgot, or I'd go away full of determination, and then find something far more interesting to do. What really interested me were computers and skating. My parents knew about the skating.
I had never been physically punished, except for a slap on the bottom when I was twelve and thought it would be a laugh to throw half a dozen raw eggs through a neighbour's window. How was I to know they had a white shag pile carpet? Both my father's thin-lipped expression of disgust and the slap shocked the hell out of me. Not that I let him know it. Perhaps if I had, things would have ended differently.
School had broken up for the summer holidays, and my report was as appalling as always. My parents had had enough by this time and decided to go on holiday by themselves, leaving me with the joys of cramming for the exams to get into senior school. There was no discussion, which in itself was odd, because we always made decisions as a family. Without a choice in the matter, I hated it, and as a matter of course began by hating my tutor, too.
"Gabriel, this is Nick, your tutor. Say hello." My father was seated behind his desk, and a young man I'd never seen before turned from looking out at the garden.
"Mmph." I was worried about Valerian, and wasn't prepared to even look at the tutor, let alone try and like him.
"Politely!" My father's warning tone put me on my toes, and I looked fully at my tutor for the first time.
'Gorgeous' wasn't a word that I used a lot. I knew what it meant, of course, having read all the women's magazines in the orthodontist's waiting room. My mother used it a lot with my sister, too. "That dress would look simply gorgeous on you, darling," she'd say, and my sister would reply, "oh, yes mummy, and it's on sale for the rest of the week …," at which point my father's eyes would roll, and he'd chuckle with what I always put down to overindulgent love.
"Hello." I enunciated carefully, letting my anger at the unfairness of having to swot all summer get the better of me and show, when actually, all I wanted to do was get to know Nick and show him around my room and possibly my bed. That last thought seemed to come out of nowhere and shocked the hell out of me. I felt my face start to flush.
"Gabriel!" My father started to explode. "I …"
"Sorry, father … it's the heat ...," which was a valid excuse, as it was eighty five degrees and there were beads of sweat on Nick's upper lip. "Hi," I said politely, and held out my hand. I wasn't prepared for the flood of emotion I felt as he took it and we shook. I reined my senses back in.
He was obviously older than me, although not by much, and, I decided, 'gorgeous' definitely described him well. With some careful niceties, I'd have him wrapped around my little finger before my parents had even left the country.
"Hullo, Gabriel, it's nice to finally meet you," he said quietly, in a voice unlike any I'd heard before. His tone was light yet deep, with a hint of honey. I looked into his chocolate brown eyes and saw nothing but warmth and, strangely, compassion, as if we were about to go on an extraordinary adventure together, but all would be well because he'd make sure of it. Father interrupted my reverie by clearing his throat, and I hurriedly let go of Nick's hand. He gave me a small smile.
"Well, then, Nick, Gabriel will show you where to put your bags and make sure you have what you need," my father said, looking smug.
"Fine, Mr Dawson," Nick replied, "would you like to go over the lesson plan now or later?"
"Lesson plan?" My father paused, picking up a snow globe from his desk and shaking it. "I really don't think that will be necessary. As you know, Celia and I are leaving first thing in the morning, and we have a dinner party to attend tonight." He put the globe down gently, and I watched as the small flakes landed on the roof and garden of the miniature cottage. "Besides which," he added with a smile, "you come highly recommended. I'm sure you'll know how to deal with him."
"I am in the room!" I said indignantly. "Don't I …"
"No, you have no say in the matter," my father said flatly, "since I received this report," he pulled a file out of a drawer, took my latest report out of it and waved it at me, "and this …," he sighed, pointing to a typewritten letter I could see had been signed by my housemaster, "… this letter. Don't you want to learn? Don't you want to go to University?" He sounded exasperated.
"I …"
"It's a rhetorical question, fool!" he snapped, and Nick coughed. I looked at him suspiciously. "Frankly, Gabriel," my father continued, "you're going to go to University whether you want to or not." He paused and looked at me fondly. "You'll have a great time."
After a few more pleasantries, my father shut his computer down and ushered us out of the study, locking the door as he always did. He left to get ready for the dinner party, whilst I was left to escort Nick to his room which was next to mine in the attic. Playing the part of the polite son of the house was something I was used to, so I took him back to the front door and picked up one of his two bags, nearly pulling a muscle with the unexpected weight.
