Gimme Shelter, 3

In 1980 the town was 120 years old. None of the original buildings survived, of course. They were just temporary shelters slapped-up with whatever materials were at hand, like packing cases etc., and usually roofed with canvas. But, the town was that old, it was founded in 1860 to cater for the early gold-rushes.

As time went on, buildings and structures came and went and slowly became more substantial, solid and enduring. Probably the most solid of them all was built in the 1940's.

The air-raid shelter, buried underground, was still as good as new, despite several series of earthquakes, some devastating floods and the worst efforts of amateur decorato.In 1980, the shelter was 38 years old. Of the people who lived in it, only Julie was older than that, she was 48. Her son, Jimmy, was 31 and her grandsons, Ronnie and Reggie, were 12 and 11.

They were both stunningly good-looking boys. They had a touch of Asian blood, their mother was part Vietnamese, part French and part American GI, but that's another story. Their Asian heiritage showed only in their straight coal-black hair, dark eyes and slight builds. They had pakeha features and very, very, pale white skin – their grandmother claimed that that was because they spent far too much time indoors, but they didn't really. They went out and about as often as anyone did, they just didn't tan. They burnt if they weren't careful, so they were and they stayed pale.

Interestingly, it seemed that they were both queer, probably. Neither of them was at all interested in girls, as their friends and classmates were beginning to be. The attractions that they were developing were towards the boys, but not each other.

They got along together well enough, really well actually, but they were just not interested in each others' dangly bits. There was no novelty there, they'd bathed and showered together since forever, and there was no attraction at all.

Sometimes Ronnie thought that his brother was the only boy in town around his age who he didn't think was sexy. He was tightly wound, full of hormones and bursting with pent-up sexual frustration. In the privacy of his room, he was wanking so often and so hard that he was almost wearing the skin off it.

His dick got so sore sometimes that he had to lay off and give it a rest, and then he had wet dreams, about boys of course. What he wanted, what he needed, was someone to do it with. But who? The only boy his age who he knew was gay was Nathan Rooney and he wasn't going there! He wasn't that desparate. Rooney was all soft and fluttery, squealy and girly, and everyone knew that he was queer.

Or, maybe he was that desparate, but he still wasn't going there. He didn't want everyone knowing that he was queer too. He didn't want to be treated like Rooney was, that wouldn't be good. Mostly wouldn't be good.

It was a funny thing and not much talked about, but Ronnie knew that Nathan Rooney was getting far more sex than he was. That wouldn't be hard to do, he wasn't getting any, but Rooney was – lots of it.

By some strange logic, it was okay for guys to go around to his house and do queer sex stuff with Rooney as long as everyone knew that they weren't queer themselves. Ronnie didn't understand that, it made no sense. He worried that he was never going to understand teenagers even though he'd soon be one himself. The straight boys abused the queer boy in public, giving him a hard time, and then they went around and gave him a different sort of hard time in private.

That was an open secret, but no-one talked about it, ever. Would it be worth his while going around there himself? Hell no! What if they knew that he liked it? But then, why did they do it if they didn't like it? Strange world.

People were weird, it was a confusing world they lived in. Ronnie didn't understand the rules, but everyone else seemed to. Reggie did. He was younger than him but he had a busy social life already. Ronnie didn't, he kept himself to himself and quietly followed his own interests. It was safer that way.

They had a large model train layout, HO scale. It took up most of the space in one of the big rooms and had been growing and developing there ever since their dad was a boy. Ronnie and Reggie were said to be part owners now, but it was still their dad's hobby really, they just helped him because he'd never grown out of it.

Ronnie spent some time in the train room, mostly working on the landscaping, but he got bored with it. The trains did look great when they were running properly, but so often they weren't! The smallest little thing could cause a derailment and it got frustrating. Also, a lot of the tracks were getting old and they needed constant cleaning and maintainance if the trains were going to run.

Their dad was the real train fan in the family, Reggie had no interest at all and Ronnie was heading that way too. Besides, he'd found something better – a whole library of his own.

The old farm cottage, now used mostly as a living room, on sunny days anyway, was close to the street in Swainson Street and it covered the stairs down to the shelter on the West-side entrance. There were 4 entrances underground, on the north, south, east and west sides of the block, but the South-side one had been filled in and buried. A workshop was built on top of it.

