The Change of Heart - 1. Chapter 1

The present (December 15^th 2011):

My name is Josiah Banners; I’m fourteen years old and have been the victim of bullying since starting at St Catherine’s; Christ I sound like someone at an AA meeting. Most of the bullying has consisted of verbal insults and snide comments, but then about three weeks ago it got a lot worse, a hell of a lot worse; but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Let me see. I suppose this all started on the first day of the school year, which would have been Tuesday September 6^th 2011; God has all this really happened in only three months. I remember that it was an unusually cold day for early September, and I was so nervous . . .

Three months earlier:

It was my first day at St Catherine’s Upper Secondary School, and I was the only kid from my old school who decided to come here. My town has its own lower secondary school that lasts up until year nine, but then our next two years are spent at one of the regional upper secondary schools; or four years if we decide to stay on and do our A-levels. The idea is to ease us into the world of the secondary school, as opposed to just simply throwing a group of eleven year olds to the wolves and letting us get on with it. I suppose the idea was stolen from the American educational system, which instead of having one school has split up the post-elementary years into middle schools and high schools presumably for the same reasons; St Catherine’s Upper Secondary School would be the equivalent of a high school. Most kids either choose to go St Jude’s Upper Secondary School or they transfer to St. Sylvan’s Combined Secondary School since they are the two schools that are closest to my town; but I wanted to go somewhere where no one knows me, and where no one knows about me.

You’re probably wondering why on earth I’d want to go to a different school than all of my friends. Well, truth be told, I never actually had any friends at St Peter and St Elizabeth’s Lower Secondary School; I had lots of classmates sure, twenty eight of them to be exact, but I couldn’t even call one of them a friend. So, even if I had of had the sense to go to an upper secondary school where some of my classmates went, they wouldn’t have been there to support me and help me anyway; help me off a cliff perhaps. In fact, knowing what they know, they would probably have spent the next three years making my life as much of a misery as possible.

My main reason for deliberately picking a school where no one from my lower secondary school is going is quite simple; I think I’m gay. I don’t know, I might be or I might not be; I think I’m probably too young to decide one way or the other, and probably too young to know for sure one way or the other. A lot of the kids from my old school know my secret (or not so much of a secret, depending upon your point of view), so here’s hoping this can be clean start.

For the final few months of the last school year, I was being called queer, rump ranger, homo, batty boy and the such like, and I really don’t want that shit starting here; I seriously don’t need that shit starting here. I know some of my teachers overheard a number of these comments, but nothing was ever said about it to me or my parents, and I, as sure as mouse shit rolls downhill, wasn’t about to tell my parents what was happening; I guess my teachers never pressed the issue since they probably didn’t think I might actually be gay. That, coupled with the fact that my lower secondary school’s anti-bullying policy was so open to interpretation and had more holes in it than a sieve, most likely led the teachers to the conclusion that it was nothing more serious than a little ribbing. I don’t actually even recall how the kids in my class found out that I was attracted to boys; I mean it’s not as though I was caught in the boy’s toilets doing something I shouldn’t have been doing! My god, I’m not quite that stupid!

Looking back over it all, I suppose that it was probably in early January of this year, eleven months ago now, that I first realised I might be gay. There wasn’t some kind of loud fanfare from the Almighty to announce this sudden revelation, no burning bushel, no guiding star in the night sky, no archangel appearing to me and telling me “Lo, be not afraid, for I bring you tidings of great joy”; it was subtle, just like a light bulb reaching its full brightness. One day I simply found that I was staring at some of the boys in my class - typically the blue eyed blond haired ones - and thinking about them and fantasising about doing things to them. These were things that no straight boy could ever, even in his most wildest moments of madness, possibly think of wanting to do with, or even to, another boy.

I’ve never really thought about girls before . . . well I’ve thought about them obviously; after all, there were thirteen of them in my year eight class and I would had to have been blind to not notice them. I even thought that some of them were actually quite pretty; you know, for girls. It’s just that I’ve never thought about doing anything . . . intimate with them is all - but I suppose since I was only thirteen at the time, and I wasn’t due to turn fourteen until six months later, that it probably was not all too surprising.

I ‘accidentally’ found one of my older brother’s girly magazines in the middle of June just before my birthday. I don’t recall which magazine, and I don’t really care which one, since they’re all the same – all of them filled with scantily clad and naked young ladies. What troubles me, is that it did nothing for me, and I mean nothing; my dick didn’t even wake up, no matter how much I played with it. I know boys my age are just waking up to thinking about sex; the hormones flooding our brains and testosterone production finally getting under way in earnest; my sister put it to me the best, by saying that I’m only going to be thinking with my dick from now on.

Maybe I’m just reaching that point where kids start finding anything sex related a turn on. Though I think if that were true, then surely the girls from my lower secondary school would have done something for me or that girly magazine would have done something for me. Wouldn’t they?

I was sleeping over at a Howie Mitchell’s at the end of August, about a week before school was due to start back up after the long holiday. Howie is a friend of mine who lives in the next town over (actually he’s my only friend if I’m honest), and we are both members of the local boy’s Outward Bound Trust group; it’s odd, that we’ve been friends since we were about six years old, yet we never once went to the same school.

