Usual Disclaimer: If you are not of an age to read this because of the laws of your country or district please desist. If you are a bigot or prod-nosed fundamentalist of any persuasion find your monkey-spanking literature elsewhere and keep your predilections and opinions to yourself. Everyone else welcome and comments more than welcome.
This is a very long tale. It unfolds over a good number of years. What is true, is true: what is not is otherwise.
ALADDIN'S AWAKENING
By
Joel
CHAPTER 49
Part One
How the Years Fly - September 1950 - July 1951
The first months in Paris flew by. I was so busy with reading, writing notes, attending seminars and lectures and coaching four young students for their English exams. My supervisor - not really, but my guide into the mysteries of the University and the Bibliotheque Nationale where I did most of my research, was a lecturer at the Sorbonne, M. LeClerq. He was another small, dark-haired, beetle-browed, chain-smoking Frenchman. I was in his good books straight away when I presented him with packets of Craven A cigarettes - 'good for the throat' it said on the packet. He had an ironic sense of humour and spoke good English though I tried my best to always talk in French to him. He was rather impressed that I was living with the LaRivieres and said he would make a point of interviewing young Daniel himself for a place in the department he was associated with.
I must say I was lucky with my research. I had decided to look at English influences on three particular French writers. When browsing at the Bib Nat, as I reduced the name, I came across a cache of letters to one of the authors from two Englishmen who had admired his work. From further reading I found this particular gentleman had then plagiarised great sections from a book published in England by an obscure author. He had translated the work and passed it off as his own. A real English influence! This story would make a good chapter for me and a possible article for publication!!
Although I ate with the family regularly I saw very little of Daniel the first few weeks. He was up and away to the Lycee early in the morning and two afternoons a week went to fencing classes. When at home he seemed to lock himself away in his room. I bumped into him sometimes in the corridor when I went to the bog for a pee and I had the feeling that he sometimes lurked in the corridor just at the moment when I was returning from the bathroom clad only in a towel round my waist. I did spend two hours with him each Saturday morning going over his work he was doing in the English course for his Baccalaureate. He wasn't bad and about halfway through the term he did come along to my room to ask questions during the week from then on. He seemed rather a lonely lad but I was busy and too work-obsessed to make more time to interact with him. Actually, as the term went on I realised he was really a very nice person. Any initial reserve was shyness of a sort.
Madame, or Maman, as she insisted I called her, was stupendous. She had a great sense of humour and kept her husband from getting too stuffy and self-important. He also was a kind man. We discussed all sorts of topics over dinner in the evenings. I learned a lot about French politics, but nothing about the war. I knew from bits of conversation that the family had moved out of Paris during the war and went to live at their country house. I didn't know where and I didn't know what he did during the war, other than he was in charge of supplies, under the Germans, for part of a 'Departement'. I thought it politic not to enquire further. I did meet two of the sisters and their husbands. All very formal - the husbands were civil servants too and, obviously, had to treat father-in-law with respect and a bit of deference. I had a long chat with one, Henri-Claud, and he relaxed more and more as we talked over the after dinner brandy and he did let out that Monsieur had to keep quiet about Julien during the war and the Germans never knew he had a son in England. I went one Sunday for lunch with Henri-Claud and his wife, Madeleine, with Daniel as well, and we had a most convivial time. Daniel was the baby of the family and had been loved and cosseted by his much older sisters. They had a son, Henri-Albert, aged five and a real little ball of fire, keeping 'mes oncles', Daniel and Jacques, rushing around the park we visited.
Julien turned up with Matt in tow the Sunday before I was due to return to England for Christmas. Matt was on leave and wasn't coming back to England until the Saturday before Christmas Day and he and Julien were going to stay at the flat in Paris. Matt's French was now extremely good. He had completed the Signals course and was waiting to see what his next posting might be. He was also up for promotion to full Lieutenant in January. I noted that Julien and Matt were eyed very closely by young Daniel.
Christmas 1950
On arrival in England I went straight to Cambridge and spent two days there reporting back to Dr Blake. He was intrigued about my finding the letters and suggested I wrote a paper on this over the vacation and send it for publication. Little did he know I had already sketched out quite a long article on this finding and all I had to do was to find a typist! I had really worked hard also on another concerning the plagiarised book! Must see if editors of learned journals might be interested.
I called in on Ma and Pa and spent a night at the flat. Ma was having great success with her books and there was a hint one might become a screen play for a film. I hesitated to think who might play Inspector Buck and wondered if the actor would be anything like his possible real-life counterpart. She presented me with a copy of Aunt Della's latest 'bodice- ripper', as Pa called it. 'Not the thing for young, innocent boys to read' was his comment. I asked him if was suitable for aged roues as he must have read it to pass such an opinion. He chuntered on about getting old with upstart twentyone-year-old sons to contend with. Actually, both Ma's latest, "The Bellingham Conundrum", and Aunt Della's "He Only Thought of Her" were quite entertaining reads. How Ma knew about, or invented, city low- life I didn't know and Aunt Della's description of the 'bodice-ripping' was rather graphic though veiled in allusions. I got the feeling that Pa was right as any bright sixteen-year-old reading those pages would have plenty of images to aid his masturbatory fantasies, as long as he was into girls!
Kerslake was a hive of activity. Mr Marcham, or Gerald, as he insisted I called him, had bought a much bigger house. Mrs Marcham, I could never get used to calling her Helen, (especially after Tony said she had 'lunched a thousand chips'), was not too pleased. She liked her old house but it was Gerald now with the 'airs and graces'. Actually I sided with him. The intended new house was very spacious, big rooms and set in a well-tended garden. The only thing was, the nearest neighbour was old Colonel Osbourne. I bumped into Josh when I cycled round to the place to measure up one of the bedrooms for carpet and curtains.
"Gosh, fancy seeing you here," he said. "Sorry about Kats, great girl.
Bella was devastated." We shook hands. "How are the boys?" he went on. I had to stop myself from launching into a laudatory diatribe and just said they were wonderful. "Heard about Sam?" he asked. I shook my head. "Stupid bugger's in the glasshouse. Signed on as his mum and dad were fed up with him and he told the Sergeant-Major where he could stick his pacestick. They'd found he'd been pinching stuff around the barracks and selling it or pawning it. Rumour was he'd been selling his hole as well. Nasty piece of work!" Here was fraud incarnate inveighing against his delinquent cousin. "Just been to console the old boy. He thought Sam was a little treasure." He leaned over to me in a confidential manner. "Needn't have to tell you the little sod was servicing Ozzy regularly when the pair of them were home on leave."