The North-side entrance, off the main street, was through a little old two-storied shop building that was obviously there long before the shelter was built. It wasn't used as a shop anymore and hadn't been for a long time. The big front-room, with the wall of white-painted windows, was last used as Defence Department offices and a recruiting office during the last war. Now it was just empty.

The shop owners' living quarters, upstairs, consisted of an 'L' shaped hallway which included the kitchen area with the dunny at one end and the bathroom at the other. Inside the L was the old living-room which the boy's grandmother used for a sewing-room, it had big windows and good light.

There were two bedrooms at the front looking down at the main street. Reggie had one for his own purposes, which included entertaining his vistors. Ronnie didn't want to know what they were doing in there. Ronnie had the other room, a play-room in earlier years, now it was his own private reading-room, and he had a lot of available reading.

He had his own personal library, hundreds of old books, mostly in boxes and in teetering stacks in the back-room which was full of them. No-one remembered it, but the shop used to be a private lending-library back before the Army took it over – the 'DVD rentals' of the 1920's and 30's. Now the books were all Ronnie's, none of the others were interested in them.

Most of them, westerns and romances, were dry dusty old stuff, but there were some great stories amongst them and he loved the historical novels. Even the kids' stuff was interesting. So, in their long, wet, winter and spring, he spent his days alone, curled up on the sofa in his room and reading. Summer was coming on, the sunshine outside was beckoning and it was too nice out there to be inside all of the time, so he started going fishing – actually dangling bait off the wharf while he sat reading in the sunshine.

Late one afternoon, Ronnie was quietly minding his own business there on the wharf but he couldn't help noticing the people around him. A small group of maori kids arrived and settled near him. There were just 4 of them, 3 boys and a girl, but they were so loud and busy it seemed like more. Ronnie tried to keep his eyes on his book, but kept glancing at the antics next to him.

There was one boy amongst them who was still and quiet. Ronnie couldn't help noticing him because he stood out from the others. Each time he glanced at him, the boy was stting looking and smiling at him, so he had a good look, and then he smiled back.

He knew him from school, knew who he was anyway. He was James Manawatu and he was in year 8 the same year as Ronnie was. Apart from being in the same classes, he'd never had much to do with him. He never had much to do with anyone really. His best friend was his brother, how pitiful is that?

Anyway, Manawatu was a nice-looking kid. His medium-length dark-brown hair had a slight wave in it, his skin-tone was quite light, like a deep tan, and his big brown eyes were, well, big. He had a great smile, it lit up his face and he looked like a nice kid.

Ronnie was wondering how he could start a conversation? He wasn't good at that sort of thing. But he didn't get a chance anyway, one of the other boys pulled a flapping fish out of the water. He killed it, and then they all ran off back in the direction they'd come from. Boy went with them, of course.

That was what they called James Manawatu – 'Boy'. Everyone did. It was a funny sort of a nickname, of course he was a boy, they all were – well, all except the girls. He went back to reading his book.

A few quiet minutes later, someone came along, sat down next to him and said, “Hey, Ronald.”

“Ronnie,” he answered. “I'm called Ronnie, not Ronald. Hey James.”

“Boy,” he grinned. “I'm called Boy, not James. You catching anything?”

“A cold, maybe. Nothing else. I haven't had a nibble.”

“What are you using for bait?”

“I dunno, just a lump of meat. It might be lamb, I found it in the fridge.”

“Cooked, is it? You shouldn't use cooked meat for fish. They like something smelly.”

“Maybe I should use my feet? Expert on fishing are you?”

“Me? I'm an expert on nothing, but I've done some.”

“Probably more than me. I'm not that worried anyway. It's a nice day to sit in the sun with my book.”

“You're reading a book when you don't have to? I only read school stuff, when I've got to.”

“Hey! I like reading.”

“Good for you. What're you reading?”

“Umm, a book?”

“Ha ha! What's it called?”

“Treasure Island. It's by Robert Louis Stevenson and it's a classic. I've never read it before, I'm not sure why.”

“So you like old books?”

“Yeah, I do. Just as well too, I've got hundreds of them.”

“Nah, I'd rather watch TV.”

“Well I wouldn't. A good story is far better than any of the crap you see on TV.”

“Maybe you're right. We don't have books at home anyway. The kids'd just wreck them. Damm, I've gotta go – Kuia's looking for me.”

“Kuia?”

