This is the first piece of new fiction I’ve posted for about three years, and I’ve been messing about with it and tweaking it for a lot of that time. About ten years ago I wrote a series of stories Bobby classified as ‘the Shakespeare series’ involving a gay optometrist called William Shakespeare and his friends, staff and patients. Each of these stories had the name of a play by the ‘real’, or original, William Shakespeare. ‘Much ado about nothing’ concerned two schoolboys who both had to get glasses before they could start driving lessons, and became teenage lovers. This story is about their sons. Be warned: it gets pretty explicit; so if you don’t want to read about gay sex it isn’t for you.
It’s my birthday tomorrow; I’ll be fifteen. Every time my birthday comes round it reminds me that when Mam was alive it’s the time she used to take me to Lizar’s in Aberdeen to get my eyes tested in case I needed glasses like Dad. Each time I used to think, maybe this year I’ll get them, but it never happened. Then she got sick and died and I haven’t been back there since I was twelve. Never mind, I still haven’t got glasses and I can see just fine, but I miss my Mam.
Went to see the latest Harry Potter film; really enjoyed it. Can’t help noticing how good looking Daniel Radcliffe has got, and those round glasses really suit him. If I need glasses later on I’ll get that kind. Talking of glasses, when Dad’s reading he often takes his glasses off and holds the book or the paper really close to his eyes, like about three or four inches. I wonder why he does that; I thought glasses were supposed to help you to see better.
Tried watching the Harry Potter DVD in French with subtitles to see if it would improve my French, but it didn’t really work cause I couldn’t make out the subtitles; I wonder why they make them so hard to read.
Dad’s got a new job, so we’re moving, all the way to London. He’s going to be head of music at a big school, and I can enrol there and go on having piano and organ lessons. Sounds good. Dad’s a really great musician, and he says I could be pretty good too. It’s the Church of England high school he went to when he was my age, so he’s chuffed to bits about getting a job there. He’ll be director of music at the parish church as well, so I expect he’ll want me in the choir—I sing alto just now, but I guess my voice is on the way down. Dad reckons I’ll end up singing baritone like him.
Ever since I saw the Harry Potter film I’ve been noticing boys with glasses, and kind of liking the look of them. The girls don’t do anything for me; I think I’m gay.
Well, we’ve moved. I had a little private cry when we left our old house near Aberdeen (I think Dad did too!). We’ve lived there since before Mam died and we had all kinds of memories, plus of course I’ve left a lot of friends behind. I’ve been with Dad to see the new school, and it looks pretty good. As a staff member’s son I’m guaranteed a place. We went to the church too and looked at the organ. When Dad gets the keys I’ll get to hear it and have lessons on it.
Term started today. Dad’s the only black teacher in the school. That’s maybe not too surprising, but I seem to be the only black kid, though of course I’m lighter skinned than Dad. That seems kind of odd, specially when Dad was a boy here all those years ago. Nobody takes much notice of my colour; they have a bit of trouble with my Aberdeen accent, but they’re all pretty friendly.
There’s another new boy in my class, and we get put to sit together a lot of the time. His name is Philip Tudor. He’s moved from another school, where he couldn’t do the A-levels he wants. He’s really good looking, tall and slim, with longish fair hair and brown eyes. In the first class (Maths) we were sitting up at the front, but when we moved to the English classroom we were further back. He looked at me, kind of half closed his eyes and smiled. I wonder if he likes me, I hope he does cause as Dad would say I like him bad. He has long eyelashes which I always think look really good. When Miss Leese started to write on the board I happened to be looking Philip’s way and he first screwed up his eyes and then TOOK OUT A PAIR OF GLASSES and put them on! They’re the Harry Potter style with round frames, like I mean to get when the time comes (I guess it will, sooner or later) and Philip looks really good in them. He looks more kind of wide awake when he has them on. At the end of the lesson he took them off and put them away; I said, “Nice glasses,” and he looked kind of surprised. He said, “Yeah? Well, I need them to see the board.” As we were going out of the room his hand brushed against my backside; it may have been by accident, but I kind of hope it wasn’t. We don’t take all the same subjects so I didn’t see him again till the last period in the afternoon when all the groups were together for a PowerPoint presentation, and he put his glasses on again for that.
I’ve always wondered if there’s such a thing as love at first sight, but I’m in love with Philip Tudor! He’s the only guy I’ve seen wearing glasses in class, and he’s SO hot in them. Even without them I fancy him something rotten but he just has to look at me through them and I get hard. When I jerk off at night I just have to think about him looking at me like that and I’m off.
When Dad’s giving me an organ lesson I feel like I can talk to him about anything, but I really surprised myself today. I heard myself say, “Hey Dad, I think I’m gay!” “Do you, son?” he said. “I don’t think that’s anything to worry about; I had the same idea when I was your age, in fact I had a fling with another boy. A lot of us go through a phase like that and grow out of it OK, and if you don’t you’ll just have to make the best of life. Now, what about this Widor?” I had a go at Widor’s Toccata, and Dad said, “OK, that won’t be too bad when you stop playing the organ as if it was a honky-tonk piano.”
In the French class this afternoon I was leaning over to look at my neighbour’s book cause I couldn’t make out Miss Machin’s writing on the board, when she said, “Simon Fraser, bring your books and come to the front. And you’d better sit there whenever you come to my class.” So I got my stuff together and moved it all to the front. There was nobody on either side of me, and I was wondering what I’d do when I couldn’t read her writing. But (this is the funny thing) from my new seat in the front I could read it OK; I didn’t even need to screw up my eyes.