"I thought that was your role at school," I said without thinking.
Josh nearly dropped the cigarette he was holding. "The little bastard!
I'll kill the little fucker when I get my hands on him!" He calmed down and grinned at me. "Yeah, true! Boys' school. Horny youths - and there was no one hornier than Ozzy! Had to do as we were told with the older ones, but Ozzy was OK. Kept the others off us and what we did was gratitude, really. God! Some of those other fuckers had two or three kids a night! Most of the kids couldn't stop pooping themselves by the middle of term! Chesters, our head cubby boss in the House, used to say we should have been a Naval school and the older lads would all be ABs twice over - Able-Bodied Arsehole Bandits!"
Josh was in a revelatory mood. Would I hear more? He must have gone up the school and become an old lag, or whatever, himself. Had he fitted his not inconsiderable 'todger' in some accommodating warm hole in his turn? I couldn't imagine him just doing five finger exercises on the skin-flute, as I'd heard it described by one of our choral scholars in the bar one night. No, the subject was changed. He wanted to know why I was visiting the empty house. I told him about the purchase by Mr Marcham. Of course, the farm he was beginning to manage was bought with the benefit of Mr Marcham's expertise. He'd done his agricultural course and was building up stock and sorting the rundown place out. I was invited to take the boys out to see the animals. He hadn't seen much of his brother Jim recently. He still had another year or so to do at Vet College and then he was joining his uncle Lawrence's practice. That reminded me I hadn't heard anything about Big Jim from Tony lately. Must ask!
Josh had followed me into the house and was very useful in holding the tape measure. There were a few other revelations. Bella had been instructed by her mother to keep the chinless wonder happy as his mother was being inveigled to add some money to the pot for the riding stable, which incidentally was going great guns. I said his reputation had sunk when the lads had examined him as he was assumed to be extremely well-hung. Josh laughed and said he knew about him and his left bollock was sometimes the size of an orange because he'd had an operation when a kid which had upset the drainage and his ball kept swelling up after that. He said Bella was really keen on some medical student. Ah! That must be Nobbo! Things were falling into perspective. I wondered if Bella knew Nobbo was being paid to wank?
Mr Marcham arranged for one of his typists to deal with my two articles. She was good and got all the French quotations correct. I had to add all the accents by hand and decided I'd better learn to type and get a French typewriter. A task for next term.
Tony was also very busy scribbling. His BPhil was going to be on nineteenth century novels with an ecclesiastical theme. His love of Trollope had fired that. He was reading about one book a day and kept a running list of the most inane and unintentionally funny quotes. He also said he'd got the main part of a novel mapped out in his head.
My sex life was running at zero level other than the incessant urge to relieve myself at least once daily. It was awkward at Kerslake. Tony was back in his own room and although we spent a great deal of time together when not working there was no sexual activity. There was much unspoken intimacy as we both treasured and cherished our friendship. I also had my boys to cherish and keep me on the straight and narrow. Francis was now two and a bit and was demanding all the time. He clung to me as soon as I arrived back and wanted constant attention. It was a good job Tony and I weren't sleeping together as invariably at six o'clock in the morning I would be awoken by a small person trying to crawl into my bed. We slept contentedly together usually until eight o'clock unless he wanted to play and I had to get up and find a truck or a train engine and make the appropriate noises. At two and a bit he was a real chatterer and I taught him his first words of French!
James at a year and a bit was very curious about the world. He crawled on his backside and tried to emulate his older brother. Francis was very gentle with him and only protested when James clung defiantly to any toy he desperately needed. Two year olds maintain they need something most of the time.
I had been paid rather handsomely, I thought, for the two translations I had done for Mr Blane. He said there was another in the pipeline and if I was agreeable a contract could be drawn up. I agreed. It meant I had a bit of money, plus what I had left over after buying Madame flowers to be delivered at Christmas and wine for Monsieur on Daniel's recommendation. Actually, I wasn't too badly off. Monsieur would take nothing from me for living at the house. I had arranged with the Bursar of the college to have the living accommodation part of my grant paid into a special account in Madame's name.
So, honour was served. For Daniel's help in choosing the wines I had taken him to a shop just off the Champs Elysee and let him chose a 'blouson' I knew he'd set his heart on. His triple goodbye kiss as I left to return to England could have been construed as rather ardent - but I used no tongue when I returned it!
New Year 1951
Christmas came and went. The nursemaid went to her own home for Christmas and New Year and I think I did pretty well - with help from Mrs Marcham and a complaining but compliant Tony - in keeping the boys clean, tidy and amused until she returned. Tony and I then took the opportunity for a couple of days at Ulvescott. Poor Bran was truly on his last legs. He didn't even come to welcome us but lay on blankets near the Aga in the kitchen most of the time. We sat and hugged him with Finbar watching. His poor old eyes were filmy but he knew us and licked our hands as we stroked him and talked to him. Finbar was so attentive to him. I saw him push the water bowl closer to him on one occasion and lay beside him as if to warm him.
We visited Lady Bing and the Duchess. Lady Bing looked so old now - she was about ninety-six we thought - but she had all her marbles. Tim and his girlfriend, Maureen, had visited them just before Christmas so she was full of how well he was doing.
I had to play and was instructed to have further piano lessons, especially as I was in Paris. I heard all about the Conservatoire in the late 1800's and early 1900's and how she had sung at a salon when Chausson was present. She reminisced that she had been born before Debussy and had known him as a young man when he returned from Rome. I said she should write her memoirs but she said her diaries carried her memories. She was truly a remarkable woman.
Tony and I slept together and I was able, once again, to love someone completely. Tony again said he valued my companionship and he had often thought of me even when he'd been with his friend Perce. He said he'd been very friendly this term with an African student and he was going to pursue this friendship more when he returned to Cambridge. I said he probably only wanted to find out if the rumours about black men were true. He said it wasn't that, although he'd love to find out, but he was genuinely fond of the lad. Tony was still searching.