I found a link that had been bookmarked on his computer, which led to a gay story website and some of the stories really turned me on. I even decided to memorise the website address so I would be able to carry on checking the site out when I got back home, after all my parents have no understanding of how parental controls on the internet work; thank God for small miracles. The overly graphic sex descriptions, the unrealistically sized penises on kids my age and the sheer debauchery of some of the scenes which would have caused the ancient Romans to blush, all conspired together to create a pornucopia which blew my mind and probably gave me a very skewed vision of reality.

I never did ask Howie about it – I didn’t know if he was gay, or thought he was gay, or whatever; but he had never tried anything with me, not even some harmless ‘show and tell’. However, since he’s the only real friend I’ve got, I was not about to take any chances; as I said, I’m not quite that stupid. Besides, it was more likely than not that it was his older brother Charlie who had saved that link anyway.

As I looked around the assembly hall at the other hundred or so boys who were also starting today, I couldn’t help but start picturing them in some very interesting and lurid positions. I don’t know what it was that started me off. So many blue eyes? So much blond hair? Over a hundred boys in school uniform? So many blond haired, blue eyed boys in school uniform? Whatever it was, I was starting to space out.

I quickly had all of them replaying scenes that I had read about on that website I had come across on Howie’s computer. I picked out the boys who I thought fitted well with the various characters’ names and descriptions, and I allowed my imagination to work its will. Dear God, I was creating my own personal spank bank, filled with so much material, and even more depravity; this will keep me going for nights on end.

I noticed one of those cute blond haired, blue eyed boys in school uniform walking towards me; oh my God, he is so cute. My heart started pounding, my breathing slowed, and for the love of God I’ve started getting hard (not now of all times, why me?). I hope he doesn’t want to talk to me, well at least until I get rid of this bloody erection; then he can do whatever he wants to me, however he wants, and for as long as he wants (no, bad thoughts, bad thoughts! Thinking like this seriously isn’t going to help this tent go down).

I quickly started thinking of everything I could, to try and talk it down:

The football scores.

Nope, not working.

My parents having sex.

Nope, still not working.

Please, for the love of God, I’m getting desperate here.

My grandparents having sex!

Ahhh, that feels so much better.

The elasticated waist no longer stretched on my undies and the front of my school trousers no longer bulged. I stopped my previous thought train and tried to focus on something that wasn’t sex related; which was far easier said than done.

“Hi, my name’s James. James Rutherford.” He offered me an extended hand. I shook his hand, and shook it, and shook it some more. I’m sure I was blushing, and I thought to myself ‘How the hell am I going to survive the next three years with my secret intact?’

By the start of the second week of term, we had been split into groups for each of our subjects. Group one was comprised of those kids who were the brightest and were expected to score the highest GCSE grades in the subject (A*-C). Group two was comprised of those kids who were expected to do well in the GCSE exams (B-D) but who needed additional support to gain the higher grades. Group three was comprised of those kids who were expected to pass their GCSE exams, but only just about scrape a pass (D-F). Group four only existed for the mandatory subjects, of English, literature, maths, technology, and science; it was comprised of those kids who would need a lot of help just to simply pass the exam.

I was placed into group one for all of my classes, along with my new friend James Rutherford, who thankfully was also in the same tutor group as me. The only class we didn’t share was PE; the simple reason for this was because I was taking Spanish and he was taking French, and there was a timetabling clash between PE and modern languages. This clash occurred because it was the same teacher who taught both languages; so I would be in PE, when he would be in French, and when he would be in PE, I would be in Spanish.

We were the only two kids in our year, but thankfully not the entire school, who were in group one across the board; and in a school where groups three and four comprised about seventy percent of the student populous, as you can probably imagine we got a lot of abuse for it. We got a lot of verbal insults and snide remarks hurled our way, and occasionally even got hit or slapped, and it came from all directions; other classes, other tutor groups, even the kids in the year above got in on the act. It also didn’t help, that even at the age of fourteen, neither one of us was taller than five foot; and contrary to the popular saying, words bloody well do hurt. I sometimes think I’d rather be getting beaten up properly than having to put up with this verbal abuse every day. I think it was simply the fact that we were both getting bullied so much that made James and I bond so tightly and so quickly; but in the grand scheme of things, perhaps not the greatest foundation in the world for a friendship.

It was the end of the last week in September, about three weeks into the academic year, when after a particularly bad day at school, James asked if I would be able to spend the night with him; he told me he was asking for two reasons really. The first and the most important reason, was that for the third time in two weeks Jake Marran had reduced him to tears in front of the entire physical education class. The second reason was that his parents were away for the weekend and so he would be on his own, and he didn’t want to be home all by himself for the entire weekend.

Although I thought about how we would be spending so much time together, and sleeping in the same bed together, and seeing each other after showering, and whatever else we were going to get up to, I knew James needed me to be there for him; as a friend. I seriously doubted he would do anything to harm himself, but he had had a really rough couple of weeks at the hands of Jake Marran; I’m just so thankful I’m in the other year nine PE class.

James told me that Jake had been particularly cruel to him this time. When they had come out of the showers, James, who for several reasons was really bashful, had wrapped his towel around his waist just as he always did; both at home and at school. When they got back into the changing room, Jake pulled the towel off of James and started taking the piss out of him in front of the entire class. Jake was calling him microdick, and taunting him by asking how he planned to ever have sex, since a girl would never know if his dick was even in her.