I can read all the teachers’ writing OK when I sit up front. I was beginning to think my eyes were getting bad, but everything’s fine now.
My eyes are bad, and they’re getting worse. Even from the front seat the teachers’ writing isn’t clear any more, and I have to screw up my eyes to make it out. I can’t see the hymn numbers on the board in church either; it’s just as well Dad prints out music lists for the choir. Worst of all, after school today I had to catch a bus to Chelsea and I could read the route number but not the destination. I never used to have any trouble seeing things like that. I knew a 328 goes to World’s End in Chelsea, so I got on it. Then it turned out it was only going to Notting Hill Gate, so I had to get off there, wait for the next bus and buy another ticket. I asked the driver if he was going to World’s End, and he said, “It says so on the front; can’t you read?” I said, “I couldn’t read that, it was too far away,” and he said, “You need to get glasses then.” I didn’t have an answer to that, but now I know I need them. That’s the first time I’ve ever really admitted I can’t see, even to myself. I don’t mind needing glasses; I’ve always kind of expected it to happen some day. I’ll get Harry Potter frames like Philip’s.
When Dad was in the shower this evening I went into his bedroom and tried his glasses on to see if they would help but I was disappointed, I couldn’t see properly when I put them on. Everything looked really weird and I felt kind of seasick. So maybe that isn’t the answer.
I still haven’t done anything about getting glasses, I don’t know what to do, but my eyes are worse than ever. I can’t read the writing on the board any more, and people are starting to notice, Philip for one. Before morning break today he was sitting next to me, right up in front, and he must have been watching me, cause at the end of the lesson he turned and said, “You know something?” I said, “What’s that?” He said, “You need specs.” “You reckon?” “No question,” he said. “You can’t see the board, can you?” “Not very well.” “Not very well? You were squinting at it just like I did before I got these last year. You’re short sighted like me.” I said, “Well, I was kind of wondering, but I tried my dad’s glasses the other day and they didn’t help, they made it worse.” “What,” he said, ”Those great thick specs your dad wears? You wouldn’t see anything with them, they’re far too strong. Here, try mine.” He took his glasses off and handed them over. I felt kind of shy about putting them on, but I thought what the hell, I know I need glasses so I may as well see what it’s like, so I put them on and sure enough, everything was quite a bit clearer. I said, “Hey, that’s cool, I can see a lot better.” “Knew you would,” said Philip. “You’ve got to get your own.” “So where do I get them from?” “My dad took me to Shakespeare’s; he was at school with Will Shakespeare and they really know their stuff, plus they understand people, uh, like us.” I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but there was nobody else in the room and as we left he definitely, deliberately, put his hand on my backside; it felt really nice, and I put on a girly voice and said, “Stop, I like it!” so he laughed and did it again but this time he gave it a squeeze. Is he gay like me? Is that what he meant about them understanding people like us? Does he fancy me like I fancy him? It would be lovely if he did.
Dad’s noticed too! This evening I was pretending to read a book and wondering how to bring up the subject when he said, “Hey black boy,” (I like it when he calls me that, it usually means he has something important to say but I’m not in trouble) “How long is it since you had an eye test?” I said, “I think the last time Mam took me to Lizar’s was when I was twelve.” “Twelve?” he said. “And now you’re nearly sixteen. Anyway I’ve been watching you and if you didn’t need glasses back then I’m pretty sure you do now.” “Well Dad,” I said, “I was going to talk to you about that, cause I can’t see the board in class any more, or the hymn board in church, or even where a bus is going. My neighbour let me try his glasses this morning, and I could see a lot better with them.” “OK; I was hoping your eyes wouldn’t be bad like mine but I guess there wasn’t much chance.” “Philip says Shakespeare’s is a good place to get glasses.” “Shakespeare’s?” said Dad, “There was a guy called Shakespeare in my class at school, right little nancy boy he was too; he wanted to be an optometrist, so maybe he’s gone into business. Let’s go there anyway; I’ll get my eyes checked too cause I’m getting some problems.” So he got on the phone and we’ve both got appointments after school on Thursday,
Then this afternoon we had a different teacher for Latin; Mr Hopkinson’s off sick and this retired teacher called Miss Baxter has come in to help out. She wrote up a lot of verbs that we were supposed to conjugate. When it came to my turn I couldn’t make out what she was pointing to; I screwed up my eyes and she said, “Where are your spectacles, boy?” I said, “Please Miss, I don’t have spectacles.” “Don’t you?” she said. “Well, isn’t it time you had?” “Yes, Miss,” I said, “I think so. I’m getting my eyes tested tomorrow and I expect I’ll get some after that.” When we got in the car to go home Dad said, “Old Miss Baxter caught me in the staff room and tore me off a strip because you haven’t got glasses; she said, ‘Peter Fraser, why is your son not wearing spectacles when it’s perfectly obvious he needs them?’ I said, ‘Well, I’m taking him for a test tomorrow because he seems to be getting a bit short sighted.’ ‘Getting a bit short sighted?’ she said. ‘The boy is as blind as a bat!’ It was like being back in her class 25 years ago!”
