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 57
Vignettes From My Life
- Autumn Term 1965
Our arrival back at the end of August meant there was plenty to do before the boys started school again. There was also plenty of news. Amongst a stack of post was the dreaded envelope for James' School Certificate results. He had decreed that no news was to be sent to Italy. He would enjoy his holiday without knowing. His entry to the Sixth Form depended on them and if they were awful at least he wouldn't know until he got home.
I knew he had nothing to worry about but there was the rush upstairs, clutching the envelope, having dumped his bags in the kitchen, with the desire to open it, personally, alone, behind closed doors, keep out of the way everyone else! We waited, expectantly, all with silly grins on our faces with Anne putting on the inevitable kettle to make a pot of tea. Stephen had crept up the stairs and was waiting outside their bedroom door when the expected scream came. A scream of utter joy. The door opened and Stephen was hugged tight.
"I've got them!" he shouted. "I'm OK!"
He and Stephen came bundling down the stairs. He thrust the letter into Anne's hands.
"Oh," she said, nonchalantly, "Eleven As. What else did you expect?"
"Mum!" he shouted and hugged her. He rushed round all of us dispensing and receiving hugs.
"You beat me, bro," said Francis, giving him a real bone-crusher, "I only got ten. But then I only did ten. Brainbox had to do the extra one, eh?" The hug was one of real brotherly comradeship.
"Must 'phone around," said James, extricating himself.
"Mind my 'phone-bill!" I shouted as he raced off into the hall.
"Dad! It's important!"
We didn't see him again for about half-an-hour as all his intimate classmates had to be contacted. He was beaming when he retuned. He'd heard all were OK. The First Year Sixth would be packed with his mates; what else could one desire.
There were postcards. One from Julia, from Sardinia, spending a holiday there with her boy friend Roger. Roger the lodger, or Roger the dodger, as my boys called him. The pair were made for each other. After being asked to leave her second boarding school for some minor misdemeanour or other she had done A levels at the local Sixth Form College and had met Roger there. He was one of those lads you couldn't help liking,
medium height with a mop of fair curly hair and always cheerful. He was sports-mad, playing every sort of game with more vigour than expertise according to Julia. He was as happy-go-lucky as her, but both were bright. When they had visited us at Easter - separate bedrooms at Aunt Della's insistence - the boys had teased Roger asking what a nice boy like him was doing with their old aunt, although, of course she wasn't all that much older than they were.
She always managed to get her own back and regularly traumatised poor Francis and James as on every visit and, especially this one with Roger there, she would ask them if their bottoms were clean these days as she had helped to change their nappies so often when they were babies. Still, they always seemed to get their own back as she was always finding strange creatures such as frogs in her bed or her suitcase. Both had been accepted for Oxford, much to Uncle Edward's pseudo-protestations that he wanted her to go to Cambridge. They were now to start their final year as law students and both were determined to be barristers. Gift of the gab runs in the family was Anne's laconic comment.
Another card was from Jem and Sam, having had a package tour to Greece. The cryptic note said they found the Greek boys, 'most accommodating'. As the picture was of some Greek 'kouros' with a reasonable set of tackle, we guessed they'd had a good time!
A short note from Tony said he was back from America and at Ulvescott. Unfortunately, Miss Pike was not well and was in hospital. Finally, there was the very sad news that Dr Blake, my tutor, my mentor and my friend had died. I scarcely had time to unpack before driving off down to Suffolk for his funeral on the twenty-eighth. I took Harvey with me and he said Dr Blake had just finished the draft of his final third volume on French literature of the fourteenth century and he would be seeing it through the press. I was asked to give the eulogy on behalf of the College and I think it was the first time a packed fifteenth century village church, like a young cathedral, had heard how a dog's anal emissions got a place in College for a callow eighteen-year-old. How a tutor had guided so many young scholars, 'scratching the surface', over so many years. How the continuing life of a college depended on the wisdom and scholarship of such men as William Blake.
Three people came up to me immediately afterwards. The large, imposing figure of Bruce Lockhart leading a very elderly Lord Harford with his 'rascal' son, Charley Lascelles behind. Bruce was very effusive in his thanks for my eulogy for his great-uncle. There were other members of the family also present in the church and a large, smiling lady ushered two boys, of about nine and seven towards our group. I smiled too, it was Bruce's wife Janet and their two boys, Charles and Peter. I wondered if Bruce would ever have been able to produce them if I hadn't arranged for him to see Dr Powell? Charley had also at long last got married. A very nice divorced lady, unencumbered by children, who tended to wear large hats with her twin sets and pearls and was a spirited member of all sorts of countryside committees and was just the ticket, according to his Lordship.
A few weeks later a parcel arrived from Dr Blake's solicitors. It was the painting by Thomas Couture he'd shown me that first day in College. What a wonderful bequest. It would hang beside Mike's drawing of me in my room in College. A letter with the painting said that Dr Blake had assigned all his books and other paintings to the college and that Harvey and I could have ten books each for ourselves as recompense for helping the librarian catalogue the rest.
But, on my return from Suffolk there was much to do. Stephen and Lisa had to go to London to be kitted out before being taken to the ballet school. There was much amusement at the breakfast table from James and Francis looking at the list of 'Clothing Requirements' for Stephen as three of the items of kit were 'dance belts' - junior jockstraps so they told him, to keep his possessions in order when he was doing his pirouettes so that when the music stopped so did he. He pointed out that dear James had still to possess a jockstrap and relied on his underpants to keep things in order on the rugger field or in PE lessons. At least he was going to require the real thing and perhaps James could have an old one of his when it was worn out. Stephen was not going to let a bigger brother get away with it. I heard Francis say, under his breath 'It wouldn't even be a tight squeeze' which set the pair of them off in giggles much to James' consternation. Anyway, Anne and Lisa's mum would be taking the pair off to London. I was not needed he informed me, they would be OK. I think he realised that I had a rather important task to do with Francis at Ulvescott. James was also coming with us and I got the impression that there had been careful discussion between them, other than about vital equipment to keep boys' parts in place.
Anne said she was more than happy to take Stephen alone to London. They, with Lisa and Ina McIntyre, would stay at the flat and Anne's sister, Maureen, would be there with Tim. They had been in Canada for three years where Tim had revived a rather moribund orchestra to critical acclaim and he had just been appointed as associate conductor to one of the London orchestras as well as being asked to work at the Opera House on the permanent music staff. Maureen was sculpting and painting and was also making a name for herself. John Parker and his wife also had a base at the flat as they taught part-time at the Royal College. Their two children, a boy and a girl, though still small, were following in their parents' musical footsteps also as string players.
So, on Bank Holiday Monday we three said cheerio to Stephen and Lisa who would be away the whole term. There were no tears. Just hugs and a great deal of loving goodwill. I knew Stephen was excited. He knew what he wanted to do and he had told me the night before how determined he was to do well. That Sunday night we had had a dinner for the 'Italian mob', as Francis so delicately called us all, with Ludo and Marion, Lucius, the Gibsons, with Tiger, included. Jem and Sam came up trumps providing plenty of Italian delicacies. The lovely thing was that Stephen, representing the six lads, presented Anne and me with a copy of a Lippi portrait of a young adolescent which they had bought, in secret, in Prato. Safar said it was just like Silvio and, strangely, the more we looked at the picture the more we saw Silvio's questing look. I smiled at Francis who was gazing at the portrait quite avidly. I knew then that he and Silvio had shared their love with each other in some way. James saw my smile when I turned. He smiled and nodded. He knew, too.
The other presentation was the new flute for Lucius. The look of joy and wonderment on his face was so genuine and unforced we all felt so happy for him. He protested that he was unworthy of such a gift but when he had put the parts together and had blown a few hesitant notes he launched into the haunting strains of L'Apres Midi d'un Faun and we all knew it was the perfect gift. Safar hugged him at the end and made him promise to teach him to play that piece. The three then played the Gavotte we had heard at our final dinner in Italy.
