Using his left hand to shove at the tight elastic waist of his jim-jams, Billy rubbed between his legs, chewing at his lip as it started to feel nice. Down below, on the bottom bunk, the sounds had started up; little sobs and grunts and squeaks that meant Dad was playing with Sam again. It made the whole bed shake sometimes, made it knock against the wall. Not a loud sound, but mostly they’d stop playing when that happened. Sometimes Dad must have been tickling ‘cause Sam would start saying “Stop it, Dad,” and “No,” like Billy did when Frank sat on him and stuck his fingers between his ribs and wouldn’t get off until Billy was crying and squirming and almost sick with not being able to breathe
The grunts were getting faster and Billy squeezed his hand in the same rhythm, stretching out his legs and toes. He wanted something, like he wanted air when Frank was tickling him. His nails scratched at his legs, seeing if that would help, but it never did.
A heavy sigh came from below. Billy let go of himself and turned over on his side, curling up and squeezing his eyelids together as the bed frame shook with Dad standing up. A second later a hand brushed over his hair and he risked a quick look through his eyelashes. Dad was nothing but a shadow against the crack in the curtains, tall enough to look down even on the top bunk.
“Night, Billy,” Dad whispered and Billy made sleepy sounds like he wasn’t all the way awake. Then Dad was gone, the door shutting behind him, footsteps on the stairs, and Billy and Sam were on their own. That’s when the sniffling started up.
Hanging upside down over the side bar of his bunk, Billy glared down at his big brother. “You wet yourself again?” he asked. That happened a lot when Dad and Sam played, and it always made Sam cry. Stupid Sam never told Dad when it happened and when Billy said he should, it just made Sam cry even more.
“Yeah,” came back from below, sniffly and hiccupy. “Can I come up there?”
Billy nodded and a scrabble of feet on sheets later, Sam was there, diving under the covers into Billy’s bed. He’d left his jim-jam bottoms off and his bare bum was cold. Billy wrapped himself round Sam’s back and hugged him hard, burying his nose in straight blond hair. A few minutes later they were both asleep.
“How come Sam gets a new bike and I don’t?” Billy stamped his foot, his fists on his hips and his lip stuck out.
Mum ruffled his hair. “Because Sam’s grown out of his, that’s why, so you can have his old one.”
“But I don’t want an old one,” he whined. “I want a new one with red wheels and clackers so I can make lots of noise when it goes fast.”
“Don’t be silly, Billy, you know we can’t afford new bikes for all three of you.”
Mum turned back to the sink and he pouted at her busy back for a moment before adding, in a last try at getting what he wanted, “Frank’s getting a new one.”
She sighed, grabbing the tea towel and drying her hands before she turned round. “That’s because he rides the same size as Sam, you know that, Billy. What is wrong with you today, huh? Are you bored? Do you want me to find you something to do?”
O-oh, the ultimate threat. He shook his head and ran outside before Mum could set him to pairing socks or doing other things he hated. He followed the path around the corner, kicking out at the coal bin and the fence on his way past. It was hot and the whole summer holidays stretched out in front of him. They weren’t going away this year so it was going to be boring, boring, boring.
Frank and Sam were sitting on the hammock, heads so close they were touching, talking in low, tight voices. When Billy came close, they shut up, glaring at him through matching pairs of grey blue eyes. Billy’s eyes weren’t that colour. His were brown, like Mum’s. Frank and Sam’s were the same colour as Dad’s, though they didn’t get them from him. Their real Dad was someone else. They were adopted. Chosen especially because Mum and Dad loved them, whereas Billy just came out the normal way. Sometimes Billy wished he could have been adopted too, ‘cause then maybe Mum and Dad would love him like they did Frank and Sam.
Sam gave him a dirty look. “What are you staring at?”.
Billy twisted the toe of his shoe into the grass. “Can I come and talk?”
“No, go away,” Frank said quickly. “We don’t want you here. You’re not old enough.”
“Am so,” Billy snapped. “I’m gonna be eight this year and that’s plenty old enough. You’re only a bit older than me.” It wasn’t fair. They always said that to him, and no matter how old Billy got, Sam and Frank would always be three and four years older than him.
They just kept glaring, so eventually he gave up and wandered away. Dad was digging the garden, uprooting potatoes and onions and lining the plants up by the edge of the path. Everything grew in Dad’s garden. Tomatoes, beans and peas, even sweet corn one year, though Billy hadn’t liked that. It tasted mushy and odd.
“Can I help?” he asked hopefully. It was fun working in the garden with Dad. They talked and Dad explained things, and it made Billy feel special. Special like when Dad played with Sam, except Sam was the one who got the new bike, not Billy. Maybe, Billy thought as he ran off to fetch his spade, maybe Dad would play with him sometime and then he’d get a new bike too.
Later that day, after tea and after Billy and Sam had done the washing up, Mum said they could watch Star Trek. Dad turned on the telly in the sitting room and Sam and Frank sat on the settee. Mum was in the front room sewing labels into school uniforms for next year so there was just the four of them watching.
Billy claimed his spot on Dad’s lap. It meant Dad couldn’t smoke his pipe but he didn’t seem to mind, just hugged Billy close and talked quietly with him about the programme. Billy sat contentedly curled up against Dad’s chest, asking a few questions and staring at Sam as much as he did at Star Trek. He couldn’t keep the smug grin off his face each time he caught Sam’s eye, and stuck his tongue out when he thought he could get away with it. Sam and Frank might get the new bikes and the new shoes, and Dad might play with Sam some nights, but it was always Billy who got to sit in Dad’s lap. Sam never did, or Frank. In that Billy had them beat, hands down. So what if they wouldn’t talk to him, he had more of Dad and that was what counted.
The bed thumped hard against the wall, louder than it usually did and Billy yelped at the sudden pain where his teeth had bitten his tongue.
“Billy, are you awake?” Dad’s voice, a bit strangled and odd sounding, came from below.
“Nope,” Billy answered and then realised his mistake when Dad reared up beside the top bunk. He scrambled to get his hands out of his trousers but managed to get them tangled in the elastic, so when Dad flung the blankets back he was caught red-handed.
“What on earth are you doing with your hands down there?”
Billy squirmed at the disapproval in Dad’s voice. “Need a wee,” he answered, coming up with the only excuse he could think of on the spot.
“Do you now. Well, just hang on a moment and I’ll put the light on.”
When he could see to climb down the ladder, Billy hurried to the bathroom, pretended to have a wee, flushed, and ran back up the long landing. Frank’s light was still on and round the door, Billy caught a glimpse of his big brother sitting up in bed, reading.
“Better?” Dad asked when Billy sidled back into his room.
“Yeah,” Billy answered, standing where he was by the door. Dad had an odd look on his face and Sam’s eyes were huge and his hair was all over the place. He didn’t look happy, which was stupid since him and Dad had been playing for ages before Billy made a noise. Maybe that was it; Sam was cross ‘cause Billy had interrupted their game. But no, that wasn’t right somehow.
“I’m going back to sleep now,” he said suddenly and shot across the room, past Dad and up into his bunk. The light switched off and, with a soft goodnight, Dad went back downstairs.
For a minute or two, the room lay in silence, then Sam asked quietly, “You didn’t need a wee, did you?”
Billy blushed - he could feel it on his cheeks. “Did.”
“I bet you were playing with your willy.”
“Was not!” The blush got hotter.
“Were too!”
“Was not!” That was almost a shout.
Sam didn’t answer for a second and then he was shimmying up the side of the bunk like he always did. Except this time he wasn’t crying and when he got under the covers, he didn’t have his back to Billy. Hands that weren’t his own wormed down the front of Billy’s trousers, grabbing at him and he shoved at Sam’s chest. “Don’t,” he hissed.