Well, I’ve had the eye test and my glasses will be ready tomorrow. I need them cause I’m short sighted—I knew that of course and so did everybody else, but now it’s official. Mr Johnson (the optometrist) did the test and gave me the result. Dad’s getting new glasses too; Mr Shakespeare did his test (yes, they were at school together) and I went to this guy called Mr Johnson, but he said I could call him Ben. He’s not very tall, with red hair, and he wears round glasses with gold frames, not bad looking but not the proper Harry Potter kind. Before I went in to see him the boy on reception got me to look in a machine called an autorefractor; it whirred and clicked a bit and then spat out a piece of paper. He looked at it and said, “Do you have your present glasses with you?” I said, “No, sorry, I don’t have glasses yet; I’m here because everybody says I need them, and I think I do too.” “Oh, I see. Well, I think you’re going to see a lot better when you get them.” When I went in to Mr Johnson he looked at the printout from the autorefractor and said, “Well darling, you seem to be quite short sighted; I guess you know you need glasses without me telling you. Let’s look into your eyes.” He took his own glasses off, shone a light into my eyes and made me look in all different directions and said, “Yes, your eyes are healthy, just no good at long distances.” Then he put a funny-looking frame on my face (he said it was called a trial frame) and got me trying to read different sized letters while he put different lenses in the frame. When he’d done this with both eyes, one at a time, he uncovered both eyes and let me see how things would look through my glasses, and everything was really, really clear. Then he said, “Tell me dear, how long have you been having trouble seeing?” I said, “Well, I’m pretty sure I was seeing OK before the summer holidays, and last term I could read the board from the front row in class, but not any more.” He said, “The reason I’m asking is that your glasses are going to be kind of strong for a first pair. So I’m guessing that your vision had deteriorated quite a bit before you noticed it. Either that or your problems have come on suddenly. You’re at the age when you grow pretty fast, and if your eyeballs grow longer at the same time that makes you short sighted, so it’s possible. If your eyes have changed as fast as that they’ll probably go on changing, and it won’t be long before you need stronger glasses; so we’ll get you to come back for another test in six months. It would really make sense to wear your glasses all the time. You may not want to do that right away, but I’m pretty sure you’ll soon find you need them all the time, and when your eyes get worse you’ll be completely dependent.”
I have to collect my glasses after school; I didn’t know how long they would take, but they told me they often have them ready in an hour, only me and Dad had our tests too late in the afternoon for that. We both had to choose frames: Dad’s having fancy fashion frames and wanted me to get the same kind of thing but I’m getting the Harry Potter frames I’ve wanted since long before I met Philip. Dad doesn’t like them; he said, “When I was your age we wouldn’t have been seen dead wearing glasses like those;” but I said, “Look Dad, that was then, this is now. I want Harry Potter glasses, they’re cool, they’re fashionable, and it’s me that’s got to wear them. And my friend Philip wears that kind of glasses.” So he let me have my way, but he said, “Who’s this Philip? Some boy you fancy?” “His name’s Philip Tudor, he’s new like me, and we get on really well together.” “Tudor? I had a friend at school called Andrew Tudor. Come to think of it we both started wearing glasses about the same time. I wonder if he’s any relation.” “I don’t know; Philip says his dad and Mr Shakespeare were at school together.” “Sounds like it then; we’ll have to see.”
I’ve got my glasses and I can see such a lot better! I knew my eyes were bad, but I’d no idea how bad till I walked out of Shakespeare’s with my glasses on. I can’t remember ever seeing this good, it’s almost frightening how clear things are. I feel like I’ve been living in a haze all my life, or for ages anyway. I wonder if I should wear them all the time like Ben Johnson said or be like Philip and just put them on to see the board and things like that. I like the way they look too; Dad doesn’t, but like I told him it’s me that’s got to wear them, not him.
Dad’s new glasses have a line across each lens cause they’re bifocals. He says now he’s over forty his distance glasses are too strong to see close up and he needs a weaker bit of the lens for reading. That’s why he used to take his glasses off to read. He says it happens to everybody in the end and I’ll probably need them when I’m his age.
I asked Dad how much he thinks I should wear my glasses. He said, “Well, son, I’m not the best person to advise you about that. When I got my first pair I only wore them for driving lessons, and sometimes at home to watch TV, cause I didn’t want anybody at school to know I needed them” (I thought, thanks to Miss Baxter everybody in the class knows I need them!), “but I was a bit older than you before I got them, and then they weren’t as strong as yours seem to be. After a while I started to have more trouble seeing without them, and then one day as I finished a driving lesson I met a boy from my class finishing his lesson; and he was taking a pair of glasses off just as I took mine off. (Come to think of it that was Andrew Tudor!) That was the first time either of us knew the other had them. We compared notes and decided we wanted to see better in class, so we both started wearing them in school. I reckon it’s up to you to make up your mind how much to wear them. Just one other thing though: it wasn’t long before I needed stronger glasses and then I had no choice, I was getting so blind I had to wear them all the time.” I said, “OK Dad. They’re sending for me again in six months in case my eyes get worse pretty fast.” “Well, that’s what mine did, I had to keep getting stronger specs regularly for a few years, and look at them now!”
