One Of Those Moments
by Jack Kendle
I’ve known Billy since he was thirteen, nearly three years, now. From a cheeky little tyke in baseball cap, hoodie and baggy gangsta-style pants to this tall, slim, sexy fifteen-year-old, ‘nearly sixteen’ as he is always so quick to say when asked his age. His former wheat-blond hair has darkened somewhat but the boy’s complexion is still unblemished; ruddy cheeks, rosy lips, pert cupid-bow mouth, cool grey eyes.
He’s waiting for me in the cafeteria where we arranged to meet and as I come in, unfolds his tall slim body, comes towards me, and leans in for the kiss he knows I will give him. I’m so pleased to see him! I hold him tightly and press his soft young cheek to mine, inhaling the fresh scent of newly-washed teen boy.
Billy’s figure-hugging white tee-shirt clings to his slim torso, I can almost count the ribs. His aureoles, slightly erect, are also visible behind the thin material; dark dime-sized circular nubs showing through the thin white cotton. He’s put some gel in his hair, studiously made to look as though he’s taken no trouble over it, although I can guess just how long he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, to get that unkempt look just right! I like to think he is naked when he does so, so that he can spend some time admiring his slim body and (though I can only imagine, having never seen it) that sweet dick he must have!
He is wearing rust-red trousers, hugging the lower body in just the right places, giving me tantalising glimpses of the bulge of boyhood beneath. My gaze travels onwards, down his long, slim legs to the unlaced white baseball pumps, which complete the picture of perfection, which greets me.
We find ourselves a table.
“So how was France?” I ask as we read the menus. Billy has spent nearly a fortnight away, spending the Spring break with a friend from school, who is half French. The lucky boy has grandparents who live just outside Nice on the French Riviera.
A slight shrug of the shoulders. “It was okay. Got a bit bored. A week’s fine, but two weeks without a computer was boring!”
That’s today’s youth for you: no computer, no instant Internet access equals boring life. I could think of a thousand and one things to do in the Spring on the Riviera, but I didn’t voice my thoughts. That’s the difference between the generations, I thought.
Admittedly, I had missed seeing him on “Skype” – our daily chats about everything and nothing. He sent me a text-message explaining how the road works outside his friend’s house had cut the telephone lines, hence no Internet. I spent the Spring break missing Billy while he spent the Spring break missing the World Wide Web.
“I see you got a bit of a tan!” I indicated the teen’s thin arms, which certainly had benefited from some Mediterranean sun.
With a slightly wicked grin, he pulled up his tee-shirt and pushing down the waistband of his trousers, giving me a delicious glimpse of honey-gold stomach and a tan line, low down. He was wearing white Calvin Klein boxer shorts. My mind raced and my throat went dry as I imagined him on a beach perhaps, wearing skimpy Speedos (in my favourite colour, blue) which that hugged his boyhood. All of a sudden I was very jealous of his school friend.
The waiter came over and Billy pulled his tee shirt back down. The sight of his exposed boyflesh remained burned on my retina. In my imagination, I pulled his trousers, then his white CK’s further and further down, exposing more and more of his boyhood, until his sweet cock sprang up to meet my gaze. I had to almost physically shake myself so that I could concentrate on ordering.
I again thought of his friend. After the waiter had left I asked, “So what did you and Hugo get up to?” I asked, after we had ordered. A simple green salad for me, while he chose the largest ’burger and fries on the menu with a large Coke to go with it. Where do you put all that junk food you eat? I thought, and why aren’t you as round as a football and covered in spots? Some people have all the luck!
I noticed him give me a quick glance at my question and was there the beginning of a blush? Surely not! Maybe he and Hugo had…? The boy in question interrupted my speculations.
“Nothing much. Went on his granddad’s boat. Went into the mountains to the family’s summerhouse. Went shark fishing, sucked each other off a few times…”
Okay, he didn’t say that last bit, just my wishful thinking and overactive imagination! But nonetheless, a most pleasing tableau briefly sprang to mind!
