Oscar - 23. Part 23

I slept like a log that night.

Smack, bang out of it and on my way to dreamland within a minute of face-planting my pillow. No shower. No wank. I didn’t even check my phone.

All I could do was throw off my clothes, crawl under my duvet and let my final thoughts and feelings of the day play out through my exhausted mind and body like a movie reel stripped apart, cut up and reassembled at random.

The smell of Mr. Price on my skin. The buzz of my hole still tingling after its magnificent workout. The taste of beer and sweat on my tongue. The ache in my throat. The memory of his load, hot and gooey, spurting into my stomach. The sting of my knee after throwing myself in his path.

Trying to escape his bedroom. His interrogation. My brilliant lie. His car.

Then my mum.

Beautiful, like when I was a little kid. Not tired and stressed and sad like the last time I’d seen her.

Her long blonde hair, down to her shoulders, was almost shimmering in the sun streaming through a window behind her. Her grey-blue eyes the colour of ice but warm as summer. Her skin healthy and sun-kissed. Her lips full and smiling.

We were at home. Our home. In the kitchen. Dad was there too. Laughing at something he was reading in the paper.

Sat at the table he looked younger and fitter. His hair was thicker and his face was free of the ghostly wrinkles and lines I was used to seeing in the incessant blue glow of his computer screen.

He’s happy.

They were excited about today. Something big was happening. Something to do with me.

‘You can’t be late, Oscar,’ she said, pinning a gold flower to the lapel of a black blazer I realised I was wearing.

I looked down at myself. Under the blazer was a black shirt complete with gold tie and gold waistcoat. Below was a pair of black trousers that stopped above highly polished gold brogues.

‘Your mother’s right,’ Dad said, placing his paper on the table and walking over to me.

He put his hands on my shoulders and beamed.

‘It’s your big day, son. You can’t keep him waiting.’

Then there was a church.

Small and stone but with a steeple that reached to the sky. Long and thin like a needle it stretched on for miles, piercing a thick layer of grey ominous cloud and disappearing out of sight. So stretched it was distorted, like a glitch in a computer game. It shuddered and lurched and then suddenly disappeared, only to reappear exactly as it was half or a quarter-second later.

But no one seemed to notice.

Not one of the guests outside seemed to care. They were too busy looking at me. Standing still and staring. No smiles. No frowns. Blank, dead expressions on their faces.

Faces I don’t recognise.

I tried to focus on a woman in a black dress and gold hat as I reached the church doors. Her eyes and nose and mouth moved like liquid. Anywhere I looked her features would slink out of sight.

Like water.

‘Go on, son,’ Mum said behind me, now dressed in black and gold. ‘He’s waiting for you.’

Taking a deep breath, I looked up. The steeple had disappeared. The sky was blue again and the sun was back out. The church was a normal size and shape. A fleeting bird song chirped through the air. Discordant and jarring.

‘Hurry,’ Dad said, his gold and black suit sharp and fitted.

I heaved open the heavy wooden doors but they flew open like they weighed nothing at all. Slamming against the walls inside they sent a deafening boom through the church.

A man, in a matching gold and black suit, was stood at an altar a long way away. Far longer than possible in such a small building, but the aisle, covered in a tatty, old red carpet, reached on regardless. He turned at the bang of ancient wood on ancient rock.

It was Tim. Too far away to see, but I knew it was him. Tim Price, waiting for me.

We’re getting married?

I took a step forward. And another. Then another and another. But no matter how many I took I couldn’t get any closer. No matter how far I walked he stayed out of reach. Waiting for me to join him.

Beckoning me closer.

I ran. As fast as I could. The carpet below whirring under my feet like a treadmill. The same fibres, the same brown stains and the same frayed edges repeating and repeating as my arms and legs pumped.

Then I tripped, forward onto my face, but as I hit the ground the floor disintegrated. It shattered apart like exploding glass. Benches and carpet and bibles and candles falling and spinning like Alice down the rabbit hole. Tumbling alongside me into darkness.