I guess it would make sense to wear my glasses all the time and see clear all the time, but for now I’m going to do what Philip does and put them on in class to see the board. It felt kind of funny walking to school without them after I’d worn them all weekend, but I managed. We were with Miss Machin first period and when she started to write on the board I took them out and put them on (Philip was putting his on at the same time) and it was as clear as anything. After that I kept them on all day and only took them off at lunch time and to go home, except at break time when some guys wanted to try them. Most of them just said things like “My God, these are strong!” or “You must be fucking blind!” Philip said, “Hey, these are a lot stronger than mine, your eyes must be pretty bad, what’s your prescription?” I didn’t know, but he said there would be a slip of paper in the case. I had a look and it said R -2.75 L -2.75. Philip said, “Bloody hell, I’m only -1.25 both eyes, you’re twice as blind as me. Don’t you need them all the time?” “Maybe,” I said. “Let me get used to them and see. Anyway I can see just great with them, I can even see the time on the school clock.” He looked out and said, ”Well, I can’t see that with mine.” Then he looked again through mine and said, “Yeah, I see what you mean, Never mind, I can see all I need to see.” We were last out of the room again, and he squeezed my arse again. I did the same to him, and he turned and took hold of my dick and squeezed that! I was hard before that, but I had to go to the bog and jerk off in case I came in my pants! It wasn’t so easy going home without glasses after I’d had them on all day. Things I used to think I could see OK were all blurry. Maybe I need to wear them all the time. I asked Dad what his glasses prescription is and he said it’s -14 for distance, and 1.5 less for reading and other near stuff. That sounds really strong! We had some test results back today and my French mark wasn’t very good. Dad wasn’t pleased; he said, “Why don’t you watch a film in French with English subtitles?” I said, “I tried that once before, Dad, and it was no good; the subtitles were too small to read.” Dad said, “You didn’t have glasses back then; you didn’t even know you needed them. Try putting them on this time.” I did that, and it made all the difference, I could read the subtitles just fine. So my eyes were getting bad right back then! Problem today. BAD problem. I walked to school without my glasses, same as usual, and when I needed them in class I got the case out—and it was empty! Now I’m used to them I really miss them. The board was just a blur, but Philip was next to me and he pushed his notes across so that I could copy them, so I kind of managed. But then in the afternoon Miss Baxter came in to take the class, and when she saw me squinting at the board she said, “Simon Fraser, where are your spectacles?” I said “Please Miss, when I got to school this morning they weren’t in the case.” “Were they not?” she said. “if your eyes are as bad as they seem to be, shouldn’t you wear them all the time?” “Maybe, Miss.” “If you did that you would see better and there would be no danger of leaving them at home; but how many times do I have to tell people in this school that PERHAPS is a better word than maybe?” Philip said, “Excuse me, Miss; would Simon like to borrow my spectacles? They aren’t as strong as his but they should help a bit.” I took them from him and put them on; same as he said they weren’t really strong enough, but I could see enough to make out what was written up and answer the question. By the time school finished I had a splitting headache from squinting all day; so when I got home I went looking for my glasses and put them on as soon as I found them (same as I thought, they were on my bedside table). When Dad came in he said, “Hey black boy, you’ve got me in trouble again! Miss Baxter tore me off a strip because you weren’t wearing your glasses. Did you leave them at home or something?” I said, “Well Dad, they weren’t in the case when I got to school cause I’d left them on my bedside table, so I’ve been struggling all day. I’ve decided I can’t manage without them any more, so from now on I’m wearing them all day every day, and you’ve got a four-eyed black geek for a son.” “I think that makes good sense,” said Dad, “but it’s just as well you found out for yourself.” When I got up this morning I had a shit, a shave, a shower and a shampoo same as usual (I don’t need to shave every day, cause my hair and my skin are almost the same colour) and then put my glasses on before I went down to breakfast. Dad said, “Hi Foureyes;” I did my best to put on a Kenneth Williams voice and said, “Hark who’s talking!” and we both laughed. I’m really happy wearing my glasses all the time; I can see a lot better, plus Miss Baxter can’t have a go at me for not wearing them. I reckon I should have worn them all the time from the start, I don’t know why I didn’t really. But I can’t make out the time on the school clock any more, so I guess my eyes are getting worse same as Ben Johnson said. I can still see OK in class though. I wish we were allowed to wear glasses in the gym. That way I’d be able to see what Philip looks like without his shirt—and the other boys too of course. I don’t take them off in the changing room till I have to, but I can’t keep them on while I take my shirt off, and it would look a bit weird to put them back on after that, so everything’s all foggy. I introduced Philip to Dad today. Dad was driving me home, and Philip and I were standing talking while I waited for him to pick me up; when the car stopped I said, “Dad, this is my friend Philip Tudor.” “Tudor, is it?” said Dad. “What’s your father’s name?” “Andrew,” said Philip. “Right, and I guess he went to school here: tell him hello for me.” This morning at break time Philip said, “Hey, my dad wants you and your dad to come for supper one night. He says they were in the same class at school.” Could be fun. This evening the phone rang and I answered it. A man’s voice said, “Is that Simon? This is Andrew Tudor; you know my son Philip. Is your father around?” I called Dad and he came to the phone. He said, “Andrew!” and then they talked a bit. Then he came and found me and said, “That’s your friend Philip’s father on the phone. He wants us to go for supper one Friday and then we can stay over so I can have a drink or two without worrying about driving home. How about a week on Friday?” I reckoned that sounded good, so it’s fixed. Great evening with