I should introduce myself. My name is John Fletcher and am a relatively young-looking if slightly overweight fifty-five. I conduct the youth orchestra that Billy plays in. I am married, but have a side to my life that I keep completely secret, known only to one other person in the world, someone whom I trust implicitly. Ye gods! Thanks be to the Internet!
Although approaching my Silver Wedding anniversary, and both a father and a grandfather, I have been gay since I remember, my main attraction being to young teen boys. Fair or dark, short or tall, it makes little difference to me. Just the fact that they are cute is enough for me.
What makes life even more difficult is that, being an educator, I am in a position of trust and authority, which it would be more than my life’s worth to abuse. So, I haven’t; but my God, it’s been difficult! The temptations with which I have been presented have been enough to try a saint. I’m no saint, but I can honestly say, that with one exception, I have never acted inappropriately with a boy. That was many years ago now, but I am still haunted by those days, where I realised I was physically unable to keep my hands to myself. Since then, I have been forced to behave myself, curb my desires despite being very attracted to many examples of burgeoning teen boyhood, and even got quite close to a few, but the outcome was always the same: always heartbroken when these lovely boys move on.
Billy is one of my latest mad crushes. God! That anyone can be so beautiful and get away with it is quite beyond my comprehension. He is utterly, utterly divine! I have got to the point in our ‘relationship’ where I am like a favourite uncle; he trusts me – although it has occurred to me more than once that he might have a slight suspicion there is more to my friendship than meets the eye, but nevertheless he allows me to kiss him when we meet and part and puts up with my tactile presence – it is almost physically impossible for me to keep from touching him!
I know that he trusts me; before he went on holiday, he discussed a problem with me that showed this. Of course, I can’t say here what it was, but it was of a very intimate nature. Luckily, the ‘problem’ has gone away. Billy found out just before he went to France and he sent me a text-message from the airport with the good news. That’s how much he trusts me and knows me to be a true friend. Personally, I would prefer to be more than just his friend and confidant but at the same time, deeply honoured that he should find himself able to talk to me about such an intimate problem. So far, I have managed to keep my behaviour within the bounds society has set, but it is so difficult to keep my distance!
As we sat, I couldn’t help but steal glances at his crotch. His trousers rode up slightly now and again, giving me a glimpse of the outline of his testicles, to one side of the seam in his jeans. I mentally licked my lips, imagining not for the first time, what they looked like; whether they hung low in their sac, whether his scrotum was hairless, how long his cock was and how it lay exactly. As circumcision is not generally practiced here, I assumed that Billy was uncut. More images of my tongue lapping at his cockhead sprang to mind. I noticed he caught me once or twice as my eyes strayed down to his boyhood. If he thought anything of it, his expression didn’t show it.
Occasionally he would tweak his pants down, if they became too tight around his balls, I imagined. How I longed to rip his clothes off him, then and there, and ravage him on the spot! Images of me with my face buried in his crotch, his sweet cock down my throat, or else my own hard member buried up to the hilt in his sweet ass flashed across my inner eye, making it hard for me to concentrate on what the divine blond angel was saying.
Our food arrived. I just couldn’t equate the size of the helping of greasy food and artery-clogging sauce on Billy’s plate with the teen’s slim frame and flawless complexion. The gods had sure been good to him when he was conceived! I knew Billy’s father. He was nineteen when I had a crush on him, thirty or so years ago. How time flies! It seemed just like yesterday that I was ogling the blond teen who was this boy’s dad. Funny old world! I suddenly felt old and not a little sad.
I was roused from my reverie by a gentle kick under the table. I looked up and found myself staring into Billy’s concerned gaze.
“You OK, John?”
I shook the blues away. “I’m fine, Billy,” I replied. “Sorry, I was miles away.”
Then Billy did a totally unexpected thing. He laid his slender young hand on my arm and said, “If you’ve got a problem, and there’s anything I can do to help, just say, OK?”
What a reversal of fortunes! This sweet fifteen-year-old youth was offering to help me with my problems! Usually, he came to me with his doubts and worries.
