“Nah, just a bunch o’ rusty garden tools.” I strode past my friend, unable to look him in the eye. “Shall we dump this shite out on the drive? Da can help us load it inta the back o’ the van when he picks us up.”
“Right enough, like,” Declan replied. He grunted, lifting a slab up into his arms. “This shite is heavy as feck.”
Thankfully, my little excursion into the shed seemed to have already been forgotten and I tried to put the hidden magazine to the back of my mind, despite how I desperately burnt to get somewhere quiet to have a proper look at it when I got back to the camp.
It was uncomfortable doing yard work with a magazine shoved in your arsecrack, but I put up with it. Soon enough, my da turned up with his van, and after Declan and I handballed the rubble into the flatbed, we clambered up into the cab. The elderly fella had paid us extra for responsible disposal of any waste materials, but Da was only too happy to pocket that money for himself. Every day after work, he drove us out into the country lanes to fly tip whatever waste we’d accumulated. In ditches, hedges, outside farmer’s gates – it didn’t matter to us where it ended up, so long as we got in and out without being caught.
Back at the camp, I was on edge. I desperately needed to find somewhere to offload my secret cargo. Declan said his farewells and headed on home, whilst Iloitered near the door to the caravan. I held my breath, waiting to see what my da would have to say.
He hopped out of the van, slamming the door shut and stretching his back. “Right, now. I’d be needin’ a wee drink in me. I’m off ta the pub. Tell ya ma, won’t ya?”
I nodded hastily. “Aye.”
Without another word, I watched Da sauntering off across the camp, heading towards the town. As soon as he was a safe distance away, I spun on my heel and darted inside.
“Mercy me, where’s the bloody fire?!” Ma spluttered as I barrelled through the door. She was gathering together the ingredients for dinner. “Y’scared the shite outta me.”
“Sorry, Ma,” I muttered, kicking my shoes off and leaning in to peck her cheek before hurriedly clambering up the ladder and into my bed.
“Where’s ya da? Is he not with ya, now?” she called to me.
Shot with tension, I eased the magazine out from my jeans. It was a little wrinkled and bent up, but it’d come right. I shoved it under my pillow.
“He’s gone t’ the pub,” I replied. “Said t’ tell ya.”
I heard my ma muttering under her breath. I knew she was filled with the same dread that plagued me whenever Da went to the pub after work. We never knew what version of him would be coming home.
“Y’hungry, darlin’?” she asked, hefting the box of food onto her hip.
“Aye, feckin’ starvin’,” I replied, grinning when she cast me a disapproving glare for swearing.
“I’ll get the tea on the go, now. Won’t be two ticks.”
We didn’t cook our meals inside the caravan – it wasn’t the done thing. Travellers liked to keep their possessions spotlessly clean, and that included the facilities inside our homes. Ma would cook our dinner over the coals outside with the other women in the camp.
The door slammed shut behind Ma and I was finally alone. I waited, holding in a breath as I listened to her footsteps crunching away through the gravel. WhenI was sure it was safe, I slid my hand beneath the pillow and pulled free my magazine.
Flicking through the pages in that wee shed had been exciting, but something about being here, at home in my bed, hit differently. I found myself gazing at that particularly appealing centrefold once again, equally ashamed and titillated when my body began to respond.
I was a teenage boy, I knew how these things worked and waswellpracticed at the art of cracking one off, but even I was surprised by how quickly I’d bricked up. It usually took a little more persuasion than this.
I worried my lower lip, scrambling to peek out over the edge of my bed towards the front door. Ma wouldn’t be back for at least half hour and that was ample time for me to explore these strange new feelings.
I finished up in record time and with a force that had left me shaking. That had never happened before. No amount of titty mags or porno films had ever invited such an intense reaction from me and that made me feel sick with worry. I knew I shouldn’t be enjoying this. It wasn’t natural. Did this make me a wee bender?
Cheeks hot with shame, I cleaned up and shoved the magazine back down my jeans. I hopped out of my bed and practically jogged from the caravan, straight to the bins at the far side of the camp. Several large, stinking dumpsters were lined up there and I needed to get rid of this magazine before it got me in any more trouble.
I opened the lid, wrinkling my nose and groaning as the stench of rubbish hit me like a wall. With a quick glance over my shoulder, I tugged the magazine out. I held it over the bin, willing my hand to release it… but I couldn’t bring myself to say goodbye to the promise of more of that eye rolling pleasure.
Muttering and cursing under my breath I slammed the lid back down, returning the magazine to its hiding spot before heading home. If I was keeping this mag, I would need to find arealgood hiding spot. It didn’t bear thinking about what my da would do to me if he ever found it.
The discovery of that magazine had only been the beginning. It was like a lightbulb had gone off inside me.
I started noticing attractive fellas everywhere. My talents at football vanished – painfully distracted whenever it was time to play shirts versus skins. Even my relationship with Declan had changed. He was still my best mate, and I didn’tfancyhim as such, but puberty had treated him well. He had always been a good-looking fella, but as he grew taller and broader, it was getting harder for me not to notice it.
I still felt dirty every time I found myself digging down the side of my mattress for that bastard magazine, and yet I seemingly couldn’t resist. Before I’d discovered it, I’d been able to summon a vague interest in fantasising about girls, but now? Even when I wasn’t looking at the images in that magazine, I was thinking about them. No matter how I tried to keep my mind on girls, I’d always resort to fantasies of fellas to get myself over the line.
I lived in constant fear, convinced that my dirty little secret was written all over my face. Could my mates tell what was going on with me? I didn’t dare guess how much sleep I’d lost over it. Whenever I was at home I was sat on my bed, guarding my dark secret from the watchful eyes of my parents.