“Shh,” whispered Sam, his face so close that Billy could smell the toothpaste Sam had used to clean his teeth. “I’m not going to hurt you. Promise.”
There was something in that voice that made all the hairs on the back of Billy’s neck stand on end. “Don’t care,” he muttered urgently, his pushes getting more violent. “I don’t wanna play with you, okay, so just leave me alone.”
The hands stopped moving and disappeared from his trousers. “Wouldn’t have hurt,” Sam said petulantly. “Feels nice after a bit.”
Silence fell between them again and after a few moments, Sam snuggled down into his usual position with his back against Billy’s chest and his bum pushing back against Billy’s trousers.
Billy lay there for a while, thinking about what Sam had said and done, then, almost before he knew what he was asking, he said, “Is that what Dad does with you?”
Sam’s back went stiff and his chest, which had been going up and down all evenly, suddenly started going faster. “No,” he whispered after a second. “And you’ve not to say about what we did to anyone. Not even Frank.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause it’s bad and Mum would get really angry with us and then the police would come and take us away.”
That made sense, Billy thought. Dad hadn’t seemed happy when he’d seen Billy with his hands down his jim-jams. He’d probably be even crosser if he saw Sam’s hands down there.
The next day Billy got a surprise.
“Dad and I have decided to let you two have bedrooms of your own,” Mum said over breakfast. “You’re getting too old to keep sharing, and Livy and Andy don’t come home all that often any more.”
Billy bounced excitedly on his chair. His own bedroom. Wow. He’d wanted his own room for ages but Mum had always said that they needed to keep Andy and Livy’s rooms ready for them in case they needed them.
“Can I have Andy’s room, Mum? Mum, can I have Andy’s room!” It was huge and right next to the bathroom so he wouldn’t have to run all the way up that huge landing.
“No, you can have Frank’s room. Sam is having Andy’s and Frank’s moving into Livy’s. That will leave the big front bedroom spare for when Andy and Livy come home to visit.”
Billy subsided, ready to sulk. Frank’s room was the smallest and right next to Mum and Dad’s, up the other end of the landing from the bathroom. He’d still have to go miles if he needed a wee in the middle of the night.
“Can’t I have Frank’s room, Mum?” Sam asked. “I don’t like Andy’s room, it’s cold.”
“No!” Frank protested. “It’s my room. You can’t just take it away from me without asking. That’s not fair!”
Mum sighed, looking between the three of them, and Billy noticed how tired she was looking. It was only a year since she’d been back from that huge long stay in hospital and even now she found some things really hard work. Her hair had turned grey in hospital. It was ‘cause of how ill she’d been, Dad said. And he’d said they had to be nice to her and not get her upset.
“It’s okay, Mum,” Billy said. “I’ll go wherever you want.”
“It makes the most sense,” Mum said. “You older boys are better able to look after big rooms and it will save me having to clean them up all the time.”
Frank and Sam nodded, even though they didn’t look happy.
Sam didn’t get into the grammar school and Mum was furious. She was trying not to show it, Billy could tell, but when she took them out to buy Sam’s uniform, her mouth was all flat and narrow. Billy thought it might have been about money since he remembered Mum saying that Sam could have Frank’s old uniform, but the secondary school had different coloured shirts and things from the grammar, so that meant buying all new.
All the while they were out, Sam was quiet, just looking at his shoes and saying yes to whatever Mum thought he needed. Frank was strutting around being all snobby, ‘cause he was at the grammar and everyone knew that only people who got in there would do anything with their lives. Secondary school kids ended up on the dole or doing stupid factory jobs.
Billy kept his head down. His turn came in a couple of years and he didn’t know what he wanted to do. The teachers said he should get into the grammar but some of the other boys they said that about, hated Billy. A lot. They made his life a living hell with teasing and shouting and fighting and picking on him. He couldn’t help it if his clothes were a bit worn. They were second hand, mostly. Frank or Sam’s old stuff that Mum had taken in or taken up to fit him better. If those boys were going, Billy didn’t think he wanted to, even if it did mean having a dead end job or going on the dole. Plus, if he went to the secondary school, then Billy could get a lift with Dad like Sam would, instead of having to get up early to catch the bus.
When they got home, Sam went upstairs and, when he hadn’t come down by teatime, Billy was sent up to find him. He was in the single toilet next to the bathroom and Billy could hear him crying through the door.
“Are you okay?” Billy yelled.
“Yeah,” Sam answered between hiccups.
Billy blew air out between his lips. Sam was getting too old to cry. If he did that at big school, he’d get beaten up all the time. “Why you crying?” he asked.
Silence. After a second or two, Billy banged on the door. It opened a crack and Sam peeped round it, his eyes all dark and his face all white.
“It hurts,” he said.
“What does?”
“My bottom. I can’t get the pooh out, it hurts too much.”
Billy’s eyes opened wide. It wasn’t really something you talked about. “Want me to go get Mum?” he asked more quietly.
“No,” Sam said quickly. “But…” He blushed, “Can you hold my hand?”
Sighing dramatically, Billy poked his hand round the toilet door and said, “Go on then.”
A hand gripped his tight enough to make Billy jump up and down on the spot, but he held his tongue until the horrible sounds culminated in a squeal, a splash, and then silence. Either Sam had managed or he’d fallen down the loo. “You still there?” Billy asked, yanking his hand back when Sam let go.
“Yeah. I’ll… I’ll be down in a sec.”
Sam was walking odd when he came down for tea and he kept shifting around on his seat. Eventually Mum glared at him and snapped, “Samuel John, sit still. Have you got worms or something?”
“No, but he’s all bunged up,” Billy giggled.
Mum stared at him for a second before turning her attention to Sam. “Are you, love?” she asked, and when Sam nodded, blushing furiously, she added, “Why didn’t you say something, silly? I’ve got some medicine that’ll help.”
The same thing happened to Sam a week or two later and again a week or two after that. Each time, Billy told Mum ‘cause Sam wouldn’t. Eventually Mum said that something must be wrong and took Sam to the doctors. When they got back, they both had long faces. Billy asked why, but Mum wouldn’t explain. She said it was complicated and the doctor wanted to see Frank and Billy as well.
Mum left Frank and Sam alone at home and took Billy for a walk. It was a long walk, all the way up the hill and past the shops, along past the church and then up onto one of the big estates of modern houses. She wasn’t talking much, just held tight to Billy’s hand as she walked. Eventually, Billy realised she was going to see a friend of hers, Mrs Simpson, whose son was in Billy’s class.
“You wanna watch the telly?” Ian asked as the living room door shut behind their mums.
Billy smiled at him shyly. Ian hung out with the tough boys and all Billy normally saw of him were his shoes when one of them tripped him up in the playground.
“Okay.”
“Come on then.”
They ran off up the stairs. Ian had a telly in his bedroom, which Billy thought was completely amazing. And he was allowed to watch what he wanted. Mum always turned the telly off in Billy’s house when the programme they were allowed to watch had finished. The one they ended up watching was familiar though.
“She’s brill,” said Billy, his gaze glued to the set as Wonder Woman did her fast running thing so she could rescue the good guys.
“I s’ppose. But I’d rather watch the Six Million Dollar Man.”
They stayed for hours, until it was dark outside and the phone rang. As far as Billy could tell, it was Dad on the other end and he was worried about where Mum was and whether she was coming home. Mum said that they were. Dad came to get them and Billy got to sit in the front of the car as a treat because he’d been good.