1951
I said cheerio again to the boys and left for Paris on Monday the eighth of January with frost and snow and a rough sea for the crossing. I was glad to reach the warmth and renewed hospitality of the LaRiviere household. I was also eager to get on with my work and had sent Dr Blake the two completed and typed up articles to read and criticise.
Daniel greeted me as soon as I arrived at the house laden with my bags.
He seemed pleased to see me and helped me carry my bags up to my room. He stayed and chatted quite animatedly and I found it good as it got me back into thinking completely in French. I had brought him two books on London and said once he'd finished his examinations this year I would take him back and he could stay with my mother and father.
"And you?" he asked.
I wondered about that. There was something in his tone. I said my mother would be there as I had to travel to Cambridge and then to Kerslake to be with my sons.
"I would like you to show me London," he said, carefully, in English.
"I expect that could be arranged," I said, also in English, and added, "For a small fee!"
He looked puzzled, then realised it was rhetorical, an English saying. He smiled. "Whatever you charge."
He rather dogged my footsteps when we were both at home. Again, I was sure he lurked in the corridor and one morning he came into the bathroom - I never locked the door as we were the only ones on the third floor - while I was washing. I was, as usual, in the nude and I could see in the mirror above the washbasin that he took a deliberate look at my physique, my back, before he apologised and left.
One extra item on my agenda was that Madame arranged for me to have some piano lessons with the organist of their church. He was a blind man who amazed me with his musical knowledge and keen ear and, also, his ability to get around without bumping into things. I had decided I would try for a music diploma once back in England.
It would give me the incentive to work at my playing. He said I should think first of the enjoyment of playing and, I must say, with his help and encouragement I felt I was improving. He had masses of music both in braille and in ordinary books. At the end of each lesson he got me to sight read a piece I hadn't played before and so introduced me to a range of works, mainly by French composers, which was fascinating.
I was also concerned about my general fitness. Jem had laughed when he found my weights in my bedroom at Clare. I had used them assiduously each day and I guessed he and Sam had tried them out as they were invariably moved when I inspected my bedroom after their sessions. I had brought the small weights with me after Christmas and I wondered if Daniel thought my panting as I completed my sequence of exercises was due to other reasons. Actually, the house was pretty soundproof!
So, I was fit, increasing my musical prowess and working steadily. I had essays to complete for the tutor for the L es L. I managed to recycle quite a few from those I'd prepared for Dr Blake and they seemed acceptable. I was reading avidly through books and collections of papers in the libraries. I was enjoying myself. That is, most of the time. I thought constantly of Francis and James. I sent a postcard every week, sometimes daily, to them jointly. I had seen at Christmas that Mrs Marcham had started a scrapbook and had put in all those I had already sent. I missed Kats.
I think my rapport with Daniel increased considerably during February. In our conversations I had told him I had played Rugby at school and he wanted to know about it. He was fascinated about how the scrums worked and the kicking and the tackling. He was very amused at my descriptions. He was even more amused when France beat England 11, 3, at Twickenham. I pretended to be mortified. I said next time the Gallic coq would have it's neck wrung and cooked with a good English stuffing. I didn't at the time tell him there were two meanings for stuffing! Nor that there were two meanings for cock as well!
Two letters arrived almost simultaneously. The first was an invitation to the marriage between Audrey Grace Milverton and Lieutenant Lachlan Cameron Thomson at St Margaret's Church, Westminster, on Saturday March the thirty-first at 12.30pm. Ow! Lachs and Audrey!! The second was from Flea. Very carefully he said that Lachs and Audrey were having to get married - the usual reason, as I would know! He was going to be best man and would I be an usher? Morning suit! The wedding would be very posh as it was the MP's church and Edward had arranged everything. Please be there, more details later. Short and sweet. A third letter arrived a few days later. From Aunt Della. She told the whole story. Direct and to the point. No wonder her stories were popular - there was little flannel. Aunt Della was not enamoured of Audrey. She thought she had engineered the whole thing. She wanted the publicity of a big wedding in a posh church... to a handsome young man, Aunt Della put, I felt, almost in capitals,... Anyway, she was a couple of years older than him and hadn't managed to snare anyone else. Please, please, please, she knew how close Lachs and I were, if he ever needed any help...... She went on to invite me and the boys to visit again, Julia keeps asking about her cousins..... Two days later another letter. From Lachs this time. Apologising for the rush, but I know how things are. Please come to the wedding. Antony, Audrey's brother, would be sending details of arrangements for ushers.... A rush job it seemed. Just like another!
Towards the end of term, the last week before Easter, Madame and Monsieur went to visit the daughter I hadn't met. Daniel said he was too busy studying to go and he would stay in the house with me. Madame had already explained that I was free to stay in the house - the cook and housemaid would be there each day to prepare any meals I required as long as I let them know. She also said, if I preferred, I could stay at the flat in Paris but would have to eat out all the time, but there were many good cafes and bistros in the area. I said why didn't we both stay at the flat. I would see he was fed and he could show me more of Paris on the Saturday and I would make sure he practised his English. She looked rather relieved. I found out afterwards that this sister's husband was a rather arrogant man who was always criticising Daniel so that was the main reason he didn't want to go.
So, all was settled. I packed a few things and we set off early on the Thursday morning to leave things at the flat before he had to be at the Lycee and I had to take my little group for their English conversation before I could go to the Bib Nat. The flat was on the sixth floor, two bedrooms, kitchen, bathroom, living room and a large entrance hall and reached by a creaking ancient lift. We dumped our things in the hallway and arranged to meet again at the flat at five o'clock. We both had keys and had made sure the concierge, Madame Garnier, knew I was a visitor and not some itinerant or thief attempting to steal from all and sundry in the flats. I had the feeling the concierge had the same power as a Porter in a Cambridge college!
I arrived back just as Daniel was unlocking the wicket gate in the large, imposing doors to the courtyard. We both acknowledged the concierge who was watching entries and exits from her vantage point in her window.
"She knows everything," Daniel informed me as we squeezed into the wheezing lift. "She tells Maman everything. Julien had a friend here once and she blabbed to Maman next time she saw her and Maman told Julien off."
I was concentrating on the creaks and groaning of the lift mechanism wondering if it would ever get us to the top floor and what would happen if we got stuck so I didn't follow up what he said. I must say I breathed a sigh of relief every time I stepped out of the lift.
