LUVERBOY’S MEMORIES
Novella by
Chris Kent
First
Edition
Copyright © 2005 by GLB
Publishers
All
rights reserved. Printed in the U.S.A.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper or broadcast.
Published
in the United States by
GLB
Publishers
P.O.
Box 78212, San Francisco, CA 94107 USA
Cover
by W. L. Warner
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library
of Congress Control Number
2004114924
Published
May 2005
INTRODUCTION
BY
THE AUTHOR
I think Luverboy’s Memories is a serious piece of writing. I haven't shirked the graphic sexual content but I have tried to approach the theme—the destruction of innocence—in a serious, sensitive, humorous, wry, honest way that seeks to tell the story from a pubescent/adolescent boy’s point of view.
Does it work? I don't know. I'm too far inside the story to know. But I think it does deserve an audience if only because of its final observation.
-------------------
REVIEWS:
Luverboys Memories. The memories are an unflinching and realistic
discovery of gay sex, beginning when innocent Ben meets Eric and is equally
fascinated and horrified by Eric's blatant sexuality. It serves as Ben's
introduction to the possibility of sex, even love, with another boy and it
kickstarts his own sexual fantasies and experiences. Ben begins to see himself
as an object of desire, learns the difference between love and lust and
eventually becomes more comfortable as a sexual being, and a gay
one.
Like many sexual coming of age stories, Ben's is a blend
of joyous self discovery and quiet suffering. Kent describes it as "the
destruction of innocence," but the end of innocence is not always the end
of something good and the beginning of something terrible. Kent does a good
job of keeping the tone subdued in the gray area between seduction and sexual
exploration.
Kent also does a good job with the sex scenes. He is
equally brutal and romantic in his descriptions of lovemaking and in his
depictions of the characters. Kent infuses both stories with eroticism, coming
of age sexuality, youthful passion and intriguing power plays that make both
a quick and satisfying read.
---Will Louis, X-Factor
Eric
I sit through a cartoon, the Pearl & Dean advertisements, the trailers for next week’s films, local advertisements, Pathe News, then the main film. Often I am alone in the cinema, the only real entertainment in this coastal English town. Has everyone gone to the beach? My mother thinks I’m down at the beach. I buy popcorn and orange squash. I love the struggle to pierce the silver membrane as my plastic straw pushes its way down into the juices; I love the rude gurgles that the last dregs of orange make as I suck them up the straw into my mouth, swirling the liquid there until the lack of breath forces me to let it drain down my throat. The juice is gone but I retain the taste on my lips for the rest of the afternoon.
The mock torches dim, the heavy red curtains swing open, the incidental music dies away; I relax so to allow the dream to unfold. But then a boy enters my receptive world, making his way down the aisle toward me.
“Is the orange squash any good?” he asks. I ignore the question. Don’t speak to strangers in the cinema. Why not? I don’t know. That’s just the way it is. Squash. Popcorn. My ticket. I can’t shake the proffered hand, my hands are full.
“Here, let me get that for you, and come with me.” The same voice, light, good-humoured, almost laughing. A hand takes the cup. The lights are still up. I follow him to the back row. He sits down, holding my cup. I sit down beside him and reach for the cup.
“Can I try some?”
Reflexively I hold out my tub of sweet popcorn to him. He takes a handful, pops them in his mouth, crunches and swallows.
“Hey, you’ve got longer hair than me.” He frees my hair from the back of the seat and lets it hang down over my neck. He strokes my hair until it is uniform in length. Then he frees his own hair and lets it hang loosely over his neck.
“What do you think?”
“About the same.”
“Yeh, you’re right, but your hair’s like gold. How do you get it like that? Does your mum dye it?”
“’Course not. It’s just the sun.” I blush but I don’t think he sees it as the lights dim and the feature starts.
“Here we go,” he whispers. I feel warm breath on my ear.
He shifts his position in his seat until he is fully relaxed. I do the same, I always do. It is good to have company. I am tired of being alone.
“Can I have some? I’ll get more when we’ve finished.” I nod. He slides his hand across my bare knees to find the tub and forks out some popcorn. He whispers again.
“Hi, I’m Eric.” I whisper back. “Ben.”