Philip and his dad–and a FANTABULOUS night alone with Philip! We got there about eight; Philip’s dad is a vet and they live in this real big house. When we arrived the two dads gave each other a great big hug and a kiss. There was a kind of a click as their glasses tangled (Mr Tudor wears them too); they both pushed them up into their hair, and Dad said, “Just like the first time.” Didn’t know what he meant by that. Philip winked at me and said, “I’ll show Simon my room, Dad.” That seemed to be OK. Philip has a big room, a kind of bedsit, with a big wide bed and a couch and a TV and a desk with his computer on. He said, “Well, if it’s good for the dads it’s good for the lads,” and took me in his arms and gave me a l-o-n-g kiss. Of course I kissed him back and it all felt so good; I was getting hard and so was he, but then his dad called us to supper. Great meal: mushroom pâté, then a kind of fish pudding made with egg and breadcrumbs (no meat of course, cause it was Friday) with fruit salad to finish, then cheese and biscuits and coffee. The dads drank white wine with the fish, and port with the cheese; me and Philip had cider. After the meal Philip suggested a game of darts, so we went back to his room. He had to put his glasses on to see the board and that was nice for me (of course I wear mine all the time now) but when we’d had enough of that (he beat me hands down) we sat down and he took his glasses off. I said, “Why don’t you keep them on?” “What for?” he said. “Because you’re so fucking hot in specs,” I said. “You just have to look at me through them and I get hard.” “Oh,” he said, “in that case…” and put them back on, looking at me all the time. He put his hand on my dick and I put my hand on his, he was as hard as I was. He unzipped my fly and put his hand in, and I did the same to him. It felt great! I thought he was going to jerk me off, but instead he slid my jeans and my underpants down, took my dick in his mouth, and licked it and sucked it till it exploded, and that was just amazing! Then I did the same to him, and he—well, he seemed to like it OK. After that we sat and talked for a while. His mother is a vet and works with his dad, but they don’t live together. They never got married because Philip's father is gay and his mother is a lesbian, but they wanted a family so they lived together for a while, then when Phil was old enough they moved into separate houses close together. They’re good friends; she cooked our dinner. Presently Philip’s dad came and said he and Dad were going to bed. Was I OK sharing Philip’s room? That was exactly what we wanted but we tried not to show how keen we were. There was a duvet we could put on the couch, but we wanted to share the bed. Philip said, “Hey, my dad told me your dad seduced him when he was 17 and was his first boy friend. Do you think they’re going to sleep together?” We laughed about that and then I said, “Like you said, if it’s good for the dads it’s good for the lads!” So we took our glasses off and got into bed together; I love the way Philip looks in his specs, but there are things they can get in the way of. Besides, we were so close we could see each other just fine without them, I could even see his gorgeous body. Besides, we were putting the light out. We woke up quite early in each other’s arms and played a bit more. We were still playing at about eight when the door opened. Without my glasses all I could see was a blur, but I could tell by the colour that it wasn’t my Dad. Philip gave a bit of a squint and said, “Hi Dad.” Mr Tudor said, “Oh, I didn’t know it was that sort of party.” “Well, you’re not surprised are you?” said Philip. “I told you I fancy Simon, same as you fancy his dad. Did you get him into bed?” “MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS, BOY!” said Mr Tudor, put down two cups of tea, went out and slammed the door. “I don’t reckon he did,” said Philip, “or he would have been looking happier.” OK, so I’ve slept with Philip and we’ve made love. I’m a poof, and I like being a poof. I’m in love with Philip, and he certainly acts like he’s in love with me. Philip came into school this morning wearing his glasses, he’s never done that before. And he kept them on all day. He was still wearing them when we left to go home, and I said, “What’s up, you’ve had your glasses on all day?” “Oh,” he said, “I always thought they were only for seeing better in the distance, but then I heard a rumour I’m fucking hot in them…besides, I’m not seeing so good without them these days.” I’ve had my glasses nearly six months, and I don’t think they’re strong enough any more. I mean, I can still see the board not too bad because I always sit right up front, but things farther away than that aren’t so clear any more, like bus destinations and street names and all that. I’VE BROKEN MY GLASSES! Dad bought me a pair of roller blades for my birthday, but I’m pretty crap on them so far. I’d love to be like the guys who sail along on them, but it’s all I can do to keep my balance; actually a lot of the time it’s more than I can do, and that’s how it was tonight. It might have been more sensible to leave my glasses at home, but I’m getting so blind without them that I kept them on. I was trying to move along on the blades, when my feet went from under me and I fell flat on my face, my glasses fell off and I fell on them, so the frame’s broken and the lenses are scratched all to hell. How the fuck am I going to manage in school? Dad rang Shakespeare’s but it was too late to go tonight; I’ve got to go in the lunch hour tomorrow. School was hell this morning; without my glasses I’m so fucking blind, I can’t see shit. I sat next to Philip and copied his notes (thank goodness we had the same subjects all morning) but I was even having trouble seeing those. At least Miss Baxter wasn’t around to make any of her remarks, she’s retired really, and only comes in to help out, supply they call it. Dad drove me to Shakespeare’s as soon as we broke for lunch, and I got in to Ben Johnson’s office pretty quickly. “Well dear,” he said. “I hear you’ve broken your glasses and you’re up the creek. Let’s see them…oh no, these are beyond repair. OK, it’s just about time for your six month check so let’s get on with it.” We went through all the same routines as last time and at the end he said, “Well, It’s just as well we’ve re-tested you. Even if you hadn’t broken your glasses I’d have been giving you a new prescription because your myopia’s increased, quite a lot really. I’d normally be advising you to keep your