Unnatural Relations

by Mike Seabroook

  "There is more. This," he said, showing them a cheap spiral-bound pocket notebook, "is a diary, begun at the beginning of last term. It recounts in great detail - in a detail that becomes more passionate and explicit as the entries proceed - every meeting he has had with Christopher. It describes how they first met. What they talked about. It seems that for much of the time they did very little but talk. Boys will do that, especially when a true and deep friendship is formed, as is undoubtedly the case here. But it also describes Jamie's feelings towards this boy. It seems that he is about nineteen, a student, or, more precisely, waiting to take up his place at university. He presumably lives locally; but the diary gives no address. It makes no mention of which university he will attend, his surname or, in fact, any details at all that would help us to identify the boy. I don't think this is accidental," he went on after a pause. "I think this demonstrates well how sharp-witted he is. The substance is here, all right. But, powerfully - overwhelmingly, I believe -in love as he is, he has carefully avoided mentioning any of the vital particulars that could identify this boy. Knowing Jamie's intelligence I have no doubt that he knows exactly what view would be taken by others, by you, by society at large, if this affair were to be exposed; and knowing also his character, I have equally little doubt that it is Christopher of whom he is thinking. He's being protective, and acting with a wisdom beyond his years.

  „ "As I say, the diary goes on to recount Jamie's feelings for this Christopher, in the most graphic detail. It details his - ah - fantasies... he makes it quite clear that they were masturbation fantasies - of sexual intimacy with Christopher. But much more powerfully it describes, with the clarity that his exceptional honesty and his considerable writing ability combine to produce, his overwhelming love for the boy. It is clear to me that Jamie took the lead in all of this. I think Jamie fell in love with Christopher, who at first at any rate regarded it as a chance acquaintance with an engaging, intelligent younger boy - a boy whom he could converse with, as I read this, as an equal, despite the four-year gap in their ages.

  "Then, gradually, as their meetings became more frequent - which I think, must have contributed largely to the increasing absenteeism from school - Jamie's feelings communicate themselves to the older boy. At first he is, it seems from this, horrified. But those feelings are very quickly supplanted by the realisation, so powerful that he cannot do otherwise than confront it, that he reciprocates the feeling. There we have it: Jamie has revealed that he is in love with Christopher. Christopher, though at first dumbfounded, rapidly perceives that he is in love with Jamie.

  "And then the physical intimacy begins, and that, too, is all described in vivid detail. It is better that you don't read it, I think, for the moment at least. But I can reassure you that so far, at least, it appears strongly that it has never gone beyond kissing, caressing and petting, up to mutual masturbation. And that, of course, would be that, if we could feel that it was going to rest there. Virtually all boys indulge in that, many of them for several years. Many men do it, even those who ultimately turn out not to be homosexual. Even with the age gap here, one would not feel too worried. It could be dealt with by a warning from us.

  "Unfortunately, although the boy Christopher would, it seems, be happy with that for the foreseeable future at least, Jamie is far from happy. Jamie, I'm afraid, wants it to go much, much further. He says so, quite unequivocally, and in the most explicit language possible. The last entry in this diary is dated Tuesday of last week. This is Wednesday. That gives us seven school days since the final entry. Jamie has been absent on four of them: all this week and one day of last. I don't think we can doubt that he has seen Christopher on some, probably all, of those days. Personally I have no doubt of it."

  He could see, from the expressions that were chasing each other over their faces, that they didn't doubt it either. Mrs Potten pulled herself together first. "What, er, conclusions do you draw from all this?" she asked. "And more to the point, what the hell do we do about it?" asked her husband. "I'll find out who this Christopher is, I know that, and break every bone in his body. But what about James?"

  "Quite," said Dr Lane. "What about Jamie? Let me urge caution on you in the first place, Mr Potten. You won't do Jamie, or Jamie's cause, any good whatever, by finding this boy and half killing him. That would, in my judgment, probably be more perfectly calculated than any other single act to drive Jamie into his arms. I think also that you must be prepared for the result that you will find least palatable of all anyway." He hesitated, reached for a cigarette, put it back, then took it and lit it after all. "You asked, Mrs Potten, what conclusions I drew from all this."