I said we had better unpack and when he was ready we would go out to eat. He brightened up at that. The flat felt quite cosy and he explained Madame Garnier had been in to make sure the heating was on and to make the bed. I heard 'le lit'. I thought two bedrooms. I went into the first of the two and found an identical bed to the one I had at the house. It was made up with the cover turned down. Daniel had followed me in and put his bag on the floor. I looked quizzically at him.
"We share?" I asked.
He nodded. "Julien and Matthew always share when they stay here. Julien says it saves on laundry. You shared with Tony when he stayed at the house."
"Have you slept with anyone else?"
He shook his head. "Only Julien."
"And what happens if I snore - your brother does!" He looked rather open-eyed. I laughed. "We were all drunk and four of us shared that night. Your brother snored as soon as his head hit the pillow!"
So that was settled as far as Daniel was concerned. He was going to share. A new experience. I just wondered if.........?
Anyway we sorted out clothing and washing kit. I noted he was going to wash as he had soap, washcloth and towels. Perhaps he was a clean French boy? I was always very aware of the whiff of unwashed bodies on the Metro on every journey, that and the all- pervading aroma of strong cigarettes or cigars of various sizes and stink. At least Daniel didn't smoke - or at least I had never seen him with a cigarette, not like Julien or his father, or Tony these days, who lit up whenever.
We sat and talked. I asked him questions in English and made him practise hard. He grinned when I said he was better than I thought. He said he enjoyed English better than the Spanish which he also was learning. I got him to teach me a few simple phrases in Spanish and I think he enjoyed that too. I said my mother spoke Spanish as well because she was French and came from Strasbourg. He looked a bit askance at that. He said the Germans had taken over the town completely in the war because a boy at the Lycee had told him he and his family were told to move out. I said my grandfather had been a professor at the university there but he was French as well. It was interesting that Daniel had said something about the war!
We went out about half past seven, under the watchful eye of Madame who was still sitting, knitting now. I said to Daniel when we were safely out on the pavement that I was sure her great-grandmother must have been one of 'les tricoteuses' at the foot of the guillotine during the French Revolution. He sniggered and said she was old enough to have been there herself and no one had ever seen anything she'd ever knitted. He said his mother was convinced she pulled it apart every night and started up again the next day.
Like my cousin Johann, Daniel was thawing rapidly. He became even more loquacious over a superb dinner in a tiny restaurant. A fragrant herby soup, cutlets and such finely cooked and buttered mashed potato, three sorts of cheese and a final creme brulee. That and a small carafe of white wine, a bottle of red wine, plus a brandy with the coffee to end. To thaw the lad out more I let the waiter, a lad of his age, pour him more than his fair share of the wine. I would see if he snored like his brother.
At home he was only ever allowed one glass of wine at dinner in the evenings and that had to be watered. Tonight he had about three-quarters of the bottle plus almost all the carafe plus the brandy. He didn't stagger though and we survived the scrutiny of Madame again. I smiled at her and!!! she smiled back!!!!
The lift creaked and complained but we reached our eyrie and it was then he had to be helped. The warmth of the flat and the alcohol made him flop on the settee and look a bit hazy. But, he soon woke up as I found a percolator and produced a drinkable supply of coffee. We chatted on and he wanted to know what my school had been like. I spoke in English most of the time and he followed well. He had been well taught.
About eleven o'clock I said it was time for my beauty sleep. This was an idiom he hadn't heard and giggled when I explained it.
"You don't need beauty sleep!" he said, "You look good now!"
"So do you, handsome!" I said. He was. In fact we were very alike in colouring and the set of the nose and eyes. Boastful me, thinking I was handsome! "But come on, we have work to do tomorrow."
I went to the bedroom first and, as usual, stripped off completely and walked to the bathroom. He watched as I did this as he was still taking his shirt off. I peed and washed and cleaned my teeth. I also washed my cock, easing back my foreskin to do so.
When I got back into the bedroom he was still in underpants and socks. I got into bed and pointed to the bathroom. "Wash!" I said, "And turn the lights out!"
He scuttled out and was gone for some time. I just wondered if he'd had a quick wank, but no, I don't think so, he came back looking just clean and tidy. He'd seen me get into bed in the nude and, as he switched the light out dragged his undies off and pulled off his socks. He lay flat out along the edge of his side of the bed. All I could hear was somewhat irregular breathing.
I turned to fully face him from the middle of my half of the bed. "Are you comfortable?" I asked. "You can't be perched on the edge all night like some old crow. A real black-feathered old crow!"
I heard him chuckle under his breath.
"Come on, you have half the bed so use it. Anyway, if you fall off your perch I'm not picking you up."
He rolled onto his side and slithered into the middle of his half.
"Those two boys slept together, didn't they?" he said.
"Which boys?" I asked.
"The ones in that photograph you have in your room. That boy who looks like you. Maman says it's a lovely photograph and I look like that sometimes."
Oh, he meant Piers and Miles. I had the photo in its frame on my dressing-table. I was never parted from it. In fact I had it in my bag at present.
I told him about the two boys. How they had been at school together and had died in the same battle in the 1914-1918 war. I heard him sniff. A sad sniff. I put a hand out and put it on his arm.
"Are you OK?" I asked.
He sniffed again. "That is very sad," he said.
I said they were happy together, I knew that, one could see that from the photograph. And they died together. I didn't say I knew they would have been happy together if they had survived. That coded message was enough to tell me that.
"Don't be sad," I said.
He slithered over to my side and took hold of my hand.
"I'm not sad because of them," he said, "They were happy I know. But the brother of a friend was shot by the Germans in the village where we were. Two of them were shot and I heard it. My friend became very ill and I haven't seen him since I've been in Paris."
He broke down and sobbed. I put my arms out and clasped him to me. He was taut and tense with his sobbing but relaxed and snuggled against me just as Francis did when I nursed him. I knew what was wrong with Daniel. I knew what grief was. He had never shed his grief for his friend and the brother who had been shot. Daniel could not have been more than about twelve when it happened. I stroked his back. He wept quite openly now and I let him. As he quietened down I drew him as close as possible to me.
"You sleep now, it's better isn't it?"
He nodded and we both fell fast asleep.