Just as the rest of the class started laughing at James and pointing at his dick, Jake began hitting him with a damp towel. The fact he was getting towel whipped on top of just having being exposed and ridiculed in front of the whole class, was more than enough to start James crying. It was unusual for Jake Marran to become physically violent though; he much preferred the psychological bullying (although I seriously doubt that Jake has the brains enough to even know that what he was doing was called psychological bullying).

I didn’t hesitate to agree to spend the night, but said I’d have to ring home first and check with my mum if it was OK. When we got to James’ house, the first thing I did was ring Mum at work and she gave me permission to stay the night with James. Mum told me, I would also be allowed to stay Saturday night as well if I wanted to, since I now kept a change of clothes at James’ house (just as he had a change of clothes at mine) as we have already had a couple of sleepovers since term started.

The next thing we both did was strip out of our school uniforms and we put some proper clothes on; which meant tracksuit leggings and a t-shirt. James changed in the bathroom, while I changed in his bedroom. I don’t know what he has to be so embarrassed about that he can’t or won’t change in front of me; I’m even smaller than he is, in every way, so I’m the one who should be embarrassed about changing in front of him.

“That feels so much better. I really hate wearing a tie to school.”

“I hear ya James.” What I was actually thinking was that James looked so damn cute in his school uniform and that one day I’d love to grab him by his tie and roughly drag his lips to mine. “Are you feeling better now?”

“A little; I just fucking hate him so much. I mean why does he always have to pick on me in PE. I know I’m the smallest kid in the class and all, but why can’t he just leave me alone?”

“I know what you mean. He’s an obnoxious bastard who gets off on tormenting people. Look, on Monday why don’t we see about getting you switched to my PE group?”

“But then I’d have to switch from taking French to taking Spanish, and it’s too late now to make that switch. I’ll just have to put up with him.”

“James, nobody should ‘just have to put up with him’. If it happens again, I want you to tell the teacher.”

“Are you crazy! If I grass him up to Mr Foster, Jake is likely to do a lot worse stuff to me in revenge.”

For the next hour or so, we talked about nothing much in particular; sports, our history essay, Egyptology, CSI, as I said, nothing much. James then asked me if I wanted to watch a film.

“Sure,” I said, “what films have you got?”

“Well I got a few of my Dad’s ones. Here, have a look see.” He tossed the DVDs over to me, and my eyes bugged; they were pornographic films. I had no idea James was into this stuff; I mean he’s always seemed so shy, I’d never have expected this from him. I’d never heard him talk about sex, or porn mags, or anything even remotely connected to sex. I just naturally assumed therefore, that he just wasn’t into sex yet.

“James, this is a side to you I’ve never seen before. I’ve got to say I’m surprised.”

“Why? Because in spite of my small size, I’m just like any other teenage boy on the planet in that I’m interested in sex?”

“No, it’s because even I’ve never had the balls to show you my porn collection.” I did have a collection of smut (straight smut) just to throw my parents off the ‘gay scent’.

“You have a collection!”

“Yeah, I’ve got about twenty or thirty films, and dozens of magazines.”

“Well, why the hell have you been holding out on me?”

“You’ve just never given any kind of indication that you’d be interested in watching porn, and I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“I guess I can understand that, but next weekend we are going to stay at your place and you’d better break out that collection for me?”

“I will, I promise.”

“Josiah, do you want a drink before I put the film on?”

“Yeah thanks. What have you got?”

“Coke, lemonade, orange juice, or my Dad has still got half a bottle of vodka.”

“Go on, get the vodka.” We both laughed as James knew full well from the off that we were going to drink the vodka. We weren’t hardened drinkers, we’d only have a couple of drinks each; but that didn’t exactly stop a couple of fourteen years old from getting a huge thrill out of doing something we knew our parents would seriously not approve of.

James poured out the drinks and we sat down to watch the ‘film’. After the first ten minutes or so, the film was producing the desired result and we were both rock hard. Well, James got hard because of the film, and I got hard thinking about James getting hard; it was the perfect cover for me, since I knew the film wasn’t doing shit for me. James ran to the upstairs bathroom to take care of himself and I used the one downstairs. For being so brazen about watching a porno with me, he still couldn’t bring himself to beat off in front of me.

We spent the next few hours getting our homework finished; me finishing my history essay and James finishing his geography assignment. As soon as we were done with our homework, we made a start on dinner.

We had chilli con carne with rice, and we ate whilst watching the new Friday the Thirteenth film. By the time the film had finished, it was getting late, so we quickly washed the dishes and turned in for the night.

I could have slept on the couch or in James’ parent’s room, but he said he wouldn’t feel right if I did that. So I slept in his room, in his bed, with him. I slept soundly and deeply, and dreamt of James and me fooling around together.

It was the middle of October and my English group was having our third joint literature lesson with group three, which unfortunately meant that we had the pleasure of Jake Marran’s company for the entire morning. Since all of the groups have to read the same set text for our first piece of coursework, our headmaster decided it would be a good idea to merge the four groups into two. So group one – my group - was working with group three, and group two was working with group four; the idea being to try and give the two lower groups a bit of encouragement from the top two groups. The book we had to read was Jules Verne’s “Around the World in Eighty Days”, and we each had to take turns in reading a couple of pages out loud.

Jody Maxtor bless him was really trying, but as the book was written in the 1870s and uses the language and grammar of the time, he stumbled and tripped over large sections of the text. It was fine for people like me and James who had read so many of the stories written by Jules Verne, H G Wells, Mark Twain, and the such, so we were used to the colourful and flowery turns of phrase, so we had no problems when we were taking our turns to read. Jody on the other hand, whose limits of reading had probably never stretched much beyond Dr Seuss, was really struggling.