Until I landed. Abrupt but softly and upright in a chair. An old green, fabric chair in an office.

Mr. Price’s office.

In front of me was his computer. On the computer was a folder. Nameless. I clicked it open and double clicked the single file inside.

It was a video. A video of Adam and Mr. Price standing in a bedroom and kissing.

Tim’s bedroom.

Half-naked: their shirts off. Their hard, muscular torsos against each other. Their strong hands touching and gliding over bulging biceps and pecs and triceps and deltoids and abs.

Then the camera panned back. Lying on the bed, naked and smirking, was James.

My ginger pocket rocket, grinning up at them. Him five-foot-five and on his back. Mr. Price ten inches taller and Adam three inches taller still now either side of the bed. Dwarfing the smooth, toned teen like giants.

Then James sat up, got on all fours and opened his mouth. Began to work Adam’s cock, sucking on it until he was as hard as diamond between his lips. Mr. Price moved to the other end. Pulled James’s arse apart and ate his hole.

I watched. Astonished. Amazed. And then furious.

My stomach twisted as Tim’s powerful jaw stopped moving. I shook with rage as he gathered a mouthful of spit and let it fly. Tears began to well as he slid himself inside raw.

For five seconds, I watched them fuck him. Roast James like a pig on a spit. Both staring at each other, grunting and moaning. Reaching out and caressing. Stroking. Pinching.

All three loving every second. James abandoning himself. Adam lost in Tim’s eyes. Tim lost in his.

Tim. Lost.

Bleep, bleep, bleep! My alarm yanked me back to consciousness. Loud and fast and disorientating.

Clawing at my bedside table, I picked up my phone. Seven in the morning. Thumbing the alarm to snooze I snuggled back under the covers for warmth, my heart still pounding.

What the fuck was that? A nightmare?

But it shouldn’t have been. The whole messed-up church scenario aside, the idea of Tim and Adam working James between the two of them was ball-tinglingly awesome. Especially if I had a ringside seat or a camera for action shots.

At least it should have been. Lying in bed, my forehead beading with sweat, all I could think about was how I’d felt. Upset. Envious. Scared.

Weak.

Picking up my phone again, I checked my texts. Four new messages. All from James from the night before. Each getting progressively more annoying and needy.

First, he’d asked if I was still coming over. Then if I was ok. Then if there’d been a reason why I was ignoring him. Then, finally, one last instalment calling me a dickhead. All from not coming over one evening out of too many to count.

This kid isn’t worth the trouble.

Throwing my phone at a pile of dirty clothes on the floor, I rolled out of bed and made my way to the bathroom.

I used the toilet and showered. Brushed my teeth and did my hair. Back in my room I dressed in my uniform. White shirt, navy blue blazer, black trousers, purple and navy striped tie. Black socks and shoes.

Dad’s door was closed, as usual, but there were no sounds of mouse clicks or keyboards being furiously tapped. No swearing through headphones at spotty teenagers on the other side of the world.

Maybe he’s actually gone to sleep.

Down in the kitchen I put two slices of bread under the grill and made a cup of tea. Sat and sipped, still digesting my dream, as my breakfast slowly crisped under red hot elements.

There was only one explanation. One explanation to why I’d gotten upset. Why seeing the three of them together had made my blood boil and why I’d dreamt about marrying the guy.

I really like him.

More than his body. More than using him to escape my cesspit of a home and school life. I missed him.

His voice, his smell, his touch.

I didn’t want to marry him. Marriage was something my parents did, so naturally I’d decided years ago that there was no way I would ever tie myself to another person like that. Tie myself to their life and their problems until death do us part.

Not in a million years.

But it must have meant something. Something big.

Not to mention the fact that, as I spread butter and jam onto my toast, when it came to James and his texts waiting unanswered in my inbox, I didn’t care.

I didn’t give a toss if he didn’t want to see or speak to me again. After all my hard work grooming and preparing him to get double dicked, he didn’t matter anymore. All that time wasted and I wasn’t bothered. I wasn’t even that bothered about seeing Adam again.

