Thanks for all the messages I have been receiving in response to the first chapter of `Young Bailey' - I do love to receive your feedback so please drop me an email at lewsmorals@mail.com to tell me what you think. And please don't forget to donate to Nifty (http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html) so they can keep publishing stories like this.
As I mentioned in the first chapter, this story is loosely based around characters that appear in another story I wrote, Bailey and Me' which you can find in the adult-youth section. This is a standalone story and you don't need to have read my earlier work, but you will find some crossover between the two as Young Bailey' is designed to be a prequel of sorts, set about 4 or 5 years prior to the other story.
The usual disclaimers apply - this story is purely fictional and the characters are not based on anyone in real life. It contains male-on-male sexual contact, so if you are uncomfortable reading about homosexual content between and adult and a minor then please do not proceed. In this story the characters are having unprotected sex, but in real-life you should always use protection.
2
I grabbed two drinks from my fridge and handed one to Bailey. He sat quietly in the armchair in my room and he avoided my attempts to make eye contact by staring at the floor. Eventually I had to break the silence. "So, do you want to tell me why you're running away?" I asked as I sat down in the chair directly opposite him.
After a lengthy silence he finally gathered the strength to speak, albeit in a croaky and soft voice. "I hate it here," he responded without even looking up at me.
"Why do you hate it here?" I questioned.
Again there was another long silence during which his eyes remained fixed on my carpet. I waited and waited for a response, before eventually he whispered something so inaudible that I had to ask him to repeat it. He finally looked up and made eye contact with me, and I could see the pained expression all over his young and innocent face; I wondered if he might start crying again. "Because I'm not like everyone else."
"What makes you say that?" I asked.
I studied his face during the long pause as he contemplated his answer. "I'm just different to everyone else - I don't belong here," he muttered before breaking eye contact and staring back down at the carpet. After a brief silence I heard him mutter "...you wouldn't understand."
"Why wouldn't I understand?" I asked.
His eyes remained glued to my bedroom floor for an interminably long time before he finally looked up at me again. "You can never understand what it's like to be me, because you're nothing like me. You're the same as everyone else." He again broke eye contact as his gaze returned to the patch of carpet between his feet.
"Why do you think that I'm the same as everyone else?" I prompted, wanting to know more. "What do you mean by that?"
After yet another silent pause, he replied in a voice so soft it was barely audible. "You could never understand what my life is like because you don't know what it's like to be invisible. You're the School Captain, and you're worshipped by every boy in this place. All the boys look up to you and admire you because you're smart, you're talented, and you're popular, but my life is nothing like that. Nobody even speaks to me, and if they do it's only because they're making fun of me," he responded. "So you could never understand what it's like to be me." I was taken aback by just how raw his emotions seemed. This kid was obviously hurt and upset, and from what he was saying it seemed like he was having a tough time at school.
I let the silence hang in the room for a few minutes while I gathered my thoughts before responding. "You're right that I don't really know you, but I wonder how running away is supposed to fix your problems?" I knew this was a tough question to ask the kid given how upset and vulnerable he was feeling, but I couldn't see how delivering fake platitudes or false hope was going to help.
He looked up at me and the expression on his face was one of surprise - clearly he hadn't expected me to take such a tough-love approach. "I guess it won't, but nothing could be worse than being here," he responded before again breaking eye contact and staring back at the floor. His shoulders started to shake and I could see he was fighting hard to suppress his tears. My heart was breaking for the poor guy.
I took a deep breath and I thought carefully about my next words to him. I wanted to help him, but I didn't see how a pity-party was going to be of benefit in this situation. I could lie and tell him that it was all going to be ok, but that would be fake and dishonest, and I don't think either of us would have believed that it was true. "Look, Bailey, you're right that I don't really know much about you. It's true that I didn't even know your name until five minutes ago, and I'm not going to lie to you and pretend that by some miracle everything is going to seem better when you wake up tomorrow," I said. I left a long pause before I spoke again. "But I just can't work out how running away will fix any of your problems." I left another pause to give him the chance to reply but he just kept staring down at the carpet. "You say that I'm just like everyone else, but you don't really know me either. You know nothing about the years of hard work, commitment and training it took to become the person I am today. You don't know about all the nights I have sat up past midnight studying so I can keep my grades up, or the hours of music practice, and sports training I have to endure to make sure I get selected in the ensembles and teams." We sat in silence for a few minutes while I let my words sink in. "Bailey, I don't want to be telling you what to do, but if you want things to get better you're going to need to do something about it. I don't know you, but I do know that running away and feeling sorry for yourself won't fix any of your problems. What you need is a plan to make a change." After a few moments he looked up at me and I saw an expression of recognition on his face, as if he understood what I was saying. "I'm not here to give you sympathy, Bailey, but I am willing to help you if you want me to."