"After you, Nick ... you don't mind me calling you Nick, do you?" He looked at me quizzically. "'Cause I could call you mister, or sir, or whatever you like, really." I grinned at him, and got another small smile in response.
"Sure," he paused, swinging his fully laden backpack effortlessly up onto his shoulder. "Nick's good, and I'm sorry about the tutoring thing; it's just that I really need the money … so, ah … Gabriel, which way, then?"
"Oh. 'k, it's up the stairs," I said pointing, "and if you don't mind, it's Gabe," I added, thinking about what he'd said.
"After you, then … Gabe."
"No, please, you go first." The bag was so heavy, I was struggling to keep a nonchalant expression. "What's in this? It weighs a ton."
"Books, mainly," he said over his shoulder as he took the first flight of stairs two at a time, pausing at the first landing to look at one of my sister's paintings. Struggling and cursing under my breath, I followed, though I did have the distinct pleasure of watching his bottom as he climbed the stairs. He was conservatively dressed in a pair of navy chinos, a candy striped shirt and a greenish brown Harris tweed jacket, though I thought that, considering the weather, the jacket was overdoing it just a tad.
Nick was looking at another of my sister's paintings on the second landing as I caught up, and I noticed he was slightly flushed.
"This is really good."
"Yeah," I said shortly, "it's my sister's." I was getting fed up with the praise my sister's work always seemed to get.
"Oh … is she here?"
"No, she's in Milan. Then I think it's Venice, followed by Paris … oh, and then she's going to rule the world." I paused, feeling foolish as he looked at me with a vaguely puzzled expression. "Hot, isn't it?" I continued, dropping his bag with a thump. "Just books, nope, don't believe it. You've got an anvil in there, and probably a horse, too." He laughed, with a big genuine smile, and I thought that I'd like to hear him laugh a lot more. "It's another flight and then up the spiral staircase," I said, as I picked up his bag again.
"Do you need a hand with that?" Nick asked, with what I thought was a hint of condescension. I flushed angrily, still annoyed at having a tutor foisted on me.
"Thanks but no thanks," I said, and barged past him. What did he take me for? I wasn't a damn wimp. It wasn't my fault he had a bag full of bloody heavy books. Suddenly I wanted to get back to my planned afternoon of skating at the park. I dumped his bag at the bottom of the spiral staircase and turned without looking at him.
"Up the spiral, down the corridor, and it's the last door on the right." I knew I was being stupid, I knew I was behaving like a ten year old with a broken toy, but damn …. I risked a glance at him and was rewarded with a very confused expression.
"Gabe, I'm sorry if I …"
"I'll see you later." I sighed and began walking off, just as the door behind him opened and my mother came out of her bedroom, dressed to kill. She was wearing her favourite 'tatty black', a very expensive, very chic dress made by the French designer Chanel. I also recognised her perfume: No. 5 made by Chanel too. It was a scent I always liked on her.
"Sweetheart, do introduce me to … oh, of course! You must be Nick, the tutor." I wish I'd had a camera. Nick's expression was priceless. A real eye popping, jaw dropping, kerpow blimey lawks-a-lordy Kodak moment. I started laughing, all the tension suddenly gone.
"Yes, mum, this is 'Nick el tutoro-thingy'." Ok, I'll admit it. I'm a giggler, so sue me. Everyone says laughter is the best medicine, and honestly, I was an addict. My parents knew it, my friends knew it, but Nick had no idea, which made his expression even funnier. Bewildered, perplexed and embarrassed followed in short order. It was magical. My mother finally decided to help him out.
"Sorry, Nick, there's no stopping him once he starts, so let me show you to your room."
"Thank you, Mrs Dawson."
"Please call me Celia; everybody does."
I managed a chortled, "Thanks, mum! I'm off to the park. I'll see you later, tutor," before they left me to my own devices and disappeared up the spiral staircase.
Fifteen minutes later, I cruised through the park's woodland and out into the clearing by the skate bowl, rode a circuit and, not seeing any of my friends, sat on the bench we liked to think of as ours. I didn't really want to skate, and, funnily, I didn't really want to see any of my friends, though I wouldn't have objected if they'd shown up. Though I was in the middle of a wood, the constant background roar of traffic lulled me into a period of introspection.
