Westpoint Tales - Christian & Roman's Tale (the Plan) - 1

“Romeo,Romeo.Wherefore art thou?”

“Yeah, Romeo- where the hell are ya?”

Christian sighed, closed the book and sat looking at the cover..

‘The Complete works of William Shakespeare’. Why did they have to study this garbage anyway? The stories weren’t so bad, once you got into them – a bit overblown, overly dramatic, as stories were; but the language!

It was so hard trying to figure out what the words meant; it might have well been written in Russian or something. Did people really talk that way, way back then? Why didn’t they speak English, for fuck’s sake!

‘The Immortal Bard’, people called him. See? What was a bard anyway? A writer or something? He really didn’t see what this stuff had to do with life in the 21st century.

Now the teachers were ganging up on them. Not only had Mrs. McElwee decided that they were going to study Shakespeare, now Mrs. Lewis had announced that year 10 were going to perform Romeo and Juliet. Onstage. In public even! Oh, joy.

Bloody school. And these were supposed to be the best years of his life. Oh yes? His future was going to be really sucky then. Christian hated school. Whatever, he hated his life anyway.

“Life’s a bitch, and then you die.”

That’d be something to look forward to then.

Mrs. Lewis, or was it Mrs. McElwee? Someone anyway, said that the female roles used to be performed by young boys back in Shakespeare’s day. Women weren’t allowed on the stage in the good old days.

That got a lot of snickers and snide comments in the classroom. They weren’t going to do that anyway. Girls could do anything these days.

Christian actually wouldn’t have minded playing the part of Juliet. Not that he wanted to wear dresses and stuff – he didn’t want to pretend that he was a girl, but at least he’d get to snog Romeo, whoever he was going to be. (Probably Roman Dallas). Juliet did get to snog Romeo, didn’t she? Yes, of course she did – it was a romance. Lucky cow!

Christian had no Romeo in his life. He wished that he did, but he didn’t, and he couldn’t see himself ever having anyone. Dammit! He didn’t even have any close friends, let alone a romance.

Being gay was not the huge big deal that it used to be, but it still wasn’t quite right. This was especially true in the teenage years which, unfortunately, was where he was. All those strutting, testerone-fuelled and newly pubescent youths were looking for relationships which would lead to breeding.

You’d think that they’d be happy to hear that someone was gay. That meant less competition for the breeders. But, no – they didn’t see it like that. For some reason, gayboys were still the lowest of the low. Did they think that they were all so irresistible that every gayboy wanted to jump their bones?

Like, ewww! Fuck’em anyway. Or, not.

Christian wasn’t just looking for sex. He wanted that, of course he wanted sex like any other teenager, but not at any cost. More importantly, he wanted love. He wanted to love and be loved and that wasn’t going to happen on a one-night-stand with a breeder. It didn’t look like it was going to happen at all, not in this town.

He knew a few gay people in the town, knew of them anyway, but they were all years older than him and that didn’t interest him at all. Again, ewww!

What he wanted, what he needed, was someone his own age, someone like himself. (But better looking of course). Only trouble was, there was nobody. As far as he knew, he was the only 14 year old gay teenager in Westpoint. Bugger it!

Maybe there was someone out there. But, if there was they weren’t ‘out’ and they just weren’t interested in Christian Squires anyway.

Christian was out; he’d been open about his sexual preference ever since he’d figured it out for himself. That had cost him what friends he had and now he wished that he wasn’t, but it was too late now. Now he was an outcast, unwanted, unloved and alone. He just lived for the day when he could leave school, leave home, and start again somewhere else – somewhere where nobody knew him.

Even his parents were distant with him. Whether that was to do with being gay, or not, he didn’t know. There was not a lot of love in his family anyway. He didn’t know why they didn’t just be done with it and split up. They obviously couldn’t stand each other, so why did they stay together? Maybe they just liked fighting.

He could hear them even now, in the kitchen, screaming their lungs out. They were probably upsetting the kids. It used to scare him when he was little, but he was used to it now. They never got physical, they just yelled – a lot!

He picked up the remote and turned the music up so that he wouldn’t have to listen to them. It got boring. If his parents were an example of a straight relationship, who needed it? Did gays fight like that? Yeah, probably.

The radio was playing that song again – Somewhere Over the Rainbow. It was something of a gay anthem in Westpoint, he didn’t know why. Maybe it was because a rainbow was a gay signal, or something.

He turned the old song off, he’d heard it a hundred times before and he wasn’t interested. People said that Robbie Keenan, on west FM, was supposed to be gay. He owned the radio station and his partner, Mr. Hartigan, owned the Westpoint News. They did some magazine publishing as well, apparently. Whatever. It was nothing to do with him anyway. They were old.

Still, if it was true, good luck to them. They’d been together forever and that was what he would like – a long-term relationship. Not that it was ever going to happen.

Christian had no illusions about himself, he wasn’t ugly or anything – just ordinary. Ordinary, average and boring. No wonder he had no friends. He wouldn’t want to be friends with Christian squires either. Boring git that he was.

Ah, fuckit! Here came the girly tears again. He couldn’t help it, he was feeling down – sad, alone and lonely. As always.

He shouldn’t have been sitting there, feeling sorry for himself. He knew that. Things could be worse. At least he had a family, of sorts. He had a roof over his head and didn’t have to worry about where his next meal was coming from.