It takes us ages to eat the popcorn. Each time Eric takes some, he slips his hand across my knees and then up to my lap to find the tub, inserts his fingers and takes a chunk. At first I am embarrassed. I raise the tub towards him but he pushes it back down into my lap. I feel myself stiffen. I raise the tub to him again. He pushes it back into my lap. “No, it’s better there,” he whispers. “Just watch the screen.” At this point I have no idea what the movie is about.
“Shit, this seat is touching the floor. Shift over. I’ll share yours,” Eric says. There is no need to whisper. The cinema is almost empty and guns are blazing from a German battleship. “Come on, let’s get really comfortable. This is a long film.” I find myself squashed against Eric, my head resting on his shoulder. He does not seem to mind. Why should I?
“Any popcorn left?” I feel his hand slide along my knees and come to rest on my lap. His fingers brush my erection. “Sorry, none left,” I whisper. “That’s okay.” I can feel his breath stir my hair. “We’ll get some later. Too comfortable to move now.” He leaves his hand in my lap like an after-thought.
We stay like this throughout the film. Eric is warm and he smells good, like mom’s stem ginger biscuits. Sometimes, when the film is very exciting, he presses down on my groin with his fingers. At first I am disturbed but as the film and the pressure continue, my anxiety gives way to a dreamy feeling of contentment. Even when I get very hard, Eric doesn’t seem to mind. His fingers seek me out, grip me, squeezing gently. I slip away from it all.
I can do that. It’s like being in a dream or a movie. It’s not really happening to me, so I can let it happen.
I dream on until I begin to feel breathless. So much warmth, so much pleasure in my groin. The pressure and the pleasure build until something between a gasp and a groan burst between my lips. “Please don’t, Eric, don’t.”
He stops, laughs, hugs me to him, and says, “Good, it’s the climax now. This is where the Germans get it.” We sit back and watch the rest of the film. Eric cheers as the German battleship is finally blown out of the water. I join in. It is exhilarating.
Outside the cinema, I am too embarrassed to look at Eric. He makes light of my confusion, laughing, “That was great. I’m coming back tomorrow. Same time, same place. What about you?”
I look at the floor of the foyer. “I don’t know,” I mumble, “maybe….” He turns and walks off down Langton Road. I had to go up Morley Street. I watch him go. Do I want to see him again? Do I want to feel his breath on my hair? Do I want to smell the stem ginger of his body? Do I want him to touch me? I don’t know, I really don’t.
That night I lie in the bath and look along the length of my body, summer-tanned except for a thin belt of pale white skin around my groin and hips, my penis bobbing amongst the bubbles. I wonder what Eric finds so attractive about my body. I wonder what Eric looks like stripped, naked, nude, stretched out in the bath tub. My penis stiffens and pokes its pink head above the bubbles. I wonder what Eric’s stiff penis looks like, much bigger than mine, of course, but how much bigger? Would he like me to stroke and squeeze his penis as he did mine? I shudder at the ripples of pleasure that run through me, excited but scared by what I feel.
“Ben! Are you still in there? Have you drowned yourself?”
Mom! “No,” I squeak, “just coming.”
Morning drags along like a Friday afternoon in school. I dither about. Will I go down to the Odeon at one? Will Eric be there? Do I want him to be there? Maybe yesterday was a mistake. Maybe he was only teasing. Maybe everything will be all right.
“Hi! You look great. I’ve got the popcorn. I’ve even got the tickets. You owe me. Come on, let’s grab the same seats.”
Eric wears a light denim shirt and jeans of a matching blue. He wears white plimsolls and white socks. I can see the tanned skin of his ankles as he stretches himself across two rows. He runs his hand lightly across the silky blue material of my shorts. “Beautiful. Are you wearing these for me?”
The material is so thin it feels like he is touching my bare skin. He outlines my stiffening penis between his fingers, turns it so it is pointing straight up my tummy. He strokes me as he murmurs in my ear.
I can’t understand everything. I can’t make sense of some of it. “Are you really my friend? Can I trust you? I want to tell you a secret. Can you keep a secret? We can’t be friends if you can’t keep a secret.” I want desperately to be Eric’s friend. I nod dumbly. He shows me the secret.