old glasses for emergencies, but they’re too badly smashed up, so you’ll want two new pairs; you really do need a spare in case of any more accidents. We’ll have them ready for you to collect after school.” I went out to the shop to look at frames. Dad wanted me to get fancy fashion frames like his but I still like the Harry Potter style, so me and him nearly had a fight, but I stuck to my guns. Harry Potter glasses are my thing, but this time I’m getting the kind that wrap round my ears so that they’ll stay on better for rollerblading and things like that. They showed me a frame with white plastic round the lenses instead of black, and I decided to have that for my second pair. Then Mr Bacon said, “Look, maybe we can lend you a pair of glasses for the afternoon.” Apparently they collect used specs for the third world, and after two or three attempts they found a pair I could see pretty good with, so I wore them in school all afternoon even though they were stronger than I’m used to. Guess what, they had fancy fashion frames, the kind of thing Dad likes. No sense in trying to do without them, but when Philip saw them he raised his eyebrows and said, “Gone for a different image have we?” I said, “No, this is a spare pair they’ve lent me, the others aren’t ready, they’re like my old ones, only stronger.” He wanted to know how strong, but I had to tell him to wait till I get them. I can see just great with my new glasses. The old ones weren’t bad, but these are a lot better. Just shows how much worse my eyes have got in a few months. The new ones that wrap round my ears are even better than the first ones. The white frames are kind of fun, cause they show up against my dark skin. Philip asked again about the prescription and I was able to tell him: -4.25, same in both eyes. “Great Scott!” he said. “You’ll soon be in coke bottles like your dad!” I noticed today that Philip was squinting at the board, even though he was wearing his glasses like he always is these days. Time for a stronger prescription I guess. I didn’t say anything but I’ll keep watching him. At break time he said, “Fuck you, I hate you.” “Hey, what have I done?” I said. “I used to be able to see OK without my specs, but now you’ve got me wearing them all the time I can’t see shit without them. Come to that I’m not seeing so good with them any more.” “Well, maybe your eyes have got worse, like mine.” “Yeah, I guess.” I was right. Philip came into school this morning, wearing his glasses as usual, made a beeline for me, and said, “You were right, I need stronger glasses.” Well I wasn’t surprised cause he’s been squinting such a lot, but I said “Really?” “Yeah.” he said. “I’ll be 17 a week on Friday (you’ve got to come round that night) and then I can start learning to drive. Well, my dad got his first specs cause he couldn’t pass the vision test, and he wanted to make sure I could. So we went out and he wanted me to read this number plate on a car that looked like it was about half a mile away. I could no more read it than fly in the air but he swore it was only about 50 feet away, so I’m off to Shakespeare’s on Saturday for a test and new specs. What kind of frames should I get? I want to make sure you still think I’m hot in them, cause I need them all the time now.” “Well, what’s wrong with Harry Potter glasses? I think you’re as hot in those as anybody could be.” “Well…do you want to come with me on Saturday and help me choose?” “Why not? might be fun.” So I’m going to Shakespeare’s with him on Saturday. His appointment’s at ten thirty. Funny thing: I’m going to Shakespeare’s with Philip on Saturday and this morning I got a postcard saying it’s time for my next test. So I phoned in and got an appointment for the same day at ten forty-five…I think I need stronger glasses again, things in the distance aren’t clear any more. Well! Me and Philip got the tube to Shakespeare’s OK. After we’d been checked wih the autorefractor we took our places in the waiting area; a voice said, “Morning children,” and when we looked round there was a guy from school called Adrian Scott. He’s a year above us, but we know him cause he’s in the choir…he has a lovely bass voice. “Come to get tested?” he asked. “How did you guess?” said Philip. “I need new specs before I can get driving lessons, and Simon’s here for his six-monthly test. What about you? Have you got bad eyes? Will you have to get specs?” “Have I got bad eyes?” said Adrian. “Me? Oh, but of course, you two are kind of new at school so you weren’t around before I got contact lenses. I tell you, you don’t know what bad eyes are! I have what they call pathological myopia. I got my first glasses when I was little; they’ve been getting stronger ever since and they have to keep checking for complications—none so far, thank God. At least with contacts I don’t look so fucking weird. I had a test last month and got new contacts, but I can’t wear them all day every day so I need new glasses as well. It’s taken till now to make them and I’m here to collect them. I’m going to put them on when I get them, so you’ll see what I mean.” Just then Philip was called in for his test and me and Adrian sat a few minutes more. I wanted to know what it was like wearing contact lenses and Adrian said with eyes as bad as his he can see better than with glasses, but they get uncomfortable if he wears them too long so he changes into glasses when he gets home. But since he got his new contacts his vision with his old glasses hasn’t been so good so he’s worn contacts more, and now he’s looking forward to getting his new glasses and giving his eyes a rest. He was starting to tell me about the complications that can develop when they called me in. When I got in Ben Johnson looked at the autorefractor printout and said, “Well love, we seem to have another increase here, but let’s get on with the test.” Sure enough the test showed that I need stronger glasses again – I wasn’t too surprised, cause things in the distance have been getting blurry. Ben said, “Well, Simon love, I’m a bit concerned about the way your eyesight keeps on getting worse. Your first glasses weren’t exactly weak, and your prescription’s more than doubled in a year: you’re up to minus 5.75. I want you to change into your old glasses whenever you spend a long time reading or on the computer,” When I went back out Philip was sitting talking to a guy wearing the thickest glasses I’ve ever seen. When I looked again I realized it was Adrian! His specs have little circles in the middle of the lenses; he says they’re called myodiscs