Chapter 1
Scamp, the cheekiest lovable eighteen-year-old looked forward to January the first more than most. All five foot eight inches stood as tall as a tower in his see-through boxershorts adorned with red hearts. More suitable for February 14th, he wore them because his boyfriend, aptly named Bestie; had both them for a Christmas present. Leaning across the bar at the Gay Cavalier public house, as the poster had advertised, he awaited his first free pint of the evening’s proceedings.
Yes, any twink celebrating the New Year in his Monday morning laundry would welcome in the New Year with a smile on any gay man’s face. The place heaved with older men in their fancy dress. The toga’s suggested a night of Caligula. This is the reason why older men preferred to don themselves in their white bed sheets. Hope for an orgy was almost at the top of their agenda. Whereas, those who adorned the rich Roman robes would have to get them cleaned and ready to hang as curtains in the morning. In return for their efforts, they received a free glass of Prosecco, from one of the cheaper supermarkets. They didn’t care. The opportunity to brush their aged flesh against some near-naked youth was all they wanted. To reminisce about when it was their time. Of chances gained or, missed; they remembered their good times. As it was in their day. Each to their own the twinks surmised.
Scamp’s seductive glance at the young barman, on hire from some employment agency or other for the night; was just to get his attention. The light reflected off his glazed brown eyes of youthful innocence. Nothing, the barman served the man next to him. To get his attention Scamp smiled. No effect. This man was colder than ice. He flicked his brown hair to one side as the barman walked by again who served a newcomer to the pub.
“Er, excuse me,” said Scamp.
“I’ll serve this gentleman first,” the barman replied.
Oh fuck, thought Scamp; he’s straight. Leaning further across the antique wooden bar he observed this guy’s backside. A firm peachy affair. Both of his cheeks oozed with glute glory. One thing was for certain. Wherever he showed them off they were neither idolised nor appreciated. His thighs were like a gazelle. Muscles rippled down them like a waterfall gently cascaded downwards. Watching them walk back towards him, Scamp appreciated the effort that had been put into them. The workouts. The training for whatever sport had his attention. A shame it was no woman would ever appreciate him for it. Should he compliment this guy on his achievement?
Face to face with his naval, Scamp sniggered. For this man had a fault. He hadn’t brushed the fluff from his belly button.
“Are you eighteen yet Scamp?”
“I am,” he replied with confidence.
“Come on Dave, don’t be a dickhead. Two pints mate,” said Bestie now they had his attention.
Bestie, Scamp’s significant other knew the barman. Or at least his younger brother. He was the village idiot as far as he was concerned. The whole family were, well; odd to say the least. Bestie was convinced they were aliens. None of them behaved as they should. Attitude had nothing to do with it. Pissing people off it seemed, did. Especially the mother. It came as no surprise the father had done a runner years ago.