Billy’s hand remained where it was, resting lightly on my arm. With my free hand, I covered it, feeling the soft warm flesh. He still had a worried look in his eyes.
“Don’t you worry about me, Billy, you sweet boy,” I said. “It’s just an old man’s regrets, I suppose!”
“Well you’re certainly old, that’s for sure!” responded the blond teen, with a cheeky sparkle in his eye and a lopsided grin. I noticed he didn’t withdraw his hand from beneath mine. I savoured the prolonged touch, my cock responding, out of sight, beneath the table.
“Cheeky monkey!” I aimed a playful swipe at the blond’s head, which he dodged easily.
He became serious again. “I mean it, John. If there’s anything…”
I knew what it would take for the blues to vanish; my thoughts ran riot as I looked at the boy – but I knew my desires and fantasies wouldn’t – shouldn’t be realized with this delightful boy. I would never, ever hurt him, and if the price to pay for his company was never becoming intimate with him, then so be it.
“Thanks, dear boy, I’ll bear it in mind.”
The moment passed and we resumed our eating.
“I’ve applied for Interlochen next autumn.”
Whoa! I hadn’t seen that one coming!
Interlochen was a school somewhere in the US for talented musical kids and if he was accepted, then Billy would be moving away for at least a whole school year, if not longer, plus the fact that he would be at Summer Camp this year; nearly three months in which I wouldn’t see him and would have to make do with sporadic Skype sessions and the occasional brief phone call. Last summer had been bad enough, but if he was going to Interlochen as well, then it meant it would be at least a year in which I wouldn’t get to see him.
I felt as though I had been winded, the air literally punched out of my lungs. I felt myself staring at the vision of loveliness before me, almost gasping, unable to speak.
“Hey, aren’t you glad for me?” His expression had clouded over a little, a look of puzzlement on his face.
“I’m so happy for you,” I replied, in a hoarse voice, hardly able to get the words out, or so I felt. But Billy seemed taken in and a broad smile lit up his features.
“Yeah, it’s cool. My teacher says I shouldn’t have any problem in being accepted. He said I might not even have to do an audition, that he had spoken to his old teacher who is the guy who runs it…”
I let Billy ramble on, his pleasure so obvious, his eyes dancing, cheeks coloring slightly as he stabbed at fries and hamburger as he spoke.
In my mind’s eye, I saw nothing but a grey, featureless desert stretching out from me in all directions. Yet one more of life’s disappointments: – another of my beautiful boys taken from me. It happened so often I should have become used to it by now, but every time it did, it was like a knife in the heart, twisting, turning. Sure, I knew there would be a ‘life after Billy’ but all the same, it was so unfair; I had hoped to have the pleasure of this young man’s company for at least another few years, while he was at school, but now it looked as though he would be moving away and I would lose touch with him and he would become another of the long line of boys I had coached and taught down the years; just a fading memory, a brief meteor in the dark night which was my life.
I became aware of a silence. Billy had stopped talking and was looking at me in a strange way.
“You don’t want me to go, do you John? You want me to stay here, don’t you?”
The question was simply asked, quietly and without any rancour or accusing tone in the voice. I felt the grey eyes appraising me, watching my face intently. I tried to make my expression as neutral as possible.
I tried to keep my voice light, friendly. “Of course I want you to go, Billy! I’m so pleased for you! It’s just what you wanted, remember?”
I saw at once that Billy didn’t buy my charade. His eyes glittered and I watched him swallow a couple of times, I saw how his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat – that lovely slim neck I so longed to bury my face in, smother in kisses, nibble…
The boy continued to stare at me, mutely, an expression almost of pleading on his face. To my astonishment, I saw a single clear teardrop leave the boy’s eye and slowly course down the smooth cheek, which had become ashen.
“Billy, please…” my own voice was thick with emotion, I felt myself coming close to tears. I couldn’t bear to see this lovely boy in pain – whatever the cause. And the thought that I had been the reason for this grief made me feel torn with anguish. I would never, ever do anything to hurt this divine youth – yet here he was, seemingly in such pain, and all my fault.