“Jesus fucking Christ! Can we please get someone who can actually read?”

“Jake, be quiet,” said our teacher.

“But Miss, how the hell am I supposed to follow the story if the guy reading it, can’t even read English!”

I looked over at Jody and was surprised that he seemed to be on the verge of tears. I was even more surprised by the fact that nobody had said anything to Jake; but then again, I think that everybody in the class was just happy that Jake was ragging on somebody else for a change.

“Jody, just give it up already. It has taken you quarter of a fucking hour to read half a page. I ain’t getting any younger here you know.”

“Jake, can you just leave him alone,” I said. Quite why I was feeling so brave I didn’t know, but since nobody else had said anything to try and help Jody, I thought I should.

“And who asked you for your opinion, midget?”

“I just don’t see how taking the piss out of Jody for struggling with reading nineteenth century English is going to help him.”

Jake got up, walked over to me, and grabbed me by my tie. “You wanna fucking make something of it?”

“Jake Marran! Leave him alone and sit down! I will see you after class.”

“Yes, Miss,” Jake said. He went and sat back down, but not before yanking down really hard on my tie and slapping me across the back of my head. There were a few giggles from some of the class, but thankfully, I didn’t start crying; the crying would come later, when I was in the safety and security of my own bedroom.

“Jody, please continue reading from where you left off,” our teacher said, as kindly she could.

I could see Jake laughing with the boy next to him, as Jody resumed tripping up over the unfamiliar language. Jake and Sacha spent the rest of the lesson laughing at the other kids who also struggled with reading the text; as I expected, most of those who struggled with reading the book were in group three.

As the end of lesson bell sounded, Jake, ignoring our teacher’s request to see her after the lesson, walked past me and barged me with his shoulder. “I’ll see you outside, Josiah.” Actually, I didn’t see him at all during morning break, or for the rest of the day come to that; which was probably a very good thing, or else what happened, would most likely have happened very differently.

Jake earned himself a three day suspension from school; two days for his behaviour in class, and one day for not seeing our teacher after the lesson as he had been instructed to. However when he returned to school, as impossible as this may sound, he was meaner than ever.

By the time October 26^th came around, James and I had spent many a night at each other’s house, just shooting the shit, watching a couple of dirty movies, leafing through my girlie mags; nothing out of the ordinary. We had grown really close since school had started, just not as close as I’d like; but I’d already accepted the fact that James is straight, and anyway I could really use a few more friends in my life.

That morning I was in my English class, but without James as he had faked a sickie. The day before, Jake Marran had trashed his art project; which James had spent a whole month working on and he was really proud of it. Everybody in our year knew it was Jake who had done it; hell, probably every kid in the entire school knew that Jake was responsible. Though since nobody, including yours truly, was about to grass him up to the teacher, like everything else that obnoxious bastard had done to James and me since the start of the school year, he got away with it scot free. James just wasn’t up to facing him; he knew he’d be an emotional wreck if he saw Jake, and the last thing James wanted to happen was for him to break down crying in front of the whole class.

After we broke class for lunch, I went to the office and claimed to have a headache. I asked if I could be excused for the rest of the day and promised to collect any work I’d miss the next morning. I was sent off home and told to come in the next day only if I was feeling completely better, but instead of heading home, I went round to see James.

As soon as he opened the door, he pulled me inside and hugged me, and then he broke down in floods of tears. I took him over to the sofa, sat him down, and held him until he’d cried himself to sleep. James slept for just over an hour, and when he woke up he realised I was still there holding him.

“How do you feel, James?”

“A little better I think. I just needed that really good cry you know, but you didn’t need to hold me the whole time I slept.”

I blushed slightly and said, “I know. I just . . . kinda . . . had gotten a little comfy, and then when I realised you’d fallen asleep I didn’t want to move you and wake you up.”

“Well I’m awake now, so you can let go of me you know.”

I don’t know if I was just reading into something that wasn’t there, but James’ voice had a hard edge to it that I didn’t like. I guess he may just have been uncomfortable realising I’d cuddled him for so long, or maybe he was just embarrassed about having cried himself to sleep in front of someone; whatever it was, James was suddenly a little a cold and distant with me. It may have just been my imagination, but I’d swear when we started watching the afternoon shows on the TV, James was no longer as close to me as he usually was.

In the past, I could always feel his leg, or his foot, or his hip next to mine. However, today as I casually glanced over towards him, he was about three or four inches away from me. Granted that is not exactly a gaping chasm, but still for how close we had gotten, it was a more than perceptible distance.

James actually ended up staying off from school for the remainder of the week, but I decided against going to see him again. Apart from not wanting to pull another fake illness to get out of school, I think James might have started to get really uncomfortable if I went round again to see how he was doing; I didn’t even see him over the weekend. I did telephone him on Saturday morning to see if he wanted to get together and maybe go see a movie or since it was a nice day maybe go to the park and have a kickabout with the football, but he said he was going away for the weekend to visit with his cousins.

It was the end of October, All Hallows Eve to be exact, and I was in my bedroom surfing the net as usual, checking out a few gay porn sites (thanks for writing your password on a post-it note and sticking it under the desk Mum, I’m eternally grateful).

