I noticed that in the first posting the layout of the Characters Appearing was a bit haywire. I'll try again. There is also the customary warning that anyone who is not of an age, or in the wrong State/Country, or of any persuasion which makes their mental processes such that rational discourse of a sexual nature is anathema to them, should desist from reading any further. To all other readers - greetings. My e-mail address , coded to prevent spam, is joad130 (at) hotmail.com i.e. replace the (at) withe @ sign and close gaps.
Mystery and Mayhem At St Mark's
by
Joel
Some of the Characters Appearing: [Year 2000]
Mark Henry Foster: 16 rising 17, 5ft 11in and still growing
Tristan (Tris) Price-Williams: 17 just about 18, 6ft and well-proportioned
Francis Michael [Microbe] Foster: Almost 14 just growing: also alias Toad
Gordon Foster: Father of Mark and Francis Fiddles for a living
Maria (Angelica Matteoli) Foster: Mother of Mark and Francis Teaches singing
Nicholas Price-Williams QC: Father of Tris and Shelley Lawyer and opera lover
Dilys Price-Williams: Mother of Tris and Shelley A poetess manque
- 2000 Again
So, that fateful missive had arrived on the Monday morning, the day before my confession to Tris that I'd applied for that Organ Scholar's post. Mum had rapped on my bedroom door just before nine.
"There's toast and post downstairs. Boil yourself an egg and do one for Francis when he comes down - I'm off to Sainsbury's."
Post? I wasn't used to getting letters. That could only mean one thing. A response from St Mark's College.
I didn't even wash although I had the residue of the previous night's most satisfactory wank nestling in my pubic hair and up my belly. I hopped out of bed, pulled on a pair of cargoes and a tee-shirt, slipped on a pair of rather smelly trainers and scurried downstairs. Mum was just leaving. She wrinkled her nose when she saw me.
"Make sure you do wash before going next door with any news. Dilys has a keen sense of smell."
I blew her a kiss and pounced on the letter displayed in the middle of the table.
I ripped it open. It was tersely worded and to the point. The College Dean had noted my application for the post of the Augustus Pennefather Organ Scholar which would become vacant in... blah, blah, blah..... And that I had also applied to read Mathematics. He was sorry it was short notice but I was invited to attend on Friday May the Fifth for two interviews. Please to confirm with his Secretary on 01223 338... etc. At 2 p.m. I would be required to play Bach's Prelude and Fugue in f minor BWV 534 and two contrasting pieces of my own choosing as had been specified on the original notice. As preparation I would be allotted at least one hour to practise on Friday morning and could be accompanied by a registrant for that and the recital. I should also be prepared to be tested on any second instrument. I would then be interviewed at 4.30 p.m. by a member of the Mathematics Faculty.
Ouch! Luckily I was very familiar with the Bach in any case. Reggie Prentice had coached me on that as it was a favourite for examinations and those sessions at the RCM had honed the edges. What else? Contrasting. I knew what I liked and had been practising assiduously without Tris being aware, I hoped. I had chosen Mendelssohn's number 5 in D major. Definitely. A contrast in key to the f minor of the Bach. Then something a bit more modern. I was very fond of a couple of pieces by Jehan Alain. I nodded. 'The Second Fantaisie'. All was well. Reggie had looked up the specification of the organ and said he'd also heard a recital in the chapel. The organ was a fairly big three-manual and could be overpowering for any space. Be careful. Light registrations. Build up carefully and, as there were a couple of rather nice French sounding reeds from the 1968 rebuild, just the thing for the Fantaisie.
I 'phoned at 9.30. All was well. I spent the rest of the morning playing over the pieces on the piano, imagining where my feet would go. I also listened to my CD of Marie- Claire Alain's playing of the Fantaisie. I took an uncomplaining Tristan to the church in the afternoon giving as my excuse I had thought of entering for the Associate at Christmas. A white lie. I fully intended entering but I hadn't seen the play lists yet. So Tuesday afternoon after another session of practice we had returned and that was when I confessed.
That most pleasant hour passed. We nuzzled each other and kept smiling. I had to get to St Mark's to be with my Tristan. Perhaps if I didn't become the Organ scholar that Maths don might think I was capable.
"You're going to practice tomorrow until your fingers drop off," he said.