Bank Holiday Monday afternoon I drove Francis and James to Ulvescott. In a few days time Francis would be seventeen and James would be sixteen. They were the ages when most of my true friendships were sealed. On the drive I thought of those days and nights with sadly missed Roo, with my now brother-in-law Tony, with faithful Matt and Tom of the second sight, and those wonderful golden boys, Lachs and Andrew. I thought of kindly Piers watching over all of us and how his influence had come down another generation to be experienced by my sons, Lachs' son, and their friends. I thought of the weird ramifications of the entwined families and how Daniel had also experienced that calm feeling of the house and how we shared, with Piers and our sons, that mark which stamped us as of one being. It was strange that Piers and Francis shared another factor of the inheritance completely but that all the cousins, including Johann, had shown that young males can love each other fully and without holding anything back.
I wondered if Francis had taken that irrevocable step of losing his virginity. Perhaps with Silvio? There was a certain passion in that final farewell embrace which tokened a meeting of two souls. I thought of Grunty. Bluff, honest, most masculine Grunty. Had they shared themselves fully? And what about James? Two brothers, a year apart. They had shared a bed many times and I was fully aware they had helped each other with nightly pleasures. But further? James, of course, had as his great friend, Khaled and there was no doubt two lengthy young rods had been handled and compared many times. Khaled and Francis were close, too. Khaled had indicated that in our talk together. Francis had other friends. Alan Barton had slept over in the same bed with him several times.
He had been a faithful friend since they had started secondary school. No doubt they had shared experiences. Two boys in the same bed so many times were hardly likely to fall asleep without participating in some activity. Cam Sullivan had been on a couple of summer camps with him, too. I doubted if he and Francis had not partaken of pleasures between them. Of course, there were others. Francis had been in the Junior XV which, when he was fifteen, had done a week's tour of schools in Cornwall. He had returned, bruised and battered, but happy, with sundry bits of other's sports kit so there were visits from Charlie Desmond and Dan Stewart on several occasions, allegedly to claim socks or the odd boot, but with long periods closeted in Francis's room behind a closed door. Boys will be boys.
So, they were all worldly-wise. From what James had said he, Francis and many others were fully conversant with things boys could do with each other as they had all read parts, at least, of my translation. Had those descriptions spurred them to try other things than helping each other manually to spill their seed? I wondered what the next few days might reveal. James had been torn between going with Stephen and coming to Ulvescott. I had the distinct impression that Stephen had insisted that James came with us.
On arrival we found Tony, looking slim and trim even after all the excesses of an All- American diet. He said he had been 'working-out' which was all the craze. I left the boys talking to their grand-parents as Tony and I went off to visit Miss Pike in the local hospital. She was not well. She said she knew she didn't have long but that she was at peace. She had been such a mainstay at Ulvescott for all those years and it was then I found as she squeezed my hand in farewell that, although she and Piers were of an age and it was thought they were destined for each other, she whispered to me that Piers had found true happiness only with Miles, but, she said, I knew that! She smiled and closed her eyes. That was the last time I saw her. She slipped into a coma that night and passed away two days after we left for Cambridge.
The two boys shared Piers' room and Tony and I slept together in the Horsebox. We sat and talked for a long time sitting on the window seat before we were ready for bed. I told Tony all the happenings with Francis and his revelations to us and the way in which the boys had all accepted him. Tony said he would willingly talk to him. He was now back in England for good but had found no one with whom he wished to share his life.
Big Jim Chater had moved out of his life. He still lived in the village but had as a euphemistic 'lodger' a very handsome, somewhat younger than him, veterinary assistant as his uncle had retired.
Tony admitted he was more than passably rich. His first three books had assured his reputation and fortune and the work he had done in Hollywood had been very lucrative especially as he had taken a leaf out of my mother's book and demanded a very small percentage of the profits from two of the screen plays he'd written and I hesitated to think what profits he took from the films of his first two books. There were plans to film the third at some time, too. The craze for homely war stories was beginning to be kindled. He said his next book was already at the publishers and he asked if I would mind if he wrote a book, without naming names, but charting the growing-up of a group of friends, a 'bildungsroman', based on his own life and experiences. He said he had already sketched parts of it out and it would be fairly explicit. I was in it. He smiled. A minor hero! I said as long as he didn't embarrass my mother all would be well. He laughed and said he thought my mother was beyond that having just read the draft of her latest book for Kanga, The Seal of the Serpent, which was about a serial killer and contained some rather steamy scenes - and what about Aunt Della? Wow, her last bodice-ripper had caused a few letters in the Telegraph from various Disgusted of Bognor Regis, Tunbridge Wells and Cheltenham after a rather enthusiastic review in the Arts columns. 'Bugger Bognor' was Tony's comment, echoing the old King.
He said he'd met Antony Milverton several times as he was filming in Hollywood quite consistently. He'd landed several good parts where they needed the perfect Englishman. He said that rumours about Audrey and Courtney and their life-style were rife and the poor child, Penny, had been stuck in some expensive boarding school out there and was paraded as the next teenage star when her time came.
I told Tony that we had still never heard a word from Audrey about Stephen. As soon as he was adopted by us it was as if he was completely out of her world. When five, we had explained to him about his mother. He knew Lachs was his father but after that never enquired about Audrey or his sister again. He adored contact with Lachs but, as I told Tony, only this last week he'd told Anne she was a wonderful mother and he would miss her so much while away at ballet school. As I went in to say goodnight to him the night before we came to Ulvescott he'd whispered that I mustn't worry about him, he was going to make us all proud and happy for all we'd done for him. James was sitting on the bed getting ready to join him. "We're proud of you already, little bro!"
Next day at Ulvescott, James and I inspected the wood-working and craft enterprises which had proliferated in the barns and out-houses. There was a thriving community of working units and they seemed to supply an unceasing demand for well-crafted items of furniture and other objects. There was even a potter and we watched as he skilfully threw jug after jug before consigning them to a kiln for first firing.
We had gone on our tour because Francis wanted to talk to his uncle by himself. They were sitting either side of a table in the library when we went off before nine in the morning and were still there three hours later. We left them alone again and said we would meet them at lunch at one o'clock. There, Mr and Mrs Marcham wanted to hear even more about our visit to Italy and James chattered on. Mrs Crossley was getting very deaf and she was older than Miss Pike and I could see that the news we had that morning about Miss P was most upsetting to her. The Duchess was a great helpmeet but looked frail and I wondered how much longer those three ladies could go on. I still thought of them as I had known them first twenty years previously. Mr and Mrs Marcham were still their old selves though even she was slowing down.
As we left the table Mrs Crossley said my sons reminded her so much of me at their age and even more of her own dear son. It was the first time she had said anything in detail about him. We went and sat in the big drawing-room and I asked if I should play to her. She said she would like that very much so I played all those pieces I associated with being here. Beethoven, Brahms, Haydn, Mozart, Faure and finally, 'Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring', as I had copied that from the head of Piers' list of pieces he loved to play. As I played that last piece on that warm day with the windows open I was aware of a single dove cooing just as the last ripple of triplets and the underlying chords sounded. It was peace, perfect peace.
Tony knew I wanted to talk to the boys alone also so, after I had played to Mrs Crossley with them listening, I took them up to Piers' room. I asked if they had slept well the night before. They looked at each other and smiled. "Just like the brothers we are," said Francis. I went over to the cupbboard and got out the three diaries. I gave the first one to Francis and the second to James. I said they should read parts to themselves and then we would look at the third. They read attentively and I saw small smiles play on their lips as they got further into each. In fact, each of them turned back several pages and I knew they were counting.
In the end Francis looked up and looked across at James whose lips were moving silently. "He's a bit transparent, isn't he?" said Francis. He giggled. "He was certainly a busy boy!"
