Oscar 28
I wish I could say I saw it coming.
That, as my shoes crunched the gravel of Pricey's front garden path, the ominous, sickening feeling wriggling around my gut became clear. That, before I crossed the point of no return, I realised what was waiting for me inside, and I turned and ran and cut my losses no matter how much I knew I would lose.
But I didn't. I did exactly what I'd told myself to do.
I swallowed it down. Pushed the dread somewhere so deep and dark I lost sight of it. Replaced it with the starry-eyed, teenage fantasies of my soon-to-be first date that itched to take centre-stage from the back of my mind.
Would he kiss me on the doorstep? Or wait until we were safely away from prying eyes? Would he sweep me off my feet and into his car? Cruise us far away from town to the city somewhere big and shiny and exciting.
Or would he invite me in? Play coy or shy or standoffish to make me want him more? Or would he be all over me? Kiss me, cuddle me, hold me. Tie me up, use me and abuse me. Feed me beer before feeding me something far more delicious.
And what would he be wearing? I'd only ever seen him in tiny black rugby shorts and sports tops. Not that his fashion choices had ever been bad, but I could only imagine how smart and handsome and irresistible he would look in a pair of jeans or chinos and a fitted shirt or sweater.
A real man. A gentleman.
As I took the single, moss-speckled stone step up to his front door and lifted my hand, a wave of sickness rolled through me. I figured it was nerves; the anticipation of it all. All the natural feelings to expect, or so I'd been told in movies and magazines and lame daytime TV shows.
It didn't even occur to me, when my knuckles collided against the dark navy, polished wood, pushing the unlocked door open an inch with a dull creak, that something might be wrong.
I thought it was a game. A teaser. Sir leaving the door open so I, the young, blue-eyed boy could find him waiting inside. Sat ready to bend me over his knee and peal my jeans down. Hungrily pull at my cheeks and play with my hole.
A fantasy my full balls and twitching cock were more than happy to buy into.
Closing the door gently behind me, I tiptoed through the hallway as quietly as I could. Past the empty living room and the stairway leading up to his bedroom. Past a jumbled array of framed photos I hadn't noticed on my first visit, now gently gleaming in the low afternoon light trickling through the frosted-glass window of the front door behind me.
The dining room door was closed but he was in there. I could sense him. Placing my ear against the smooth, cool wood I waited for the initial muffled sounds of contact to smooth away. Then I heard him: the faintest in-and-out of a large, muscled chest rising and falling.
He was waiting for me.
Standing up straight I stretched out my back. Cracked my neck. Took a deep breath and ran a finger around the waistband of my jockstrap to make sure it wasn't twisted. Decided, that if he was sat on a chair, I would straddle him. Kiss his mouth and neck while I grinded my arse into his crotch and squeezed his muscled flanks between my thighs. Or, if he was standing, I would drop to my knees. Take him in my mouth and down my throat before anything else. I wanted him to know I liked his games.
I was ready.
But then, in the blink of an eye, I wasn't. I went from nervous but excited to scared. Horny and hot for his arms and chest and legs and back and load to weak and vulnerable and unprepared.
To the right, no more than five inches from my eyes, was Tim. Framed in full colour and hidden among a group of ten other smiling faces. He was beaming, wide and toothy, and he had his arm around someone. A young woman. A young blonde woman. The blonde woman.
His ex-wife.
My jaw dropped. My eyes widened. My dream suddenly made sense. I had seen her before. At school, when she'd dropped Mr. Price off a long time ago. Back when he'd been a teacher. I'd seen her behind the wheel, beautiful but unmistakably sad.
Then her haunting scream echoed in my mind.
GET OUT!
For half a second I seriously considered heeding her advice. There was no rational reason to listen to the demands of a fictitious representation from my subconscious, of course, but the squirming sensation in my gut was now back with a vengeance. Incubated long enough and ready to burst through my chest.
It was then I understood something might be wrong.
That maybe my quest to claim Tim Price was fundamentally flawed. That some part of me had known all along, based on lies and founded on dishonesty, it would never work.
But I'd ignored it. Acted like everything would be fine because I needed it to be.
I needed him. Needed him to make my life better. To give it meaning. To help me convince myself I would be ok. That I wouldn't be alone anymore.
But it was too late to run. Half-a-second up my decision was made for me.
`I know you're out there,' he said from the other side of the door.
I said nothing. Held my breath and didn't move a muscle.
`Come in,' he said.
His voice was calm. Deadpan. Void of warmth but void of all emotion. Neither friendly nor hostile. An instruction.
Pushing the door open slowly I did as I was told. Slinked through the crack and closed it. Leaning with my back against the door and arms folded, I looked over.
He was sat in the same chair he'd picked the first time I'd been over. Back left corner of the table. On his upper half was a woollen grey jumper, clinging to his bulging biceps, tris and pecs. His legs were open but I could only see his right one – the other obscured by the table top. He was wearing midnight blue jeans.
They suited him.
One of his hands was rested below the table line in his lap and the other gripped a half-full bottle of beer. His posture was relaxed but not welcoming. His shaved head hung slightly; his eyes fixed on the dark green glass in front of him. His feet were bare.
`Hey,' I said.
No reply.
Taking a step forward I ignored the alarm bells ringing in my head and chest and stomach. Cocked my head to the side and coughed. He looked up. Saw me for the first time.