"Ok, Ok," I said, "And the way you've just practised on me it's a wonder your prick hasn't fallen off."
"No fear of that," he rolled away from me, his tool still rampant. "That's how it always is when you're around." He chuckled. "And you're just the same."
Although I'd just shot a substantial load my dick was also still hard.
"We'd better move, 'cause Mum will be home soon...."
There was the sound of the back door slamming.
"....Oh, bugger, it's Francis! Mustn't let him see us like this."
"As if he could care. Have you told him about Cambridge yet?"
I shook my head. "All will be revealed this evening, so go and shower and perhaps Mum will let you stay for fodder."
I assumed Francis would be more interested in getting food from the pantry than in what his big brother and his friend had been occupying themselves with. True. He was sitting at the kitchen table with the most ginormous ham and pickle sandwich in front of him.
"I'm starved," he said as Tris led the way into the room.
"Looks like it. I suppose you're a growing boy," said Tris. "Anything left for us?"
Francis looked at me. My assumption had only been half right. "I suppose you two have been to bed again? When are you going to tell me what you do? Not that I want to do anything like that, but I'm curious." He looked at Tris. "You were making enough noise on Good Friday afternoon......"
I didn't know that Tris could blush so deeply but his face and neck reddened.
"....I thought I would have to call an ambulance." He stared straight at Tris with an absolutely straight face, then crumpled into a grin. "...Oh, Marky, Marky, don't stop, Oh, please!..." He sniggered. "Good job Mum and Dad were out....."
Tris composed himself. "Little boys like you should keep out of the house during daylight hours..."
The Toad sniggered again. "....And nights when you stay over. Remember I'm in the room next door and can hear everything. Jack showed me how to listen with a glass against the wall. He listens in when his sister has her boyfriend in for a session..."
"...A session?....." Tris went over to Francis and put his hand under his chin and stared straight at him. He couldn't maintain his apparent sternness. He let go. "Oh, Frankie, you'll learn. But you are quite aware that Marky and I love each other." Francis nodded and grinned. "And what we do in the privacy of our rooms is no business of yours...." An awful thought had struck both of us simultaneously.
I strode over and stood the other side of Francis. "Your friend Jack wasn't there with you? Eh?"
Francis gave me a disarming smile and shook his head. "No, of course not and he doesn't know I used the glass. He told me about his sister, though. She makes funny noises too. That's all... ...But I want to know. Sometime."
Oh what does one tell one's thirteen year-old brother. If he was like me he probably was already into that developmental stage where he was enjoying wanking and rejoicing in the production of his own boycream. I actually hadn't taken much notice of him and I hadn't seen much evidence of scrunched up tee-shirts or the excessive usage of hankies or tissues.
He looked at me again. "I don't think you've been a very good brother so far. I've had to find everything out from whispers and from the Internet and what Jack's cousin told him. So, I want to know all about boys."
Forthright and to the point! Yes, I suppose I hadn't been a good brother. I had been so wrapped up in my relationship with Tris, Francis didn't come into the equation. He was the younger brother who ate, drank and slept in the same house and usually kept out of my way. He and his pal Jack were real computer buffs and enthusiastic skateboarders and he spent a lot of time at his house. And Jack had enlightened him? And used the Internet? I wasn't into computers and had only heard of the intriguing sites one could visit.
I looked at Tris. He grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I suppose you'll have to learn some day but that sandwich looks good and I need food, too!"
Francis didn't say any more and I made a couple of sandwiches of less enormous proportions for us two and found some chocolate digestives which also disappeared quickly. I went back upstairs as I found I hadn't got a handkerchief and when I returned, having found the bed still rather rumpled and needing tidying, Tris had gone, Mum was home and the Toad had vamoosed as well.
"All's arranged," Mum said, "If I didn't do it no one else would. You and Tristan can go to Cambridge Thursday afternoon. You're booked in at the Arundel House Hotel for Thursday and Friday and Sophie will prime the twins. They've gone back early to do some very necessary work she said but she'll see they meet you and also get you to the College on Friday morning. I've booked your train tickets as well and I'll check the clothes you want to wear this evening before we eat."
I was two weeks off seventeen. I was of age to marry. I could smoke. I was fully sexually active. A big boy to all around. I burst into tears.