  "Yes. I think I know, but I'd like to hear your own conclusions. I think you're on James' side and I respect your judgments."

  "Thank you, Mrs Potten. You're right, I am, entirely, on Jamie's side. Well, the conclusion I draw is that Jamie is, in all probability, a true homosexual." He glanced sternly at David Potten, who was flushing angrily, eyes bulging, and beginning to rise with a furious expostulation. Mrs Potten leaned across and pushed him hard back into his seat. "Shut up David, and listen."

  "I conclude second that the other boy Christopher is probably likewise, though less assured of himself than Jamie. Third, I conclude that Jamie has been greatly aided in reaching this most critical conclusion about himself partly by the comparatively liberal climate of opinion these days, but mostly by the exceptional strength of his own character. He is, and for many, many years has been, very much a lone wolf. He is an almost totally solitary boy, and such boys almost invariably have strong character. They can often tend to be obsessive characters, but in Jamie's case, as I've said earlier today, I don't think that is so. He is almost certainly a neurotic, but he is a strongly controlled and self-possessed one. Frankly, I doubt if he is the kind who will ever come to a great deal of harm in the world... provided, that is, that no one makes life deliberately any more difficult for him than they can help." He looked significantly at David Potten.

  "Finally, I conclude that unless we take action very quickly, Jamie has every intention of turning this - ah - relationship into a full-scale sexual affair. It is already a full-scale love affair, and given the reciprocal love that the other boy clearly entertains for Jamie, I doubt very much indeed if his will-power can be expected to hold out against Jamie's, which I suspect is considerably the stronger of the two in the first place.

  "It is entirely possible - given the strength of the will involved here - that Jamie and Christopher may end up having this full sexual affair in due course anyway. They can be restrained until they are 21. But that entails the law, and the law finds it very difficult to penetrate private individuals' bedrooms. I'm afraid that if Jamie decides he wants to sleep, or live, with Christopher, he will find it easy to do the moment he leaves your house - which he is legally entitled to do without let or hindrance, I believe, at the age of seventeen."

  "He'll do it over my dead bloody body," snapped his father. "I'll see him in hell without a penny before I let him shack up with some dirty little queer."

  "Please, Mr Potten," said Lane mildly, "have a little sense. I told you that Jamie has been greatly aided in being able to make this most difficult and traumatic of conclusions about himself by the strength of his own character. How do you think he has come by that great strength? Mr Potten, it is largely due to you. When you come to read these poems, this diary - if Jamie ever allows you to read them, which I should doubt - you will see what you ought to have seen with blinding clarity, if you had had any eyes to spare for your son: that the formation of this tough, this incredibly tough character; this devastating capacity for honesty with himself, this furious integrity, this immense will-power and moral fibre, so uncommon - it's almost unnatural in a boy of fifteen years - is almost entirely the product of the overwhelming resentment he feels towards you, his parents. Do you really think he'd care what you thought of him if he decided to sleep with this boy? Do you really think he gives a damn for all your money
? No, sir. I'm afraid cutting him off without a shilling won't work. It's far less likely to be effective nowadays anyway, and with a boy like yours? There's not a chance of it. In any case," he said wearily, "is that really the proper way to help your son?" He halted abruptly and then said, suddenly sounding immensely tired, "I am sick to death of the sound of my own drone. Would you like a drink? I could use a very large one myself."

  Their expressions alone told him the answer before their almost yelped response. He went to a large wall cupboard, unlocked it and took out three heavy crystal tumblers. "Scotch do? Right." He poured three very large whiskies.