I’d been home from school for about an hour or so, and was really engrossed in watching the guy on guy action, when James walked in unannounced; meaning I didn’t have time to click the site off.

“James.” I paled when saw him come in. “It’s . . . It’s not what you think.”

“Man that is sick! Turn that shit off.” James covered his eyes with his hand, while I clicked the X in the corner of my browser to close the site.

“James, you can’t tell anyone.”

“Jesus H Christ, you’re a faggot!? You’re a fucking fudge packer!?”

“I might be gay if that’s what you mean.” I couldn’t help the admission slipping out; just hearing James using those words to describe me was a shock.

“We’ve slept over together over the past couple of months . . . in the same bed . . . I cried in your arms . . . oh my God, I think I’m gonna puke!”

“James, I haven’t done-”

“Stop! Jesus Christ! I don’t wanna know what you do, what you don’t do, and what you do wanna do with boys – that is just so fucking warped!”

“James, I need to know if you’re gonna tell anyone.”

He just stared at me, shook his head, turned, and walked out. Even for as close a friend as James is, I really had absolutely no idea if he would out me at school or not. I just can’t bring myself to think that James would do it, but perhaps he has just been handed his way out of being the brunt of so much bullying. I really hate to think that James would out me just to save himself . . . no, he wouldn’t do that to me. Would he?

Sleep wasn’t easy coming, and I tossed and turned most of the night. I finally gave up on my attempts at unriddling this riddle, and fell into an uneasy sleep; the answer would come sooner or later, whether I wanted it to or not.

When I arrived at school the next day I had my answer, as I heard parts of whispered conversations; I guess bad news really does travel fast.

“I don’t believe it; the queer’s turned up.”

“I heard he does things with little boys.”

“I heard he was caught having sex with a couple of younger boys on his parent’s bed.”

“I really wouldn’t wanna be him.”

My God! James only caught me last night, and there are already rumours of my sexual exploits! I heard rumours about things I’m supposed to have done, and I had never even heard of half of them, let alone thought about doing them. This is bad; this is so bad. In my lower school, with kids of eleven and twelve, there’s not really much that could have happened that would have been too bad; but God, there are boys here who are seventeen and eighteen years old and are over a foot and half taller than me.

I turned the corner and walked straight into Mark Porter; one of the said seventeen year olds. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going, faggot!” The next thing I knew, I was on the floor and my nose was bleeding from where he had hit me.

I looked past Mark and saw James standing there; standing there, and just watching the scene unfold. He just smirked, turned his back on me, and walked away. I just looked at James’ back, and I had no idea what hurt worse; getting hit by Mark, or seeing James almost revel in me getting hit and then watching him turn his back on me with that near euphoric look on his face. If I thought that this was it, that it was all done and dusted, I was sadly mistaken, as things only got worse; a lot worse.

Two days later, I got my first really bad beating. I was jumped after school by two boys in the year above me. I was left badly bruised and pissed blood for two days; but at least I managed to walk away from it; well, hobble away from it. The times I got beaten up over the following couple of weeks, things just got worse and worse.

November 24^th 2011 was the day that I suppose really changed everything for me, and I mean everything; Christ, that was only three weeks ago. . .

“Joe, are you up yet?”

“Yeah mum, I’m just getting dressed,” I yelled through my bedroom door. I didn’t want her coming into my room and seeing my body all covered in bruises. I’d gotten jumped after school yesterday by four boys in my class, and while I hurt and ached yesterday, I guess the bruising came up in the night. Don’t worry though; I’m sure my ribs hurt their fists.

I’d gotten really good at covering up the bruises, especially as this was the third or fourth time I’d been badly beaten up in as many weeks; I’m sure they just wait for the bruising to go away before the cycle starts again. They were also always careful never to hit me in my face, that way nobody would know what was happening; not unless I grassed on them, which is so not an option. However, what made this most recent attack the worst of all so far, was that James Rutherford was involved. Come on Josiah, ‘tell the truth and shame the devil’ as Grandma used to say; that fucking bastard was the ringleader.

Mum had just finished scrambling some eggs as I walked into the kitchen. “Hurry up and eat if you want a ride to school Joe.”

I shovelled the eggs and a piece of dry toast. Usually I don’t mind walking to school, but with the way my body felt this morning, I knew I’d never make it.

As we pulled up to the school gates I thanked Mum for the lift, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and wondered what the day would bring.

As I walked to registration, I saw many heads turning in my direction, heard snippets from many whispered conversations, and then I saw the evil grins of my four assailants.

“Well, well. Wasn’t expecting to see you today gayboy,” James said. I had to stifle a laugh as he tried to play the hard man; aside from only being four feet eleven, he had cried himself to sleep in my arms only a month ago. He looked even more comical standing in front of the other three boys who had beaten me up, as they towered at over him by at least nine inches and probably had more muscle in their big toes than James had in his entire body; the image of a ballerina surrounded by three rugby players suddenly flashed through my mind.

“You think that tickling you gave me yesterday would really be enough to keep away from school, you fucking sack of shit.” I tried to sound far braver than I felt; I hoped I pulled it off as I barged passed them and continued on my way to class.

The morning classes passed quickly and as soon as the bell sounded, I grabbed my bag and ran out for morning break; well, ran into the boys toilets would be more accurate. The toilets had become my hidey-hole, my sanctuary, over the past few weeks. If I’m hiding in here, then at least I can’t get picked on, spat on, kicked, punched or any one of a dozen other unpleasant things that have already happened to me since James outed me to the entire school.