"Nineteen the second week in June,' said James, without looking up, "...And eighteen the next week." He looked up. "You've met your match there, Frankie, no wonder you've both got the same birth mark." He realised what he'd said. Dad had the same mark. His face fell. "Oh, God, stand in the corner, James!"
Without a word I drew out from my pocket my own diary for 1944. I passed it to James after flicking through to the second full week in June. He looked at me questioningly then looked at the entries. It was the week of Dunc's departure. I'd noted ten for self and three for others. Not up to Piers' standards by any means. James looked at me with a look of new understanding. Silently he passed the diary to Francis who looked at that page and the next.
"Thirteen and twelve," he murmured. He smiled and handed me back the book. "About the same as me. Only kept count for about three weeks last year." He laughed. "One of Grunty's charts."
James looked from his brother to me. "I keep count, too. My code's a tick. Khaled laughs at me..... Oh dear, done it again!" He smiled a wan smile. "It's all in the open now and whatever Francis says, I have slowed down. About the same."
What could one say. A wank's a wank. A code's a code. A boy's a boy, whether in 1915, 1944, or 1965.
"OK," I said, "You can deal with everyone's totals at leisure. In any case they're some on a piece of paper in Piers' last diary."
"Dad!" they said in unison, then roared with laughter.
I then went on to say I and several others had read the diaries when we were their age and also guessed Piers' code. Self and others, I said and they both nodded.
I didn't tell them about Tom and his two strange pieces of behaviour - perhaps another time. I asked if they knew different ways boys experienced things together. They both nodded. Francis said they'd both read what someone had copied from my thesis and, without blushing or any prevarication, said they knew boys sucked and fucked as well. He said it so matter-of-factly I knew there was no prurience, just an acceptance of such acts. James butted in and said he'd brought a copy with him and would I look at it to see if it was genuine and he was always being asked if he'd read it all. Francis smiled and said, 'Same here'. Little did they know I had brought a complete copy with me in my suitcase.
I then said that whatever I told them was between us. They were brothers so each must be aware of the other. Francis had said he only liked other boys. It was up to James to make his own decisions but understanding someone else was very important. James reached out and took Francis's hand in his.
"Francis is my brother. Whatever he feels and wants is up to him. I love him but I know I'm not the same as him. At least, I don't think I am." He grinned. "I've still got to find out though, haven't I? Give me time!"
"...And opportunity," added Francis, giving his hand a squeeze. "I'll be there, bro, whenever you get in a tangle! Just ask Superman and he'll come flying!"
"You, Superman?" exclaimed James in mock surprise, "I can just see you with your little red trunks on outside your trousers! Come to think of it, you and Grunty would be much better as Batman and Robin! And I know who would be Robin!"
Francis undid the hand clasp and gave his brother a friendly cuff round the side of his head. "Shut your row, young'un, before you get too personal. I don't suppose Jimmie-the- Pooh and Cally-Tigger aren't bosom pals as well from what you just said?"
James laughed. "I'll tell him that, he'll like it. Cally-Tigger, eh? Bosom pals! Wow!"
I said when they had finished I would continue. I held up the third diary. I explained this included his last year at school from the September in 1917. I suggested they each should read the entries for the end of December. I purposely didn't say anything about the continued entries for the beginning of January 1918. I handed the book first to Francis while James continued his weekly totting up in the second book now.
Francis reached the end of December and turned the page. He read on. He looked puzzled at one point but continued to the last entry. He turned back and re-read. His lips moved silently and he smiled. He read a bit more and smiled again. The two entries had been decoded. He handed me the book in silence. James looked up expectantly, his finger half way down a page.
"My turn?" he queried.
I nodded and we exchanged books. I counted silently for that week as he read. Gosh, he was busy. Second week of the April term, twelve times self and seven times with another, once each day except Sunday and twice on Wednesday. Sunday was almost a day of abstinence - only once for self! I looked at my own diary for the second and third weeks of May. Things were hotting up, fifteen and eighteen including six with others that second week Better not draw attention, they might think I was boasting!
After a while James gave a little gasp. He'd also spotted an entry. Francis was getting impatient. He leaned over him and put his finger below the second sentence.
"I know," said James quietly, "I just saw it." He began to weep. He turned to Francis and put his arms round him. "It's so sad. They loved each other. I knew that last night when we held each other so close and tight. They were both with us. But they died, loving each other. You'll find someone to love, Francis, I know. And I know you'll be happy. I know. Piers said so."
He turned to me, leaving go of Francis who sat transfixed. He hugged me, the tears streaming down his face. "He will be happy, Dad, you mustn't worry about him. And this place is very special to all of us and all our friends. Safar says it's the kindest place he knows and I love it here. I wish I had that birthmark but I'm still your son and I want to make you happy, too."
I hugged him, too, and Francis came and knelt by us. He held James and smiled up at me.
"I hope I can find someone to love just as Piers found Miles. I know I will."
Little did I know that quest was all but settled.
After we had composed ourselves and they had discussed the two entries in detail James grubbed down into his, as usual, untidy holdall beneath spare shorts, tee-shirts and other bits and pieces and came up with a well-worn looking school exercise book. Under the school crest someone had neatly crossed out 'Rough Book' and equally neatly penned 'The Book'. Underneath that someone had scribbled in pencil, which another hand had failed to rub out, 'To be returned unstained'. The cover showed evidence of much handling and I wondered that if the book was unstained how much bedding or handy towels or tissues had been the recipient of teenage fluids.
Tears had gone, he was grinning now. "This is the latest copy. Got it last term but I shan't tell you who from."
"From whom!" intoned Francis.
"Shut up, bro, Dad knows what I mean!" He thrust the book at me. "Would you check it and say if it's genuine. Pat Lundle says he doesn't believe it. Whoops, James, shouldn't have told you his name!"
I flicked the pages. There were about ten fairly neatly, for some adolescent penman, written sides. The content was familiar. One day's encounters between the nine.
"Shall I mark it in red ink?" I asked, "Writing's about beta minus but it's the content that's important, eh?"
"Dad!"
"I'll read through it after dinner. I suppose you want it back for night-time reading. Like Swiss Family Robinson with more action?"
"Dad!" from both of them that time.
Dinner was enlivened by James and Francis's chat. They relished being at Ulvescott and I wondered with all the costs how it could be kept running. I'd heard Mr Marcham mention the National Trust but Tony had been adamant nothing should be done especially with Mrs Crossley still in residence. The place was a perfect gem and whatever repairs and renovations the POWs had done nearly twenty years ago were standing up well to the depredations of the weather and climate. However, curtains and some of the furniture were showing signs of wear and Helen Marcham said to me that Gerald had forked out over three thousand pounds for curtains for two bedrooms alone. As Gerald Marcham owned what seemed like half of Kerslake three thousand pounds was chickenfeed.
Tony and the boys played Monopoly which the other four settled to their nightly game of bridge. I went into the Library and settled down with the exercise book and my memory. Whoever had copied it had no truck with the philosophical interludes. There were series of three or four dots, reminiscent of Piers' wanking code, where the 'uninteresting' bits had been left out.
'....So began another day having woken and broken their fast with young Neptune calling out to his fellows not to fill their bellies too greatly or they would truly sink for today they would be helping him provide the fish from the lake for their evening repast..... .....So, set with his nets Neptune strode ahead of the merry band with Robin and Allan close behind bearing his rods and the basket for the catch. These two cast looks between and held their hands entwined along the rush braided handle such as their bodies had entwined the night before, not once, not twice, but thrice, enjoying that game of love played with the zeal of ones so grown in young years. That night, they had lain together hip to hip touching each other with faint caress watching by the candles' flickering light their boyhoods rise and stand full length. They smiled and, turning, placed them side by side and found young Robin had the vantage by one broad thumb.....' I noted that some student annotator had helpfully written in the margin 'three-quarters of an inch?'. '......Slim Allan laughed soft at his lusty friend. You have had four months more life than I and we have both grown in this past year for when I came I was your equal and I shall be your equal once again. But you are blessed with lengthy limbs said Robin and can pluck the sweetest apple from the highest bough while I can only bend and toil. With stronger limbs than I his boon companion said. But when we are side by side those differences are but naught for we together and with our friends, all made by our dear God for but one cause, can use our bodies with equal fervour slaking those desires which rise as do our weapons strong.....'