It wasn't yet light when I woke. We had parted in the night but he still faced me. His breathing was even now. I watched him as dawn broke and the light filtered through the net curtains. A vulnerable boy, hearing shots, seeing his friend distraught. What was war? Now, years later the memory relived and, I hoped, soothed in mind and body. I stared at his face now in repose. He was handsome. He reminded me of someone - perhaps that look of the boy in the photo. I stared on. I thought of my own two sons and hoped they would never have to experience war. Daniel in sleep looked just like an older version of my Francis. The long lashes, the slight curl of the lips. I supposed all dark-haired males looked like that when asleep. Oh, Jacko, I thought, you have the ability to love both male and female. Watch your step!
I crept out of bed about seven o'clock and washed and dressed. I slipped out of the flat after setting the percolator, went down ten flights of stairs, acknowledged Madame who was already sweeping the path, scurried to the boulangerie and bought a baguette and two hot croissants. I did go up in the lift on my return. Daniel was still asleep as I poured mugs of the strong coffee, put some butter on the cut up baguette, found a pot of honey and took the tray into the bedroom. Daniel opened a wary eye as I held the coffee mug under his eye. He smiled. A most appealing smile. He sat up in bed.
"Thank you for being with me last night," he said before even saying 'good morning'. "I knew you would understand. Thank you!"
He beckoned me to him. He kissed me lightly on the cheek. "Thank you and good morning!"
He smiled again and I knew a new Daniel had been born.
I had a very good time at the Bib Nat that day. More intriguing stuff in a thinner folder between two thick manuscripts. One of my authors had written a very risque novella. I had to guess at a few of the indelicacies in the French and had to dredge my schoolboy Latin as there were many passages or phrases in that language. I suppose to veil some of the ruder bits. I could deal with 'membrum virile', which appeared with regularity, and I supposed 'Pene languido senis' was an old man's drooping prick in contrast. I think I got the gist of 'ter nocte potes' as three times a night.. 'Pathice' and 'cinaede' I didn't know and I had to guess at the heading to one chapter 'Ardens in cupiditatibus' and the subject matter of another entitled 'Corruptor Juventutis' made that title clear! Wow, five sixteen year olds in one day! I got the idea too that the lads were dealt with in more ways than one, 'pedicabo ego vos and irrumabo' Up and down. Fucked and they sucked.
It was odd, this manuscript didn't appear in the index and it was definitely in the same writing as the other two which hadn't seen the light of day for about two hundred years. I showed it to the librarian at the desk who seemed little interested in it. He made a desultory note of the title "O Audaciam Immanem" saying he was sure it was part of a quotation from Cicero and he didn't think it had ever been published. He flipped the pages and did manage a smile as he read out 'demisisti gladium in jugulum'. "I don't think this author meant a sword was in the throat," he said. "That's Plautus." He scribbled a number on the outside of the folder and handed it back.
I set to work copying the manuscript. I could wait to have it photographed but that would take months I had been warned. I wrote as fast as I could and giggled at some of the descriptions. The first part was interspersed with descriptions of the lads involved and where they were found. The second part seemed to be how they were recruited and then cared for in the castle and in the third part the author seemed very good at describing the youths and how they were ravished or ravished each other. I realised that there wasn't a female in sight except for some old hag, Madame Morue-chevalue, who fed and watered them in their quarters. 'Cod' and 'hairy'! Oh yes, Johann had said 'morue' was used as slang for a woman's twat - so OHHH! Madame Hairy-Twat! She had been the castle-owner's nursemaid and also kept the retainers in check and away from the boys. There were quite a few words I didn't know and the French was old-fashioned and very ornate so I scribbled away not bothering most of the time to try and understand what was going on. Obviously the Latin bits were quotations. Oh, God! Mike was the only one I knew who knew much Latin - he'd said his lectures in Rome were in that language and I bet they didn't have the obvious ruderies written here.
I was in a very good mood when I turned up at the flat at five o'clock.
Daniel wasn't there as he was fencing until half past so I sat and scanned the nearly one hundred and twenty pages I had copied already. I wondered if such a story, of boys being spied on wanking and pissing, then being fucked or sucking, could be put anywhere in my research.
At least the emphasis was on youths and there were lengthy descriptions of their young-manly attributes. The author obviously liked them long-limbed, sturdy buttocked, well-endowed and not too hairy. They sounded just like a combination of the Clare boaties and rugger team. In fact like any group of desirable young men. Oh, my venal desires were running away with me. I spotted descriptions of 'Torrent of Mars', 'Neptune's Foam', 'Venal juices'. 'Adonis's river'. 'Love's cream'. Ouch! Why the hell didn't he just write 'spunk', whatever that was in eighteenth century French! And I assumed 'psallare elegantius' was 'having a wank' as the 'unloosening of sweet boy's nectar' occurred soon after. I was giggling to myself when I heard his key in the lock. I called out I was home and he laughed and said Madame la Tricoteuse had waylaid him to tell him the tall, elegant Englishman had greeted her when he had returned at five o'clock and she had not been in to clean the flat, yet, but had turned the heat up as it was always so cold in England, she had been told. I laughed as well and said too true, I shivered a lot in Cambridge. I also noticed that, from his general demeanour as he came in, young Daniel was in a lighter mood than I'd ever seen him before. I gathered my papers together putting them carefully out of sight in a folder and asked him about his day.
He said it wasn't too bad although he had his examinations after Easter. His fencing had gone well and his friend Phillippe was envious that he was staying in Paris with me. I found out that Phillippe lived the other side of Paris at Clichy and that, as the Lycee was very exclusive, almost all the boys lived a distance from it. He had known Phillippe from joining the school and they were exactly the same age. He asked what I had done and I, truthfully, said I had found an interesting, most probably, unpublished book by one of my authors. I didn't tell him his long-limbed, well-endowed, firm buttocked young self would have been ideal for the contents. Yes, he was well-endowed. Though neither of us had hardons this morning - a real rarity for me - I noticed his uncircumcised cock was just as I remembered mine at his age. And, he had firm buttocks!
We both had work to do before going out for a meal. He had a philosophy assignment to do before Monday and I wanted to put my requirements for Monday and Tuesday at the Lib Nat in order as I was returning to England on Wednesday. We sat either side of the table in the sitting-room and worked steadily. Quite often we would look up, as if on cue and smile at each other without saying anything. Just before eight I put my papers in the folder and as he looked up I mouthed "Food" in English. He rubbed his stomach and said "Yes, please!"