“I saw ’im come in here Max,” a voice said. My heart sank; I’d know that irritating West Country accented voice anywhere it belonged to Adrian DuPree. That could mean only one thing, that ‘Max’ could only be none other than Mark “The Max” Porter, the bane of nearly every child in the school; it’s hard to imagine, but he’s ten times worse than Jake Marran could ever be. How he got the nickname “The Max”, I don’t know, and I don’t really give a fuck to ever find out; come to think of it, I don’t actually think anybody in the school quite knows how he came by the moniker of “The Max”.

“Josie. You in here you fucking girly sissy?” I hate how he calls me Josie; perverting my name into that of a girl. I kept quiet, hoping they’d think Adrian was mistaken. “Come on out, Josie. Olly Olly Oxen Free.”

‘Yeah as though that’s going to work’ I thought.

It was then that I heard them opening the doors to the stalls; slamming each one open as hard they could. “Come on out Josie. If I have to find you then you’re not going to like what happens, but if you come here to me now, I promise that I’ll leave you able to walk home.”

I saw them standing outside the stall I was hiding in, and saw the stall door give slightly as it was pushed. Mark Porter gave a laugh and said, “Little pig, little pig. Let me come in.”

In a moment of near total insanity, I almost replied ‘Not by the hairs on my chiney-chin-chin’.

To my horror, I saw the lock sliding open. Before I even had time to think how he did it, I saw the smiling face and black eyes of a demon. I was yanked off the toilet seat by my tie and was thrown clear across the floor. My head hit the far wall with a sickening crack and I saw stars.

Just as I was about to get up, I felt a knee dig into my already badly bruised ribs. “You’re not going anywhere queerboy,” said Adrian.

I managed to turn my head, and what I saw in the baleful eyes of Mark Porter scared me to death. Whatever I had imagined was going to happen to me in here this morning would seem like a pleasant dream compared to what those eyes told me I was in for.

Mark kicked me in the temple and I saw more stars; blood started trickling down into my eye, from either that kick or from where I’d hit the wall. “So you like taking up the arse, do you faggot? What say we show ’im what it’s like to get it from real men?”

I saw him pulling down his trousers and pants, and when I got a good look at what fate had ordained for me, my bladder loosened and I pissed myself in fear.

“Strip ’im.” I was completely paralyzed, and couldn’t fight off Adrian DuPree and Carl Meitner as they carried out Mark’s order. They yanked down my trousers and underwear, and then forced me onto my stomach. Adrian held me by one arm and Carl by the other, and each of them had a large knee firmly planted in the small of my back.

I felt Mark’s crushing weight as he sat on the backs of my legs, and the realisation of what was about to happen crashed down on me in full force; my fear quadrupled and as much as I wanted to cry out, to yell for help, to struggle, I couldn’t. As I gave in to the inevitable, I silently started weeping.

“I’m going to enjoy this you fucking sissy fairy, but not as much as you are. I’ll bet you’ve never been fucked with as big a cock as mine.”

I heard Adrian and Carl laughing and cheering Mark Porter on as he prepared to commit one of the most vile and defiling acts one human can perpetrate against another. It all became too much for me to cope with and I welcomed the infinite blackness as I fainted dead away; I was oh so thankful that I wouldn’t have to be conscious for this. The last thing I was aware of before running headlong into total oblivion was Mark’s weight suddenly disappearing from my legs and someone yelling, ‘What the fuck are you doing! Get the fuck off him!’. My last semi-coherent thought was wondering who my saviour was; just who was it who had saved me from a fate worse than death?

I slowly came around after God alone knows how long, and I could feel a presence; whoever it was had their arms around me and they were brushing matted hair out of my blood-streaked face. As the sheer horror of what Mark Porter had nearly done came flooding back to me in full force, I started shaking and cried liked I’d never cried before. I grabbed hold of whoever it was that was with me, and hugged them for everything I was worth. My tears flooded down my face, and I damn near emptied my stomach over whomever this person was who was kind enough to give a shit about me.

The person wrapped me in a tight embrace, and said, “You’ll be OK, Josiah. I got here just in time. Nothing happened. I have you. You’re safe now.”

Although relief washed over me at not having been violated, I bristled as I knew that voice; it was him . . . it was Jake Marran.

“Jake, what –”

“Josiah, please don’t say anything; not here in the boys toilets anyway. Come on, I’m taking you home.”

“My mum isn’t at home.”

“All right, I’ll take you to my place then.”

“That’s not necessary, Jake.”

“Come on Josiah. After what almost happened here, I’m not going to allow you to be on your own, and you’re not going to be able to concentrate in school. Now come on, no arguing.”

Jake stopped in the school office to say he was taking me home as I didn’t feel well; he wasn’t sure if I’d want what had happened, or more precisely what had so very nearly happened, to be broadcast to all and sundry.

Since Jake only lived around the corner from our school, it was only a five minute walk. When we entered his home, he sat me on the sofa in the living room.

“How are you feeling?”

I suddenly started shaking again as fear once again coursed through my veins, and wrapped its dark cloak around me. Jake sat down next to me on the sofa and wrapped an arm around me.