'......With no more word he bent and touched the full red lips of his companion with his own and gently placed his tongue against that gap until with a sigh young Robin took this signal and with open mouth felt for the intruder with his own. They parried with these simple weapons then sucked on them and pouted out their lips teasing them with teeth and tongue until those lips were reddened more and had a soreness which foretold much greater hurts which quickened their desire. Hands sought the other's shaft and with a quietness the enfolding skins were drawn aside and that slow strong pulse began which would only cease when two pure streams surged and united as on many whiles before. As on those myriad times now past they marvelled that each occasion engendered but more desire as when the pent-up juices were released a violence like no other known battered them almost senseless from below. With open mouths they breathed as one their thanks conveyed by touching tongues and warm red lips. They rested and with supple fingers merged the creamy liquor and laved each other's now swollen lips and flicked their tongues and tasted afresh their youthful essence......'
'......Soon, new stirrings provoked young Allan to trace his tongue from Robin's lips to his unrough cheek, then downwards past his neck and well-muscled chest following the downy line where lay copious droplets of their joint yield which, lapping eagerly, he savoured full then passed on to tongue the twin globes in their warm sack which had provided such a heavenly feast. Young Robin's lance, now soft, he probed with questing tongue while Robin not to be outdone stopped him while he turned and repeated that journey in like manner, murmuring as he, too, relished that remnant still remaining on Allan's golden skin. Two mouths then sought two hardening shafts and with a practised ease two rods of velvet covered iron were taken full within. In concert, tongues played against the under lengths until reaching that delicate edge two bodies together shivered and searching hands stroked backs and buttocks urging further exploration of those youth hard bolts. Hands sought heads and urged a quickening of their thrusts. Then, such was their knowledge of the ways of hale young striplings they took to drawing away their breath while touching round those swelling ends with probing tongues until with throaty gasps two further streams of heaven's seed filled over full those loving mouths. Quickly they moved and plied their tongues within to mingle once more those twin Venus gifts and cheek to cheek rested and murmured......'
Another youthful annotator had asked, "Anything missing here?"
'.....watching as they lay, Castor and Pollux who in paired accord had coupled fully with the fair James and the dark-hued Mars so burnt by sun, urged on by this pair now such firm and closest fiends wanting each to have the finest and the best. The twins in their most robust way had given those friends such pleasure for each.... (there was a blank here and some one had pencilled in 'had had such a good fucking') ...that with joyous shouts the four announced their abundant success and roused their fellows to further efforts. Our lusty pair revived once more looked and smiled and Robin knew he desired that delight which would make them one. My need is you my golden friend he whispered low. That sturdy pipe to plunge within and fill me with its valiant thrust until we cry aloud as those friends of ours. I beg you play your pipe with heart and soul and make me tuned so that our song in blessed unison will be....'
'.....My eyes will look in yours the golden youth replied as we in full accord make a full duet so full of bliss. Robin smiled and placed his strong arms around pulling him to lie full upon himself. His sturdy legs he raised full high as that whip-like pipe sought the most precious place. A drop of sweetness moistened that rosebud portal which allowed slow entry with smiles then slight grimace until near two handsbreadth were full within.' The helpful annotator had inscribed 'Must be over six inches!' in the margin. 'My goodly friend, stout Robin cried, give me your power and do not cease. Two friends gazed and two souls met and soon that vital essence both corporeal and of their spirit locked the pair in single devotion. A true friendship made....'
'...So, on this morn the pair revived from such close embrace were as one desiring to further that true companionship. Allan smiled, methinks that steely rapier will be mine ere this morn be out. I'll set en garde and receive his unerring thrust full deep. Robin his entwined fingers flexing against the hand of his fair-haired friend wished likewise to delve and seek fulfilling pleasure for them both. Young Neptune striding on ahead had sensed that silence between the pair and turned noting the playful hands and sweet smiles with which they looked on one another and knew as he had witnessed their acts the night before that their thoughts were not for wading in the lake too long.
He waited until abreast of him they came now upon the shore of the watery goal. My friend he said to tall young Allan, cast off your coney-skins and you dear Robin wet not those pantaloons but help me cast the nets but once then with those rods sit on the shore in some quiet place and with those tasty morsels in the pouch entice your own catch of fine fish. Casting off their garb they gazed at those most prized and desired parts and with the long- haired merboy flung the nets into the deeper places. The fisherboy waved them away and said to be quiet so as not to fright their prey. Along the strand they walked and found a grassy bank where lodging the rods in handy boughs they set to their wanton joys already primed. Allan beckoned the strapping youth to lie on him and held him close with lithe young limbs. With single thrust Robin gained his prize and rocking slow his dark-hued serpent found its well-known home and lodged there full content.
Allan and he lay still not caring if morsels had tempted any unwary fin. The serpent stirred and with great slowness explored the full depths of its enclosing walls making both youths tremble and shake with ardent bliss. So settled they cared not for their appointed task nor for their fellows who had followed on and now with heavy quoits played back beyond the shore and with muted cries urged on their friends to greater feats of skill.
That muscled giant, young John the farrier's boy, thinking to amuse them more took up a quoit and, as if on Mount Olympus, tossed it far, landing the metal ring close by the rutting pair. Look, look, he called as he ran forward, see our friends have fixed their rods. Aye, said young James with merry laugh spying the pair, and Robin's fixed his, too. They crowded round and laughing, watched the unheeding pair, until with no other word breeches were cast away and new pairs lay on the knoll enjoying their favoured youthful pleasures to the full.
Young Neptune trudged along the shore, his basket full, looking for further trophies from the pair. He stared and shook his head as four pairs now in varied acts took pleasure under the arching boughs. A pair complete seeing him standing there pulled him to the ground and said you are our catch, let us put your basket in the lake to keep it safe and we will teach you how to tickle for a fine large trout. This done one said lie still and feel the pursuing hand which with a sudden dart holds tight the wriggling prize. Young Neptune squealed as his fine trout was clasped and held and jerked until it breathed its last. The other pairs were taught the game and by the time the midday sun shone full upon the band young Neptune's trout had yielded up three times and sundry questing eels had found their homes in his dark caverns leaving fine gifts to mark their stay.....'
'.....Thus did the cheerful band tramp back all singing and helping a well-loved Neptune carry the laden basket. Young Allan piped the merry tune and he and sturdy Robin thought of the joys now had and now to come.....'
I put the exercise book down. I suppose whoever had made the first copy must not have had long to do it. I wondered when it had been copied? Because of the wear and tear on the originals a librarian had told me they couldn't afford to have the copies rebound so anyone wanting to read it now had to sign and declare that if damaged they would have to pay for repairs. So, did an undergraduate do the first copy or some youngster from one of the schools? I though the first. I assumed it was an elder brother who had passed it down. As far as I could remember it was a fair copy and the missing phrase was something like 'such mighty thrusts' or it may have been a Latin tag I had left in. I picked up my copy of the whole translation which I'd brought down without the boys knowing and found the passage. Gosh, the pages were fairly near the end and, yes, I had left the Latin quote with a footnoted translation below. '...hic erit in lecto fortissimus..' 'coupled on the bed with forcefulness [Juvenal, Satire 6]'.
I could see why that particular passage had been chosen. It covered wanking, sucking and fucking. Re-reading it after so many years I realised how stilted and archaic the language was. I laughed to myself over the 'Methinks'. This was due to Tony who said it was the sort of thing my Shakespearian plagiarist would have written for 'Il me semble que...'. I wondered how many lads had wanked over it, let alone learned about and perhaps tried the other delights? I wondered how much James and Francis would tell me and what I should tell them about my youth?