We found a different little restaurant. It was quite busy and he said his father told him if local people use a restaurant it must be good. It was. I didn't let him have so much wine this evening but I think both of us had a warm glow. He said he would make coffee when we returned to the flat and he knew there was a bottle of brandy in the cupboard. I said "Claret for boys, port for men, but brandy for heroes!" - Oh! Dr Johnson, all three seem good to me!
Madame Garnier was still on her perch - this was Daniel's description, but we both waved and smiled at her. Having seen a couple of the rather sour-faced other residents stalk past her cubby-hole I guess he liked having some recognition.
Gosh, the flat was warm. While Daniel was busy in the kitchen I took off my shoes and trousers in the bedroom as I also wanted to massage my knee and came back to the living room and stretched out on the chaise-longue. Two brandies later and Daniel said he was hot as well and also partially disrobed. After the third brandy we were giggling together over some inane remark and decided it was time for bed. I was in first and Daniel, tipsy or not, more or less dived into the bed and rolled over and clutched at me.
"Thank you, Jacques, for a lovely evening and thank you for listening to me last night. I have felt so much better today."
He rolled away from me and we lay, still with the light on, looking at each other. He was obviously thinking. In the end he spoke.
"What is it like being married?" he asked, hesitantly.
"Difficult to say," I said after a pause. "I wasn't married long and most of the time I was away in Cambridge."
He was silent for a bit. "What I mean...." he hesitated.
I knew what he wanted to know.
"You mean what is it like to be with a woman."
He looked a little sheepish, then nodded.
"You haven't?" I asked.
He shook his head slowly.
"Do you know any girls?" I asked.
"No," he said, "Only my sisters and that friend's sister in the village."
I leaned towards him.
"Do you know about boys and girls?"
He hesitated again. "Only a bit." He looked as if he was ready to shed tears again.
Over the next twenty minutes or so I found he knew there were basic differences, he admitted he wanked and he knew the mechanism of coupling. I explained about love-making and then he asked, "Do boys always sleep together?".
"Why do you ask?"
"I told you last night Julien and Matthew always do..., and so did you and Tony. Do boys do things?"
"You've slept with your brother, haven't you?"
He nodded. "It was here last year and Julien said it was a waste dirtying two lots of sheets so we shared." He looked at me, soulfully. "He asked me if I wanted to know anything and I was too scared to ask him. He did hold me tight and he was all hard but all he did was stroke my back and say 'you'll learn one day, little brother'."
"Were you hard as well?" I asked softly.
Daniel nodded quite emphatically but very slowly.
I said boys did do things. Usually it was holding each other's 'weapons', 'ses triques' and helping each other to shoot their stuff.
"Although you haven't shared a bed with anyone other than Julien have you done that with another boy?" I asked.
He pinched his lips together, blushed slightly and nodded rapidly.
"Phillippe?" I asked.
He nodded again.
"Tell me," I said, putting out a hand and resting it on his arm. He flinched slightly, then relaxed. I then heard that he and Phillippe had bunked off school one afternoon when they were fourteen after an older boy had announced that he wanked three times every day and it was much better when his cousin did it to him. They'd found an old storeroom and had tossed each other off and felt guilty about it. Both had confessed to their priests next weekend and were told it was a sin. They'd done it several times since and liked it and neither had confessed any more so neither was in a State of Grace. But this year Phillippe had refused when he suggested it and he didn't know why as he wouldn't tell him except that Phillippe seemed very friendly now with a younger boy who travelled in each day from Clichy with him.
Daniel seemed much relieved to get this all off his chest. He said he missed Phillippe and felt very lonely at times. I hoped this was not an invitation to seduce my landlord's son. I was very tempted but Daniel pre-empted any further discussion by dozing off. The wine and brandy had taken its toll. Blast! I now had to get out to switch the light out!
We both slept in next morning but I was glad Daniel volunteered to get dressed and go to the bakery for our breakfast. I was glad as I had my usual morning hardon and it ached! I also caught a glimpse of a nicely shaped erection as Daniel rushed to the bathroom clutching his hastily grabbed-up clothes. Nice French boys, like nice English boys and nice Swiss boys are all the same in the morning!!
I got up while he was out and didn't bother getting dressed. My hardon deflated when I had a piss so I came out to the kitchen and put the percolator on and laid out big coffee cups and plates before I went back to the bathroom. I had just finished washing and shaving as he returned, grumbling about old ladies talking to the assistant. I slipped my underpants on and went and poured the coffee.
He took one look at me and said as he hadn't washed before going out he had better undress as well. So, two hunks sat and chewed their way through loads of lovely French bread and croissants and imbibed masses of fragrant coffee and decided they would explore the Louvre and a couple of the massive churches neither had yet seen. As Daniel got up from the table and started to clear the table I slapped his backside - those twin taut globes - and told him I would do that and the washing-up as long as he washed and made himself sweet and clean. I deliberately went into the bathroom after I'd rinsed the plates and cups and sniffed him. He was clean and sweet. He grinned when I said he would do and then the toad turned and sniffed at me. He grinned, "Tres pur!". I slapped his backside lightly again and said he mustn't be cheeky to his elders.
We had a busy day. I saw him gauging sizes of numerous nude male statues. I did whisper that the Greeks must have been quite small and got a gentle blush back. He was a bit more open with his stares after that! Boys are all the same. I remembered studying a postcard I'd found of Michelangelo's David with a magnifying glass when I was younger than him. We had a baguette and a glass of wine for lunch and trawled round three churches in the afternoon before calling it a day.
My feet ached. He'd seen me massaging my knee the night before so got the story about my accident. I didn't carry my stick anymore and I was mighty glad as we arrived back that there was a lift at the flats! We smiled politely at Madame who was back knitting away. I said if he didn't behave himself I would personally see she was there when his head rolled. He screwed his nose up at me and said I'd be the first in the tumbril as I was a Monarchist and he was a good Republican!