I rushed over to Mum and we hugged each other. "I know, I know," she whispered in my ear as I bent and put my head on her shoulder. "It's that big opportunity and you don't know if you're ready for it. Don't worry. We've all been through it. You'll survive. Do your very utmost best. We won't feel any different if this one doesn't come off..." She moved her head and kissed my damp cheek. "...You've got time....."
I sniffled a bit and was glad I'd made the journey upstairs for the hankie. I stood up and wiped my eyes. "Thanks, Mum," I said as steadily as I could, "I don't want to disappoint you and Dad. It's all a bit overwhelming I've just realised." I tried a smile. "I couldn't do anything without you and Dad behind me..."
"...And Tris?" she asked.
"And Tris," I said, smiling properly.
Tris came to dinner and Dad was home too, no evening concerts to scrape at for two nights, as he said. He'd been particularly busy over Easter, even on Good Friday with the Bach St Matthew, and he and Mum had decided a night on the town on Wednesday - theatre and dinner afterwards - so they wouldn't be back until well after midnight. He had known my news on Monday but Frankie looked at me with eyes of wonderment when we told him at dinner. Tris was quite over the moon. He said he was so glad he was coming with me and would pull any stops I wanted.... he stopped before any double entendres could ensue but Dad had a knowing grin on his face. Frankie's eyes popped even more when Dad produced a bottle of champagne and we had a glass each as a pre-celebration.
I didn't sleep too well that night. I had that awful dream where I was running because I didn't know where I was and all the houses had their doors locked and the streets were endless but at the end I always emerged in a quiet room.... I think I was quite exhausted when I dropped off at last and was pretty glad when Mum rapped on the bedroom door in the morning.
"Now, don't practice too much today," she admonished me as I sat down rather lumpily at the breakfast table after I'd told her I hadn't slept too well. "Just pace it. I expect you know the pieces pretty well. And pack your clothes tidily, you can't appear all crumpled. And don't forget to clean your clarinets and see you've got good reeds."
"And clean undies..." murmured the Toad who was shovelling Frosties into his gob as if there was no tomorrow.
I gave him the big brother look but all he did was shovel another fully-loaded spoon into his capacious maw.
"You can look after him today," Mum said nodding her head towards my gluttonish brother. "I have to see some poor girl this morning who's worried her top C isn't available on cue. Your Dad's rehearsing this afternoon so he'll meet me at the College and we'll go on from there." She smiled. "Not too arduous, make the child..." The 'child' looked up and sneered. "...a couple of sandwiches and you're both invited next door for a proper meal..." She emphasized 'proper' and 'the child's' sneer changed to a satisfied 'good-ho' grin. "...this evening. But early to bed." She looked at Frankie. "Just because I'm not here no staying up late and watching telly!" The 'child' sneered again. I didn't think my facial features could undergo so many changes of expression in so short a time. Perhaps 'the child' had a future in the theatre? "Is that clear?"
"Yes, Mum," was the concerted, only possible, response from both of us.
The day passed. Frankie said he was going to the skateboarders' paradise in the local Park later. The theatrical thoughts caused me to murmur 'Break a leg' which I instantly regretted and was glad he hadn't heard. First I went through to the front room where I usually practised and played through various pieces I liked on my B flat clarinet, then had a go at the Mozart Concerto on my A. I was pleased with my playing and as I finished the last joyful runs of the concerto Tris came silently into the room.
"I love that," he said as I played the last note and took a welcome breath. All I could do was nod. I loved that piece, too, and often played my old Jack Brymer recording Dad had bought me as he had known Jack from his orchestral days. I tried to emulate his wonderful tone and vibrant playing.
We had coffee and after that we walked along to the church. I played through each piece once, and once only. I had memorised the College stop list and tried to think what it would be like from the rather bigger three-manual we had in the church. I tried to match up numbers of stops and types but as I hadn't heard the other one I would have to wait until I practised. Anyway, not toooo loud, don't change too much in the Bach, not toooo fast, clear articulation especially in those pedal jumps in the Mendelssohn and in the pedal runs, interesting registrations for the Alain, etc. etc.. I scribbled possibilities on Post-It notes and breathed a sigh of partial contentment as my fingers and feet had seemed to be working in co-ordination. I switched off the motor and slid off the organ seat. Tris grabbed me, oblivious of the cleaner down below, and hugged me and whispered. "I love you."