That night, Billy lay in bed listening as Mum and Dad argued. They didn’t do it often, and mostly it was about Dad’s parents. But Gran and Grandpa were okay at the moment, so this argument had to be about something else. Billy wondered what it could be but they talked too quiet for him to hear the words.
Unable to sleep, he slipped out of bed and crept down the landing to Sam’s room. Sam’s light was on and Frank was sitting on the end of Sam’s bed. They were talking, as usual, and shut up when Billy opened the door.
“Go away, Billy,” Sam snapped.
“No. ’Cause you’re talking about the doctors and I’ve got to see him too.”
“So?” Sam said. “Still nothing to do with you.”
“I dunno.” Frank, leaned back on his hands and looked Billy up and down thoughtfully. “The doc might ask him things.”
“You think?” Sam screwed his face up like he was really worried.
“About what?” Billy asked, bouncing onto the bed and looking from one brother to the other.
Sam and Frank exchanged glances. “About Dad playing with Sam,” Frank said finally, pulling his legs up so he was sitting cross-legged.
“Why would he ask about that?” Billy couldn’t for the life of him think why the doctor might. It seemed a bit odd.
Again the two older boys seemed to talk without words, their eyes saying things Billy hadn’t got a clue about.
“Told you not say anything, didn’t I?” Sam said eventually. His mouth was all curved down and sour looking when he turned to Billy. “’Cause if the doctor finds out, he’ll take us all away from Mum and Dad. And we’d get sent to live in a home.”
Billy’s heart thudded in his chest. Taken away from Mum and Dad? And end up like Stephen at school from the children’s home? He felt sick. “I won’t say anything,” he promised, making a cross over his heart. “I don’t want to get taken away.”
The next day, Billy had to go to the doctors and the doctor poked at him and prodded him and looked at his bottom and his willy and his mouth, but he didn’t ask any questions. Mum was there while it happened, standing next to the bed thing, holding Billy’s hand and looking dead worried. Afterwards, Billy had to wait in reception and read one of the children’s books while Mum talked to the doctor. The receptionist gave him a lolly; the type Mum wouldn’t buy him ‘cause she said they were bad for his teeth, so he ate it quickly, crunching it up while she was still behind the closed door. It was still tingling on his tongue when she came out and then they went home. Mum was really quiet and Billy didn’t want to upset her so he was especially good in the car on the way home.
For a while things were odd around the house; Mum and Dad didn’t seem to be talking much, and Frank and Sam kept going into Sam’s room and closing the door. Billy tried knocking but they wouldn’t let him in. Miserable as sin and left to his own devices, he shut himself in his room and read all the books he could find. It wasn’t a fun way to pass the time but it was better than being on his own in the rest of the house.
Then, one Saturday a few weeks later, the phone rang. Mum answered it and her face twisted up. She called for Dad.
“It’s mother,” she said, holding out the phone. “Pops has gone and done it again.”
Whatever that was, Billy didn’t get to find out. But then neither did Sam and Frank. All three boys got chased upstairs to their rooms and they met up on Sam’s bed just as they had when the stuff with the doctor had come up. Now though, they had other things to talk about. Especially after Frank crept down onto the half landing to eavesdrop.
“Gran’s thrown him out again,” he confided when he got back. “Dad thinks it’s for good this time and he wants to find a house that Gran can share with us.”
That might be fun, Billy reflected. He’d miss Granddad, but it was Gran he really got on with. She had a wicked sense of humour and baked wonderful mixed-spice buns. “Are they gonna?” he asked with a little bounce. He’d never lived in another house, or at least not that he remembered. Would it mean a new school? Billy hoped so. Then he wouldn’t have to choose between the secondary and the grammar.
In all the excitement, the doctor stuff was forgotten and never mentioned again. Gran never did come to live with them, but they ended up moving anyway.
Billy hated the new house. Well, not so much the new house, though it was tons smaller than the one they used to live in, but the fact that it hadn’t meant a change in schools. He had to put up with the same teachers and the same boys who he’d hated for the past six years. It seemed like every day he got into a fight but no one cared. They were all too bothered about Sam, who was getting into trouble and according to Mum, ‘hanging around with the wrong crowd’.
Nearly every week a letter came home from school complaining about something Sam had said or done, and Billy had to put up with more of it than usual since he and Sam were sharing a room again. The new house was a bungalow and it only had three bedrooms and one bathroom. And the bedrooms didn’t even have sinks in them like the old house had. It felt cramped and too small and having had a room to himself, it was miserable sharing with Sam again.
“Only until Dad fixes the loft,” Mum said, and Billy hoped it would be soon. Sam snivelling in the bed next to him when Mum had shouted at him for being bad in school was getting annoying. Plus there wasn’t enough space for his books and Sam kept stealing them all. He didn’t know how to look after books, Sam didn’t. He creased them up and left them on the floor, and sometimes he took them to school and never brought them home.
It took about six months for Dad to build the room upstairs and Frank got given it, which was only fair since he was the oldest, Billy thought. Sam moved into the middle bedroom and Billy stayed in the big front one, opposite Mum and Dad’s.
Things should have got better at that point but much to Billy’s disgust, he went and passed his eleven plus, which meant he had to go to grammar school, along with three other boys from his year. Of those three, two hated Billy’s guts and one was Mrs Simpson’s son, Ian, who played with Billy when he had to. Billy’s real friends, the ones he hung about with in the playground and kicked a ball around with, were all going to the secondary. Billy hated them. Every single one of them. The lucky bastards.
Billy looked at himself in the mirror; he could have cried. His uniform was stupid. What kind of school insisted on first years wearing short trousers? Tugging on the bottom of the legs, he half crouched and tried to hide his knobbly knees. They were so white they’d give someone snow blindness if they stared for too long. To make matters worse, Mum had bought him a satchel. A brand new, shiny leather satchel with metal buckles and a long strap he wore over his shoulder. All the other kids had amazing bags; rucksack type things that they wore on their backs. Even the brainy ones had briefcases like the one Dad took to work. Not Billy. Nope, Billy was going to look like a total prat on the bus tomorrow and if he was lucky he’d only lose his lunch money and not his lunch when they kicked him down the bus stairs.
It wasn’t quite as bad as he'd feared - all the first years wore short trousers, so rather than getting picked on alone, Billy got picked on as part of a crowd. Not that that was much comfort when he was upside down in a rubbish bin with orange peel tickling his nose.
“William Pierce! What do you think you’re doing?”
Billy kicked his feet and the bin toppled over, dumping him hard on his knees. “Trying to get out of this, sir,” he said, crawling backwards like a dog wearing an Elizabethan collar. He staggered to his feet, picking gum wrappers from his hair, and stared up at Mr Bryce, the English teacher.
“I should think so too.”
Behind him, smirking and silently laughing their heads off stood a group of
fifth years, including Frank. Just wait ‘til we get home, Billy thought.
“Get out!”
Billy reversed rapidly out of Sam’s room, his face scarlet. It had never occurred to him to knock. He never had before, but then he’d never guessed that Sam might have a girl in there. Hell, it had never occurred to him that Sam might have a girlfriend. Frank did, Billy knew that, but Frank was seventeen. Sam was only fifteen and wasn’t that a bit young to be doing those kinds of things with a girl?
Curious, Billy stood on tiptoe outside the window that let extra light into Sam’s room. He couldn’t see much ‘cause the glass was frosted, but he could see the figures wriggling about on the bed. Mum and Dad would kill Sam if they knew he’d had a girl here while they were out, and having that knowledge gave Billy some power. Not something he was used to having around his brothers.