“You’ll be all right Josiah. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” I could feel his muscled arm around me, and when he started running a hand through my hair I began to calm down. As Jake held me, the difference in our sizes became more apparent to me than ever. I was all of four foot nine and Jake was over a foot taller than I was at five foot eleven, and I could swear that there was enough strength in that arm wrapped around me to crush me to death if he so chose; though for some reason, I felt completely safe.

How in God’s name could I possibly feel safe in the arms of Jake Marran! After everything this bastard has done to me and every other kid in school, here I am in Jake’s house, on his sofa, in his arms, and all I could think about is how I would love to lie here like this for all of eternity.

Jake reached behind the sofa and pulled out a bottle of whisky and two glasses. After pouring a drink into each glass, he handed one of the glasses to me. I just stared at him in shock.

“You look like you could use a drink.” He then clinked his glass against mine and knocked his drink back in one. I figured ‘What the hell’, and knocked my drink back in one as well; turns out that I’m not quite the experienced drinker Jake obviously is. As soon as I swallowed the golden liquid, my throat felt like I’d swallowed lava and my stomach exploded; I let out a coughing fit and Jake laughed while clapping me on the back.

“I’m sorry, Josiah. I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just that you looked like somebody took a blowtorch and aimed it down your throat. Was that the first time you’ve ever drunk alcohol?”

“It’s just that this is the first time I’ve ever tried it neat. I’ve had the occasional glass of vodka but it’s always been mixed with something, and Mum lets me have a glass of wine at Christmas and New Years but that’s about it.”

Jake poured us another drink, except this time we both sipped it, and I found I really liked the taste of it; there was also that warm feeling as well, but just not like my throat was on fire, and I didn’t start coughing this time.

“Why Mr. Marran, are you trying to get me drunk?”

“God no, Josiah!” It was only after he saw me smiling that he realised I was only joking, and so he continued more calmly, “I would never take advantage of you like that Josiah. After we finish these, that’s the lot. I just felt you needed a drink after . . . after. . . .”

“It’s all right Jake; you can say it you know. After Mark Porter almost fucking raped me.”

Jake just nodded his head.

“Why Jake?”

“Because he’s a fucking arsehole with a big dick who thinks he rules the school?”

I could have been honest with him, and said that it sounded a lot like somebody else I knew, but decided against it; after all, Jake had probably, quite literally, saved my life. “What I meant Jake, was why are you doing this? Why did you do stop Mark? Why are you suddenly being nice to me?”

Jake took my hands in his and looked at me; I could see his eyes sparkling, and for the first time ever, I realised his irises were the loveliest shade of pale blue I had ever seen. “Josiah, I know we’ve never hit it off, and God knows I’ve been a right bastard to you, but that doesn’t for one minute mean I’d stand by and let you get raped. Jesus Josiah, do you really think anybody could just stand by and -” Jake suddenly started crying.

Not knowing what else to do I simply wrapped an arm around him, well attempted to wrap an arm around him; I forced myself to contain a giggle that threatened to break out as I attempted to cradle the much larger Jake. What caused my stifled giggle was that I’d suddenly envisioned us as two characters from Harry Potter, me as Professor Flitwick and Jake as Hagrid, with Flitwick trying to cradle Hagrid.

I’d half-expected Jake to pull away from me, to pull away from the faggot who was clearly trying to put a move on him and beat me into a bloody pulp for even daring to try; but instead he curled up into my embrace, laid down in my lap, pulled my arm around himself even tighter and silently sobbed.

We must have sat there on his sofa, with my arm around him, for an hour or more before he finally calmed down.

“Josiah, my mum was raped two years ago and it destroyed my family; two guys saw it happening and did nothing to help her. My dad left a couple of months after it happened and then my mum took her own life; that’s why I now live with my aunt. There was no fucking way I was ever going to let that happen to you.” I looked down at him since he was still in my lap. He then quickly added as an afterthought, “Or anyone else.”

“Jake, I’m so sorry about your parents and what happened.”

“Thanks, and I’m so sorry about the way I’ve treated you over the past three months. I just started getting angry after Mum killed herself, and living with my aunt isn’t great, and I just couldn’t remember ever feeling any other way than being miserable. I’d seen how happy you and James and the other kids were and thought what right did you lot have to be happy when I was so fucking miserable. Then James went and told the whole school about you being queer . . . .” His voice trailed off as he seemed to struggle with how to finish that line of thought.

“Don’t talk to me about James; I don’t give a fuck about him anymore!” I took a deep breath before continuing. “Though, how do you feel about being alone here with a queer? Alone, in the lap of a queer, who has his arm wrapped around you?”

“It may sound odd, but I like it, Josiah; I really like it. I can’t remember the last time I felt this content. But I’m supposed to be comforting you remember, not you comforting me.”

“Jakey, you stopped my rape from happening. Just knowing that you stopped it from happening and just being here with you, is more than comfort enough.”

“What did you just call me?” he asked, as he sat back up on the sofa.

“I called you ‘Jake’. That is your name you know.”

“No, you didn’t. You called me ‘Jakey’.”

I blushed as I replayed what I had said and realised he was right. When on earth did Jake Marran progress from being ‘that obnoxious bastard’ to being ‘Jakey’? I looked over at him and said, “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m not coming on to you or anything. I swear I’m not coming on –”

“Josiah, calm down. Maybe I’d like it if you came on to me.” There was a gleam in his eye, that I wasn’t sure whether to read as a challenge or a sign he was joking.

“What?”