For the briefest of moments, he smiled. Kind and genuine. Maybe he liked how well I'd scrubbed up. Or maybe he was just happy to see me. I didn't find out. The look on his face vanished. His eyes turned cold and away.
`You ok?' I said, walking closer.
`Take a seat,' he said, his voice gruff and cracking, like he hadn't spoken all day.
`Ok,' I said, pulling out the chair opposite him and obeying like a submissive puppy.
For ten seconds neither of us spoke. For all ten he wouldn't look at me. All he did was take a swig from his bottle and place it back slowly and soundlessly on the table.
`Bit early for that, don't you think?' I said trying to catch his eye.
No use. He simply raised and lowered his eyebrows; his stare stuck on the receptacle in front of him.
Then he said, `We need to talk.'
`Ok, of course,' I said. `What about?'
There was still a chance. A chance that this had nothing to do with me.
Maybe he'd had a bad day. Bumped into an old friend or colleague. Maybe his past mistakes had come back to bite him in the arse and he needed me too. Needed me to hold him and make him feel better and tell him everything was going to be ok.
Wrong again.
`You lied to me,' he said.
My head shook by itself. Five words came out of my mouth on their own accord. My auto-piloted, self-defence mechanism already deployed.
`What are you talking about?' I said.
`Oscar. Stop.'
`Stop what?'
`Stop lying to me.'
`I'm not.'
He laughed twice; both scoffs dismissive.
`I had a visitor last night,' he said.
`And?'
`And he told me all about you.'
`Who?'
Not that I didn't know the answer.
`Adam Stanmore,' he said.
I looked away. To hide the anger creeping across my face. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have underestimated him?
I knew he was going to try something. Some pathetic attempt to tear me and Tim apart, but I didn't expect him to act so soon. I thought I had more time. More time to outsmart that stupid slab of muscle.
Not so stupid.
`Let me guess-'
`No,' he interrupted. `You don't get to speak.'
`That's not fair.'
`Not fair? You have no right to come into my house and tell me what's fair.'
I said nothing.
He took another swig. Said, `I found him sitting on my doorstop when I got home from work last night. I told him to leave but he wouldn't listen. He said he needed to warn me.'
`Warn you?'
`Warn me about you.'
I said nothing. Shook my head and made a face. A face that asked how he could even consider such an absurd possibility. It was Adam's word against mine and Adam wasn't here.
`That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?' I said.
`Dramatic?' he said. `He was in tears, Oscar. I've never seen him like that.'
`So? He got the shit kicked out of him by his dad. I doubt things are sunshine and lollipops for him.'
He shook his head. Said, `You lied to me. You said he's been going around telling people I'm his boyfriend.'
`He has!'
`Not according to him. He says you coerced him into telling you where I lived.'
`Why the hell would I do that?
`So you could find me. Stalk me in the park and throw yourself at me.'
`Bullshit. You know why I did that.'
`You manipulated him. You made him feel like you were on his side and then you tossed him away like human garbage.'
I laughed. Half at the glorious memory of sticking it to the king of school all those weeks ago, but also because I had nothing to worry about.
True though it was, it was technically hearsay. Unsubstantiated rumour and gossip. No, it didn't paint me in the best picture, but like I said, Adam wasn't here and I was. And while he may have outsmarted me by a day, I had more acting talent in my little finger than he had in all six feet and six inches of his brainless body.
Standing up and out of my chair, its feet screeching across the floorboards, I put on my finest sneer.
`So, that's it. You're going to listen to him over me? The boy who ruined your marriage and your career?'
He shook his head. Once and then twice. Looked up at me from his chair with pleading eyes.
`Oscar,' he said. `I don't know who to believe!'
`Believe me!'
`How can I?'
`How can't you?' I said, sitting back down to his level and making my face warm and caring and friendly. `You said you wanted me. That you couldn't wait to see me.'
`I couldn't. Honestly, matey, I've been looking forward to seeing you all week. So much so I couldn't believe what he was telling me. I listened to him and then I told him to go and then I text you back.'
`So why the accusations? Why the change of heart?'
`I thought about it. I've been thinking about it all day ... You did lie to me, Oscar. You pretended you didn't know me.'
`I explained that,' I said, reaching out and stroking his arm.
He let me.
`I know. But why would he make up something like this?'
`He's having a hard time. You know how it can be.'
Neither of us spoke for almost ten seconds. Then he said, `I want to believe you. I really do.'
`You can, Tim, you can. Trust me,' I said, getting out of my seat and sitting in the empty chair next to him.
Placing my hand on his leg I squeezed his thigh. Then I reached out and kissed his neck and cheek. For a second or two he let me. Then he pulled away but nor far. Turned to look at me; his piercing blue eyes searching my soul.
`Prove it,' he said.
`Prove it?'
`Prove to me you're telling the truth.'
I laughed. Said, `How?'
`Give me your wallet.'
Silence.
`What? Why?' I said.
`Show me your ID.'
`My ID?'
`Yes. Your ID. You told me you were eighteen.'
`I am eighteen,' I lied.
`Adam said you're seventeen.'
Silence again.
`In my car, when I dropped you home, you looked me in the eyes and told me you had no more secrets.'
`I don't.'
`So, prove him wrong,' he said. `Show me you're not lying. Please.'
I said nothing. Couldn't speak. All and every word had escaped me.
He'd caught me out. They both had.
To be continued ...
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Copyright Jack Ladd 2016
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