I had spent so much time just sitting and thinking that the others had gone up to bed, including, Francis and James. Only Tony was left, reading as usual. He poured me a substantial tot of brandy to match his own and I told him about the copy. He looked at it and laughed and lit another Gauloise we'd bought for him at the Gare du Nord in Paris.
"What with that and Lady Chat boys these days don't know they're born! God. D'you remember Prosser and that screed about Dumbledown House with the randy butler and the footman with the ten inch cock? I remember the bit about the parlourmaid whose nightly joy was having the footman and the butler in both orifices. And then those long discussions between Prosser and Johnny Wills whether anyone ever had one ten inches long. Poor old Prosser he was always measuring his and nearly went mad the day he found he'd reached six inches. Still, he's got five kids now so it's been well-used. Not that the Thomson weapon hasn't been well-used either over the years."
He smiled at me. Although we'd slept together again there had been no activity the night before. We both took sips at our glasses.
"I've talked to Francis," he said, looking at me intently. "There's no doubt in his mind about his preferences and from what he's told me I would agree. He's an honest lad. Don't fear, I'll help him sort things out. I told him quite a bit about my life and he says he wants to talk to me more tomorrow. He said the most wonderful thing is how you and Anne and his brothers have all accepted him. He said his friend Gregory, it's Grunty isn't it?..." I nodded. "....Well, he's accepted him, too. He knows Khaled and Safar have as well but he wants you to talk to Lachs and Andrew. I said you would." He took another sip. "I didn't go into detail about love and friendship but I did say, as we've said, certain things should not be done lightly." He smiled at me. "I think your son is a virgin, still. But I'm sure it won't be for long. Don't ask me who. I don't know, but I can have a good guess. But don't worry, it won't be done lightly and it won't be just an experiment."
I said whatever Francis would do would not be for just the experience. I told Tony about the liaisons in the shrubbery between the boys in Italy and finding Francis and Silvio lip-locked on that last day. Tony smiled and said Francis had confided in him about a number of things but he wouldn't break his confidence, but he had said he and Silvio genuinely loved each other like brothers, they'd done some things together but that was all. Francis had said they both wanted to meet again but Silvio was sure he wanted to get married some time.
I said my only wish was that Francis could find someone who would truly love him, just like Jem and Sam, or Matt and James. Still, he was a school boy and had a career to contemplate. Tony laughed and said I wasn't much more than a schoolboy when I made a decision. True. My Francis was born when I was still only eighteen.
We finished our brandy and made our way upstairs to the Horsebox. The house was in silence and after embracing Tony in bed and thanking him for talking to Francis I fell into a deep and tranquil sleep. I remember waking up about three o'clock or so and seeing in the dim moonlight two tall, slim, nude figures, arms round each other's shoulders, smiling across the bed at me. I smiled back, knowing that my sons had taken that final step of absolute love, and fell asleep again.
After breakfast the next morning I said I wanted to see if Bran and Finbar's trees had grown. Francis and James exchanged glances and said they'd come with me. The four mounds were there and the young saplings were growing fast. As we stood looking Francis reached down and took my hand.
"Dad, we want you to know we sealed our love and devotion as brothers last night. There's no other way to say it than that." He squeezed my hand.
I turned and kissed his cheek, then did the same to his smiling brother.
"I know you did," I said, "That was a lovely gesture to come in and tell me with your smiles."
James's head jerked back. His brow furrowed and he looked across me to his brother. I turned to Francis. He looked equally puzzled.
"Dad," he said quietly, "We never came into your room last night. We couldn't. James wouldn't let go of me and we still had our arms round each other when we woke up this morning."
"No, Dad, we didn't leave our room. It's true," James said quietly. "I wanted my brother and I wanted it to last forever."
I knew, and they knew, without saying, who those two figures were. The blessings of the house and its occupants were poured out fully on me and my sons. They were not figments of my imagination. Those two smiling boys were with us all the time. I had experienced the shadows in the past, now the substance.
Without saying more we walked to the churchyard and, putting the wild flowers we'd plucked from the wayside on the memorial stone, said our thanks.
As we walked back I asked about the copy and where it came from. Francis said as far as he knew a copy like that had gone round the Fifth Form when he was in it and one boy was always the guardian of the copy. He said that Grunty had told him that Tiger was sure there had been a copy of some more in the past before his time but the story was that the lad who had it was scared his mother would find it and had burned it in a bit of a panic much to everyone's annoyance.
We had reached the back terrace and sat in the warm sunshine on the bench there. When settled I said the copy was exact. There was a lot missing but it was padding to make the whole seem more respectable. I said the lad who'd provided the insert was more or less exact - the Latin was slightly more circumspect.
"Are you going to let us read the rest?..." James started.
"...Don't be so impatient," Francis interjected, "You're a right little Newark at times. We agreed I would ask." He turned to me. "We realise you could be in trouble letting us read it because if it's anything like that bit it's allowing kids to read something really rude..."
"...It's pornographic, Kit Wilson said, and his dad's the Methodist minister, so he should know," said James. He giggled. "Done it again, haven't I? Dad, you know Mr Wilson. You won't tell him about Kit?"
I laughed. "Not if you tell me why your brother called you a right little Newark."
My younger son actually blushed. "Oh, Dad!" The blush receded. He giggled. "Can't you guess?"
"James, I haven't been doing the Times crossword each day since I was a student without being able to do anagrams. So, if the cap fits...."
"Dad!"
"Got you Donk!" Francis said triumphantly, "Truth will out! You're favourite hobby!"
"Shut up! And stop calling me that. You're the one to talk. Those kids in Italy didn't call you 'Grande Cazz' for nothing! Granddad and Grande Cazz. You made a fine pair, you and Grunty!"
"Will you two stop bickering," I said, "Usually it's about who's got the biggest plate of food. Just because you feel unrestrained by propriety this morning doesn't mean you have to bicker about who's got the biggest...."
"Dad!!" From both.
We agreed that I would leave the typescript in the Library and that Francis should read as much of it as he wanted first. I explained the story was in three parts, the discovery of the nine, their recruitment and the interactions. I said there were discussions of various philosophical points and these had been left out of their extract. I said that bit was fairly near the end as the lads had been at the castle for over a year then. James was about to make some comment but Francis gave him a look.
"We promise we won't copy any more and we promise we won't say we've read it," he said with a serious look on his face. Then he smiled. "That article you wrote said there's a book called 'Therese' something. Wouldn't that be more suitable for him? And I've read that translation at the end. The Bijou thing."
"So you've been reading learned articles, eh?" I laughed. James was looking at the ground. "I don't suppose you'd confess to having read it, too?"
He gave a wry smile and nodded. "I'm a little Newark," he whispered, then looked at me and his face wreathed in his wonderful smile. "Dad, you couldn't be angry with us. There's not many boys with such a clever father." He laughed. "All my friends are envious and you scare the pants off Kit and Paul, especially when you ask them questions in French. And there aren't many dads who can do maths homework, too!"
Paul Curtois was another friend of James. He had a mischievous gamin smile and I guessed he and James were not averse to a little self-help. I knew his father was French and the lad was pretty good at the language himself so I could never resist trying him out.
I told James, especially, that flattery would get them nowhere but then told them a bit more about my authors and especially about our ancestor. They knew about him but until that moment didn't know he'd written the 'secret' book. They were both staring at me as I finished with that piece of news.
"So, you little seekers after the truth, it was your six times great-grandfather who produced that masterpiece you've been scrabbling over with your mucky little paws...."
"....but pure minds," said Francis softly, with the understatement of the year.
I then went on to tell them about the discoveries at Garforth Hall and Lord Harford's gift to me.
"Those old books on the top shelf of your study?" Francis asked, "I always thought you'd picked them up off that old bookstall in the market with the rest of those other dilapidated old things you keep buying. Never looked at them." He laughed.