“I said ‘Maybe I’d like it if you came on to me’.” I could see a faint scarlet tinge, as he blushed. I suddenly had the feeling that this was perhaps the closest he has ever come in his life to uttering those two tiny, insignificant words ‘I’m gay’.

I didn’t know if it was the alcohol, the fact he’d saved me from getting raped, the fact I was beginning to realise that perhaps there really was a human being lying underneath that bastard persona of his, the fact we’d shared something of ourselves today or a combination of all of these things, but I slipped my hand into his. I brought his hand up to my lips and softly kissed the back of his hand. I kept his hand near my mouth and I knew that he could feel my breath across the back of his hand as I spoke.

“You know Jakey; play your cards right and you’ll find out what happens if you let me come onto you.”

Jake burst out laughing. “Oh Josiah, that is priceless. If that’s the best chat up line you’ve got, what hope do you ever have of getting yourself a boyfriend?”

“All right then, how about this.” I leaned over and kissed him tenderly on the lips.

“Wow! Now that’s what I call a kiss Josiah. You may not know how to chat someone up, but with a kiss like that, you’ll go far.” Jake then pulled me down on top of him as he passionately returned my kiss and wrapped both of his strong arms around me again.

I could feel him removing first his school tie and then mine, and then he unbuttoned our shirts and slipped them off. No matter how much I wanted this, no matter how much I wanted and needed Jakey right now, I broke the kiss and said, “Jakey, please don’t be mad at me, but I’m not ready for this. Not after what Mark almost did to me today.”

Jake brushed a hand gently across my face and said, “Don’t worry Josiah; I could never be mad at you. I promise you nothing like that will happen. We won’t go any further than this. I promise you, with my hand on my heart, that I will never do anything to hurt you ever again. We’ll proceed at your pace Josiah, we’ll do whatever you feel comfortable with, and I’ll never ever force you into doing anything against your will.”

“Then please start kissing me again.”

Jake put a hand on the back of my neck and pulled me back down on top of him, our now bare chests touching, and as we kissed, I could feel his tongue trying to gain access to my mouth. I gladly parted my lips and welcomed my visitor. I was really getting into this; the kiss was great, and the feeling of my skin on Jake’s was getting me seriously aroused. Had I really found my first boyfriend?

I fought off the intruder and Jakey allowed my tongue to enter his mouth. Jake’s hands slid down my bare back and onto my arse; when that happened I let out a small sigh of contentment, and my body pressed even closer onto Jake’s body. I had the feeling Jake wanted to go further, maybe slip those big hands of his inside my underwear and feel my skin on his, maybe he wanted to grab my hardening dick and do things to it, but Jakey remained true his word; he never forced me into anything and never took advantage of me. God knows he could so easily have overpowered me and forced me to do anything if he had wanted to.

We remained on the sofa kissing each other all afternoon, with my hands running through his hair and his hands massaging my arse cheeks through my trousers. I used to get so aroused watching all those gay porn films, but what I was feeling now with Jakey was a hundred times better than anything I’d ever felt before in my life.

Are we right for each other?

Am I just simply enamoured of the boy who saved me from a fate worse than death?

Is the combination of adrenaline and fourteen year old Highland single malt whisky really the best foundation for the start of a relationship?

Is this even going to be a relationship?

As I pursued the first boy of my life, and as I allowed this boy to pursue me, I couldn’t answer those questions. But then I thought to myself, does anybody really ever have an answer to those questions when first courting?

All I knew, as bizarre as this sounds given what happened at school today, and who I was with here and now, was that for the first time since I realised that I was gay, I was happy. Not jumping up and down singing from the rooftops happy (that kind of happy I would find in a few weeks time with Jakey), but snuggling with a really sexy boy who I realised I could so easily fall in love with kind of happy.

I have no idea where this will lead, and I certainly have no long term expectations; but even if we only have a brief fling, I plan to throw my all into this. And even if we don’t end up as boyfriends, I really hope I can come to call Jake Marran a friend.

The present (December 15^th 2011):

I was lying in bed, basking in the glow of post-coital bliss, having just lost my virginity to Jakey. Now if you’d told me at the start of the school year that I’d be lying in bed with him and falling for him big time, I’d never have believed you in a million years.

As I look back over the past few weeks with Jakey by my side, I can’t even remember a time when my feet touched the pavement; hell even my school life has improved greatly. After all who would dare try to bully me now, with the entire school knowing Jake and I boyfriends? I can no longer envisage my life without him, I need him in my life; God, I love him so much.

I have had a positive effect on Jake Marran as well. He’s no longer a bully and he has actually even been complimented on occasion by our headmistress on his newfound kindness; many of the boys in our year are grateful for this change in him. He’s even pulled up a few of his grades, and there has been talk of moving him from group three up to group two in both English and Science.

As for Mark Porter, well he’s currently detained in one of Her Majesty’s hotels (more commonly known as HMP Wormwood Scrubs). Jakey persuaded me to see a counsellor to talk about my near-rape, and with the help of Mrs Rogers and Jakey, I went to the police and told them everything. The trial is a long way off, but owing to the seriousness of the charges, combined with the fact that he turned eighteen last week meaning he is now an adult, Mark Porter has been held on remand. There have even been further charges filed, as more and more people have come forward with allegations against him.

I have not spoken to James Rutherford since he outed me to the school and I have not forgiven him for what he did; and I never will.