and they’re made like that to keep the weight down. His prescription’s -29—and I thought my eyes were bad! He left after a few minutes—apparently he can drive OK with his glasses on. I’m glad I just have ordinary progressive myopia! So me and Philip headed for the racks of frames. I’m really happy with my Harry Potter glasses, and his too, but he seems to want a change, “Hang on a minute,” I said. “I need a second pair for emergencies; how about you?” “Well, there’s a thought,” said Philip. “I’m a lot blinder than I was, so maybe I should have a spare pair too,” “What’s your prescription now?” “Uh, -3.” “Great Scott, no wonder you can’t see!” So that settled it; we each need a spare pair, and we both decided to have one pair of the old familiar Harry Potter style, and one quite different. Philip said, “Hey, I’ve got an idea. These specs we’re wearing, they’re like Daniel Radcliffe wears in the Harry Potter films, right?” “Right.” ‘Well, I saw some shots of the film he’s going to be in where he plays Allen Ginsberg, he wears tortoiseshell frames and looks really good in them. I fancy trying that kind.” I wasn’t too sure but Philip insisted on trying them, and they certainly looked OK on him. I tried on the same kind of frame, but I didn’t like the effect and neither did Philip. In the end I went for a frame the same shape, but kind of clear white, so it shows up against my skin. Philip thinks they look OK, so that’s all right. When we got our new glasses I was amazed how much better I could see, but then it was the same last time. Philip said the same. He had glasses long before me but this is only his second pair. It’s not long since he started wearing them full time, but he really seems to need them. When we got them and put them on Philip looked at me and said, “Hey, your new specs are pretty thick.” When I looked in the mirror I could see what he meant; the side of my face looks smaller through the lenses, and there are white rings round the edge, same as Dad’s glasses but not nearly so many. I said, “Well I’m sorry love, but I’m getting so blind I can’t see anything without thick specs.” Philip said, “Don’t worry, they make you hotter than ever!” So that’s all right. Philip’s birthday. He’s 17 now and can start driving lessons, and we’re going round tonight for supper and staying the night. When we got home from school Dad said, “The last time we went to the Tudors Andrew told me you and Philip were in bed together when he took you a cup of tea.” “That’s right Dad, I’m in love with Philip and he’s in love with me. Anyway, he told me you seduced his dad when you were both 17. He says his dad still fancies you and wants you to go to bed with him again.” “Oh he does, does he?” So I was none the wiser. But then Dad cleared his throat a couple of times and said, “Simon love, what would you think if I did go to bed with Andrew Tudor?” I didn’t know what to say, but I thought for a minute and then said, “I reckon if it’s good for the lads it’s good for the dads. I’ve got a boy friend so I don’t see why you shouldn’t have one, and it’ll be nice to, like, keep it in the family.” Dad looked pretty gobsmacked, and then he took me in his arms and hugged me and kissed me over and over again. Then he stopped and squinted at me. “Black boy, your glasses get thicker and thicker. I think you’re heading for coke bottles like mine.” “Yes Dad, I think so too. The optometrist wants me to change into my old glasses if I have to spend a long time reading or on the computer, or else I could get bifocals.” “Bifocals? At your age?” “That’s what he said. He thinks doing a lot of close work with my full correction could be making me more short sighted.” “What do you think about that?” “Well, he’s the expert. I don’t mind wearing thick glasses; Philip reckons they make me hotter than ever, but I still don’t want to get any blinder than I have to.” Another wonderful evening—and a fabulous night with Philip! When we got into bed we hugged and kissed a bit, and played with each other’s dicks, and then he said, “Darling, would you fuck me?” Well, I’d never done that before—of course, he’s the only guy I’ve ever had—but I said I’d have a go. He got a tube of lubricant stuff, and rubbed that on my dick, and that felt so good, I got really hard. The he turned over on his front. We’d both taken our glasses off when we got into bed, but I’m so fucking blind I had to put mine back on to see what I was doing. Getting in was kind of difficult, but it felt really good to me, and Philip said it was great for him as well. So I said, “Are you going to do it to me?” “If you want,’ he said. So I rubbed his dick with the stuff, took my glasses off, and turned over. He didn’t need his glasses, he’s nowhere near as blind as me. I’ve never felt anything like it, it was fabulous! I’ve only had these glasses four months and they’re too weak already! I’ll be 17 in a few weeks, so I can start learning to drive. On the way home this afternoon Dad stopped the car and said, “Just to make sure your vision’s OK for starting to drive, read me the number of that car that’s parked ahead.” Well, I couldn’t, could I? I could see the number plate, but I couldn’t make out everything on it. “Oh dear,” said Dad. “Looks like you need new glasses before you start driving lessons.” So I rang Shakespeare’s when I got home and got an appointment for Saturday morning. Of course I knew I’d need stronger glasses, but I got a bit of a shock at the size of the increase; in just four months I’ve gone from -5.75 to -7.5! Ben Johnson said, “Look darling, I want to slow these increases down. You must change into your old glasses whenever you’re going to read for a long time or work on the computer.’ So now I have -7.5 both eyes, and I can start my driving lessons after my birthday.
As usual I had to get two pairs; the glasses I was wearing are quite new, but I have to keep a pair for near work; I’ve kept my round white frame for that, and I’ve got the new prescription in my plastic frame and in a new Harry Potter frame. I can see number plates OK, and reading is a bit easier with my old specs.
Uncle Andrew and Philip invited us to their place for my birthday so that Philip’s mum could cook for us. Great meal, as usual, and a great night in bed with Philip. We decided not to fuck this time, but to try a sixty-nine, sucking one another’s dicks at the same time. That was another new experience, and we really enjoyed it. When we woke up Philip got on top of me, held our two dicks together, and jerked us both off. That was really exciting!