Once the girl had gone, and she must have used the window since she didn’t come through the house, Billy barged into Sam’s room. His brother was in bed with the covers over his head, but the duvet was moving up and down furiously.
“What are you doing?” Billy asked after a couple of minutes listening to the moans and groans coming from under the covers. It made him feel uncomfortable for some reason. Reminded him of dark rooms, and gave him an odd feeling in his stomach.
“Fuck off, Billy,” Sam muttered, then the moving stopped with a final grunt and his head reappeared looking hot and sweaty and very red. “What the hell do you want?” he snapped.
“Do Mum and Dad know you’ve got a girlfriend,” Billy asked.
Sam’s face shuttered. “Yeah,” he answered warily.
“Bet they don’t know she comes over when they’re out.” Billy grinned, triumph knocking discretion onto its bum and running for home.
“You’d better not bloody tell them,” Sam shouted, jumping out of bed. He’d grown recently and now towered over Billy.
Gritting his teeth, Billy held his ground determined not to be intimidated. “Might do,” he said. “Unless you do the washing and drying up this week.”
“You little shit!”
Sam lunged at him. With a squeak, Billy turned tail and ran, but not fast enough. Sam caught him in the hall and dragged him back by his collar, Billy kicking and screaming all the way. “Get off me, you bastard. Get off me!”
“What the hell’s going on?” Frank shouted down the stairs from his room.
“Nothing,” Sam yelled back, slamming his hand over Billy’s mouth before Billy could tell on him.
Not that Billy was going to. Taking advantage of Sam’s distraction, Billy stamped hard on his brother’s toes, his shod feet coming off better than Sam’s bare ones.
“Argh!” Sam yelped, letting go of Billy to hop up and down and grab his injured toe.
Billy took off towards his own room, slammed the door and leaned on it, hard. It shuddered as Sam landed against it.
“Let me in, you little shit!”
“Shut up you two, I’m trying to do homework.” Frank was starting to sound really pissed off and not even Sam took that lightly.
“Open this door, or next time you come out I’ll piss in your bed,” Sam hissed through the door.
“No,” Billy hissed back. “You’re gonna hit me again if I come out.”
“Not if you promise not to tell Mum and Dad about Michelle.”
Billy’s curiosity got the better of him again. Cracking the door open a little, he asked, “Is that what she’s called?”
“Yeah.” Sam didn’t look quite so mad now, so Billy opened the door a bit further. There was a dopey grin on Sam’s face and he pushed past Billy and threw himself down on the bed. “Her name’s Michelle and she’s bloody gorgeous.”
Billy wouldn’t know. He’d only seen the back of her head; the rest of her had been covered in duvet. Plopping down next to Sam, he carried on the interrogation. “Did you meet her at school? How old is she?”
“Yeah and sixteen,” Sam answered, his mouth still curved in the silly grin.
“Can I meet her?” Billy asked.
“Maybe.” Sam sat up and shuffled back against the headboard, his expression suddenly serious. “Don’t tell Mum and Dad about her though, eh. They’d throw a wobbly if they knew I had a girlfriend.”
It might have been good blackmail material but Billy knew his brother well enough to know when he could push things. And this wasn’t one of them. “Okay,” he said. “I won’t say anything, but don’t let it get in the way of doing your homework, will you.”
Sam laughed and ruffled Billy’s hair. “You sound like Mum. Always worrying about stuff like that.”
“Shouldn’t I sound more like Dad?” He didn’t want to sound like a girl!
Like someone had thrown a switch, Sam’s good mood vanished. “You’d never sound like Dad, Billy,” he said seriously. “You’re a good guy.”
Sitting on the swings next to Ian, Billy kicked his toes into the concrete-hard grass and thought about school. Actually, he wasn’t so much thinking about school as about Mr Griffiths, the PE teacher, and how he looked before they went on a cross country run. He had long tanned legs, did Mr Griffiths, and his shorts went a really interesting shape at the crotch.
“Paula likes you,” Ian said out of nowhere.
Billy jammed his feet into the ground and stopped his swing dead. “What?”
“Paula, Susan’s friend.”
“Yeah, I know who you mean, but what do you mean, she likes me?”
Ian turned to look at him. “Susan said that Paula said that if you ask her out, she’ll say yes.”
“Ask her out? Like on a date!” Billy couldn’t have been more shocked if his Mum had given him permission to go to Frank’s party. That had to wait ‘til he was least seventeen, she said. Boys of fourteen didn’t get to stay out all night.
“Something like that, yeah.” Ian grinned. “You look like someone just hit you in the nuts.”
Ian had a nice smile, Billy thought as tried to collect his scattered wits. It was white and even and his lips were quite full, almost pouty.
“You gonna ask her then?” Ian said.
Ask a girl out on a date. In all honesty, Billy hadn’t thought about it. He liked Paula. She was a year older than he was, but was a good laugh and always shared her coke with him at the bus stop when it was hot. But he wasn’t sure he liked her like that. Ian was going out with her best friend, Susan, and watching them two make out on the slide left Billy feeling slightly queasy. He wasn’t sure he wanted to kiss anyone like that. Well, maybe Ian, but that was different, wasn’t it?
“I dunno,” he answered finally. “I guess I should, huh?”
They compromised with a double date. When the boys arrived, Paula and Susan were already waiting by the front doors of the Classic, leaning against the wall and giggling at the marines waiting at the bus stop. Hands stuffed in Harrington pockets and groins thrusting out like they could hook someone straight off the street, they were both awesome - or so Ian said when he jabbed Billy in the ribs and sniggered. Billy thought they’d have looked better with less make-up, and looser jeans. Paula’s new haircut looked nice though. It suited her better short.
“We gonna go see The Empire Strikes Back then?” Susan asked, slinking off the wall to steal a puff of Ian’s B&H.
“Think that was the idea,” Ian said and gave her a kiss, with tongues and everything. Billy looked away, straight into Paula’s eyes. She stared back at him in a way that made his legs wobbly.
“You wanna piece of Wrigley’s?” She offered him the pack.
Billy muttered a thank you and, fumbling, promptly dropping his strip on the pavement. He bent down to pick it up and froze when he saw the expression of disgust on Paula’s face.
“You ain’t gonna eat that when it’s been down there, are you?” she said. “Dogs piss on that and everything.”
It’s still wrapped, he wanted to say, but that wouldn’t make much of a good impression. “Nah,” he said. “Was just gonna put it in the bin.”
Image saved, he waited ‘til Ian and Susan headed into the cinema and then put his arm round Paula’s shoulders to follow them in. She looked over at him and grinned, showing her braces. “You’re all right, you are,” she said.
They ended up sat in the middle of the cheap seats with people all around them, chatting and munching and slurping. Not that it seemed to bother Ian and Susan. Billy doubted either of them saw anything past the first advert, since it was a bit hard too see the screen when your tongue’s stuck down someone else’s throat.
Next to him, Paula finished her drink and poked the cup under the seat between her feet. When she sat back up, she said, “S’hot in here,” shimmied out of her jacket and tucked it in next to her.
The blouse she was wearing was white and even in the dim light, Billy could see the black bra she wore underneath. “Now I’m cold,” she added, leaning right over so she was pressed against him, her small breasts pushing up against his arm.
Billy swallowed heavily, wiping his hands on his trouser legs and then slid
one arm round her. It seemed like the right thing to do and when she smiled
up at him, he couldn’t help smiling back before the lights went down
and the movie started for real.
“Wow, the effects were fantastic,” Billy bounced, remembering the way the cameras had panned out to show the Cloud City in all its glory. It had been brilliant, what with Vader turning out to be Luke’s Dad and the whole hand cutting off thing. Not to mention Lando Calrissian and Han Solo.