  ***

  While his parents were being ushered back to their car, in a state of anger and confusion more easily imagined than described, Jamie was easing himself out of Christopher's arms and pushing back the blanket. He stripped it off his lover and stood over him, smiling down on him and feeling as if the love in him was endless. He bent to undo the laces of his trainers, kicked them off and peeled off his sweatshirt and his jeans very quickly. He stood over Christopher triumphantly, wearing nothing but dark blue, surprisingly well-filled underpants. His erection was strong enough to push them clear away from his brown, flat stomach. He grinned, which made him look much more like a fifteen-year-old boy, and mimicked a stripper's bump and grind motions as he eased the pants down slightly. Then, with a quick movement he stripped them off, kicked them down his legs and twirled them with a flick of one foot into the branches of one of the sallows that ringed their little haven.

  Christopher said a prayer to a god he did not believe in. Then he decided the only thing he trusted any longer was this moment, this utterly secluded greensward and the beautiful object of his love who was at this moment dropping onto his knees beside him. I'll always love him, he thought. I can't believe it won't all end in disaster, but I can't resist him, and I can't stand up to him. He's the stronger of us two, I must do what he asks. Christopher stripped off his clothes. Jamie fell on him with hoots of joy, and they rolled naked together on the heavy, musty-smelling old blanket. Jamie flung his arms round the older, considerably bigger boy and held him clasped as tightly as he could. He rolled him onto his back and lay on top of him, his legs straddling Christopher's belly.

  "I love you, Chris," he said softly, smiling the smile again. "I'll always love you, and never love anyone else like this." This was too much for Christopher, who looked at his beauty and his youngness, and thought his heart would break, not knowing how Jamie had felt that his would break a few hours earlier that day as he set up his rod. His eyes filled with tears, for the beauty of it all and the dread foreboding that nothing could last, least of all anything pure and unstained and beautiful like this. He reached out to pull Jamie down to his lips.

  Oh, dear God, thought Christopher, this can't be happening. Life's not that kind. But the thought was gone before it had properly formed. "I love you, J," he whispered. And then, without any conscious thought, he slid round in Jamie's embrace. "Make love to me," he murmured. As he said it many barriers slid back. All the conditioning that had made him timid, the worldly conventions that had bound him with fears for himself and even more for Jamie, disintegrated in a splintering burst of bright light. I'm yours now, he thought. For better or worse, richer or poorer or whatever the hell... he turned onto his stomach and raised himself, offering himself to his beloved.

  Afterwards they lay for some time naked on the blanket, close but hardly touching. Each was too occupied with his own thoughts and emotions for talk. After a few minutes they simultaneously became aware of the chill in the air, and wrapped themselves in the blanket, and it was natural then to wrap themselves in each other also. It was a half hour before either was ready to speak. Then Christopher nibbled gently on Jamie's ear and murmured, "How was it, Jamie? Was it... was it all right for you?"

  Jamie kissed him, but gave no answer for so long that Christopher began to go cold with dread that something had been wrong. Perhaps he should have resisted. Perhaps this was the end of it all, before it had properly begun. The thought that he might be in danger of losing what he had barely begun to possess sent his mind into black, deep waters. He was eerily detached, as if he was able to feel each succeeding thought as it separated itself from the central mass of his mind, to examine it in the strange, sub-lit detachment where he felt himself floating.

  He wondered what form of words Jamie would find to tell him that it was over, that it had been wrong, a mistake, that they would not see each other again. The possibilities swam into the light like protozoa swimming into the lit circle on a microscope slide. He was trembling. He had a strange sensation that he could feel his nerves, individually inside him. Time stood still. He felt as if he had been dipped, like a chrysanthemum, in liquid helium, his whole personality ready to shatter at the tinkle of a bell. When Jamie spoke he heard it from the same remote distance of detachment. "It hurt a bit at first," he said conversationally, "but after the first few moments it was... I don't know... I just thought it was the nicest feeling I'd ever known. I wanted it to go on and on and never stop. I felt as if you really belonged to me." And then, with a tinge of anxiety in his voice, he went on, "Was it all right for you, Chris? Was I all right for you?"

