And Blanche… Blanche had been sent away to an exclusive girls' school in the east, where she would live and sleep and only come home for holidays. Blanche was safely out of his fiendish reach! Cecil told himself sourly.
Joanne kept Donna as far away from Cecil as she could. Donna slept in the same room as her mother now, and Joanne spent more time at home. At least, Cecil's activities with Donna had put a brake on her relationship with Brad!
There was another thing that Cecil had learned. Something that made his stomach twist and turn with a sick sensation of revulsion. He knew why his mother and Brad had been the way they were. Brad was married! So why did he want to stick his horrible, big prick in his mother? Cecil asked himself bitterly why?
If it hadn’t been for Beverly, Cecil's life would have been unendurable. Beverly was sixteen years old when Cecil met her. Almost exactly the same age as he was. He would never have met her if he hadn't gone to the dance that night. Gone unwillingly, but gone just the same because he did everything his mother told him.
"For God's sake, why don't you go out somewhere?" his mother had shouted as he had sat in the lounge, staring in front of him at nothing in particular.
"Where?" he had muttered, twisting his hands together, feeling unwanted, unwelcome.
"Anywhere," Joanne snapped, then she'd taken a deep breath. "There's a school dance on tonight why don't you go?" She tried to make her voice more pleasant. "It'll do you good. You never go anywhere!"
"All right," he'd said, "I’ll go." And he'd dressed desultorily, mooched down to the dance and met Beverly.
He had felt ill – at – ease. There were boys he knew at the dance: boys he didn't like and who didn't like him. He saw Joe and Louie! Cecil felt his face color. They looked across the room, noticed him, then Joe muttered to Louie and they both sniggered. The bastards! Cecil thought. The lousy bastards! He felt a strange, squirmy sensation running through his flesh as he remembered. That big brute, Joe! He tensed himself, squeezing his buttocks tightly together as though he was stopping the horrible cock from screwing into his ass. The rotten slob! But it hadn't hurt so much… The unbidden thought hammered into his mind. It didn't really hurt! He screwed his eyes shut, trying to blot out the thought. And when he opened them he saw Beverly.
She was sitting by herself: prim, quiet and proper. Cecil had known her very casually when he was much younger and she had taken art lessons in the same special class as himself.
He moved beside her, hesitantly. "Hello," he said quietly, "Remember me?"
She flinched away at the sound of his voice, then recognized him. "Hello, Cecil," she'd said, smiling, "Do you still draw?"
He'd shaken his head, trying to wonder what he did do… Trying to think of something to say…
A fellow came up, asked Beverly to dance. She shook her head, nodding towards Cecil. The fellow moved away, casting a scowl in Cecil's direction. Cecil knew him he was in his class at school.
"You didn't have to do that," he told Beverly, "You coulda danced with him."
"I'd rather just talk," she said, giving him a small smile. "I I'm not crazy about dancing."
He wondered why she came to the dance but didn't put the question into words.
"I came here because my mother was sick of looking at me," he said, the words sounding more bitter than he'd intended.
"Why, whatever do you mean, Cecil?" Beverly's voice was surprised.
He had shrugged away the question and later they had danced together. Then, because she lived near Him and there didn't seem to be a particular fellow that she was waiting for, he'd asked, then walked her to her home. He had squeezed her hand outside her house, murmured a hurried goodnight, and was turning away when she stopped him.
"Cecil," she said, looking serious yet pleased at the same time, "It's been fun."
Fun! he thought. They hadn't done anything. Hardly danced… yet… "I enjoyed it very much," he said before he walked away.
He should've kissed her goodnight, he told himself as he mooched slowly home. Pressed himself against her, like a guy was supposed to, trying to get her worked up so he could push his big prick between her prim but sweet little thighs. That's what other guys would’ve done! Maybe that's what she'd expected. But he didn't want to do that not to her. Who did he want to do that to? he asked himself. Donna? Or was that just something that happened? He didn't know. But he did know that he didn't need to worry about his big prick because he didn't have a big one. It was small, so damned small, as Alma had told him so long ago, that it hadn't even torn little Donna's virginal cunt! The blood that'd oozed onto the bed had just been from her ruptured hymen!
Poor little Donna! Did she mind losing her virginity at such a tender age? Was he really a bastard? And what of him… what was going to become of him? He couldn't get any pleasure from putting his prick inside a girl a normal – sized girl, he corrected himself Alma had shown him that so very, very clearly. And he hated boys! He was a mess! He understood now that a lot of the guys at school thought he was a queer! Gay a fellow that wanted boys instead of girls. But it wasn't so… he hated boys! He liked girls but he didn't want to shove his prick into the ones he met… All he really wanted was to be one!
He thought of Beverly. Too bad he couldn't be friends with Bev the way he'd been friends with Alma! Cecil missed Alma and Blanche, too. His mother had sure turned his life upside down… just because of Donna! All he really wanted with Bev was to have a friend to talk to, go places with… But she wouldn't be content with that, he told himself sadly. She'd want more than that… Maybe a guy like Joe, he thought, wincing at the idea and wondering why it should matter to him… But he was wrong because the next time he met Beverly, so very casually on the street, she was pleased to see him, and she'd said: "I'm going to see an exhibition by Mooner, and I’ve got a spare ticket, would you like to come?" Mooner was the new painter that everyone was talking about. Tickets to see his first exhibition were very rare and precious. "Well, thanks, Beverly," he'd told her, feeling surprised and pleased, "I'd like that very much."
After viewing the exhibition they'd had coffee together, then he'd taken her to her house. "I got a lot of new tapes and recordings," she'd said shyly, and Cecil had remembered that she liked the same kind of music as him, soft and sweet, "how would you like to come to the house on Friday night and play some?" She had looked at him anxiously, as if afraid she'd said the wrong thing.
Cecil swallowed. He'd like to, but… "Your parents," he began, "they won't mind if – "
"They'll be away," she cut in too quickly, "they're going away for the weekend. Ill be all alone." She dropped her eyes.
Was she blushing? Cecil wondered. Girls weren't usually so shy! "Sure," he'd muttered, his throat feeling tight, "that'd be swell, Beverly."
"Around eight," she had told him before he wended his way bank home.
Cecil had told his mother that he would be out that night and she'd sounded glad.
"What time'll you be back?" she'd asked.
He'd shrugged. "Don't know," he'd muttered.
"Be sure to phone me," she'd told him, her voice unnecessarily sharp, "let me know exactly when."
"Sure," he'd answered, realizing that she must be inviting Brad over for the evening and wanted to have him out before Cecil came home, "I'll phone," he said, then added, "and warn you." He slouched up to bed before she could answer.
"You know, Cecil," said Beverly, as they lounged in the deep settee in the den that she'd made for herself at home, "you're the first fellow I’ve ever invited to come in here."
Cecil looked pleased. "Is that so? I'm very glad, Beverly I " then he'd felt a strange hesitation in his voice, "I like being with you."