There was another long silence while I let him think about my words. Eventually he finally spoke. "You sound just like my coach," he said.
"Well your coach must be a very smart man then," I replied with a smile. I noticed that the edge of his lip had turned up slightly, indicating the beginning of a very slight smirk. "So tell me about this coach - what sport do you play?" I asked him.
"I'm a swimmer" he replied with the slightest hint of enthusiasm.
"That's awesome. So do you train with Coach Foster?" I asked.
"Yeah - do you know him?" he asked.
"I'm on the school swimming team too," I replied. "He's tough, but he's a great coach. So how often do you train?" I asked him.
"I'm doing twelve sessions a week with him at the moment," he responded.
"Oh wow - twelve sessions a week! You must be a pretty good swimmer then," I replied. "What events do you specialise in?"
"My favourite event is the 100m freestyle, but I also like the 50m and 200m," he responded. I could see his shoulders beginning to loosen as he began to relax. "What about you?" he asked. "What events do you specialise in?"
"Well I don't have the time to train as much as you do, so I'm more of an all-rounder. I train with the squad when I can, but I usually just compete in the relays."
"I could help you with your training if you want," he replied. His face seemed to suddenly light up at the idea. "Maybe I could give you some pointers to shave a couple of seconds off your time and get you an individual event."
"That would be awesome!" I responded enthusiastically, resulting in a beaming smile spreading across his face. Even though I was quite happy to remain as a relay swimmer, I sensed that it would mean a lot to him if I accepted his offer. "If you're training twelve times a week you must be pretty serious about your swimming then," I continued.
Bailey began explaining how his goal was to swim at the Olympics, and how his parents had only agreed to let him come to the Northpoint School because the coach was well regarded for developing young athletes into champions. He told me that he hoped to quality for the junior world championships within the next few years before progressing onto the national adult team by the time he finished school. We sat in my room talking about swimming for ages, and I almost fell off my chair when he told me his fastest time for the 100m freestyle race; his record was almost two seconds faster than mine even though I was four years older than him. As we continued talking his manner slowly relaxed, and at one point during our conversation he was even laughing at one of the jokes I made. We had only just met, and under some pretty auspicious circumstances at that, but as we sat in my room talking I found that I was enjoying getting to know him.
"Dude you have a really unusual accent. Where are you from?" I asked. Suddenly the tone of our conversation took a dramatic turn as the smile disappeared from his face and his eyes broke contact with mine, almost like he was cowering from me. His focus was once again directed at the floor and I could see the tension return to his shoulders. "Did I say something wrong?" I asked him.
He didn't answer for ages, he just stared at the floor as I sat there uncomfortably shifting in my seat, worried that I had upset him. I didn't know what I should say or do; I sat there feeling powerless. I was relieved when he eventually spoke. "I hate my accent," he muttered very softly.
"What?" I said. "I think you're accent is cool. That's why I asked about it."
He looked up at me. "You do?" he asked, seeking reassurance.
"Absolutely!" I exclaimed. "I think it would be cool to have an accent like yours."
"The other boys make fun of me because of my accent. I can't help it. I tried to change the way I speak, but I just can't seem to do it," he responded.
"Why would you want to lose your cool accent? I reckon it's awesome. It must help you pick up chicks," I joked back. He chuckled at that comment, though no doubt it was for reasons I wouldn't understand until much later.
"Yeah, well my accent is just another way that I'm not like the other boys in the boarding house. They give me lots of grief about it. After the first week I tried to stop speaking so they would stopping picking on me, but then they just started teasing me about being so much taller than everyone else. They're always calling me names like bigfoot and godzilla."
"Fourteen year old boys can be such jerks!" I said. "I'll come and rough `em up a bit if you'd like, that'll sort them out" I joked, which caused him to chuckle. "Forget about the other boys for a while - why don't you tell me the story of where your accent came from," I said.
He smiled. "Well, I guess my accent is from everywhere. I've grown up around people with lots of different accents; I think over time I just developed some kind of hybrid of all of them. I've lived in England, Italy, Singapore and Hong Kong, and I've grown up around nannies and butlers from Mexico, Cuba, France, Japan and South Africa, so I guess with so many different accents and dialects, over time I just kind of mashed them all together."