  Christopher lay for a moment feeling the warmth ebb back into him as he circled back to time and place. What he felt could have been expressed in no known language, so he simply turned to face Jamie, who saw his answer in his eyes. He gathered the younger boy to him, passion rising rapidly, and felt Jamie respond. Afterwards they washed themselves in the freezing lake, then dressed, huddled in each other's arms under their blanket, and slept.

  It was dusk when they were awakened by a lash of cold rain across their faces. They packed their things in the bags hurriedly and began to scramble through the alders. Then they remembered Jamie's rod, still lying in its rest where they had forgotten it, and had to go back and dismantle it. When it was back in its case and they were just about to set off again Christopher suddenly muttered to himself and reached into the back pocket of his Levi's. "Here," he said, passing Jamie a small envelope. "You said you wanted a photograph of me, so I got one. It's not much of a picture, I'm afraid," he added after a pause, "just one I took in the passport booth in Woolworths. I could get you a proper studio job, if you'd like it, but will that do for now?"

  Jamie took the passport-size photograph from the envelope and peered at it in the gathering gloom. Christopher's heart-shaped face looked out with a half-smile that made him look younger and vulnerable. It was in indifferent colour, which made his heavy brown hair look black and his pale face look even paler. But the large brown eyes were clear, with brilliant spots in them - from the flash in the booth, Jamie thought. And the mouth was curved in an expression that Jamie knew well and loved. He put the picture to his lips and kissed it softly. "Were you thinking about me when you took it?" he asked seriously. "Of course I was," said Christopher. "What else could I have been thinking of?"

  "Oh, well, it's just that you're smiling just like you do sometimes. When we've just... after we've been kissing or something. And when you first saw me this morning." He peered at the photograph again, having to squint now, looked up and said, "You look beautiful, Christopher. It's a lovely photo. Thank you." He kissed it again, then put both arms round Christopher's neck and kissed him, carefully, on the lips, then on each cheek, on the tip of his nose, and finally on each eyelid. "Thank you, dear Chris. I'll keep it on me always. Then I can look at you, and kiss you, whenever I want." He seized Christopher's hand and pulled him towards the trees.

  They walked the two miles of towpath back to the outskirts of the town, blessing the darkness, for it allowed them to go hand-in-hand. Each was profoundly conscious that every moment of contact, even holding hands, was a precious moment before they had to go back to a normality that loomed over them like the shadow of a gallows. The hours before they could meet again extended into a nameless and immeasurable future.

  They parted under a stone bridge. Jam
ie had to climb a stile and cross fields to his parents' farm. Christopher had to cross the bridge and walk under streetlights into town. The nearest lights were already close enough to cast a faint illumination onto the towpath, but under the bridge it was dark enough that no one could have seen them from five yards as they held each other in a fierce hug. They kissed for a minute. Then Christopher muttered that they had to go. "Shall I go there tomorrow?" he asked. "You'll have to go to school some time, you know."

  Jamie groaned. "I know. I'm going to be in trouble. But it was worth it," he breathed. He giggled suddenly, and mischievously put his hand between Christopher's legs and squeezed him gently. "Do you love me, Chris? Tell me it's real. You do really love me, don't you?" Christopher answered as lovers have done as long as people have loved, with a fierce whisper in his lover's ear.

  "I'm glad you're here, Chris," said Jamie sadly. "I wanted someone to love me. You're the first one who has." He kissed him again, quickly. "Go there tomorrow," he said quickly, "but if I'm not there by ten, you'll know I can't make it. I've got trouble coming. You know." He turned to go, but immediately turned back. He took Christopher in his arms again and kissed him, a brief, hot kiss, then pressed his face against Christopher's and muttered, "Don't worry. I'll see you soon. I can't not see you." Christopher felt warm tears on his cheek. And then, in a moment, Jamie pulled himself free and was gone.

  Jamie walked home quickly at first, more and more slowly as he neared the house. When the lights of the farmhouse appeared in the distance his feet dragged until he was hardly moving at all. He swallowed hard and forced himself on, wondering what was going to happen to him.