L.if.E (BoyxBoy)

L.if.E

[ Authors Note: I promised myself I wouldn't do this as I think it detracts from the story, however it may be the only way to get certain details across, so apologies for doing this, and of course for begging for Votes if you enjoy.

So the reason for this note: A friend who has proofed part of the story for me, stated that it obviously would be wrong to write it in the years it is meant to be in, because it just wouldn't have been possible.

Well to my doubting Thomas, it is possible, as it represents, other than name changes and artistic licence with some of the dialogue, some of my actual experiences and some people, if they ever read it, will recognise themselves (though I doubt they will read a BoyxBoy story).

The reason for doubt is that (and this is for the younger readers and writers) in 1970's England, homosexuality had only been decriminalised for 3 years, age of consent was 21, homophobia was rife, and even encouraged. Even the police at the time were targeting gay meeting places and clubs and prosecuting men for homosexual activity (meeting and talking) not in private premises. It was also the height of aversion therapy, electro and chemical treatment to make homosexuals turn heterosexual or celibate.

Remember it was not until 1994 age of consent became 18 then in 2001 down to 16, and equality was not until around 2007.

Sorry for all this, but it is really so you understand why there is a lot of paranoia within the story and disbelieve about some of the story.

Thanks, Lyle]

L.if.E

Prologue

It was the sort of day that as a child would have frightened me, black ominous clouds streaked with the dark shades of purples and crimsons, you know the ones, the apocalyptic 'End of Days' type of sky.

This vivid skyline would be interrupted every so often by streaks of lightning driving downward to earth bringing with it the crashing sound of heavy thunder. Even nowadays, it still makes me jump, as it has no rhythm or any sense of regular timing and comes when it deems appropriate and not when my inner senses think it should.

I sit wrapped up in a quilt in the conservatory watching the sky and listening to the unique sound of heavy rain hitting a polycarbonate roof, knowing I am warm and dry and have nothing to fear from the storm.

Again a flash of light and almost immediately the terrific crash of thunder, telling me that the storm is overhead now and as it crashes I jump again though it is through the volume and immediacy of the thunder and not through any fear of what might happen.

I settle down chuckling to myself at jumping when I suddenly find myself thinking back to a day similar to this over forty years ago. It had the same dark and ominous mid-morning sky, the insistent pounding sound of heavy rain, though this rain was falling upon the fabric of a three man tent, a very bedraggled and well-worn tent, pitched in a cold and wet clearing in a valley in the moors, along with several others dotted around the clearing.

The occupants were not wrapped in nice warm quilts, in fact, quilts as such did not exist in England at this time, they were wrapped in damp flimsy nylon sleeping bags, possibly bought from their local Woolworths, along with nylon anoraks also wrapped around them to give additional protection and warmth.

I realized that this thought had jumped into my mind because of the similarity of the storms and how at 16, even though I would never have admitted it, the storm had frightened me so much that memories of that day had become lodged deep within my mind.

Was it the fright though, I am not so sure now as my memory clears, I think it may have been something more profound, an event, an incident, a situation or happening, call it what you may, but now as my memory is refreshed I realize that it should be a 'What If' moment.