My driving test was today, and I failed before I started; my eyes are worse AGAIN! So it looks like it’s new glasses AGAIN!
When I got to Shakespeare’s the boy on reception said, “Mr Johnson has asked Mr Shakespeare to see you this morning.” I hadn’t met Mr Shakespeare before; I’ve seen him around, and I know he was at school with Dad and Uncle Andrew. When I went in he and Ben Johnson were both waiting. He said, “So you’re Peter Fraser’s son? Let’s see how much you can see.” So we went through all the usual routine. Ben said, “It’s no time since I gave him -7.5, and now he seems to need another -1.5. A real case of galloping myopia; do you think bifocals will help?” Mr Shakespeare said, “Well, they may help and they certainly won’t do any harm. You know, I think Simon would be a good patient for your research.” Then he turned to me. “Simon, I want to talk to you. Come to my office where we’ll be more comfortable.” So we went into another room with a desk and easy chairs. Mr Shakespeare said, “This will take a bit of time, Simon. I expect you know your father and I go back a long way; we were in the same class at school. I remember when he got his first glasses; more than that, I remember the day he first discovered he needed them. I was the first kid in our class to get glasses; I had to get them them before I could start drivng lessons. My first pair was quite weak, and of course everybody in the class tried them on. I watched them, and I could see that two boys got a shock when they discovered how much better they could see though them. One of them was your father, the other was Andrew Tudor. Neither of them got glasses right way; they were a few months younger than me and it was only when they were about to turn 17 and start driiving that they did anything about it. I had a Saturday job at the local optician’s shop, so I was in the know, but of course I was bound to keep patient information confidential. In due course each of them came in on a Saturday morning to collect his glasses, your father first and Andrew a few weeks later. Oddly enough they both had the same prescription, -1.25 in each eye, but they didn’t start wearing their glasses in school for a while. Then one morning when the teacher started to write on the board they grinned at each other, took their glasses out and put them on. Turned out they’d met at the driving school when they were both wearing them. They fancied each other something rotten, but each of them thought glasses would put the other off him and each of them was that little bit too short sighted to see the way the other looked at him. That’s all background, but now I’m coming to the point. It seemed like no time at all before your dad needed stronger glasses; I think he had two big increases in a year. So obviously he’s passed the gene for high myopia on to you. You had to get your first glasses at an earlier age than he did, and they were stronger than his first ones; and you’ve had a sizeable increase every few months. So what I really want to tell you is that you mustn’t be surprised if you need glasses even stronger than his before the increases slow down and stop. In the meantime, I wonder if you would be willing to co-operate with Ben’s research programme. He’s investigating cases of progressive myopia like you seem to have, and you would be an ideal subject. What we would ask you to do is to come in every month for a check of how much your myopia is increasing and whether you’re developing any complications, which I don’t think you will, but of course you need to be aware that with high myopia like you seem to be developing there’s a risk of a detached retina if you hit your head on anything. From your point of view the advantage is that your prescription will always be up-to-date (so you’ll be OK driving) and if any complications do develop they’ll be dealt with promptly. And of course there’ll be no charge for new glasses unless you choose wildly expensive frames, which you’ve shown no sign of so far. What do you think?” “Well,” I said, “it seems to me I’ve got nothing to lose and a lot to gain.” “Right; that’s settled. But listen, I’ve got another idea. We have a vacancy for a Saturday boy on reception. Would you be interested?” “Can I think about that and let you know?” “Of course, but don’t hang about too long.”
Then it was time to choose frames; but again it’s such a short time since I had new ones that they put my new lenses into the frames I’ve got already; and now that I’m in bifocals I don’t have to worry about keeping my last pair for near work.
The more I think about it the more I like the idea of working at Shakespeare’s on Saturdays. I’ve always enjoyed a game of rugby, but for one thing I’m too fucking blind now, and for another I don’t want detached retinas. Then of course it could be a nice little earner.
I really enjoy my Saturday job at Shakespeare’s, and I’m starting to think I might go in for optometry. I should get the A-levels OK, and the work is really interesting, I’m getting quite good at adjusting frames; and besides there are some really good looking boys come in (not many girls for some reason!) Then I have my check-up with Ben each month. It seems like my eyes are getting about -0.25 worse a month. If I go on like this I’ll soon be wearing stronger glasses than Dad: -15 by the time I’m 19 and and -21 when I’m 21! Ben says the increases usually slow down and stop by the time you’re 25—but by that time I could still be over -30, worse even than Adrian is!
Five years later
It’s a long time since I wrote anything here. Philip and I have both graduated: I’m an optometrist and he’s a vet like his dad, and our civil partnership is next week…our two dads have been in a civil partnership for a couple of years, and we’re all living together in their big house. The government has all these plans for same-sex marriage, but we’re not interested: marriage is for a man and a woman.
My eyes are worse than they were when I was at school, but not as bad as they might have been. The increases slowed down when I was about 19, and I’m only -17.75 so far. Funny thing, my two eyes have stayed the same all through, and I’ve never had any astigmatism. Phil loves my thick glasses, and if I want to wind him up all I have to do is mention contact lenses! His eyes are nowhere near as bad as mine: I did his last test and he’s crept up to -5.25! We’ve both gone in for rimless glasses; mine are round ones, kind of like Steve Jobs used to wear…they’re not too different from my old favourite Harry Potter style.
https://vision-and-spex.com/more-ado-about-nothing-t414.html