There was a note on the kitchen table when we got home. "Lunching at Jack's. Back at 5. Best wishes, F."
Tris grinned and put his arm round my shoulder, "Seems like Francis wants big brother to be happy." I told him of my misplaced sentiment. He laughed. "Microbe's not too bad as little brother's go, I think." Microbe was Frankie's nick-name that Tris had given him very early on as he had been very small in relation to us and his second name was Michael. "At least he doesn't smell of horse like Shelley does most days!" I agreed. Facial expressions and the odd sarky comment were better than the aroma of the stable.
Anyway Tris was happy. After telling him of my disturbed night he was soon holding me tight and telling me I had nothing to worry about, I had nothing to escape from, so come upstairs. There he received two long, slow insertions of my, oh-so rampant, tool and was brought to two ecstatic climaxes of his own. "If I hadn't been in church this morning...," he murmured in my ear after I had slowly drawn that second spurting effusion from him, "...I could have come without trying when you played those last lovely chords of the Fantaisie. I wanted you then and I've had you now..... I'm going to miss you next year...."
We lay quietly and then rose and cleaned ourselves and dressed. "You'll win," he whispered as we held each other before going downstairs "And don't forget, I'll only be there if I get the required A's".
"You will," I said with real confidence.
Dead on five o'clock Francis appeared, looked at us sitting in the living-room, my nose in the Applied Maths text this time, Tristan reading through a folder of History notes. "Can I watch Neighbours later before we go out?" Two heads shook. "Bollocks!" he said and stamped upstairs. We grinned at each other. What had the younger generation come to saying words like that!
At least Francis was ready at seven when I called up the stairs that we'd better be going next door. "At least I'll be in charge when you two are off," he said as he came into the kitchen.
"When we're both off you'll be fifteen and a bit older and a bit wiser than now I hope, but you'll miss us," said Tris putting an arm round his shoulders.
For once the Toad looked a bit downcast. "Yeah, I'll miss you," he said quietly, then jumped away from Tris. "And I did watch Neighbours. Jack sent it over by Webcam!"
For that we grabbed him and gave him a 'smack arse and tickle' routine which always reduced him to a quivering jelly pleading for life and limb and which satisfied our sense of superiority.
When we let him down he looked quite defiant but grinned. "When I'm fifteen you'd better watch it 'cause I'll be bigger as well as older and wiser and you'll just be older and more decrepit."
As he was standing on the other side of the kitchen table and it would have taken effort on our parts to reprimand him further I just said he'd better behave himself tonight or I'd tell Mum, especially as he'd already used a rude word in Tris's presence. That shut him up for all of five minutes until we entered the Price-Williams' house and he starting razzing Shelley up about her love of horseflesh - a thing which boys could never understand about girls - and she was simpering, obviously thinking he was making eyes at her.
I sidled up behind him and pinched his bum and asked Shelley to tell him how she had won that last rosette at the Easter gymkhana. When we sat down for dinner he looked daggers at me across the table. 'Call me decrepit, eh?' I thought.
All was healed, or forgotten, as Mrs P-W then produced the most sumptuous dinner. Salmon roulade with a salad and herbed dressing as a starter, a Boeuf a la Bourguignonne to praise Heaven for as main, and, after two helpings of that with all the lovely veggies, there were man-sized Petits Pots de Cafe to end. Mrs P-W said if anyone liked it the French way we could have the cheese before the pud. Luckily the double entendre was lost on the two young-'uns and Mr P-W gave Tris a long look and grinned. Anyway, Uncle Nick as Francis and I called him, was in his element. He loved good food and good wine and he opened a bottle of claret for the beef and cheese which even I could appreciate.
Before we finished dinner he stood and raised his glass and grinned, this time, at me. "To those who go down to the sea in ships..."
"Dad," said Tristan, "Be sensible for once." He stood and raised his glass. "This toast with three times three we'll give - Long life to you......"
'...Till then' - I thought. I looked from father to son who both gurned like idiots at me. Tris and I had been in the school production of the Mikado before Christmas, him as a stately Pooh-Bah, me as the hapless Nanki-poo, so I knew how that solo ended.