“Didn’t notice,” Susan said with a simper, “we was too busy.” Grinning, she grabbed Ian’s hand and tugged him into the alley behind the cinema. Billy watched them go, wondering if they ever got fed up with kissing. It was all they did for the whole movie.
Beside him, Paula sighed and jiggled up and down. She’d kept sighing like that all through the film and it had really got on Billy’s nerves. With Ian and Susan on one side and Paula on the other, it was a wonder he’d seen any of the movie at all.
“I’m cold now,” she complained after a second. Snuggling up beside him, she twined their fingers together. “Let’s get out of the wind.”
“Where?” Billy asked. He couldn’t feel a wind, in fact he was pretty hot, but then the clothes Paula was wearing weren’t as heavy as his.
“Down here.”
They were down the alley and Paula’s lips, soft and squishy and tasting of strawberry lip-gloss, were pressed against his before he knew what was happening. One of her hands snuck round the back of his neck holding him still, as if he wasn’t too shocked to move anyhow, especially when her other hand was guiding his into the front of her blouse.
His fingers met slightly damp, hot flesh, trailed up the lace edge of her bra and then jerked away as though the contact burned. It felt wrong. She felt wrong. No, Billy thought, that was wrong. It was just that they were outside the cinema and….
“P-Paula.” His face was going crimson as he tried to extricate himself, his elbow flying back and hitting Ian solidly in the ribs. “There’s people and….”
“For god’s sake, Billy, just get stuck in,” Ian said loudly over his shoulder, “And if you don’t want to, stop fucking messing about, ‘cause I do.”
A giggle came from the other side of him and Billy caught a glimpse of Susan’s heavily mascaraed eyelashes before Ian swooped on her again, making her groan and wrap her leg up and round his thigh.
“Come on, Billy,” Paula’s insistent voice demanded. “No one can see us here.”
And even if they could, they wouldn’t care. Telling himself he was being dumb for even thinking about having second thoughts, Billy returned to the fray, pushing Paula back up against the wall and kissing her in the same way Ian was kissing Susan. Actually, if he turned his head just a touch, he could see Ian, and if he moved just a couple of steps that way, he’d be leaning against Ian-
A vivid image of Ian kissing him instead of Susan sprung into Billy’s mind. He groaned, unconsciously thrusting forwards and rubbing his sudden erection against the crotch of Paula’s jeans.
“Dirty bugger,” she muttered in his ear and she nibbled on the lobe. “Always knew you had it in you, even if the other boys did say you were queer.”
It was one of those surreal dreams where you knew fine well you were dreaming and yet couldn’t stop it from happening. Billy found himself back in the alley, but this time the street nearby was empty, and the girls weren’t there. It was just him and Ian leaning against the wall sharing a fag. Billy took a drag and handed it over, watching as Ian’s lips wrapped round the end of it. Such lovely lips - pouty and full and pink. Billy sighed - he was a sad case, he decided, getting hard because his best mate smoked a ciggie.
“Good movie,” Ian said, blowing the smoke out through his nose in true hard nut style.
“Harrison Ford is hot.”
Instead of punching him one, Ian agreed with a lecherous grin. “A sight hotter than Mark Hamill.”
“Wonder what it’d be like to kiss a bloke.”
“Dunno. Wanna give it a try?” The cigarette vanished from Ian’s fingers and they tangled in Billy’s hair as he was yanked hard up against Ian’s body. “Think it goes something like this,” Ian murmured and then swooped down like he had on Susan earlier.
Oh, Christ on a crutch, it was amazing! There was no softness here. Ian’s lips crashed into his, commanding attention. His tongue chased across Billy’s lips, probing and demanding entry, which Billy happily granted. And all the while, hands were tugging and pinching gently, grabbing onto Billy’s bum and shoving them together so that hard on rubbed against hard on until Billy thought his brain was gonna melt out of his dick.
“Please,” he whimpered, curiously able to speak despite the tongue exploring his mouth. With some part of his mind, he was aware that he was in bed but the dream felt so real that he could taste the remains of popcorn in Ian’s mouth.
“Please what?”
Touch me? Hold me? Keep doing what you’re doing but do it a bit harder and just a touch faster? Billy didn’t know what he wanted, so he just said, “Please.”
This time Ian didn’t answer, he just dropped to his knees and, staring
up at Billy with those dark wicked eyes, nuzzled his balls.
Billy woke with an agonised groan, humping his pillow for all he was worth,
sweat pooling on his back. In his mind, Ian’s lips were fastened round
his dick and he was sliding into that wet sleek heat again and again and
again. And, bloody hell, was it good. He came, biting his lip to stay quiet
and, while the shudders wore off and his heartbeat slowed from its rapid
hammering, he lay there in shock. He’d had a dream, a sex dream. Not
in itself unusual, but for Ian to have a starring role? That was… an
absolute sodding disaster.
The following Monday in school was torture. All Ian wanted was talk about Paula and Susan and all Billy wanted to do was pin Ian down somewhere and repay his dream gift. It got so bad that Billy found himself fantasising about it in English and when Mr Bryce asked a question about A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Billy had almost blurted out what his had been. Thankfully he hadn’t, and just stammered and blushed until the question was repeated; at which point he’d recovered enough brain cells to make a halfway decent job of answering it.
Lunchtime was the worst. Lying on the playing field waiting for the third form to get their turn on the football pitch, Ian started up again.
“I’m gonna shag Susan,” he said, letting loose a beatific smile that made his eyes gleam. “Mum and Dad are out tonight and she’s coming over. It’s gonna be bloody brilliant. She wants me so much. I tell you after kissing her last night, I had the best dream ever.”
Bet it wasn’t as good as mine, Billy thought, rolling over onto his front as the combination of memories and Ian’s voice made him hard. Ian kept on talking, but Billy stopped listening until Ian said, “Oi, I asked if you were gonna screw Paula. Bet she’d be up for it.”
It was on the tip of Billy’s tongue to ask if they could do the double date thing again, until he realised that dating wasn’t the same thing as sex and four people in a bed probably wasn’t the sort of thing you suggested even to your best mate.
“Dunno,” he answered instead. “I guess if she wants me too.”
“You ever seen a blue movie?”
Billy’s fag paused halfway to his lips as he absorbed the question. On the couch next to him, Paula squirmed round ‘til she was cuddling up, her face still all over with questions.
“Um, no,” Billy answered finally, then added, “Why, you got one?”
“I haven’t, but Dad has. Hang on a tick.”
Without so much as a by your leave, she dug into the sideboard behind the telly and came up a few moments later with a video in a black box. “Dunno what it is,” she said grinning from ear to ear, “but it’s his latest, so it should be a bit of all right.”
Billy wasn’t sure. It didn’t seem right watching porn with a girl, but Paula was already pushing the video into the machine so it was a bit late to say anything. Plus he might sound stupid.
“Come on then,” she said throwing herself back on the sofa and practically into Billy’s lap. She lifted the cigarette from his hand, took a drag and then stubbed it out in the ashtray. When she’d finished, her smoky breath brushed against his ear. “This’ll be fun.”
Before Billy knew what was happening, she was astride his lap, her tits pushed into his face and her fingers tangled in his hair. He jerked back trying to breathe and she came down on him like something possessed, mouth greedy and wide. It was like being eaten. Before today their kisses had always been guarded, Billy had kept them that way. He didn’t like being this out of control; it made him feel strange inside.
As they kissed, Paula was tugging at his shirt, pulling it up from where it was tucked into his jeans. Then her fingers were on his fly, unbuttoning and unzipping. Billy started to panic. He couldn’t breathe with her mouth covering his and he needed to breathe, he needed to think, he needed to get away.