“My Grandmother. She'll be wanting help with the shopping. Looks like it's me again. See you round, Ronnie.”

“Like a record. Yeah, see you, Boy.”

They exchanged a grin and Boy ran over to the woman with all of the Supermarket bags. Ronnie smiled as he watched him go. He was a nice kid.

He saw him again at school next day. They ate lunch together, which was good, and Boy walked home with him after school. When they came to the corner of his street, they stopped and Ronnie said, “This is it. Home sweet home. Want to come in for a drink or something?”

“I'd like to, but I can't. I've got to get home, my dad will be waiting for me.”

“Oh. Some other time then?”

“Yeah, that'd be good. See you tomorrow, Ronnie.”

“That'll be good too. Bye, Boy.”

It was the same each day for the rest of the week. They were getting along fine together at school and walked home together afterwards, but that was it. Boy had no time to spare, every day he had to be somewhere. Ronnie was getting pissed. He liked the kid and enjoyed their time together, there just wasn't enough of it. Also, there were things that he was hoping to do that they couldn't do at school.

On Thursday, instead of stopping at his street as per usual, Ronnie walked on with Boy. He wanted to see where they lived.

He was a bit disappointed when they got there, it was just an ordinary house. He wasn't sure what he expected to see but not this. There was a lot of cars in the drive though; it was full.

“Boy! Where ya been? I've been waitin'. C'mon, in the car, we've gotta go.”

“Coming, Unc. I've got to go, Ronnie. We're getting a sheep in for the weekend.”

“A sheep for the weekend? What're you going to do with it?” Ronnie leered.

“Well not that!” Boy laughed. “We're going to eat it, of course. Uncle is putting a hangi down tomorrow. I'll see you at school, 'bye Ronnie.”

“Yeah. See you then. 'Bye, Boy.”

'Damm', he thought as he walked away home. 'Damm, damm and double damm!' Fifty per cent of their conversations seemed to be Hello and Goodbye. Where they ever going to spend some decent time together?

He wondered if Boy liked model trains? Most kids did and his dad had a huge layout. Maybe that'd tempt him? He asked him at school next day.

“Little trains? That's like kids' stuff, isn't it?”

“No it's not. Not like dad does it. So, do you want to come and see?”

“Yeah, I guess. Sometime but not this time. We're going to be busy thius weekend. It's my Koru's birthday and there's a huge party. All the family is coming and I'm going to be tied-up looking after the little ones and stuff.”

“Oh. Damm. Got a big family, have you?”

“A big family? No, I haven't – it's a bloody huge family, like they're all in a competion to see who can have the most kids. We're going to take our country back by out-breeding all you Whitey bastards. The only way you can survive is if you come and breed with us”

“Me, making babies? Can't see that ever happening.” ('Oh-oh. What did I go and say that for?')

It was okay, Boy just grinned at him. “You're not a breeder? Im not either.”

'Oh??' Ronnie thought. Did that mean what he hoped it meant? It looked like it might.

Boy pushed his shoulder and said, “Maybe we can be not-breeders together.”

“Together? Yeah, I'd like that.”

“Me too. I'd like that a lot.”

He did mean that! Ronnie was delighted. He felt like grabbing him and hugging him right then and there, but he couldn't do that. Not in the middle of the school. Dammit. All they could do was to grin at each other and they did that – majorly.

“So, some other time, when you're not so busy, you'll come to my house and see my trains and stuff?”

“Sure. I'd like that. I really want to see your stuff.”

“I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“I'm planning on that!”

They grinned again. Then, they had to go back into school. Dammit.

The rest of Ronnie's day was a complete waste of time. He didn't have a clue what anyone was talking about. His body was there but his mind was away in other places. All he could think about was Boy Manawatu and what he wanted to do with him.

They would be doing it, wouldn't they? They would, he was sure of it. The only question was when would they? Soon, he hope, but not this weekend, obviously.

After school, walking home, Boy was ahead of him with a couple of excited-looking girls. A car stopped and they all got into the back together. Ronnie watched them go and didn't concentrate on what he was doing. He walked into a tall kid standing there.

“Damm. Watch where you're going, Dork!”

“Okay, okay. Sor – ry!” Ronnie stepped around him.

“Don't be smart, Honky,” the older boy growled. “I hate smart-arses.”

Ronnie kept his mouth shut and kept walking. That was one mean-looking dude. He was not about to tangle with him!