How long was this going to last? I was glad to see Peter chilled out, but I just wanted to be back in the car with him. I wanted to take a closer look at his reddened face and wanted to watch him grin and chat with me. We are like close friends. He never talks to me like that – grinning and winking. With me, it’s always about sports, performance, school, any missed chapter, and all that is related to such topics. I don’t mind, but I wish Peter discussed other matters with me, like life, feelings, attraction. If I told Peter about my developing interests he could keep that smile for a little longer.
“Oh Jack, I am very proud of you and I feel great. Can you explain that? I have a peculiar feeling of having repeated myself?” Once back in the car, he put his jacked in the back seat, and unbuttoned his shirt from the top. He took the car hood off whilst driving out of the school gate. His face still deeply blushed, and an unstoppable grin still stretching from ear to ear.
“Yes Peter, several times, ever since the school report came.”
“Very well, and here it is one more time.” He extended his arm and rubbed the back of my head. I put my hand to the back of my head and held his great chubby hand there for some time.
“Ok! Seat belts on. Off we go.” He pulled off his hand and rested it on the steering wheel. Then again he put his hand to the back of my head and rubbed my hair - My head readily in waiting for that acute pleasure in the warmth of a strong soft hand. This pleasure goes through my brain and spins it so that I cannot think any further than what is there.
“Where shall we go now? Shall we go to such and such place for some nice lunch by the pool? Where would you prefer?”
“I don’t mind really. I am not too hungry right now. We are going out again in the evening with Della?”
“Are you looking forward to the evening? Ok, a small relaxing snack then, but a quick one, for now. Look at the day, how brilliant it is? Some cold drink for you? Would you like that?” hmm? I immediately felt thirsty at the hint a cold drink.
At last, we arrive home. My long awaited plan yet to be materialised. I will have a go at this today. I will be a brave jack, and see how it goes. It must work. Will it? I have had this feeling for almost a month now. My friend got hold of a porn magazine and we looked at it together. I felt in a manner quite peculiar to me, new and different, and have masturbated, in the way learnt through the slick booklet, quite regularly since, thinking of the things that the models in the magazine did. Guys, girls doing stuff to one another; hands, mouths and tongues everywhere. No one as good looking as Peter though. I had built up this urge to do these things with him. The deep sensation that goes with the birth of a desire, and an internal longing to realize our strange ideals, to create a fusion between our romantic spirit and the body. I thought about this all the while. Every time I see him, or smell him anywhere near me, or think of him differently and those pictures from the sleek magazine come live to my mind. I have used Peter in my imagination in several ways, poses, positions, and enjoying it the way the models in the magazine did. I wonder if Peter has ever seen this type of magazine, or come into contact with such models, or has ever performed such a task. After all, he is as grown up as those people, probably much bigger in size, and much better looking as it is. Peter is the best looking man. I would be so jealous if Peter ever came into contact with any of those models in the same way as they were in physical contact with one another. At least, not before he has learnt it from me. They don’t deserve him. I do. I had been making alternating plans and stacking them up if one of them didn’t go according to my, schedule.
“Peter I love you!” I gave him a tight hug in the house. My arms don’t fit around him, and my head barely reaches his chest. I stand on my toes to reach his shoulder. Della still not back from her mother’s.
“There’s good boy. The best boy. Get me a beer from the fridge. I am going to sleep for a bit, but I need a shower first. Then we wait for Della, and go out for the evening. Today you choose a good place. Della said she is fine with any type of dinner.” He walked to the sofa to sit, but then walked back to the dining table. He slung his wet shirt on the chair. I watched from the kitchen door. Peter walks fast around the house which sometime makes me think he is going to bump into a wall, which he never does.
“Does that big grill place take your fancy? The one over there”...... he was rubbing his bare belly from left to right, right to left. His hand came to rest at the buckle. My heart raced, or stopped.
“Beer Peter!” I had opened the can. Peter out of his trousers and slumped on the sofa. I sat beside him and took a deep look in his face. I don’t seem to get tired of watching his face, and he doesn’t seem to mind me staring at him.
“Well done. Now you sit with me and tell me about your plans.” He put his arm behind my shoulders pulling me towards him.
“Plans?” I was shocked! How does he know? I haven’t told anyone. The magazine is with some other friends now, probably distributed to the whole group page by page and subdivided pages. Has he read my mind, which he does mention at times.
“Yeah, don’t you have a plan?” He pressed me harder towards him. His lips moved to the bitter taste of beer.
“Plan? Yeah, like, I am not sure... yet. Do you know of this plan Peter?” What was happening? I have not blabbed. How could he have figured this one? Is he in for it? Do I have his agreement? Is that how these plans work? No need to be scared then. He is grown up and understands I suppose. He always laughs at my mischief’s, and says he was more daring than me at my age. He has never told me off or scolded me the way others get it at home sometime. I could just see through his boxer’s button hole. So, shall I just go ahead and ask him. I mean, he saw me peeping through his bedroom door last time and he was laughing madly telling Della about it. Will he be mad at me if I was to... say anything... start first? What shall I say?
“Any thought about applying for further studies? What is the application process? It all needs planning you know!”
“Oh that?” Such relief!
“Well yes, I have thought about it. Some of us are going to do it together. We are meeting in the library some time later this week.” I was acutely aware of how during my exam preparation and revision, Peter had made every possible attempt in helping me, even if it was to leave me unattended if the situation demanded. Several, late nights he brought a hot drink to my room which would give me enough energy to either continue studying or gain a sound sleep. “You need strength for tomorrow as well,” he would say. As I was rejoicing at double digit scores in every paper, and reading the remarks on school report, deep inside I had felt that Peter deserved a pat on his back more than I did, as he had endured whilst I merely got along as much as I was able to. I am quite unable to congratulate Peter the same way as he does to me. Thus, I was sure that he would accept my answer as a natural progression from leaving school to attend higher education. It was only a year ago that my previous school had dejected me for poor performance, disruption and truancy. A life of past regrets, awaiting to accumulate further regrets, if it is any kind of wait at all. Peter helped me find a new school as well as improve my performance that not only I was proud of myself, but secretly devout to Peter for his strength that he has managed to transfer into me, over this year.
“Great idea. My beer is finished. Just a quick shower before I fall asleep here. Here, help me get up from this sofa.”
I got up and pulled his arms. Much heavier frame than mine. He laughed out loud.
“You are building up a little extra strength each day. Spend some time on weights training during these holidays.” He got up. For some reason looking unusually taller. Boxers clung to body. He is an active sports enthusiast. So has an admirable body, as some of Della’s friends have put it. They think I don’t understand what they are giggling about. I wonder if Peter thinks about himself too, as in attractiveness ratings, and the excitement of looking at himself.
I listened to him running the shower and getting under it. I entered the bathroom.