Shoving her back a bit, he heaved in some air and realised Paula was grinning at him. “Knew I could get you going again,” she said, stripping off her blouse and picking up his shaking hands to place them over her breasts. “Mum and Dad are out all day, you know. We can do it if you like.”
Billy didn’t like, but he couldn’t get the words to come out. Nothing but a bloody scaredy-cat, that’s what he was. Terrified of screwing up or not being able to get it up or something.
His eyes fixed on their target, too scared to look away, his fingers began moving of their own accord. He kind of knew what he had to do. Ian and Susan weren’t exactly discreet when they started snogging. If he remembered rightly, girls liked to have their nipples pinched - he tried and when Paula yelped, did it again much more gently. This time she pressed closer, bending to have another go at his mouth, her hands delving into the front of his jeans and then his undies.
“You ain’t hard,” she said, sitting back and staring down at him in disgust. “What the bloody hell’s up with you?”
“I-I....” Billy knew his face was beetroot red.
A grin spread over Paula’s face. “You’ve never done it before, have you.”
“Have!” His protest fell on deaf ears. Paula just kept on smirking at him and then slid to one side, pulling him after her until he was laid full length on top of her warm yielding body. Her skirt rucked up right round her waist and she pushed his hands down into her panties, squirming around and panting loudly in his ear when he found her bits and pieces.
“That’s good, Billy,” she was saying as he kept his hand going. She was getting all wet and he could smell her, sort of a rank smell that stuck in his nose and made him feel odd.
On the telly, some really bad music started up, taking the place of the anonymous murmuring that had gone on before. Billy glanced over, seeing faceless bodies reaching out for each other. Tits and bums and then, oh god. His blush started up all over again, reaching from his toes to his hairline and he felt himself starting to get hard. How flippin’ embarrassing was this going to get?
Very, apparently, since Paula twisted round to look at the screen, sniggering when she saw the two blokes getting off on each other while a blonde woman watched and fingered herself. “I bet Dad was pissed off when he saw this,” she said.
Billy just shook his head, not trusting himself to speak and trying his best not to look at the telly, preferably ever again. The images didn’t hold Paula’s attention for long anyway. Her hands were soon busy again, this time happy with what she found down Billy’s underpants.
“That’s more like it,” she crooned when she got a handful of him. The heat and tightness of her hand was incredible and Billy’s hips jerked making her giggle. “Now you’re all eager, ain’t you.”
He was, but not for the reason she thought. In his mind’s eye, Billy was still seeing the two blokes on the video - one dark, one blond, both with the slightest dusting of hair on their chests, both wearing army trousers and boots. Gorgeous they were, their lips wet and open, staring at the woman as they wanked each other off. God, to be one of them. To feel a man’s large hand rather than a girl’s small one. Even the thought of it made his prick twitch in Paula’s grasp. She took it the wrong way.
“You wanna screw me then?” she whispered against his ear.
Billy felt like crying. Yes, he was turned on, but by the video, not by Paula. If she tried poking his prick up inside her, he was gonna be sick, he just knew he was. He could feel himself softening just thinking about it. And if he failed, it’d be all over the school by Monday morning. There was only one thing for it.
Lifting his head, Billy peered over the arm of the couch at the television. They were still there, only now, the woman was gone and only the two men were left and they were… Oh Christ, they were fucking. One of them was lying on his back and the other one was inside him. And they were moaning, really getting off on it. A close up showed a huge red prick ploughing a tight hole and Billy’s bum clenched in sympathy. Or maybe it was desire. It was something that sent his blood rushing back in the right direction anyhow, and he hardly even noticed when Paula got him lined up and yanked down into her.
“Oh yeah,” she was saying, but Billy didn’t hear her. He was more interested in what the actors were doing. The fucker was now blowing the fuckee, taking him right down his throat and if Billy hadn’t seen a woman doing it in one of Ian’s magazines, he wouldn’t have thought it possible.
“Do me, Billy.” Paula’s voice nagged in his ear and Billy let himself go, pretending he was the bloke on the sun lounger getting his prick sucked by the best looking guy on the planet. It didn’t take much. The tingles started up really soon and Billy was heaving in and out of slick wetness, his eyes tight shut as his brain painted the pictures it needed. Paula wasn’t there, just that dark head and those muscular shoulders and those camouflage pants with a prick hanging out of the front that Billy wanted to touch and taste and feel inside his mouth or his bum or anywhere he could have it.
With an almighty groan, his muscles seized and he shot his load. He’d
done it. He’d fucked a girl. Maybe he wasn’t queer after all.
“You allowed out?”
Billy closed the front door behind him, risking the damp pavement for a bit of privacy. Paula was smoking and he fancied some but Mum’d kill him if she saw him.
“Nah,” he said, “Mum’s still pissed off about last week. She says I ain’t allowed out unless I got somewhere specific to go.”
“Then tell her you’re coming round mine,” Paula argued, handing over her fag. He wasn’t dating her anymore, not since he hadn’t been able to get it up without the right kind of porn film in the background, but they were still mates. Paula was the only one Billy had dared tell about fancying blokes, and she’d not said a word to anyone. That made her Billy’s best friend, even if nothing else did.
“Will your Dad cover?” Billy was worried about what would happen if his parents found out he’d been hanging around the streets again.
“Yeah, course he will.” A piece of bubble gum appeared in Paula’s hand, got unwrapped and stuck it in her mouth. Her teeth had lippy on them. “Say anything I want him to, won’t he.”
Billy flicked the fag butt into the gutter and made his decision. Five minutes later he had shoes and permission, and he and Paula were off out for the evening.
“Where we going then?” he said as they set off up the hill in the opposite direction to their usual town centre stomping ground.
Paula winked at him and blew a bubble. “Someone I want you to meet, isn’t there.”
“Who?”
“Find out when we get there.”
She sprinted off and he had to really leg it to catch up. Paula was dead sporty and it showed in the way she moved. He, on the other hand, always ended up being the last chosen for teams. He just didn’t have any co-ordination and tended to flinch when someone hit a ball at him.
They ended up jogging most of the way, their breath steaming out into the chill night as they got further and further away from Billy’s house. Just as Billy was about to call Paula’s bluff and turn back, she started up a side street and stopped in front of a modern semi.
“You coming?” she called.
“Yeah, just a sec,” Billy panted back, collapsing against a lamp post. Christ, he was knackered. It took a bit to get his breath back and by the time he had, Paula was ringing the doorbell.
A fat woman with greasy hair opened the door, greeting Paula with a, “Hello, love,” and a hug.
“Hello, Cath. Can we come in?”
The woman - Cath - waved them past. “Course you can. And who’s this you’ve brought to meet us?”
“This here’s Billy,” Paula said, grinning back over her shoulder. “He’s a mate of mine.”
Billy shuffled his feet and then held out his hand. He wasn’t sure how to relate to this woman. She was younger than his Mum but still an adult, and that made him feel like he should be calling her Mrs something, not Cath.
A plump arm, a bit grubby and smelling faintly of sweat and alcohol, caught him up in an almost hug. “Billy, eh? And how old are you, Billy?”
“Fifteen,” Billy mumbled. It had been his birthday last week and he was still stinging from the old fashioned pair of jeans his Mum had given him. And after he’d asked for money too, so he could buy what he wanted.
They followed Cath into the hallway where she shoved Billy in the direction of a room off to the left. “Go and introduce yourself to Stan, love. I’ll make us all a cuppa.”