It was odd, and I thought about it from all the angles I could. I knew I was probably gay. No, wait, that was in and of itself an excuse. I knew I wasn't going through a phase, or if I were, it was a phase that was certainly taking its time. I mean, I liked girls; they were nice, but …. Stopping the mental dialogue, I used my thumb to pick at an annoying piece of wood that had splintered off the bench. It peeled away. A blackbird started singing, and I turned around to see if I could spot it. No luck. It was no use; I couldn't get Nick out of my mind.
What I wanted to do was examine my feelings about my tutor; yet even as I thought it, I knew it was bollocks. Nick wasn't 'my tutor'. 'My tutor' would have been some crusty, dusty old teacher type with foul breath and BO, and my tutor wasn't that at all. He was Nick. And Nick was a guy. Well duh.
I looked at my watch. Ok, so…. Not two hours ago, I'd met a guy who was my tutor and I fancied him. No, that was wrong. Forget the tutor bit -- that was there as a trip-up. Ok, so he's older. Yes, but only by a bit. I sighed and came to the conclusion that as I'd only met him briefly, I was winding myself up for nothing. I pondered where the urge to show him my bed had come from and felt myself stirring. Bloody obvious, really. I glanced around the skate park. There was no one nearby so I re-arranged for comfort, whilst another bit of my brain, over which I've never had any control, came to a decision.
"I'm gay," I muttered aloud, and rolled the phrase around in my head, defining exactly what it meant. "I'm gay … Hi, I'm gay." Guiltily, I looked around. I was still alone. I breathed a sigh of relief. "Hi, I'm Gabe and I'm gay." The variations were endless, and anyway, it didn't mean I was any different from the me who had sat down on the bench … how long ago? I glanced at my watch and found I'd been sitting there for over an hour … an hour. It was a personal thing, nobody else's problem. So I was gay. It didn't mean I was going to start wearing pink or flouncing like John Simpson. I giggled at the thought.
"Hey, Gabe!"
"Shit!" I jumped, badly startled and turned around. It was Brian Simpson, John's twin, though you'd never know it to look at them. Brian was fair, lithe, good looking and a decent friend when times were bad, whereas John was dark, slightly plump, unintentionally camp and seriously two-faced. The only thing they had in common, as far as I could tell, were their green eyes. Brian was one of my closest friends.
"Uh … hi, Bri, how're you doing?" We shook, and he sat down beside me, propping his board on its nose against the bench.
"Good, thanks," he said, punching me lightly on the shoulder. "Hey! I hear you've got a tutor over the summer." I didn't reply immediately, wondering how he'd got to know so fast.
"So, um, how'd …?"
"Ha! No flies on you, mate. Dad told me. 'pparently your dad asked him for some help finding you a tutor, and voilà …." Brian made a gesture like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat.
"Voilà?"
"Yeah, voilà… sheesh, you're slow today. It's French."
"I know it's French, fool," I said, prodding him in the arm, "voilà what?"
"Don't you mean voilà quoi? " Brian chuckled. "Voilà Nick!"
"How'd you know his name? I didn't mention it. Infact I didn't know it until this morning." I was puzzled and beginning to think I'd fallen asleep and was dreaming.
"Oh, this is priceless," Brian chuckled, "John and I've known for ages. I just always assumed you'd been told." He paused, checking I wasn't having him on. "Obviously not. Man, parents are weird! You do know Nick's our cousin? Right?"
"Huh? No … so you knew I was getting a tutor, and you knew it was your cousin, and you didn't think to mention it … why?" I was getting more than a little annoyed. Brian took a moment to look around the park, and then scratched the back of his head.
"Dunno, mate. Sorry if I should have, it just never crossed my mind, is all." He looked at me apologetically, and then his expression darkened. "Just watch yourself with him."
"Hmm?" I asked, still blown away that he hadn't thought to warn me about the tutor, and missing the innuendo entirely. Brian looked at me guiltily.
"I've said enough … I'm sure you'll figure it out." So saying, he dropped his board, got up, and was riding down the entrance to the bowl before I had a chance to respond. Sighing, I stood up, and when ten minutes later he rode out of the bowl, I was waiting for him nervously, with arms crossed. He came to a stop with a neat tail slide.