My knee did ache a bit - I think the climb up one of the church towers did it - so I sat, trouserless, with a warm face flannel round it. I'd wrung it out in hot water and it was very comforting. I must say he was rather concerned. I let him feel where the steel pin was and he asked if it had hurt very much. I said I didn't really remember much about it. I think he was rather relieved when I said it would be OK later and we could go out for supper somewhere. We did and had another super meal. He insisted on paying this time as his mother had given him some money. He also chose the wine which was very good. I complimented him on that and he said he would like to work in the wine trade as he found it all very interesting.
We decided to have coffee and brandy at the flat and relaxed sitting side by side on the comfortable settee. At bedtime he went first to the bathroom and I barged in just as he was standing looking at himself, nude, in the long mirror.
"If you think you're one of those Greek statues...," I said. He turned suddenly. ".....you'll have to cut a bit of that off. You're about five centimetres too long."
He stared down at me and smiled. "You would be Hercules!"
"Thank you," I said, grinning at him, "I'm glad you know when you're beaten!" I went up to him and put my arm round his bare shoulder. "I think you would make a good Ganymede."
This had been a small statue of a rather comely lad, but he had lost most of his cock and balls in some way over the centuries since he'd been sculpted. I'd seen Daniel having a wry grin as he inspected the poor lad. He laughed. "Mine is all there, isn't it?" He waggled his hips and his cock and balls swung.
No answer to that. "Have you finished?" I asked. He said he had. "Go and warm the bed up then, I'll be five minutes."
I finished my ablutions and went into the bedroom. He was lying flat out on my side of the bed. I pulled up the covers and gave him a slight shove and began to climb in. He shifted a bit but turned on his side. "I will keep you warm!" He flung his arms round me and twined his legs with mine and thrust his torso, hips and thighs against me. The alcohol he'd had had reduced any inhibitions and also made him glow with heat. As he pressed against me the inevitable happened. Two shafts rapidly stiffened, tried to rise, but were trapped. I moved my hips back a bit and two hard pricks pressed against our bellies as I put my arms round him as well and held us tight.
"Show me what boys can do, please," he whispered in that attractive young voice of his. "Please, I want you to, I need to know." I stoked his back and said nothing. "Those boys in your photograph knew. Those boys in those photographs outside that church all know. Julien and Matthew know." He whispered, "You and Tony know. I need to know. You all look at each other in that way." I waited, unsure of what to do. "Please....."
I was unsure. His only experience was tossing himself off and pulling Phillippe's pud a few times. Oh God! Was I in the position of Alun who had taught me things? I supposed I was. What would happen if things went wrong? If Daniel suddenly panicked? I talked to him gently. I repeated what I'd said the night before and said he had already done that with Phillippe. What did he need to know?
"You do it to yourself, all boys do," I said. He clutched me tighter. Confession time for me. "I have to do it....," I said quietly, "....even at my advanced age."
He relaxed his grip on me and giggled. "I want us to do it together, now, tonight!" He thrust his hips against me. Our pricks ground together. It was now or never. "Please, Jacques, please," he wheedled.
I was lost. In lust? In love? In sheer randiness? "You'd better get a towel," I whispered.
We untwined so quickly. A young lad with a rampant cock scurried to the bathroom and returned, beaming all over his face. It was a large towel and was soon placed between us. I didn't move, he launched himself at me and, facing me, put his arms round me and hugged me even tighter. Who was being seduced? I responded and my arms were round him and we hugged each other closely.
His face, still soft-skinned, was against mine. He moved it and my day's growth of beard rasped his cheek. He was breathing more deeply and moved his head again, his mouth slightly open, and his tongue touched me on the chin just where it had pressed on his cheek. My mouth automatically opened too, our lips and tongues touched and danced together, tongues probing and investigating. Both of us were breathing hard by now. I had one hand behind his head and was holding him to me with the other as well. He was holding me almost round the neck and stroking my back slowly with his other hand. We must have caressed and simply enjoyed that closeness for a long time because, slowly and inexorably our hips joined in, our erect shafts rubbing against each other. Daniel gave a long, low moan and a flood of his boycream squirted up between us. His thrusting became more frantic, sufficient to set me off and my pent-up load joined his. We lay, panting, sticky and sweaty, cheek to cheek, still holding each other tightly. He was motionless, but carried on making those tiny 'oh, oh, oh' sounds. As he relaxed I stroked his back. His cheek moved against mine and, I swear, he almost purred his contentment.
He pushed his right hand in between us. We were both still erect. I could feel the huge amount of gooey cum as drops slid down my stomach. His hand felt for my tool and he grasped the sticky length. "That was beautiful," he whispered, "I never knew it could be so beautiful."
His fingers strayed up and down my hard rod. With expert ease he slowly brought me to a second massive climax. If I had emptied over-full chambers somewhere before, this second load was equal and I felt really drained. I controlled my breathing and found his lips and kissed him. I turned him onto his back and straddled his legs, kneeling up and looking down on him. I wanked him slowly, watching his unblinking eyes as they stared back at me. He had that enigmatic smile on his face, just like Piers, especially, in the photograph. He gasped and shot his second load, ribbons of come spurted from that youthful prick. I knelt and waited until the last drop oozed from his slit. He held his arms up and I lay completely over him, our bodies bonded by our joint achievements. I rolled him on his side and, holding each other tightly, then relaxing, we fell asleep. Satiated, satisfied, content in each other's company.
I woke early and thought I was about to have an adolescent wet-dream. No, it was Daniel, gently stroking my ever ready cock. I came almost immediately and he leaned over and kissed my now very bearded cheek. "Good morning, Jacques," he whispered, sounding quite seductive, "It doesn't take much to wake you!"
I felt down to his own erect prick. "You're very cheeky for a little boy," I said, gripping the rampant six inches, "I think we'd better see if little Ganymede is not too damaged."
He sniggered and pushed his cock up and down in my grasping fist. I took over the rhythm and his morning load squirted all over me. There must have been six or seven spurts in all. I thought of the rude book, 'Torrent of Mars'! Dare I tell him? No, better not, yet.
"For a little boy," I said, giving his hard shaft a final squeeze, "You certainly make lots."
He giggled. "And so do you." He giggled again and nestled up against me, our cum- soaked bodies meeting again as I lay down and he turned and we were facing each other. He laughed, "Phillippe said I lived up to my name, but I wasn't a little river [riviere] but a big stream [fleuve] so, perhaps, I should change my name. I said my full name was even better, LaRiviere et de Fontane, [river and fountain]....."