"Wow!" I replied. "I've never even been overseas and you've travelled all over the world. I'm so jealous! Man that is an awesome story - you're so lucky." This comment seemed to make him happy as he grinned back at me and I noticed that his shoulders appeared to relax again. "I think your accent is cool, especially now that I know where it's from. If those douchebags in the junior boarding house want to act like immature brats then you mustn't let it bother you. You can't let them stop you from being who you are." His grin turned into a beaming smile with that last comment. He stood up and walked across to me, throwing his arms around my shoulders and embracing me.
"Thank you, Ben," he said as he hugged me tightly.
"Dude, there's no need to thank me. You're awesome, and you must never let anyone else make you feel anything less than that," I replied. This only made him squeeze me even harder.
"I probably should head back to the dorm," he said after he finally released his hold on me. I could see from his body language that he wasn't looking forward to going back.
"What's the rush?" I joked. "Sit down and stay a while. I want to know more about the cool places you've been to - they sound awesome. I can't wait to leave school and go travelling," I added.
For the next two hours that's exactly what we did - I grabbed more drinks from the fridge and we sat on the couch talking about all the amazing places he'd been to. I was genuinely interested in his stories and the conversation flowed back and forth for hours. Bailey was such an interesting guy, and even though he was a few years younger than me I found that he was so much more mature and wise than my other friends.
It was only when I heard the clanging of the clocktower at midnight that I realised how long we'd been talking. "Oh shit, is that the time?" I asked somewhat rhetorically.
"I should probably be getting back to the dorm," he replied when he realised how late it had become.
"No - you won't be able to get in," I responded. "The boarding houses are all locked by now so you'll only set off the alarms and get yourself into trouble," I replied. "You'll just have to stay here tonight and go back in the morning," I suggested. "Besides, everything you own is already here so you might as well stay too," I joked, pointing out his massive suitcase.
"But where will I sleep?" he asked, with a worried look on his face.
"Well unless you planned on hanging upside down in my cupboard like a bat, you will just sleep in my bed."
"But where will you sleep?" he asked, seeming confused.
"Um, in my bed too" I replied with a droll tone as if it were a stupid question. His facial expression told me that he seemed shocked by this suggestion.
"But...but..." he stuttered, clearly not understanding what I was saying.
"Dude, have you never had a friend sleep over before?" I asked him. He looked at the floor as he shook his head. "Well, tonight I'm going to teach you," I replied.
"Thanks, Ben." he replied solemnly.
"Don't sweat it," I replied as I turned around and started removing my shirt. "I'm gonna jump in the shower while you get yourself sorted."
"Ok," he said very softly. I looked at his face and it seemed like he was about to cry again. I smiled back and reached out to bump fists with him. While Bailey got ready for bed, I jumped into the shower and let the warm water cascade over my body as I washed myself clean after a long day. When I had finished showering I wandered back to my room.
"Aaaagh!" shrieked Bailey in response to my sudden nakedness.
"Oh shit, sorry!" I cried out as I quickly placed my hands over my groin. I had grown used to having my own room so I rarely wore clothes to bed. "I'm usually here by myself, I didn't even think about it," I joked. I grabbed some boxer-briefs out of my drawer and put them on before climbing into bed beside him.
"Well good night then," I said as I switched off the light.
"Good night, Ben," he replied. "You are an awesome guy, and I'm sorry about what I said before. I was wrong about you," he added very softly before turning onto his side and facing away from me.
It felt like only a few minutes later that I was woken by the sound of Bailey's alarm clock going off. As my eyes struggled to open I heard him apologising.
"What time is it?" I muttered, noticing that it was still dark outside.
"It's almost five o'clock - I have to go to training," he responded. "I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."
"Mmmmm," I groaned as I rolled over onto my side. I didn't hear what he said next, but I think he was apologising again for waking me. I instantly fell back asleep, and the next thing I heard was my own alarm telling me to get up about an hour later.
After making it through another full day of classes, rugby training, chapel service, and debating practice, I arrived back to my room after dinner to find Bailey sitting on the bench outside my door. "Hey!" I called out as I walked towards him. "You're back again so soon - I'm going to have to start charging," I joked. He looked up at me and immediately I could see that something was wrong. "Are you alright?" I asked him. He didn't respond, but I could read the expression on his face. "Why don't you come inside?" I suggested. Bailey didn't say anything in response, he just stood up and followed me through the doorway. He came in and sat in the same chair as last night. "You wanna talk?" I asked him as I sat down in the chair opposite.