"Who'd want to read about Hezekiah? I noticed that one 'cause we'd been doing the prophets in RI and I thought he was one and they were boring as hell!" He giggled. "What's in it?"
"As you should know, he was not a prophet, he was a King of Judah." They both groaned. Dad was in his didactic mode. "As far I can remember I think those covers contain a rather salacious account of ecclesiastical cavorting which had nothing to do with the virgin daughters of Zion and Jerusalem used as metaphors in that particular chapter of Kings." I smiled. "Whoever chose the spurious titles had quite a sense of humour. Hezekiah was renowned for his reinstatement of temple worship and this other book had more interest in statements about the temple of Hymen." Both lads looked puzzled. "It's another metaphor. Don't they teach you anything these days? Hymen was the god of marriage, a comely youth carrying a torch and a veil. I suppose the veil was to cover any embarrassments." I looked at Francis. "Like my hanky in the shrubbery." He sneered. "And the torch to lighten the darkness." I thought of one of Prosser's asides in one of Campion's RI lessons. "A light to lighten the genitals, to coin a phrase."
"Dad!" A giggling but fascinated James blurted, "Must remember that!"
"And they're all in French?" queried Francis. "Have you translated them?"
"Only bits. They're all variations on a theme. The one that is different is the one I found in manuscript because that's about boys." I put my foot in it then. "But they are illustrated." Both boys sat up attentively. "Sorry," I said to Francis, "Not that one. You'll have to use your imagination."
A rather strangled "Dad" emerged from his giggles.
"May I peruse the others?" James asked, much too politely.
"No you may not. You'll have to use your imagination until you're of a suitable age."
"But you've seen them?" he pleaded. "I wouldn't tell." He paused. "I'll tell Mum you've told us all about them."
"You do that little bro," said Francis with quite an edge to his voice, "And you certainly wouldn't need one of Stephen's cast-offs. There'd be nothing to tuck away."
"I'm sorry, Dad," a contrite James responded. "I'm sorry, I got carried away."
"You certainly would be. In bits!" grunted his brother. "Don't take any notice of him, Dad. You've told us plenty and I'll see he behaves himself."
James nodded looking a bit downcast. "I promise." He looked up at me.
"It's nice having a dad you can talk to." That was said with a voice of quiet sincerity. "I've thought a lot about yesterday. Thanks!"
"Is there anything else you want to know while we're here?"
Francis looked at James before he spoke. "Dad, you and uncle Tony are as close as me and James...." He hesitated.
"What you mean is, have we done what you did last night?" I said quietly. "Yes. We are very close."
"And others?" Francis asked softly.
I nodded. I would say no more. He would have to deduce who.
I turned to James. "You'll get married someday and I hope you'll be able to talk to your children like today and yesterday. It's important. Grandad asked me one day if I wanted to know anything and I said I didn't at the time, but I knew I could ask him if I needed to. Anything you want to ask, please don't hesitate."
Francis reached out and touched my hand. "If you say that you'll never get a moment's peace." He grinned at his brother. "You'll have two people to quiz so if you don't believe me you can ask Dad. And don't forget Grunty says he's fed up with you asking about girls."
"Well, I had to ask someone and you're not much good. I knew you weren't interested so I asked him. At least he knows what to do!" He looked at me. That grin. "Whoops, James!"
I patted him on the head. An action I knew he didn't like. He shook his head. "I'll always be the same. Mum says my mouth opens before my brain is in gear." He looked at his brother. "At least I've got a brain. Eleven As!"
"But about as much nous as a cold Christmas pudding...."
"...But stuffed with good things..." was the immediate riposte.
Both boys hooted with laughter. I smiled. Dear James had certainly been stuffed with good things the night before. We all knew that.
I asked James to show me his hands. He held them out. We had an appointment to see the skin man next week and I wanted to check there hadn't been any damage since our return. There was still redness but the skin was intact. Francis looked at them and sniffed.
"Sorry, old mate. I didn't mean you having to suffer like that," he said, "But you made the most of it."
James looked up at me his eyes twinkling. "Best thing you did, Dad, telling him everything meant everything!"
"Huh, and you made the most of it, too. You even made Bruno wipe your backside and Safar cut your toenails," said Francis tartly.
"Don't change the subject, bro. Dad told you what to do and you carried out your duties faithfully." He leaned back as Francis aimed a good-natured punch to his upper arm. "Ouch! That is until you delegated your duties to the others." He looked at me. "Oh God, James has done it again!"
I was more than used to 'foot in mouth disease' as Tiger had called it after numerous occasions where James had inadvertently come out with some choice tidbit of gossip or some mix-up. Tiger was there when James, aged twelve, announced at the tea table that his class had had their BCG injections that day and the nurse was coming in next week to inspect their pricks to see if they were red and swollen. I thought Tiger was going to choke on the doughnut he was scoffing at the moment and the looks on Francis's and Grunty's faces were a picture.
"Why don't you take all your little helpers to the Berni bar for steak and chips? Spend a bit of that money you've been hoarding for all those years," I said, playing on the fact that dear James hated spending any of his pocket-money.
"He'd better wait until Bruno and Silvio come at Easter," laughed Francis.
"Shut up, you!" said James, almost petulantly, "Just because...., Ouch!"
Francis had caught hold of James' ear and twisted it. "Let's call it quits, shall we?"
Both then dissolved into giggles.
The bound copy of the 'secret' book was taken up to their bedroom directly after supper. I heard Francis telling Tony that had things to discuss. As he was carrying the book at the time Tony knew exactly what they were about to discuss. Tony and I sat and imbibed brandy with Tony smoking his interminable Gauloises. We kept looking at each other and grinning as we chatted. Even though Tony was telling me more about the film studios and their odd inhabitants the two boys were on our minds.
At breakfast next morning they kept grinning at each other. James disappeared upstairs again immediately afterwards and Francis, Tony and I strolled out to the terrace.
He looked round but Tony had discreetly walked off after lighting another cigarette. "Dad," he began speaking softly, "We had to take the book upstairs. It does things." Another understatement of the year. He enlightened me. "We read it in bits until well after two." We sat on the bench and he turned to me, confidentially. "Dad, it's odd, there's no rude words, but.... You, know...., You can't help it can you? And you translated it...., Um, did it?"
"Oh, come off it, Francis," I said laughing, "If you think a lad of twenty-two as I was at the time could read that and not do what you and that brother of yours were engaging in last night then you must be daft! I know it had the same effect on Daniel and Johann and I guess it's fuelled the imagination of several generations of lads from your school even with that short extract."
"Daniel and Johann, as well?
"Of course, you don't think that it's only English boys who.... Oh, I forgot.. You do know about Italian boys! Silvio and Bruno at least!"
He had to laugh. "Dad, I realised a long time ago that all boys are the same. It's just interesting finding out... . Oh, I'm sounding like James now."
"Yeah, when Granddad read it he said boys will be boys - and he did mention willing boys in the bushes!"
"Grandad's read it too?" Francis sounded both astounded and a little shocked.
"Yes. Grandma found out about the 'secret' book as we called it when Charley Lascelles had a bit too much to drink up at Garforth. Granddad was instructed to find out more and it was when we lived at Kerslake and I was finishing off the translation ready for my thesis." I paused. "No, don't ask me. He must have skipped through it 'cause it didn't take him long before he was down again and informing Grandma. It wasn't mentioned again. I've often wondered what he told her. I don't think she'd be too shocked though given some of the things she's written in her books."
He laughed. "Her books are popular at school. I daren't tell anyone it's my Grandma." We both laughed. He became serious again. "I wondered about that book about Chelsea 'cause there was a boy in that murdered and Cam Sullivan said he was definitely one who.... You know... Waits in the lavs...."
I looked at him. He'd stopped and his lower lip was held under his teeth. "You haven't?"