Life used to be much tougher on gayboys. Years ago, one of his ancestors had been beaten up and thrown out of his home just because he was gay. Well, not an ancestor – a relation. He had no kids, of course.

He was just a kid when he was thrown out, about 16. He left town, broken and bleeding, and never came back until after he died many years later. A ‘friend’ brought him back and he was buried here, in Westpoint. Christian visited his grave sometimes.

He wasn’t the only one either. Someone else left flowers out there as well, but he didn’t know who. Someone remembered him. Would anyone remember Christian? Probably not.

So. Things could be worse. At least that wasn’t going to happen to him, he hoped. He’d live and then he’d die. Great life, eh?

He went to bed. He might dream of someone, with a bit of luck. Someone like Roman Dallas

Christian was not the only person in town who dreamed about Roman Dallas; lots of people did, some of them not so young either. Roman was, without doubt, the most fantasized kid in Westpoint.

Sixteen years old, he was ‘tall, dark and handsome’ – very handsome. He was possibly the best-looking boy in the town; the result of generations of careful, selected breeding. But he had more than good-looks, he had talent as a sportsman, stylish clothes and fancy toys, including his own car. He had money, lots of money.

Or, his family did, which amounted to the same thing, he was his parents’ only son. He did have a younger sister, but girls didn’t count for much in their family, except as pawns. Sons didn’t really count for much either, but he was the heir and that mattered. Oh, boy! Did that matter!

Roman’s place in the family, his future and his destiny had been decided for him long before he was born. He was a Dallas and, one day, he would make a proper and advantageous marriage, produce an heir or two and, eventually, take his place as head of the family.

His parents were already considering suitable brides for their son and heir. Love did not enter into it. Love was for the peasants. The Dallas had responsibilities, they had money.

They were actually not that wealthy. They had money and were very comfortable, but they weren’t ‘filthy-rich’. That was one reason why they still lived in a small town. In a city they would just be one more well-off family, in Westpoint they were all-but gentry, and that was important – very important. The Dallas’s were the worst sort of snobs.

Roman was a nice enough kid, but he had been raised to believe that he and his family were a better class of people than the hoi-polloi. His parents believed it implicitly; Roman was not so sure.

It was a forbidden subject and never discussed, but the Dallas were probably not the wealthiest family in Westpoint. The Reynolds probably had more, but that was different – the Reynolds were peasants and theirs was new money, it came from trade. The Dallas had old money, and that was better, of course.

Roman’s father never did anything so sordid as to dirty his hands with trade. He was a gentleman of leisure and he paid others to do that for him. There was a legend in the family, and in the town, actively encouraged by the chief snob - Roman’s grandmother. The legend had it that they were descended from displaced European royalty, probably the Romanov’s; but, that was all it was, a legend and a fondly believed lie.

Roman’s unusual name was given to him because that was where he was born – in Rome, during his parents’ two-year overseas honeymoon. He was literally a Roman.

His days were tightly structured, as well as attending the local high school; he had two tutors at home. One was to keep him on top of the game at school and also to educate him in the classics, which the school did not cater for. The other was his physical tutor. His parents spared no expense to ensure that their son would be the best at everything.

They didn’t spare him either, he was lucky if he got 2 hours free time in a day. Sundays were his only free days, or, half-days. He had to make an appearance, with the family, at church in the mornings, and the evenings were tied-up with the weekly formal, (read stuffy), dinners with his parents, usually with other guests present. These occasions were a real pain. Even his grandmother gave them a miss, unless they had special guests.

His parents, and grandmother, spent much of their idle days involved with, and leading, various clubs and organizations in the town. His father, Preston, did consider becoming the mayor once, but decided against it – there was too much actual work involved.

In short, Roman Dallas’ life was privileged, comfortable, regimented and miserable – he hated it, but it was the only life he knew. He was lonely.

Westpoint’s number-one heart-throb and chick-magnet had a secret, he was gay. The girls throwing themselves at him didn’t interest him at all. His parents knew, they didn’t mind. (Read, didn’t care).

As long as he kept his orientation to himself and never, ever, revealed it to anyone in Westpoint, they didn’t care. If he was discrete and intelligent about it, he could make a suitable marriage, produce heirs and live the life he was supposed to lead.

He could, when he was an adult, take his pleasures where he would, as long as it was not with any of the locals, that could only lead to disaster. His grandfather had lived the same life, he managed.

His father even made sure that the tutor they employed for him was a gay man. Roman had no love for him, he was 12 years older and he was only an employee, but he made full use of him.

The parents knew that too, they didn’t mind. While he was having his needs taken care of at home, he was not about to be tempted into any unsuitable alliances. When Preston was a youth, he’d had a gay tutor as well, (in more ways than one). It didn’t do him any harm.

Roman’s academic tutor was straight, of course, but his physical tutor was, well – physical. The tutor, Bruce, had a partner, he lived with him in town, but he saw servicing his charge as part of the job. He didn’t mind a bit, nice work if you can get it. Most girls, and others, would give their eyeteeth to get a bit of Roman Dallas, and he got paid for it. Nice!

But, Roman was still lonely. Would he ever find his soulmate? Would he be allowed to?