"You two set that up," I said. "I don't even have a month to prove myself."
"But you will in just two days' time," said Mrs P-W, "We have every faith in you, so here's to your future, sincerely and completely."
Even the Toad said 'And so say all of us' over his brimming glass of Coca-Cola.
I nodded to Francis when the grandfather clock in their drawing-room struck ten. Without a murmur of dissent he got up, thanked Uncle Nick and Auntie Di with aplomb, blew an air-kiss at a blushing Shelley and, for some unknown reason, winked at Tristan. I said my goodbyes, too, and he followed me down the drive and into our drive.
I opened the front-door.
"A perfect evening," I said. "And I'm ready for bed."
"So am I," said Francis and he went through to the kitchen as I strolled leisurely up the stairs. "Don't forget to leave the porch light on," he called out as I reached the top. I swore quietly and came down again as he emerged from the kitchen bearing a glass of water.
I checked the downstairs rooms again and went up to my room visiting the second bathroom first. It was an unwritten rule. The second bathroom was for me and the small shower room was his. All was well. He'd followed me up and now his door was shut. I peed and sighed. I was replete and content but the old Adam, although exercised fully this afternoon, was stirring. Good food and a little wine seemed to do wonders for the loins. In my room I stripped off completely, folded my clothes and slipped into bed under my snug duvet in my usual state of nudity. I stretched, arranged my arms and legs in a most comfortable position and lay quietly to see if Nature would call for attention.
- A Brother's Worries
I was aware that my bedroom door was opened. "Move over Marky," came a confident whisper, "It's time for you to talk to me."
"Go back to your room, Frankie. I've got a busy day tomorrow."
"And Tris said you'd talk to me tonight..."
Before I could protest further he'd lifted the side of the duvet and pushed into the bed beside me. I had seen in the dim light at least he was wearing a pair of boxers.
"...Shove over," he commanded. A hand reached out to push me and slid down my naked side as I had turned slightly. "...Nothing on?" he asked, "Do you always sleep with nothing on?"
I sighed wearily. I knew there was no way of dislodging him until he'd heard 'everything'.
"Is that your first question? And when did you talk to Tris?"
He sniggered and moved up closer.
"Um, you're lovely and warm. I think I'll move in here with you."
I moved away as a hand moved down further onto my thigh.
"It's OK, I'm not going to rape you!" The Toad sniggered again. "Tris told me to say that if you got antsy!"
I gave up. Any thought of turfing the terrible child out of the bed evaporated. There was no stopping him and the best way was to acquiesce. He was in full flow.
He tweaked the rather abundant crop of black hair above my knee. I winced but kept still.
"You're getting very hairy legs. Aldo's got very hairy legs and so had that boy who cleaned the pool. We're half Italian so I suppose we'll have hairy legs, too. Tris ain't, he's fair. He said it's in the genes." He paused and sniffed. "I know why you love him. He's wonderful." He sniffed again. "You are, too, but he said I shouldn't tell you 'cause you're a shy young fellow and it would make you blush." I was silent. All these disparate statements. "And Wesley says his brother Milton thinks you're brill."
Wesley and Milton? Oh yes, Milton Oblongu was a huge Nigerian front row forward in the Second Year Sixth who had been in that celebrated production of The Mikado mentioned at our evening meal. He'd been one of a trio, with a mid-sized Asian lad and a diminutive Chinese youth, all dressed in very short gymslips and pale blue Lycra cycling shorts, as the Three Little Maids from School. On the last night, the three had shimmied onto the stage at their first entrance to concerted giggles from the packed audience. Milton had then, in the pause before their trio commenced, turned, waggled his rather immense backside, looked at our Director of Music, who was in the pit conducting the orchestra, simpered and asked in a wonderfully falsetto-voiced concerned ad lib, 'Does my bum look big in this?'. It brought the house down and the second trombonist blew the loudest and longest raspberry in response.
"Yeah," continued Francis as I recalled with enjoyment that occasion, "Wesley says Milton's got your photo with Tris and the others in his bedroom."
He slid closer and put his arms round my neck. "Oh, Marky, I'll miss you."
I stroked his back as he snuggled up closer. "It won't be for more than a year in any case."