He shook his head violently. "No, Dad, I haven't, but I know about them. I promise you I wouldn't." He shook his head again. "You've got to believe me. There's boys in school who go, but I wouldn't, I wouldn't, I wouldn't...." He had shaken his head on each repetition. I knew I could trust him.
I reached out and took hold of his hand. "Francis, one day you'll find someone. It's not worth the hassle of the other. I had to stand as a good character reference for one of our students only last year who was caught. He said he was only curious. I believed him. I had to. There's lots of lads like that. They're not sure." I laughed slightly. "The ones I've known about have all been to boys' schools. Like you."
"..And bloody James....., and it doesn't affect him!" He looked contrite. "I'm sorry Dad but before he knew properly about me he used to tease me. Said I didn't know anything about girls 'cause I was too busy....." He began to sniff. "Dad, it's awful. I can't help it. James has promised not to tease me anymore. I know he won't and Grunty has promised he'll be with me all the time. Khaled's promised, too. I wish I could be with Uncle Tony....."
I squeezed his hand. "Francis, there's no harm in looking. All boys do. But, be careful. There's a difference between curiosity and the real thing. But, I'll guess between them Grunty and Khaled'll keep you on the straight and narrow." I giggled. "I don't know about the straight."
He squeezed my hand back. "Oh, Dad. Thanks!"
James gave me back the book before supper that night. He'd been an absent figure most of the day. He had his usual James' grin on his face as he handed me the book. His only comment was "Wow!".
- September - December 1965
Tony had further long talks with Francis during that stay at Ulvescott and Francis had told me when we got back home that he was far happier now. But he had to plan his immediate future. As he and Grunty wanted to read medicine and to do at least their pre- clinical work at Cambridge they had applied to the same college. They also wanted to improve their CVs so decided to take up rowing with one of the school's eights as they had Friday afternoons free from lessons and could chose to help either with Junior Games, or pursue some other activity. As colleges were always looking for boat crews they thought it would be a good idea.
Of course, it caused much hilarity in the household. James had to remind Francis at every meal that boaties had the reputation of being thick. James would set Francis off with "How do you get a boatie to climb a ladder?" "Tell him the drinks are on the house", or "How do you keep a boatie busy for hours?" "Give him a card with Please Turn Over written on both sides."
At least he didn't ask the ones I remembered from times as an undergraduate. "Why is a boatie like Minnie Mouse?" "Because it's almost certain they're both fucking Goofy", or, "Why is a boatie like snow in November?" "Because you're not likely to get six inches and it won't last long anyway", or, "What's a boatie's idea of foreplay? "Half the crew wanking each other while the other half watch".
James did get his comeuppance somewhat one day right at the beginning of term when Grunty was there as well at tea-time. They had both sneered at "What's a boatie's favourite holiday?", "Visiting the next pub", as weak and beneath their contempt. They endured "Confucius he say three kinds of boaties. Those who can count and those who can't!" with a look of disdain but when later he'd asked "Why is a boatie like a bottle of beer?" and they both knew the answer, "'Cause there's nothing from the neck up", there was a concerted rush at James who scampered up the stairs into his bedroom at a mighty rate of knots. Too late. There were anguished squeals with Grunty bellowing out "What's black and blue with hairy legs and found floating in the Cam?". Francis's chanted answer, "Little boys who tell stupid boatie jokes", was accompanied by cries for help which I studiously ignored. Two embryonic boaties came back downstairs rubbing their hands, smirking. We finished off eating to muted cries of "Help!".
I waved them out, still grinning, as they were off to some meeting or other. Anne was out, too, so I wandered up to my study a few minutes later to read through a proof of another article. James heard me come up the stairs. "Dad, I need you!" he called.
"You can go to the lav yourself now. There's nothing wrong with your hands."
"Dad, please?" He sounded rather peeved.
I went along to his bedroom The one he normally shared with Stephen. He was lying sideways on the bed. He was nude. They had stripped him and then tied his hands and arms together behind his back and lashed them to his legs and feet, which were drawn up behind him. Grunty's time in the Scouts had paid off as far as knots were concerned even though they were in socks, pants and other items of wear. James was fixed, but the piece de resistance was the bow of purple satin ribbon tied round his rather shrivelled limp cock. One of Stephen's artistic creations for his puppet theatre had been raided.
I looked him over. "Oh, I'll come back later," I said, "I see you're tied up at the moment."
He had to grin. "Dad, please, no corny jokes and I promise I won't say anything else to those two."
I grinned too. "You won't have to say much if you end up like this. I like the ribbon, though. What's that for? Awarded your twelfth A - for Annoyance?"
"Please, Dad," he was trying hard not to giggle. "I'm cold. Please untie me."
"I can see you're a bit cold. Not like a warm bath in here."
"Dad, please. Mum'll be home soon and I don't want her to see me like this."
I went in and he wriggled on the bed. "I'll get those two," he said.
"And you'll end up again like this. Or in the Cam! In fact I think they've gone to fetch the rest of the crew."
He thought I was serious. He wriggled more violently. "Keep still," I said, delivering a sharp slap to his rather pert bum, "Whoever did these knots was very good." He started to try to kick himself free so I slapped him again. "Keep still! Are you wriggling so you get your backside smacked?" I asked, undoing a rather tight knot in a pair of football socks. "I should have smacked it a bit more when you were younger to teach you good manners towards your elders."
He was laughing now. "There you are," I said as I freed his legs from his arms and he flung off those bonds. "I'll leave you to remove the ribbon."
"Thanks dad," he smiled at me. "I'm sorry I'm such a pickle. Can't help it. But I can still tease Francis, can't I?"
"No doubt you will," I said, "But don't think I'll always be here to rescue you. Your mum might have to remove your next adornment. At least they didn't paint your bits with ink or tie you with your shorts down to a hole in a tree like they did to a boy at school with me."
He sat up on the side of the bed, forgetting to start dressing himself and still with the bow tied round his floppy dick. He was all ears. "Tell me more, please? You tell us bits and that school you went to sounds interesting. Nothing ever happens at ours."
"Come on then, get yourself presentable and dressed and you can come down and finish your tea. I might tell you something of the saga of Bernie Foster."
I went down and made a fresh pot of tea and as he munched through a second stack of bread and jam I gave him a version of poor Bernard. I said the last I'd heard of him he was having a very successful career in the Merchant Navy so blue ink and ant bites were no real deterrent.
When I finished he smiled. "Thanks, Dad. You don't imagine your dad's ever been a boy." He looked at me and grinned. "Will you tell us about Uncle Mike and those pictures he drew sometime?"
That was a bit more personal. "Sometime!" I said.
With a bit of encouragement from Grunty, especially, James joined in trying out rowing. As a First Year Sixth Former he joined in the group training on Wednesdays. We heard no more boatie jokes!
But, towards the end of term there was a happening reminiscent of something previous. On this particular Friday Francis and James had gone off to school. Anne was giving a lecture and then had supervisions after lunch. I had two supervisions in the morning and a committee meeting for some arcane bit of College business in the afternoon. I'd cycled into college but on the way got a puncture. Willy said, in his helpful but circuitous way, that he would get Davy to pump the tyre up and take the bike to the bike shop in Chesterton Road at lunch-time as that was near De Freville Avenue where Jem and Sam had just bought another house for letting to students and Davy could check if the carpet had been laid properly on the stairs. All rather complicated, but I would get my bike back in the afternoon.
As it happened I had a note from the Bursar saying the meeting had been cancelled so as soon as I finished seeing the second student off in the morning I said to Willy I would walk home as I had a pile of essays to mark and I'd pick up the bike on Monday.