It’s all about Pricey.

I thought about him on the walk to school and all through first and second periods. French and music. Thought about him at break. Fantasised about him so much during double English I had to spend fifteen minutes in the library toilets at lunch rubbing one out.

But as I stepped back into the cold, red-faced and semi-hard under my school trousers, my pondering on what the two of us were going to get up to on the weekend was cut short. Literally.

James. We collided. His face, my chest.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered, scurrying backwards and out of my way, no doubt an inbuilt response for a short arse like him.

But then he looked up and his demeanour shifted in an instant. Submissive subservience to narrow-eyed fury.

‘Oh. It’s you,’ he said.

For a moment, I contemplated rolling my eyes and ignoring him. Walking away from his bitching. But, with the endorphins from freshly emptied balls still surging, I was prepared to hear him out. Humour him for a few minutes.

After all, as much as I had bigger fish to fry, his arse was still one of the best I’d ever had. So, I decided that I should try to kill two birds with one stone. Set him straight and sweet talk him back to my side.

‘Well spotted,’ I said.

‘Where the fuck were you last night? You said you were coming over.’

‘Yeah sorry, something came up.’

‘Why didn’t you text me?’

‘I forgot.’

‘You forgot?’

‘Listen, James,’ I said, taking him by the arm and pulling him around the corner, away from a passing group of year tens. ‘What’s your problem?’

‘My problem?’

‘Yeah, your problem. Why do you have to text me twenty-four seven?’

‘I don’t text you twenty-four seven!’

‘Surely you get my point, though? I’m still at the same school as you. I still live in the same town.’ Checking left and right – all clear – I ran the backs of my fingers down his cheek. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

He moved his head away, but looked up through calmer eyes. He frowned.

‘I just don’t understand why you didn’t reply.’

‘Like I said, I’m sorry, I forgot.’

‘Do you even want to be my boyfriend?’

I’d been waiting for that question for days. Maybe even a week. It had been clear for a long time he thought we were dating. Officially together and all that bollocks. There’d just been no need to break his delusion.

Until now.

Taking a deep breath I collected my thoughts. It was earlier than I’d wanted, but it was now or never. Placing my hands either side of his waist, I pulled him in close.

‘Listen, handsome. I need to tell you something,’ I said.

‘What?’ he said, his nervous eyes darting left and right, trying to read mine.

Nervous because of what I was doing and where we were, but also the same nerves as the first time I’d ever touched him. Scared but loving it.

‘This boyfriend thing. I’m super flattered, but I have to be honest with you. I don’t think I can do it.’

His eyes widened in sadness and shock. He pulled away from my hold. His mouth opened a fraction, saying nothing.

‘But it’s not you. It’s me. I promise,’ I continued.

‘So what? That’s it? You’re just going to stop talking to me all of a sudden?’

‘No, no. Not at all. What I mean is, I can’t be your boyfriend because it wouldn’t be fair on you.’

‘Fair?’

‘Yeah. Fair. I’m not ready for it. I want more.’

‘What do you mean more?’

‘Adam.’

‘Adam?’

‘He wants to join in. With us. And I want it too.’

‘Join in?’

‘A threesome. You, me, him.’

‘I get the picture!’ he snapped.

‘Come on, don’t tell me you’re not keen on the idea?’

‘All this time,’ he said, his eyes glistening with tears. ‘All this time when you talked about him. About how he wanted to get together so he could have someone to relate to. That was all crap, wasn’t it? You’ve never cared about me. You were just using me.’

‘That’s not true,’ I said.

But it didn’t sound convincing. I was already switching off and it was beginning to show. He shook his head. Wiped his eyes. Then he began to walk away.

‘Come on, James. Don’t be a pussy. You’ll love it,’ I said, no more shits to give.

It didn’t go down well.

‘Fuck you, Oscar.’

After that, other than in class or across the field or in the corridor, I didn’t see James again. But like I said, I didn’t care.

I have Tim.