He pulls me into him and cuddles me into a comfortable position. His hand slides back under my T-shirt to resume its meanderings across my chest and stomach. He kisses the top of my head while his other hand soothes the back of my neck. I close my eyes and play another film, an entirely different film in my mind. My penis is slippery and wet by the time his fingers edge beneath the waistband of my shorts to play with me.
“That’s my boy,” he murmurs. “That’s my Ben.” His fingers touch my cheek. “Tomorrow. Let’s go to the beach tomorrow. There’s nothing to worry about now. We trust each other now.” His fingers memorise my face. “Scoot down in the seat a little. Let me get under.” I scoot down until my bottom was off the edge of my seat. “Open a bit, wider, just a bit more. That’s it.” His fingers wind around my balls, weigh them, pull gently at my scrotum. A finger probes my crack, probes my most secret place. I shut myself tight. Eric whispers in my ear, “Okay, too soon, but you’ll like it, just like me.”
I love the beach almost as much as I love the cinema. I’d spent most of the last few weeks on the beach and I’m as brown as a berry, my hair streaked blond by the sun. I wolf a snack and hurry down half an hour before I’m due to meet Eric. I wonder what kind of costume he will be wearing. His face and hands are tanned. What will his body be like? What will he think of my body, skinny, without fat or muscle? How can he take me seriously? How can he accept me as a friend? What can I do to make him want me?
I see him before he sees me. He strides along the promenade, taller and slimmer than I remember, though we’d been together less than twenty four hours before. Dark glasses hide his eyes, hide what he is thinking. He is wearing the same denim as yesterday, but the shirt looks freshly laundered.
I blush to think of the cum, yes, that’s what he called it, the cum smeared across his denim shirt, dripping from his chin and my hand. I can smell him on my fingers still, had smelled them again and again the night before, sniffing them as I lay in bed, the smell comforting me as I fell asleep. I am disappointed. Isn’t he coming swimming with me? What is the point of coming to the beach if you don’t go in the water?
“Hi, man, sorry I’m a bit late. Been waiting long?”
“No, just got here.”
“Where’s your costume?”
“Got it on. I’ll go home wet. I don’t live that far from here. You can come, too. Have your tea.”Eric grins at my invitation, his small teeth straight, white and even.
Eric ushers me into the dark, gloomy cool of the interior of cubicle 31. It is damp and warm. Eric closes the door behind us. Enough light filters in from a skylight. I turn away from him and begin to tug my T-shirt over my head. “Let me help before you get stuck,” he laughs. He turns me towards him and begins to tug the shirt over my head. Instinctively I raise my arms. My head gets stuck in the hole. I feel Eric’s hands drop to my waist. He can almost get his hands right around me. His hands stroke the length of my sides, his thumbs smoothing their way over my starfish nipples and into my armpits. As he works my head free from the shirt, he turns me round until he is sitting on the long narrow bench, me facing him.
He hangs my shirt on a hook. My hair hangs over my face, hides my blushes. He reaches for the snake belt that holds up my shorts. I can hear the click as he frees the clasp. Fingers on either side of my waist begin to push down the shorts, catch in my swimming costume and push them down with the shorts to my knees. The hair that hides my face now hides my shame. But there is excitement too, an excitement increasingly obvious as my penis lengthens, hardens and stiffens until it stands straight out from my body. I close my eyes and drift into dream-state.
I hear the rustle of Eric’s denim, a dull thud as each boot lands somewhere in the dimness of the cubicle. Still I hide behind my hair and eyelids. Then I feel the impossible: light, hot, wet kisses on my tummy. His cheek brushes the tip of my cock. That’s a dirty word, a really dirty word. And what he is doing is dirty. Exciting. Thrilling. But dirty. His kisses reach the juncture of my body and the base of my cock. Fingers edge my foreskin back, other fingers stroke the ridge beneath my balls, the ridge that runs to my most secret, my dirtiest place.