Stan - or so Billy assumed - was lying full length on the sofa watching Coronation Street on the telly, a multicoloured rug draped over his legs. As Billy entered, he glanced round and did a double take, coming back with a wide grin.
“You a mate of Paula’s?” he said as he sat up. He moved oddly, like there was something wrong, and Billy realised it was his legs, or his back or something.
“Yeah,” Billy said, looking around the room. It was small, poky, and decorated in woodchip the same colour as nicotine and Stan’s teeth. And it smelt. Of beer and cigarettes and unwashed clothes. The sofa that Stan was lying on lay along one wall with the telly perched high on a shelf in the corner over his feet. On the opposite wall were two chairs and between them stood a coffee table covered in magazines.
“Got a name, do you?”
There was a snap in the voice and Billy immediately reacted. “William, but everyone calls me Billy.”
“Well, everyone calls me Billy, you gonna sit down or keep making the place look untidy.”
Billy threw himself into the furthest armchair and sat on his hands. He didn’t know what to say and the whole thing was starting to make him nervous.
Visiting Stan’s got to be a regular thing. To start with, Billy didn’t want to go again, but Paula nagged him ‘til he gave up and since Stan had got some films in the next time they went, Billy didn’t bother putting up a fight the third time. It wasn’t until after Bonfire night that it started getting odd.
Paula called for him as usual on Saturday night, but she was all over with jitters, her fingernails chewed down and stripped of varnish. All the way up to Stan’s, she was quiet, only opening her mouth to tell Billy to, “Get a bloody move on,” and when they arrived, she vanished into the kitchen with Cath.
As usual, Billy headed into the other room, greeting Stan with a smile and a wave. Since his first visit, he’d discovered that Stan used to be a miner but he’d had to stop work because of his back. Now he spent all his time lying on the couch. It must be boring, Billy thought, no wonder he liked getting visitors.
Not that visitors had anywhere to sit this time. With both chairs piled high with washing, Billy was left looking distastefully at the floor and wondering if the sticky carpet would leave marks on his jeans.
“Bloody woman,” Stan growled, hauling himself upright. “She’s been saying she’d clear that lot up all day.” He shifted his body sideways, freeing up a bit of space next to him. “Come and plonk yourself here. The film’s about to start.”
It wasn’t the most comfortable perch, but Billy took it in preference to the floor. Stan’s body pressed hot against his side and he shuffled around a bit, trying to get comfortable.
“Pop your legs up,” Stan said, “There’s plenty of room for both of us, skinny little thing like you.”
Billy did as he was told, but it just made things worse since now he didn’t know what to do with his hands. They kinda ended up stuck behind his back until Stan grunted and grabbed his arm, pulling it forward and across Stan’s chest.
“Better. Comfy now?”
No, Billy wanted to say. It was like being curled up next to Dad only without the warmth. Instead there was a tension that Billy didn’t understand, but it was making him really nervous. The movie didn’t help either. It was called 'An American Werewolf in London' and pretty soon Billy was too immersed in being scared to worry about the man he was curled up with. He didn’t notice the multicoloured rug being tucked over him or his hand being drawn down to rest in Stan’s lap.
There was something hot and hard pulsing under his fingers. Billy flinched, his hand pulling back, only to find it held gently, almost casually, at the wrist. It was the sort of hold that could be accidental, and if he made a big issue of it then Stan would know that Billy had noticed where his hand was and that would be…. Billy flushed. He’d die of embarrassment if Stan realised Billy had a hold of his prick.
A few moments later, Stan’s other arm, the one that had been stretched out behind his head, curled round Billy’s shoulders and pulled him closer, pressing Billy’s face against his chest. The shirt smelled sourly of sweat and Billy turned his head so he could breathe. He ought to move. He ought to get up and leave, walk out of the house protesting all the way. But then a thigh pressed up between his legs, nudging against his balls and Billy was lost. No one had touched him there since Paula, and that was six months ago. He could feel himself getting hard, the blood rushing southwards in response to the caress, and he cringed as the urge thrust won out and his hips surged forwards.
God, he was going to die. It felt so good, but it was all so wrong. This was
Stan, Cath’s husband. He couldn’t possibly know what he was doing,
surely, which meant it was all Billy’s fault. All Billy’s fault ‘cos
he was sick and perverted and was getting turned on by lying next to a man
and holding a man’s prick in his hand. He was going to throw up.
This was wrong. This was so wrong that Billy couldn’t think of a single thing to make it right. But oh, it felt so good. Trapped between the warm wood of the toolshed and Phil’s body, he was in heaven, a very private heaven that encompassed only his mouth and the dick he was sucking.
“Come on, Billy-boy,” Phil hissed, his snapping hips making Billy gag and gasp for air. “Don’t wanna get seen, do you?”
No, Billy didn’t, so he set to with even more enthusiasm. Wet silky skin slid past his lips leaving them tingling and hot, his tongue probed and stropped, teasing every reaction it could. Soon, it was gonna be soon, Billy could tell. Phil always pulled his hair when he was about to shoot and right now, Billy was in danger of ending up bald.
“Hurry… Someone’s coming. Fuck, hurry.” The thrusting was back and Billy did his best to ride it out. He could hear footsteps on the path and for a brief second, he thought this was it. He was gonna get caught on his knees sucking off Phil Thompson. But then the footsteps stopped, someone yelled, “I’ve found it!” and thundered away.
Billy relaxed and at that second, Phil came, groaning and choking Billy with a sudden gush of bitter fluid. After swallowing what he could, Billy spat the rest away, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Phil’s fingers were still tangled in his hair and here was hoping they’d be tangled somewhere else in minute. His shirt caught on the rough planks as he stood up uncomfortably, hunching over from the pressure in his groin, the desire he’d only noticed once Phil had come. It had to be wrong getting so turned on from giving blowjobs but Billy couldn’t help it. There was something about the feel of a prick in his mouth that got him going something chronic.
“Want me to touch you?” Phil said, his breath burning over Billy’s ear.
Billy gulped and nodded, too randy to think beyond getting off.
“Want me to wrap my big manly hand round your prick and make you shoot?”
Billy surged up into hard fingers stroking him through the thin cotton of his school trousers. “Christ, yes. Phil, please. Touch me, please.”
“Why the hell would I wanna do that?”
Staring up into a cruelly handsome face, Billy could only think of one reason. “’Cause I want you to?”
A fist knocked him back against the shed, jarring his shoulder, but the pain of that vanished in the wake of the words that followed. “Don’t be fucking daft. I’m not queer!”
Sitting on his own at the front of the bus, Billy pressed his forehead to the glass and stared out at the passing countryside. He had to talk to someone. What he was doing was wrong, he knew that, but he couldn’t seem to stop. Every time one of the older boys propositioned him, he said yes. It was stupid, so bloody stupid, but the lure of their muscular bodies was too much of a temptation. To own them and make them feel good, even if it was only for a few minutes, was so wonderful and there was nothing in Billy’s life that came even close to replacing it.
And that was what he needed to do. Despite the rumours, Billy wasn’t completely naive. He knew now that he was gay and that there were other kids out there like him, doing things together that resulted in more reciprocity than an embarrassed wank behind the tool shed. What he needed to do was find a group or a club or a phone number or something. He needed to talk to someone before what he was doing got him into serious trouble at school.
Or he could talk to Mum. Billy was pretty sure that anybody else he talked to would ask him if he’d spoken to his parents anyway, so maybe that’s where he should start. Mum had always said that, so as he was happy, she didn’t mind what he did, and yeah, she’d been talking about which O levels he took, but surely who he loved was the same thing. Surely she’d prefer him to be honest, than to go around hiding the way he was at the moment.