"You mean he's gay?" I said quietly. He gave me a shocked look.
"No! ... well. I dunno, I don't think he is … but that's not what I meant."
"So?"
"It's just … he's been in trouble, and he knows what your dad does."
"Oh, does he now, and just how did he find that out?" I knew the answer before I asked the question, and Brian knew I knew. I just wanted him to say it.
"John," he said flatly, and looked away.
"John," I reiterated. "Damn." And started to chew on my favourite nail. I knew Brian really knew his brother was a little shit, but he always defended him, which to my mind was a noble if rather stupid thing to do. We watched as a squirrel scampered nervously over to the rubbish bin and started scrabbling about.
My father wrote software for the government, and though he wasn't really too worried about people knowing that he worked for the department of Home Affairs, I wasn't actually supposed to tell anyone. The problem was, he didn't just work for the department of Home Affairs, and before I'd found out where he did work, I'd talked about my wild theories with Brian. John had overheard.
The squirrel captured a half slice of bread, dragged it from the bin, and carried it back to the edge of the wood, its grey tail, mast-like, warning other squirrels to bugger off or else.
"What else does Nick know?"
"Everything that John does, I should think. He was staying at aunty May's for a couple of weeks, and I know John hung out with him a lot," Brian replied, "and stop that!" he added, slapping my hand away from my mouth.
"Thanks." I glanced over at the skate bowl just in time to see Ray Gilbert perform a stunning aerial tail grab. "Wow, he gets better and better."
"Who does?"
"Ray, you dork, who else?" I took the opportunity of surreptitiously gnawing at a stubborn bit of quick, as Brian and I watched Ray perform a seemingly effortless front side seven twenty and then exit the half pipe.
"So what's with the gay question?" Brian looked at me quizzically.
"Hey, Ray!" I called, ignoring Brian and waving as Ray turned to see who had shouted. He waved back and rode over to us.
"Hey, guys, how're you doing?"
"Good, thanks. You?" Brian answered.
"Ya cool." He flopped down next to me and, putting the board across his knees, grinned and clapped me on the shoulder. "Long time, guys."
Ray Gilbert was our age, my next door neighbour and a good friend we'd both grown up with. Three years ago he had gone away to boarding school and we seemed to have drifted apart. He had a younger brother, Giles, who was always trying to emulate him, much to his annoyance.
"So, d'you have a good term, Gabe, good report, huh?" He laughed, and Brian joined in.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want, you pair of deadbeats," I retorted nonchalantly. "So what's your news, Ray?"
"Yeah, tell all now!" Brian said in one of his voices. Brian was a great mimic, and just after his voice had broken, we had got into a lot of trouble with prank phone calls. On one rather memorable occasion, he had pretended to be an engineer from the phone company and had persuaded some total stranger to put his cell phone in a bucket of water.
"Well, I'm now one of 'The Boys' after saving them all from a fate worse than …. " He petered off.
"Worse than?" I said, impressed, just as Brian said, "'The Boys'?"
"Oh, sorry, I forgot you don't know. They're a group of seniors at school, really tight knit friends. I kinda helped them out and got to join them."
"Huh?" Brian and I were confused.
"Oh, blimey, it really doesn't matter; they're just friends from school." Ray raised his eyebrows in good-natured exasperation. "Anyway, they should be here soon; I'll introduce you. 'k?"
"Friends ma, what are those?" Brian said, in a perfect James Cagney.
"Shut up, Brian, ya twit!" I said, tweaking his nose. "Sure, that'd be good, Ray," I added, praying that Brian had forgotten the gay thing. "So how's Giles, then?"
"He's growing up," Ray chuckled, "and sometimes I think he's almost human. So, erm … how's John?"
"Fucking pain in the arse," I muttered and looked at Brian, who clicked his fingers three times before we all harmonised, "As always!" We were still laughing when I saw a man a few years older than us walk out of the woods in our direction. He was wearing a white djellaba, head piece and expensive looking sunglasses. He was classically good looking in a southern Mediterranean way. Ray got up to meet him.
"Hiya, Rajit."
"Hello, young master." The man's tone was formal, and I looked from him to Ray in astonishment.
"Mislaid your camel?"
I was amazed that Brian could be such an arse, and even more amazed when the man replied worriedly, "Yes, I have, kind sir, have you seen him?"