Just like last night, there was a long and excruciating silence. "Not really," he finally responded. I noticed that he wasn't making eye contact again, instead staring at the same patch of carpet as last night.
"How long have you been sitting out there?" I asked.
"Since dinner. I needed to get out of the boarding house. I'm sorry, Ben, I should go. You probably have a lot to do," he said before standing up and making for the door.
"Bailey," I called out to him. "I've always got time for you. Why don't you tell me what's going on?" I asked, but he shook his head and said nothing. "Are you getting grief again?" I questioned, trying to prompt him to speak, and as soon as the words came out of my mouth I saw his shoulders deflate in defeat. He looked like he was about to break into tears.
"A bit," he eventually responded unconvincingly. I knew that he was trying to make it sound like it wasn't a big deal, bit his body language was telling a different story. "Do you mind if we don't talk about it?" he asked.
"Fair enough," I replied with a smile.
After another long silence, he spoke again. "So how was your day?" he asked me as he looked up.
"Not great, but better than yours by the look of things. I've had a full day of classes, got absolutely pummelled at rugby training, then I just had to sit through two hours of debating practice," I complained. "I'm completely exhausted!" I added with a smile.
"It could be worse," he suggested. "It's not like you got caught trying to sneak your girlfriend out of your room again." We both chuckled at that comment, and I was relieved to see that he was beginning to loosen up again. He was now looking at me rather than staring at the carpet.
"Well now that we've both agreed that our lives suck, why don't we play with the x-box for a while so we don't have to talk about it?" I asked him.
"Umm, I don't really know how," he replied, seemingly embarrassed to have to admit it.
"You don't know how?" I asked in disbelief. "You must be the only fourteen year old on the planet who doesn't know how to play x-box," I joked back, ribbing him. He smiled back at me.
"Well I never really had the chance. My parents made sure I never had time for anything they described as `goofing-off'. When I wasn't busy doing schoolwork with my tutors, I was either at swimming training or doing gymnastics to build my core strength," he replied. "I never had time to learn."
"That's about the saddest story I ever heard," I joked, causing him to chuckle. "Someone needs to alert the police!" I added in a comical voice, making him laugh. "Well tonight you, my friend, are going to learn how to use an x-box controller," I continued. That was when I noticed that his eyes had dropped to the floor yet again. "What's wrong now?"
"You just called me...your friend," he stuttered before staring back down at the floor.
"That's because you are my friend!" I responded playfully.
"Really?" he asked.
"Yes, really," I responded, causing him to lift his head again. He looked so adorable sitting there with his head hanging limp. I couldn't resist the urge to throw my arms around him and pull him up from the chair and into a tight hug, like a protective older brother.
"I've never had a friend before," he said into my shoulder as I squeezed him tight.
"What? Not even at school?" I asked.
"I've never been to a real school before," he said as I released my grip in shock.
"What? Oh my God - are you an alien or something?" I joked. "Maybe I really do have to call the police!"
"Maybe," he joked back with a grin spreading across his face. "I was home-schooled by tutors because my parents were always moving around for work. I've travelled the world and been given the best of everything that money can buy, but I've never been to school and I've never had a friend," he replied.
My heart broke upon hearing this story. "Well now you do," I responded. "A best friend, in fact!" He smiled back at me and his whole demeanour seemed to change in that moment. "So like any best friend is supposed to do, I'm going to teach you how to `goof-off'. What sort of games do you think you might like?" I asked, showing him some of the ones in my collection. We sat on the floor in front of my tv screen and began to play. He was pretty quick to catch on so it didn't take long for him to figure out what to do, and we sat there for ages, laughing, chatting and joking with one other. I was having a great time and I found him so easy to relate to despite the fact that he was four years younger than me. It was only when my bladder was at bursting point that we paused the game. As I made my way back I looked at the clock, noticing that it was after midnight. "Shit, look at the time. We should probably be getting to sleep," I announced.
"Oh no!" he responded, looking at the clock beside my bed.
"Looks like you're sleeping here again tonight," I responded, causing him to blush.
"Sorry, Ben," he said awkwardly.
"Why are you sorry? You're welcome any time, best friend," I replied to him, causing him to smile.
"Thank you, Ben," he said after we had both climbed into the bed and turned off the light.