His voice was so low, I had trouble hearing it above the noise of the café. Billy’s head was lowered, he seemed to be addressing the remains of his food, now forgotten and congealing on his plate.
I leaned closer in to hear the boy’s murmurings. Our heads almost touched…
“Tell me you don’t want me to go… tell me you want me to stay… tell me why…please John…tell me that you…”
It was like an electric shock, when I suddenly realized, or rather thought I realized what Billy was trying to say. Or was it just my fevered imagination, the result of so many hours fantasizing about this boy, about how I felt for him, what I wanted to do with him, how I had fallen deeply, insanely in love with this fifteen-year old angel? My mind reeled with what seemed like thousands upon thousands of images. Of Billy and me, of Billy, Billy, Billy…
It was one of those moments.
There, in that crowded cafeteria, our world, our whole universe reduced to the small diameter of the table at which we sat, unaware of everything else except for the person sitting opposite.
One of those moments where time slows, ceases to exist, … unravels.
A moment where the wrong word will send everything spiraling out of control, heading towards the cold deserted reaches of time and space, to wither and die, become nothing, be snuffed out.
A moment where a decision has to be made in a split second. A decision that will affect every second left of not just one, but to possibly many, many lives.
A moment of truth, or a moment to lie?
What could I say? I had never, even for an instant expected this situation to arise. Had I understood correctly, or was I labouring under a misconception? I went over what Billy had been saying to me. Had I read him right? Or had I allowed my own longings to colour my understanding of what I thought the teen was trying to say?
One of those moments.
I took a deep breath.
He raised his grey eyes to meet my own. A crystal teardrop quivered on the end of his impossibly long lashes. With a thumb, I gently wiped it away. Billy’s expression remained grave, sad.
In that moment, the moment between the teardrop leaving Billy’s eyelash and being on my thumb, I saw the future as clearly as I saw the boy in front of me. I saw the years ahead, stretching away with such clarity – every detail of my life and Billy’s right before my eyes. In that nanosecond two whole lives sped before me, every incident every coincidence every decision making those lives run like a crazy runaway train, careering down the tracks, wheels almost, but not quite, leaving the tracks completely as the two lives hurtled towards their end.
It was one of those moments – and now I knew what I had to say.
“Billy, you must go. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t and your family wouldn’t understand. Billy, my dear, sweet, lovely boy, you need to do this. You need it more than anything else right now. To not go would be wrong… Believe me, Billy, you will thank me one day. If I’ve given you any advice until now, this is the most important for you to heed, even though you might not understand…”
There was no response from the teen. His shoulders sagged. He looked back down at the table.
“Billy, it is exactly because I… love you that I am saying this. Believe me, please.”
“And it’s for my own good, right?”
The voice was dead, emotionless. So soft, I could hardly hear the words. My heart was racked with pain for the boy, but I knew that I had done the right thing. No way would any other answer have been the right one.
“Yes, Billy, it is.”
We sat there in silence for a few more minutes as the world began to encroach on our private pain. The waiter came and took our plates. I paid the bill.
“C’mon Billy. I’ll drive you home.”
We got to his house, both of us silent the whole time. I turned off the engine.
I had no words of encouragement for the boy. Anything I said would sound hollow, insincere.
The temptation to take the beautiful slim, golden boy in my arms and cover him with kisses was so strong, I had to physically hold back, gripping the wheel of my car so hard, the knuckles whitened and the joints cracked.
How I wanted to rewind – go back and do it again differently. Tell Billy I had made a mistake, I had only been joking, tell him how much I wanted him, needed him. But what was done, was done. It gave me no satisfaction or happiness to know that I had done the right thing. All I could think about was the opportunity I had thrown away. I had sacrificed myself on the altar of selflessness and I hated it. For all the right reasons, I’m sure, but it was still something which, until I found myself speaking back there in the cafeteria, I never thought I would say.
Now it was done, there was nothing I could say or do which would undo it. The grey desert was coming to surround me and the sun disappeared for ever as Billy opened the door.
There was no usual kiss for me as he left the car.
There never would be again.
One of those moments.
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