He nodded against and clutched me tighter. His young body was getting wiry and was firming up away from his previous rather puppyish roundness. My brother was certainly growing. But there were questions for me. But my turn first.
"And when did you talk to Tris?" I asked again.
"Yesterday when you were arty-farting on the piano. I didn't get much when I started to say things after you came downstairs and I knew there was something up so I went round next door when I knew you would be busy. Tris always talks to me as if I'm not a kid, anyway." He stopped again and pulled his head away from me. Was I being rebuked? "That reminds me," he said very authoratively, "That Mendelssohn. You want to make sure near the end those down scales which go from left hand to right hand are exactly the same and you missed one of those twos against three."
I was gobsmacked. "And I wasn't right? How do you know?"
"I couldn't help listening and I'd had a look at the piece when you left it on the piano on Sunday. Mr Prentice says he'll start me on the organ after the Summer vac and if I do well enough I can have your job when you go off."
I breathed in deeply. Frankie was becoming a competent pianist and was just about coming to the end of his shelf-life as a prominent treble soloist in the church choir. Reggie hadn't said anything to me.
"Mr Prentice said I'm obviously at the beginning of my growth spurt so I should be OK for the pedals soon."
Mr Prentice should know, his day job was as a well-respected orthopaedic surgeon, FRCS, and he'd replaced Gran's hip last year. What else?
His head went back down and rested against mine. "Now it's question time," he breathed, "Tris said I had to be bloody, bold and resolute and it was a good job I knew where that came from else I might have thought he was taking the piss as he usually does but I knew he was serious...."
"OK, " was the only response I could make without collapsing, "Ask away."
"First, I'd better tell you I can do it OK. Found out just after Christmas." As I was quiet and still he obviously though I hadn't guessed what he meant. "You know what I mean, I can shoot stuff," he said rather testily, "You never told me anything about it so I had to listen to Jack and his tales and then Laurent sent me an e-mail and he said 'je me tire mon coup' with three exclamation marks and I e-mailed back and asked what he meant though I knew 'tire' could mean 'to fire' and he just sent back 'white stuff' so I was right 'cause I was the same. Jack's the same he can, too." He nudged me. "And I want to know all about it and I'll show you if you like, 'cause I want to know if it looks OK."
"Yeah," I said, rather hastily, "I know all about it..."
He interrupted me by sniggering again, "...I know you do. And I've seen it, too. You don't always clear up properly. You leave your mucky tee-shirts and pants just on top of the basket and then you swiped Mum's last pack of tissues too, and I was sent to look for it and I guessed it was you 'cause that's what Jack uses and I found it under this bed with two sticky ones." He rubbed his nose on my shoulder. "What would Mrs Elliott have said if she'd found them?"
'Oh, Gawd' I thought. I'd forgotten completely and....
"....Don't worry," he continued, "I flushed them down the loo.... I did have a look, though," I felt his face screw up against me, "...there was lots. Not fair, mine's still just a few drops."
I let out a deep breath. I had been holding it while he never seemed to take one. I was going to see if I could shut him up with a few short statements. "So, you're wanking and your little pals are as well. You've been spying on me and now you want to indulge in what might be called 'inappropriate behaviour'."
He laughed. "I haven't started asking any questions yet, and anyway we discussed all that stuff about 'inappropriate behaviour' in PSE and Mr Gatling said it was all to do with the idea of consent and also what was public opinion. We had all that about age of consent as well for what boys do together and I didn't say anything about Tris and you 'cause you certainly weren't sixteen when he started...." He stopped and sniffed and flung his arms around me. "Sorry, Mark, but I knew what you were doing a long time ago. I wanted to know and I could hear you and him in here when I came home from Jack's one afternoon to collect my skateboard and you were telling Tris how much you loved him and you wanted him again. I wanted to know but I didn't dare ask you.... ...Oh, Marky!"
His emotions took over. All the fast talk and the, I suppose, 'little-boy bravado' disappeared and he sobbed.. I moved over and held him tight.
"It's OK, Francis. Let's just lie quiet for a minute and then you can ask me things."
He sniffed and a warm tear dripped onto my face as I stroked his back and he relaxed against me.
"Now, Francis," I said after a few moments and he was more settled. "Anything I tell you, or you ask me, is just between us. OK?"
