From: xxxxxxxxxx@hotmail.com   
      
   Playing Hooky - 1963   
      
   By Trevor Martindale and Alan Garland   
      
   General Garland, El Supremo of the Southern Alliance,   
   scanned the distant horizon for enemy ships. He knew   
   this coastline like the back of his hand. The sea was   
   dead calm, so his enemy could launch an attack on the   
   town with ease. He stepped up to the sea wall railing   
   and placed his enhanced, robotic hand on the top...   
      
   ‘Fancy a turn on the boating lake, son?’   
      
   Startled, I looked up and saw a man dressed in army   
   fatigues standing beside me. I felt a strong urge to run   
   away; after all, I was playing hooky from school. But   
   this wasn't a policeman, just a soldier with a friendly,   
   reassuring look on his face.   
      
   ‘It's okay, son’, he said with a grin. ‘I guess you   
   decided it was too nice a day to spend it indoors, eh? I   
   shan't tell anyone, if you don't.’   
      
   His voice sounded deep and very masculine. I relaxed and   
   considered his offer of a boat ride; after all, General   
   Garland’s robot army could always fight the Northern   
   Alliance tomorrow.   
      
   I grinned back at the man. ‘I don't usually skip school   
   like this,’ I said shyly. ‘But I got on the wrong bus   
   this morning and ended up here, on the promenade.’   
      
   ‘Yeah, it happens to me all the time,’ he said, winking.   
   ‘How about that boat ride, fancy it?’   
      
   ‘Yes,’ I said shyly.   
      
   We made our way to Peter Pan’s Playground, where a small   
   group of men were getting the rides ready for the day's   
   business.   
      
   ‘It's a bit early,’ said the man. ‘The boats won’t be   
   out yet. Fancy a cup of tea and a bun?’   
      
   I didn’t have that much money on me, so I decided to be   
   honest with the man. ‘I've got some money...’ I stopped,   
   a little embarrassed. My voice had not yet broke and was   
   swooping up and down uncontrollably: like the cry of the   
   seagulls flying overhead. I swallowed and tried again.   
      
   ‘I need to keep some money back for lunchtime, and...’   
      
   The man laughed. ‘Don't worry about it, son. The tea and   
   bun - and the boat ride - are on me. By the way, what’s   
   your name; I can't keep calling you “son”, now can I?’   
      
   ‘Alan,’ I said.   
      
   ‘Now what are the odds on that? My name’s Alan too.’   
      
   The soldier and I exchanged a good deal of information   
   over tea. I told him about my music studies and how I   
   was preparing to take an important exam in the autumn. I   
   made Alan laugh when I told him about the fearsome Miss   
   Wilkinson, my form teacher, who had a habit of striding   
   into the classroom and exclaiming, in stentorian tones,   
   ‘Boys’ hands on desks, where I can see them!’ The girls   
   would titter and giggle until Miss Wilkinson silenced   
   them with a ferocious look.   
      
   Alan told me that he was serving the last two months of   
   his army service at the Royal Artillery camp further   
   along the coast, and that he was on a 48-hour pass. He   
   said he couldn’t wait to be back in civvies.   
      
   Strolling back along the promenade, the soldier began to   
   ask more intimate questions; and as he did so, I became   
   aware of his hand occasionally touching my upper arm and   
   shoulder. Being a shy boy, I would not have normally   
   tolerated this from a stranger, but amazingly, I found   
   myself liking, even welcoming, the man’s familiarity.   
      
   ‘How old are you, Alan?’ he asked.   
      
   ‘Fourteen, nearly fifteen,’ I replied.   
      
   ‘Hmmm, that might be a bit of a problem at the boating   
   lake. Tell you what, if the boatman asks how old you   
   are, you keep quiet and I’ll say you’re my nephew, and   
   today’s your thirteenth birthday. You don’t mind being   
   thirteen years old for the day, do you?’   
      
   ‘N-no,’ I said.   
      
   ‘Those girls in your class; how many of them have you   
   fooled around with?’   
      
   I blushed scarlet at the sudden, unexpected intimacy of   
   the question. I looked up at Alan, who was grinning   
   broadly. His eyes, however, had lost their warmth and   
   seemed to glitter like two brilliant, piercing points of   
   light.   
      
   I stopped, totally stunned by the question - where was   
   this leading I thought. I couldn’t seem to turn away   
   from those probing eyes. What could I say? Alan was   
   obviously expecting some kind of reply. I couldn’t just   
   tell him that I didn’t much care for girls, and that I   
   only felt comfortable around other boys.   
      
   ‘I... I don’t have a girlfriend,’ I stuttered, feeling   
   like a first-class idiot.   
      
   ‘Oh, come on, a good-looking lad like you! Surely you’ve   
   had a few girls play with your cock behind the bike   
   sheds after school.’   
      
   ‘No!’ My voice cracked, suddenly taking on an   
   unaccustomed strength.   
      
   ‘I haven’t – I’m not interested in that sort of thing!’   
      
   There was a tension growing between us, which the   
   soldier sensed and made an effort to dispel. He shrugged   
   his shoulders and walked on.   
      
   ‘Sorry if I stepped on a corn,’ he said.   
      
   By now, the morning had warmed up a great deal. It was   
   definitely going to be a hot day, just as the weather   
   forecaster on the radio had promised. Peter Pan’s   
   Playground was filling up fast, and becoming noisy with   
   the sound of small, pre-school kids having fun.   
      
   I caught up to the soldier as he reached the steps that   
   led down to the boating lake. Why had he spoilt   
   everything by raising the boring subject of girls, and   
   why was he so interested in what I did with my cock?   
      
   There were quite a few paddleboats out on the lake that   
   morning, many of which were filled with small kids and   
   their adult minders. Deep down, I knew that I was   
   getting a little too old for such things, but I really   
   did like the boats.   
      
   Alan must have guessed what I was thinking. ‘We don’t   
   have to go down there if you don’t want to,’ he said,   
   placing a hand gently on my shoulder. ‘I just like the   
   boats, don’t you?’   
      
   ‘Yes.’   
      
   ‘Come on then. We needn’t stay long, and I’m really   
   sorry about...’   
      
   ‘No, that’s alright,’ I interrupted. ‘I just wasn’t   
   expecting a question about... about s-e-x.’   
      
   ‘So you know what it’s called.’   
      
   ‘Yes, I’ve messed about a few times with some of the   
   boys at school, nothing more.’ I paused, blushing   
   furiously.   
      
   ‘Right,’ said Alan, grinning. ‘So you and your friends   
   have had a couple of wanks in the bog.’   
      
   I nodded.   
      
   ‘That’s nothing to be ashamed of, son. We all do it when   
   the pressure’s on. It’s all part of growing up. You’ll   
   soon be a man and things will work out just fine. They   
   always do.’   
      
   The boatman eyed me up and down suspiciously. Over the   
   years he had become quite an expert at picking out kids   
   that were playing hooky.   
      
   As Alan paid the man for the boat, he spun the yarn   
   about the birthday treat. The boatman remained   
   unconvinced. ‘Happy birthday, son,’ he begrudgingly   
   muttered as he watched us cram ourselves into the small   
   boat and paddle away.   
      
   ‘Look, let’s try this. You put your right leg under my   
   left one and your right arm along the back of the boat.’   
      
   I was almost helpless with laughter. ‘What do you mean?’   
   I spluttered. Alan repeated his instructions, carefully   
   bending his left knee to allow me to slide my right leg   
   underneath.   
      
   ‘If anyone sees us,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye,   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)