Chapter 8: The Secret of Ian’s Bum

Danny slid his trousers off over his feet, then he rested his hands on Ian’s bare stomach. ‘I’m going to press in in several places,’ he said. ‘Just relax but tell me if I touch anywhere tender.’ He pressed his fingers in, feeling a slight layer of fat but with firm muscles underneath. Moving his hands into different positions, Danny did the same, covering all of his stomach. ‘That all feels good,’ he said, ‘What sort of active things do you do?’

‘I go for a run sometimes,’ Ian said. ‘Also, I like swimming when I get a chance. But I’m not generally that active, I suppose I’m lucky that I don’t seem to put weight on.’ ‘There’s a lot of people would envy you that.’ Danny told him with a smile. ‘I suppose so,’ Ian said smiling back.

‘The next thing I want to do,’ Danny said, ‘Is the same as I’ve just done but on your abdomen. Then I want you to draw your knees up to make your stomach muscles soft and loose whilst I do the whole area again. Are you ok if I slip the front of your shorts down a few inches?’

Danny slid his fingers inside the front of Ian’s shorts and pulled them down to the top of his pubic hairs. Then he did the same pressing on his abdomen at each side and in the middle. Telling Ian to draw his knees up, Danny pressed all over his stomach again, followed by the now exposed section of his abdomen.

‘Thank you,’ Danny said, ‘Put your knees down now and turn over.’ Ian turned onto his front leaving his shorts as they were at the front. Danny massaged the back of his head then down onto his bare shoulders.

‘How did your parents and uncle react to your leaving home,’ Danny asked as he massaged down Ian’s back. ‘Mum was upset,’ but I was only going locally so she knew she could call and see me whenever she wanted. Dad and my uncle were no longer there then. Mum was going to look for a flat of her own.’

Massaging the back of Ian’s waist, Danny asked, ‘What happened to them?’ Ian was silent for a while. Danny slipped his hands inside the back of Ian’s shorts and massaged his cheeks. As he did so, he could feel a lot of strange ridges. Deciding to let that pass for the moment, he came out again and went down the back of his legs. As he started back up, Ian seemed to return to the present. He continued, ‘My uncle had been thrown out by my mum three years earlier and my dad died a few months afterwards.’

‘I’m sorry to hear about your dad,’ Danny said, ‘How did it happen?’ Ian was silent again whilst Danny pulled the back of his shorts down to uncover his cheeks. As he studied the scars across Ian’s cheeks, although they were long healed up, it was clear they were the result of a severe beating with a stick or something similar. Before Danny could ask anything, Ian answered his last question. ‘He fell down the stairs drunk,’ Ian told him, ‘He broke his neck and was dead when the ambulance arrived.’

Danny was about to commiserate when he realised Ian was sobbing.

‘Turnover and sit up,’ Danny instructed. He put his arms around him and held him tight, feeling him shaking as he sobbed. Ian had automatically put his head on Danny’s shoulder and was holding him just as tight.

After a while his sobs faded then he said, ‘I killed him.’ To say that Danny was startled was an understatement, but he managed not to show it. ‘Let it all out,’ Danny said, ‘Get it off your chest.’ Danny stroked the back of Ian’s head as he began.

‘Not long after my fifteenth birthday,’ Ian told him, ‘Mum told my uncle to pack his bags and go. My dad decided it was my fault and was even worse to me than usual. Then about a week later, mum was out, and he came home drunk.’

‘I heard him coming upstairs cursing, then he burst into my room with a walking stick in his hand. He grabbed hold of me, threw me down on the bed, ripped my trousers and shorts off, then started laying into me with the stick. I was screaming with pain, but it made no difference. It was only when he saw the blood that he stopped, threw the stick away and walked out. It must have scared him for he kept out of my way for days.’ ‘What did you do?’ Danny asked, still massaging his head. ‘I lay face down on the bed for ages crying with the pain,’ Ian said. ‘Then a few hours later I heard mum come home. I stood up and managed to get a pair of shorts on.’

‘I went onto the landing, shouted down ‘Hi mum’ then went into the bathroom. I looked at my bum in the mirror, the bleeding had stopped but it was covered in dried blood and weal’s. I got the biggest piece of

lint out of the medicine chest, covered it with antiseptic cream and taped it over my cheeks as best I could. I washed my face and sloshed loads of cold water over it to hide my tears, then I put my shorts back on and went back to my room. I got dressed then went downstairs. I shouted, ‘See you later, mum’ and managed to get out without her seeing me.’

‘I spent the day in the local park, lying on my front pretending to read. I rang mum a few hours later and told her I was out with some school chums and wouldn’t be home until eight. We’ll get something to eat whilst we’re out, I said, so don’t worry about feeding me. Also, I’ll be exhausted when I get home, so I’ll probably have an early night. I said See you later, then rang off. I couldn’t bear the thought of trying to sit at the table without showing the pain. I didn’t want to eat either, in case it made me need go and sit on the toilet.’

‘The following morning it was more bearable, but it took a week to heal up enough to be able to sit down without having a piece of sponge stuffed down the back of my trousers.’

‘Then two weeks later he came home drunk again. I was downstairs this time, but I heard him coming, realised he was drunk and rushed up to my room. The beating I took the previous time seemed to have given me some inner strength. Instead of sitting waiting in terror, I stood up between the bed and the door.’