His lips touch the base of my cock. My knees tremble. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. He wouldn’t. He does. His hot, wet mouth encloses my penis and begins a gentle but firm sucking, his lips running the length of the shaft. His fingers work my balls, probe my crack, run the length of the lips of my secret place. I don’t want to fight any more. I don’t want to close myself to him. I relax and let one fingertip enter me. His mouth goes lower, takes me in deeper, until my cock and balls are enclosed in his hot, wet, urgent mouth. My hips begin to jerk rhythmically, beyond my control, pushing into him, withdrawing, penetrating again. My hands go round the back of his head, pulling him on to me. When will it end? How will it end? Will I spurt the hot ivory-coloured milk into his mouth, down his throat? Will he hate me for it? I am jerking, pulling, pushing, as he sucks, soothes and probes. My body shakes and shudders as I hang onto his shoulders, jerking like a stickleback on the end of a fishing line. No more, no more, it’s good, it’s wonderful, but no more! I push him from me and collapse over his shoulders, shuddering, shaking, almost sobbing. I’m only a boy, I shouldn’t be doing this.
After a minute or so, Eric pushes me gently away from him, still supporting me by the shoulders. I fall against him. He hugs me to him. I can feel his hard, hot, huge penis press into me, his hairs tickle my belly button. He presses downwards on my shoulders. I resist. I know what he wants. He wants to put his snake into my mouth. He wants me to suck him. He wants me to play with his cock and balls, stick my finger up his hot, dark hole, to shoot his stuff into my mouth, down my throat, into my tummy. Maybe, maybe later, but not now.
Let’s go to the beach. Let’s swim in the sea. Let’s be clean again. Eric strokes my hair and whispers, “I’m not greedy. I can wait. Let’s go swimming—first. We’ve got plenty of time later.”
Eric is laughing, the sun breaks through again. He is struggling into a tiny pair of red swimming trunks, almost falling over as he wrestles with them. Black hair, thick black hair. A penis like a baby elephant’s trunk. Tucked inside his little red costume. He opens the cubicle door. More sunlight floods in. I step out into the bright sunlight. Everything is different. What has changed? Nothing. Everything.
The sun. The sea. The hot sand between my toes. The blue water fringed with rippling waves that rise, foam, splash and regroup to rise again. We lark around in the water, ducking, weaving, bobbing. Standing on Eric’s shoulders, I am a prince of the sea, lord of the summer, diving deep and wriggling between his open legs. He pulls me under, holds me tight, kisses me hard on my closed lips, then holds me up above him like a prize fish, smooth, slippery and clean, hurling me away from him so that I hit the water in a sparkling splash that leaves me gasping for breath, gasping for more. I want the afternoon to go on forever. I am horrified that it has to end.
“I’m going to get some ice-cream. We’ll have it here and then get changed. Okay?”
“Okay,” I answer. “Can I stay here? I’m really tired.”
“Sure. Put your feet up, but promise you won’t go into the water till I get back. Tide’s coming in and there are tricky currents round here. Promise you won’t go in.”
“Promise.”
I watch Eric stroll along the hard-packed sand by the water’s edge. His brown hair hangs limply over his broad shoulders, the muscles of his buttocks clearly defined, long legs tapering to large feet with toes splayed out rather like a duck. He sways slightly as he walks, each buttock rising and falling with the rhythm of his walk.
When he turns beyond the promontory, out of sight, I rise and quickly head in the other direction. The cubicles are less than a minute away. I collect our key, find 31, go in, grab my things, lock the door behind me, return the key and head for the park that lies on my way home. There I sit down, my back resting against a tree, and fight for breath. I sound like Lee Robson, a wheezy asthmatic boy in my class.
“Do I want to see Eric again? Why does he do these things to me? Do I like what he did to me? Why did it feel so good in my body and bad in my head? How did I know what he wanted to do? Why did he want to do it? Was that the thing called love? My mother loves me. I love her. Is this the same kind of love? I know it has to be a secret.
Will I go to the cinema tomorrow? Will Eric be there? Will he want to sit with me? It’s safer there. He can’t put his penis in my mouth in the cinema. Can he? Maybe he will just stroke me. Maybe he will want me to stroke him again. Will I do it? Will he be my friend if I do? What does Eric want from me? Why do I want to be with him? Being with him is enough. Why does there have to be that other thing? Can’t it wait?
I can’t go back to the cubicles. I have to go back. I don’t want to hurt Eric, but I don’t want him to hurt me. I go back to number 31.
(To be Continued)