On arriving home, not needing to go round the back where I usually parked my bike, leaving it in everybody's way against the side of the garage, I used my front-door key to get in. At about half past twelve, having marked quite a number of the essays I found some grub in the fridge for my lunch, ate it, washed up and went back upstairs to my study. About half past one I heard someone unlock the backdoor and realised it was Francis with Grunty. Obviously come to collect some bit of forgotten rowing kit as they were due on the river at two thirty. I heard them chatting as they came upstairs. They, of course, seeing no bike, finding a locked backdoor, a cleared kitchen, had no idea I was there. I wasn't expected to be there. As far as Francis knew I was in college getting ready for the committee meeting I'd bitterly complained about at breakfast that morning.
My study door was slightly open and I could hear talk, then silence, then some rather interesting noises. I could hear Francis repeatedly saying at a gradually increasing volume, "Come on Grunt, that's it, I want it, I need it, come on...." I also noted Grunty was living up to his nickname - not applied for what I could hear, though. This was a slow but insistent, "Nuh..... Nuh..... Nuh...." egged on by Francis's pleas. Of course, nosey me had to find out what was going on. Luckily hinges had been well-oiled and no floorboards squeaked under the corridor carpet. I crept along and found the door to Francis's bedroom half open.
On the bed, the end of which was clearly visible through the open door, was a recumbent Francis, on his back, eyes tight shut, his legs round Grunty's broad back, being soundly and enthusiastically fucked by his best friend. From the angle I was at I could see very clearly that Francis had a real Thomson seven inch hardon which he was gripping tight and slowly pushing his foreskin back and forth over the head. Grunty, on the other hand, as had been divulged much earlier, was perhaps just on the fortieth percentile for his age, five inches at the most, but what he lacked in length he made up for in girth. Wow! If Francis was taking that in without complaint they must have practised opening him up for some time.
Grunty's grunts were timed exactly to the full insertion of that short, thick cock. Each time on the upstroke he withdrew it so that his fat, round knob end came almost fully out. Then with a great shove of his powerful, muscly buttocks the stubby monster disappeared until his plum-sized balls slapped against Francis's undercarriage. And so the accompanying, "Nuh..."
By this time Francis was getting more frantic and I saw Grunty's balls rise so I knew he was near completion. I crept back to my room just in time to hear a succession of even louder grunts with a final drawn-out "Unnnnnnnnnh". This was accompanied by a rapid repetition of "Oh, Grunt..., Oh, Grunt..., Oh, Grunt...," ending with an almost agonising "OhhhhhhhhHHHHHH" as Francis must have climaxed almost simultaneously. There was a moment's silence, then Francis started up a litany of "Oh, Grunt..., Oh, Grunt.., Oh Grunt...," again, against Grunty's heavy breathing after that effort. Francis ended his repetitions with, "Oh Grunt, I wanted that so bad, I wanted it so bad. Oh, I want it again, soon!" Solid, dependable, pragmatic Grunty panted, "You'll have to wait until tomorrow night! You'll get it then! And then it's my turn, too!"
Tomorrow night? Saturday. Yes! Professor and Mrs Gibson were away for the weekend. Grunty was destined for house-sitting and Francis had offered to accompany him. I had heard plans for homework completion and further reading discussed earlier in the week. Nothing about fucking! Well as long as the first came first and the pair came second, no problem. I'd seen my best friend being fucked by a cock inches longer than Grunty's at Ulvescott years ago but I doubted if Tony had had anymore pleasure than Francis had had this afternoon. I knew I'd had some of the most intense and the most exhilarating experiences of my life on my back like Francis, or in the position of Grunty. Who was I to have any reasons to condemn my son and his best friend? Who was I to marvel at the stamina of two seventeen-year-olds who soon after left the house ready to spend the next two hours rowing? Then, I thought, I generally, at that age, did the exercise first then came afterwards. Ah well, chacun a son gout!
I was outside the back-door at about four o'clock, putting some rubbish in the dustbin, when Francis and Grunty returned from the river. I heard Grunty clatter up his drive and through the gate at the side of their house. Francis did the same on our side leaving his bike where I normally parked mine. He looked at me.
"You're home early. I thought you had a committee meeting," he said briskly, following me into the kitchen. The aroma of hot, sweaty adolescent was very apparent. He'd got a thick top on and baggy shorts covering his rower's leotard.
"Oh, it was cancelled," I said. "D'you want a mug of tea before you shower?"
"Oh, please, it's thirsty work. Coach kept us at it 'cause Cam kept catching crabs."
I knew his pal Cam Sullivan was not suffering from itchy balls but dipping his oar at the wrong angle. I poured a mug of tea for him. A thought must have struck him.
"Where's your bike?" he asked, "I didn't see it out there."
I still had my drop-head racer - that present from so many years ago. Well I suppose it was the same bike. Over the years I'd had several new tires, a new front wheel after Francis had tried a wheelie and came down rather too heavily, a new saddle, chain, pedals, name it! Like Pa's favourite shovel which had had a new handle and a new blade, it was the same well-loved possession.
"Oh, I had a puncture on the way in this morning so Davy is taking it to the bike shop and I'll get it back on Monday. I walked home at lunch-time."
Ouch! Like James my mouth opened inadvertently. You could almost hear the cogs turning in my boatie son's well-tuned brain.
"Dad?" He looked at me questioningly.
"Yes," I nodded
"And you were here?"
"Of course." I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know where you lads get your stamina from. That, and then an hour and a half rowing."
He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I went up to him and hugged him. Gosh, he had worked up a sweat!
"Francis," I whispered into his ear, "Whatever you do is up to you. I'd rather it was you and Grunty and not some furtive anonymous liaison." He hugged me tight.
"But don't let him get too involved, I don't think he's destined to be your lifetime boyfriend."
"No, Dad. It's just us. He's my friend," he murmured in my ear. "And you're not shocked 'cause we're boys?"
"No more than if I found James in bed with some girl from St Faith's. Except I'd want to check they weren't taking risks."
He relaxed and giggled.
"But you be careful with Grunty. Remember you're much bigger than he is...."
"Dad!.....," he interrupted me, sounding rather startled or astounded.
"......remember you're six foot two and he's only five feet seven...."
He let go of me and I released him. We stood eye to eye. We smiled at each other. "Oh, Dad!" He shook his head, "We can never get anything past you, can we? It's best to be honest and in the open." He looked at me and smiled. I nodded. "It's OK, Dad, Grunty and I have made a pact. We're boys I know but it's..... Oh! Grunty's keen on this girl in the other Sixth Form but they haven't..., she won't and Grunty respects that. But...." He chewed his lower lip. "...We don't force ourselves on each other....."
"..But you both felt like it this afternoon?" I said
He grinned and nodded. "Unfortunately, I feel like it most of the time...." he countered.
"Oh, to be seventeen," I whispered.
One of the major points in a chapter in Professor Gibson's last book was on the heightened hormonal levels and sexual drive and capacities of sixteen to twenty-five year olds. True, too true!
"You'd better go and shower. Your tea's cold. I'll make some more and bring it up."
He smiled at me. "Thanks, Dad." A very smelly boy leaned forward and kissed my cheek.
"And put all that stuff you're wearing in the washing-machine before you go upstairs. You stink!"
"Yes, sir!" he said, trying a less-than-military salute.
He stripped off and took the pile of clothes into the utility room. I noted his overall tan had faded somewhat. He came out smiling. "I am bigger than Grunty, though, aren't I?" He made a dive for the door as I flicked the tea-towel I was holding at his retreating bum.
I took the fresh mug of tea up to him with a couple of tea-cakes I had found in the pantry and buttered. He was still in the bathroom so I tapped on the door. He called out 'Come in' and he was just drying his hair.
"Bring the things down when you've finished," I said.
He smiled his thanks. "Dad," he said quietly as I turned to go out. "Thanks again for understanding me. I'll be OK. I'd better not tell Grunty though about today."
"Probably not at the moment. You'll have to tell him sometime. But remember to call out another time to see if anybody's home, unless your passions are running too high. Judging from today...."
"Dad," he snickered, "it's wonderful, though, isn't it?"
"Well, you'll find out again tomorrow night, won't you?"
"Dad!!"
To be Continued:.........................