On the walk home, he decided. Talk to Mum first, and then find other gay teenagers. It couldn’t be that hard, could it?
It could. Walking into the house was like walking into the middle of a hurricane.
“Sammy, get off him! Get off him!” Mum was screaming as she tried to prise Sam’s fingers from Dad’s neck. “You’re hurting him! Get off!” Apparently oblivious to Mum hanging off his arm, Sam kept on throttling Dad, who looked a bit odd and was turning blue.
Without thinking, Billy chucked his bag on the floor and launched himself at Sam’s back, grabbing his brother by the hair and wrenching his head backwards ‘til he had to move or end up with a broken neck. His hands freed up, Sam tried getting Billy loose and they staggered across the hall, a two headed yelling monster, scratching and kicking and biting. It wasn’t like their other fights. This time Billy knew that Sam would really hurt him if he could. But, why? It didn’t make any sense.
Until he listened to what Mum was shrieking as she battered at Dad’s chest. “How could you do that to him? How could you, to your own son?”
“’Cause he’s a fucking perv!” Sam shouted back.
Billy’s brain went numb, and in that crucial second, Sam threw him off, slamming him into the wall. But there was no follow up. Instead, Sam spat in Dad’s direction, and then stalked out of the house, the door crashing closed behind him.
In the silence, all Billy could hear was his mother crying.
Eyes determinedly fixed on nothing, Billy fetched the cereal from the top cupboard and pushed past his father on the way to the crockery cupboard. Six weeks since everything fell apart. Six weeks of whispered hushed conversations, blasting vicious rows and worse silences. Sam was gone, moved into a bedsit in town somewhere with his girlfriend, and good riddance according to Mum.
Since the whole shitty mess blew up, Mum’s attitude had undergone a full one eighty. Now she was blaming Sam, saying he was a lying ungrateful manipulative bastard who was trying to drive a wedge between her and Dad. Billy was just confused.
“What are you doing today?”
Spoon paused halfway between bowl and mouth, Billy blinked and stared at his father. They’d not exchanged more than two words since and the innocuousness of the question left Billy floundering.
“Dunno,” he said with a shrug, stuffing his laden spoon in his mouth, and then added around cornflakes, “Going out probably.”
“With that girl. What was her name? Paula?”
That showed how on the ball Dad was. Billy hadn’t hung around with Paula for more than a year, not since all that business at Stan’s. He flinched back from the memory with a shudder. Some things were best forgotten and Stan’s groping hands definitely qualified. He still saw Paula around, but she was odd these days, knocking about with the crowd down at the café and everyone knew what they did there.
No, he’d probably end up sat in Denny’s window. If there was a better view to be had during the summer, Billy didn’t know what it was.
Two hours later, he was in place, propped up against the front table at Denny’s parlour, a cherry coke float at his elbow, and staring dreamily at the gang of shorts-clad marines strutting their stuff up and down the promenade. Billy sighed, and leaned his head on the cool glass. Bet they tasted of salty sweat and suntan lotion. All those well-toned muscular bodies, so little chance of getting them to look his way, and no others coming his way in the foreseeable future either. After the business with Sam, it had seemed like a good idea to put his own plans on hold.
“Hi, Billy.”
At the sound of his brother’s voice, Billy closed his eyes, not knowing how to handle this. Nothing for weeks and then Sam just turns up. Maybe the best thing was to act normally. “Hey, Sam. How are you?” he said, keeping his eyes on the window.
“Was going to ask you the same thing. I was expecting you to pop round.”
A chair scraped across the floor. Sam wasn’t just gonna leave him alone then. Far too much to bloody hope for, that was. “Would have done, if I’d known where you were.” Rather than walking out and leaving me behind.
Turning his back on the luscious hunks posturing for the local girls, Billy turned his chair and took a sip of his flat, warm float, still avoiding eye contact with his brother.
“Mum never said?” When Billy shook his head, Sam muttered, “Fucking bitch. I gave her the address so she could send any post on.”
“Maybe she was hoping you’d come and pick it up.”
“You wouldn’t get me back in that bloody house if it was the last place on earth.”
Not even to check up on your brother? Billy couldn’t bring himself to say it. It felt too much like begging. Anyway, in a few days, it wouldn’t matter if Sam was gone, because Frank would be back from his trip to India. “Have you heard from Frank?” he asked instead.
“Yeah.”
Billy glanced up, looking at his brother for the first time since he’d invaded Billy’s refuge. A skinhead cut now graced Sammy’s head, making him seem like an older, harder stranger, but his eyes were the same, and right now they were looking shifty. “And?” Billy prompted.
“Back already, isn’t he.” Sammy stretched out in his chair, arms over his head and a huge yawn giving Billy a view of his tonsils. “Got back on Monday. He’s staying with me and Sue ‘til he gets a place sorted out.”
Billy couldn’t bring himself to say anything. The sun through the window felt cold. A piece of his heart dried up and fell out. Alone.
“I’m going for pee. Don’t run off will you.”
Where to? The sensation of being trapped grabbed at Billy’s throat, a tightening fist ramming past his tongue and teeth and choking….
Blind and deaf to the rest of the world carrying on around him, Billy jumped when a voice close to his ear said, “Moving into the big time, are we, Billy-boy? Found someone who don’t mind paying?”
It was Phil, complete with broad smirk and gaggle of mates.
“Fuck off,” Billy snarled, not up to dealing with whatever shit Phil had to hand out today.
“Don’t say that, darlin’.” Phil’s thumb stroked around Billy’s mouth, the rest of his hand clamping around Billy’s jaw when he tried to pull away. “Now, now. Have I said you can go anywhere?”
“These idiots bothering you, Billy?”
Much to Billy’s relief, Sam pushed through the gang, shoving Phil to one side. The hard-eyed stranger was back and for the first time, Billy noticed how his brother had filled out in recent years. Gone was the scrawny kid who always looked too tall for his frame. Now broad shoulders topped a well defined chest and rock hard stomach.
“Nah, they were just leaving. Weren’t you?” He aimed the last at Phil, who took one look at Sam looming over him, flexing his biceps, and backed off.
“Yeah,” he said. “See you at school, Billy. Enjoy your time-off.” With that, he and his gang headed for the door and piled out into the street.
“You okay?” Sam asked as the gang’s raucous laughter slowly mingled with the sounds of kids playing on the beach.
“Be fine.” Billy buried his head back over his drink and wished Sam would just shut up and go away. “Stupid prat’s always like that. Just thinks he owns the place is all.”
For a moment, he thought Sam’s answer was gonna be restricted to a simple nod, then Sam said, “If he has a go at you again, come and tell me. I’ll sort him out for you.”
“What about, Dad? Same go for him?” The words were out before Billy could stop them and however much he wished he could shove them back again, they were never going to go.
Sam’s reaction was instantaneous. His hands slammed down on the table and he leant forwards so close that Billy could smell coffee on his breath. “Has he touched you? Ever?”
“No.”
“And he’d better bloody not.”
As Sam stood up and clapped a hand on Billy’s shoulder, Billy gazed out of the window at the marines wrestling on the wall by the pier. Then he turned and watched his brother pull out his wallet and saunter over to the counter. The girl behind the till flicked back her hair and welcomed Sam with a huge smile.
No, he hasn’t, but I wish he had. Then I could be special, like you.
I could walk out, like you. I could be normal, like you. Could chat girls up,
like you. And the useless, stupid words kept bleeding through his mind, hijacking
his brain until his ears buzzed. Of course he didn’t want Dad to touch
him. What was he? Some kind of freak? But still it wouldn’t shift; that
single traitorous thought. Why wasn’t it me?