Ray and I turned to look at Brian, who was starting to catch flies.
"Erm ...," Brian muttered, and there was a pregnant pause, during which I realised Ray knew Rajit very well, before Rajit continued.
"He is all I have, young sir, and the bad, bad beast threw me off and then ran away just on the other side of these wild, wild woods." I was thoroughly enjoying myself, watching Brian trying to cope. "Oh, kind young sir," the man continued, wringing his hands, "have you seen my camel?"
"Erm …."
Ray and I burst out laughing; we couldn't help it, the expression of confusion on Brian's face was classic.
"Good one, Rajit, well played!" Ray clapped him on the back. "Finally hoist by your own petard, Brian." Brian blushed furiously, as he sussed he was having his leg well and truly pulled.
"Damn! but you're good," Brian said, with what I could see was a hint of envy.
"Thank you, young master." Rajit bowed formally.
"Please, enough!" and we were all laughing.
"Where are the others, Rajit?" Ray asked.
"At the apartment. His Highness sent me to collect you."
"Shh, Rajit, for goodness sake, how many times does Jamal have to tell you?" Ray looked exasperated, and Brian and I were just plain confused.
"Sorry, did he just say 'His Highness'?" I enquired mildly, and Brian snickered, obviously thinking the wind-up game wasn't over yet.
"Um, yeah he did, and he shouldn't have." Ray gave Rajit a filthy look. "Look guys, you know boarding schools like mine take people from literally all over the world. Anyway, one of my friends, one of 'the Boys', is a crown prince." He gave Rajit another glare, "and we're not supposed to tell anyone."
"Is he rich?"
"Shut up, Brian!" Ray and I said together.
"I'd better go. Look, I'm home for the rest of the holidays. We should get together, and I'd really like you to meet the others sometime."
"Yeah, that'd be cool, Ray, whenever you want, provided I'm not being tutored," I said, thinking I should be getting home too. "How about you, Brian?"
"Yup, suits me."
"'k, I'll call you both soon. Come on, Rajit." He paused and took a breath, "and guys, please don't tell anyone…," Ray looked directly at Brian, "especially your brother, ok?"
"Yeah, ok Ray," Brian replied slowly.
"Promise?"
"Yes," Brian and I replied at the same time, and the expression on Ray's face lightened considerably.
"Thanks!" With that he grabbed his skateboard, prodded Rajit on the shoulder, and they both headed back along the path through the woods.
"Crown prince, huh?" Brian said snarkily.
"Leave it, dude, I've gotta get home … one last run on the half pipe?"
"Sure, man!" We got up and both stretched a little, and I was just strapping on my knee guards when Brian said in a slightly puzzled voice, "Gabe?" I got the right knee secure and started on the left.
"Mmm hmm?" I finished with the knee guards and picked up my board and helmet. Brian was looking at me oddly.
"Why'd you ask if Nick was gay?"
***
I finally got home just as my mother and father were driving off down the road. We waved at each other, and I shut the front door and slung my keys into the bowl.
"Hello!" I called, loud enough to be able to say I thought there was no one home, but not loud enough to reach the attic and Nick's bedroom. There was no reply, so I wandered into the kitchen and made a sandwich. Apollodoros, our Greek housekeeper, was always going on at me for leaving a mess, and as I really didn't want her siding with Nick any time soon, I cleaned up and was just putting the plate and knife in the dishwasher.
"Good job."
"Gah!" I yelled, startled, spinning around and dropping the plate in the process. There was no one there. Five minutes later, I had checked the whole house from top to bottom and found nobody and no explanation for the voice. I was just going back to the kitchen to sweep up the broken plate when I heard the front door open and close, and Nick, wearing sweats, came in, panting.
"Too hot for running, gotta have a shower," he gasped, jogging on the spot, and then vanished up the stairs with a "see you in a while." I peered around the door to watch as he walked up the stairs and realised he must have been super fit. He wasn't even sweating.
I needed time to think about Valerian, and what I could do to salvage the situation, so as I always did, I went downstairs to play some guitar. My room in the basement, which the family had nicknamed 'The Dungeon', was stuffy and stiflingly hot. I opened the small grille window that looked out on the garden, booted up the Mac that I used mainly for recording, and finally decided to take off my t-shirt. I picked up the acoustic, and after checking the tuning, sat down on the futon and started noodling.