I was thunderstruck. Before he could continue I said sharply. ".....What did you say? What's your full name?"
He was rather startled. "LaRiviere et de Fontane....," he said quietly. "My father's name and my mother's name."
One more question. "How do you spell your mother's name?" I asked, in an equally quiet voice.
"F.. O.. N.. T......," he began,
"A.. N.. E...." we finished together. No 'I'!
I hugged him tightly and laughed out loud. "That was my mother's name, Fontane!" I almost yelled in his ear. "My mother's name..." The thought struck me. Those likenesses. The lips, the nose, the set of the eyes. Piers. That hint of some sameness of Daniel and my Francis and even myself. "....We're probably related....." I finished quietly.
We were both stunned. We lay speechless for a while. Then we hugged each other. "Oh Daniel!", "O Jacques!" we said simultaneously.
We stank and were coated with the remains of the night's activities so I said we had better get up and wash and then we would compare what we knew about our families and, "Please, call me Jacko, everyone does!" He leaned over and smiled, "As long as you call me Dodo when we're together. That's what my sisters call me!"
As he washed I could hear him singing to himself. I put the percolator on and, stinky as I was, hurriedly dressed and went to the boulangerie for our breakfast. I arrived back to find he'd dressed and got the table all ready. I stripped off and he followed me into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bath and watched as I soaped and washed the residue away. I had to have a shave and when I finished I beckoned him over and tidied up his sideburns with my razor. I would buy him a present in England, I thought!
We sat at the table and he cut the bread while I retrieved the photo of Piers and Miles from my bag. He smiled when he saw it. I undid the frame and took the photo out as on the back I had noted the three strands of the family tree. As we ate I told him the story as far as I knew. About the farmers and their sons and daughters, of the French son who married an English daughter. Of how Tony was related by marriage. Of the bond I felt between me and Piers. Even a hungry seventeen-year-old ate slowly as the story unfolded. I had got a piece of foolscap paper and redrew the fragment adding in my aunts and uncles and all my cousins. I finished by saying my grandfather didn't come originally from Strasbourg but had been born in Clermont-Ferrand.
"Maman and Papa come from Riom. It's not far from Clermont," he said quietly. "That's where we were when the war was on. We still have a house there. Papa was the only child, like Maman. They are visiting my sister and she lives at Vichy with Patrice." He shook his head. "Patrice was too friendly with the Germans and he is the assistant to the Mayor now." He looked at me then cast his eyes down. "Patrice was accused of signing documents and Papa had to say he'd been forced into it. Patrice isn't grateful and it's only to see his children that Maman will visit him." A tear rolled down his cheek. "Someone like him signed that document when Henri and his friend were shot. Someone like him!" he repeated.
I stood and went round the table and knelt by him and put my arms round him. He rested his head on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Daniel. Someone always has to sign something." I remembered the accusations and excuses made at the Nuremberg trials - 'I was only obeying orders!'. "We'll go to Riom together and you can see if your friend is better. After your exams, I'll still be here. But we'd better see if we are related as well."
He wiped his eyes. I think the emotion of such intense passion the previous night, the revelation about possible kinship and his memories of his friend were too much. But, he calmed down and we had more coffee and the croissant as he said all he knew was that his parents had been only children and his grandparents were all dead. His mother's father had land and she had inherited it, but it was rented out. That was all he knew.
We would have to wait until tomorrow evening when we returned to Ivry to find out more.
Actually, we were both rather excited. I was getting more and more bemused about all the coincidences. I put the photo back in the frame and sat looking at it silently for a long time while Daniel cleared the breakfast things away. I closed my eyes with a mental image of Piers as he was in the photo. My image smiled.
Daniel asked if I would like to go to Mass. I said I had no belief but he said he would like to go as he felt he had to give praise and thanks. I said he wasn't in a Sate of Grace so couldn't take communion. He smiled and said his God wouldn't mind if he only went and listened and prayed. We walked to Ste Clothilde and I enjoyed the music and even the homily. I heard the organ that Cesar Franck had played. Daniel smiled as we left.
Thanks, Jacko," he said and touched my arm. "Even if we aren't related I feel so much better having met you."
We found a small caf‚ and had lunch as Daniel said few cafes opened on Sunday evenings. We strolled along the Seine afterwards. I savoured that strange ambience that Paris had surrounding it. We walked in silence, just smiling at each other.
I hoped that Daniel was kin.
We went to bed early that night. I said we both had a busy day on Monday. He nuzzled my cheek and said he'd had the happiest weekend of his life. I showed him then what else boys could do. As he lay mewing and quivering I kissed and licked his cheek, his chin, his neck, then gradually moved down his firm torso. As I touched his nipples with my tongue they hardened and rose and his body shook. Gradually I worked down. I left a pool of saliva in his belly-button as I was drooling copiously. I tongued down his emerging trail of black hair and, at last, took the capped end of his rock-hard shaft into my mouth. I used my lips to push back his loose foreskin - loosened, I knew, like mine, from numerous nights of boyhood's pleasure - his whole body stiffened as I ran my tongue around the ridge and my mouth was immediately filled with his sweetly salt boycream - a real live Adonis giving me his cream. I drew his full load from him, endeavouring to keep as much as possible in my mouth without swallowing it. I crawled back up the bed, he was motionless, his mouth was open and he was making those noises which I'd heard my other cousins, both in England and Switzerland, make, those universal noises boys produce when they have achieved that apex of physical pleasure. I found his open mouth and he tasted his own essence, his own cum. Our tongues met and he put his arms round my shoulders. We lay together just holding each other closely for nigh on fifteen minutes, just enjoying each other's company.
I drew back and whispered an old French idiom in his ear. "Il ne faut jamais dire, 'Fontane, je ne boirai pas de ton eau!'" [One must never say, "I shall never need it"]
He smiled. "Et votr'eau," he murmured, "J'ai besoin de...."
He never finished his sentence but began his own descent. He had learned well. I gasped and clenched my fists as my fountain filled his cheeks. We shared my seed and lay quietly stroking each other for ages and ages. He leaned forward and kissed my lips gently.
"That was so perfect. Thank you for teaching me."
To be Continued:....