I had started playing guitar when I was twelve and a therapist had told my parents it might be a good idea, as I seemed to have musical ability. How she knew that from a paper test had always baffled me, yet she hadn't been wrong. I did enjoy playing, and though I wasn't particularly good, I found it helped me think. I lay back, the guitar across my stomach, and closed my eyes.
The room was large and flooded with indeterminate light. A black-haired, green-eyed boy of about seventeen years, whose name I knew I knew but just couldn't remember, was standing on a large white rug and leaning rakishly against a mantel. He was wearing an old pair of jeans and a jean jacket over a fluorescent pink t-shirt and seemed to be grinning inanely.
"So. Do you want to?"
"Want to what?" I said shyly, knowing immediately what he was asking, and feeling both elated and a little terrified at the same time.
"You know what," he said, his grin now so large and lupine it seemed to split his face in two, as his hand, thumb in pocket, casually rested above an obvious lump on which his fingers started tapping rhythmically. I was entranced and felt like giggling, though I managed not to. I gulped.
"Umm. Yeah, but we can't here." I paused. He looked at me expectantly. "We'll have to go down to the basement."
The boy following me downstairs made me quiver. I was torn by wanting, needing, excitement; and a frisson of actual terror. Though I knew no one actually went to the basement during the afternoon, I wasn't sure how I knew that either, and there was always the possibility that they might.
A creaky wooden staircase led down from the room into the gloom of the 'below stairs'. 'It's safe, it's my house,' I reminded myself as the boy's breath feathered my neck. I paused at the bottom. It wasn't my house anymore.
"I think it's this way," I whispered, pointing down a gloomy flag stone corridor.
"Ok" he replied, briefly touching my arm. "Go on, then."
I was getting more nervous yet more excited at every step, and I could feel my heart pounding. Oddly, the touch on my arm seemed to calm me, as I led the boy past several closed doors, by a gently roaring boiler, and into a small room at the end that was fitted out with wooden shelving stuffed with storage boxes. The door didn't seem to have a lock, just a catch, so I closed it behind us and leant against it; the only light coming in through three air holes towards the top of the door. My eyes were unused to the gloom and all I could see was the gleam of the boy's silky black hair.
He prodded me on the shoulder with his finger.
"Light?"
"Umm ... it's safer in the dark." I was now fully blown neurotic. My arms seemed stuck to my sides. I knew it was what I wanted. I knew it felt good; still, I felt scared. What if someone was coming, what if someone needed something from one of the boxes behind me? Or worse, what if someone already knew ....
I shuddered in anticipation as his hand touched my shoulder and then wandered slowly down my chest, down and under the bottom of my T-shirt, and ever so gently back up again. My right nipple, which I'd honestly never really thought about a lot, began to feel pleasantly strange as he rested his thumb on it.
"Nice?"
"Mmm."
"Thought so. I read it in a book."
It was then, totally unannounced, that his other hand cupped my crotch.
"Aagh!" I screamed loudly, bumping into the light switch and temporarily blinding us, whilst the boy disappeared backward into the boxes, blinking furiously.
"What the ...."
"Shhh!" I hissed, listening intently.
The frozen tableau lasted a good thirty seconds until it became obvious there were no running feet or shouts from above. I knew this wasn't the love thing that my sister endlessly talked about, it was lust; and honestly, I don't know what possessed me, but I moved slowly forward until our bodies were touching, looked up into his face and wrapped my arms around him. It felt so good, so right, so ….
The door was brutally kicked open, and Nick was standing there, glowering. A tall clown, wearing a bright green curly wig, with a white face and lips painted in the shape of a heart, stood behind him, holding a shotgun. Fascinated, I watched the barrels as they rose, slowly turning from flattened ellipses into perfectly round, pitch black holes that matched his eyes.
'Bye, bye Gabriel," the clown said in Valerian's weird electronically disguised voice. "I warned you not to cross me…." And Nick and the clown grinned viciously, rivulets of blood starting to ooze from the corners of their mouths.
Index •
Chapter 2
Seraph by Camy © 2006/2007/2008
Thanks to Kitty, for all the editorial input and tweaking.
She has made this tale much, much better than it was. Gassho.