He nodded against me. "Tris said that, too. He said what's between brothers and friends is theirs and not other people's. I understand."
"O.K. then, I don't want you tittle-tattling gossip to Jack. You can tell him straightforward things but no more. And the same for Laurent. He's coming this weekend and I suppose this is part of your preparation?"
He nodded against me again. "But, it's mostly about me, really," he said, now in a slower and more deliberate way. "I need to know if I 'm alright. I want you to have a good look at me and see if you think I look OK," He nudged me. "I've got more hair than Jack and I'm definitely bigger than him. But do I look the same as you did? "
He paused a moment as if waiting for me to say something, perhaps to object. I just lay still trying not to laugh outwardly. But.., he was being very serious, so I'd better be as well.
"So, that's the first thing," he continued, "Then I want to know how many times I should do it. Jack and I don't have a competition but he keeps a note and I tell him. He found some site on his computer and it said thirteen year olds generally did it more times just after they start than older boys. I want to know if that is true. And then I want to know if I'm a bit gay 'cause I like watching Jack as well as those girls on his computer."
Without saying more he slid out of the bed, switched on the light and whipped off his boxers. He came and stood by the bed just a foot or so from my face.
"Well?"
Well, well, well. Little brother was on the move. Last summer's snail was now a drooping getting-on for four inches. It was also plump and his foreskin seemed well-filled with his knob end. His young balls were hanging just below that end and there was a very dark little bush of hair into which the root of his prick nestled.
He was getting impatient with his big brother who was gazing at the most beautifully formed penis which he had only seen in the mirror before. His own..., less than four years ago! Instinctively my hand went down and gripped my own, now much larger version. "And is it OK?" he demanded.
What could I say? It was all I could do to prevent myself from reaching out and drawing him to me so I could take that lovely young penis into my warm mouth. I remembered the time when Tris had first stood by the same bed, in the same state, and we had learned all by ourselves how to give such other pleasure to each other without the use of our hands. I just about croaked out, "You're beautiful..."
My innocent little brother, or perhaps, not so little, was not satisfied with that reply. "I asked you if it was OK. Do I look OK? Jack's different, he's circumcised and I haven't liked to ask any of the others at school to compare. I did get a look at Wesley's when we shared a shower after that muddy rugger match last term but he kept moving around too much and his is very black and looks fat and I didn't like to ask him to stand still and the others all sort of turn away when we shower...."
Well, I'd studied his big brother Milton's implement fairly closely when we were getting changed ready for that performance of the Mikado. Milton tended to parade round the dressing room au naturel before pulling on those very tight Lycra cycling shorts which bulged very hugely when all was tucked away. There was good reason. He had a thick rather than long prick, heavily foreskinned and with quite pendulous low-hangers. Young Wesley seemed to be built on the same lines.
"......Are you listening?" Frankie was becoming a bit petulant. I was gazing at him and away in my own world of images and thoughts. I'd better return to this planet.
"Frankie...," I drew a deep breath, "....I am sure you have nothing to worry about. You look fine, just like I did at thirteen and a bit, I think." I took in the rest of his body. Still slightly tanned. I looked up at his fresh young face and his questing look.
"If you weren't my little brother and only thirteen I could fall for you in a big way. You are very beautiful." I shook my head. "I love you very much anyway even though I might not show it..."
"That's how I feel about you and Tris. I love you both...." He stopped and climbed onto the bed next to me. We held each other tightly, I putting my hands down around his buttocks and drawing him close to me. "...I want you to tell me about love as well." I felt a stirring against me. He was getting hard and in response so did I. "Jack has those pictures of girls with nothing on in a folder on his computer and he watches them when he does it. I've watched them too and they make me hard and we do it sitting side by side and he tells me there's many more he could collect. Am I doing right? I don't love them but it sets me off."
I stroked his back. I thought of the many times I'd laid in this bed at night with a whole panorama of boys of my age - of friends imagined, of others I had but glimpsed in the changing rooms or the showers, of Ivo's and Adam's matched glories, but primarily of the wonderful body of my precious Tris - passing before me as I slowly but surely gave myself that primal and eternal pleasure. I thought of the shared times with Tris.
Those early fumblings, then the more practised release kindling our growing love and the final realisation that the passion overlaid a deeper kinship between two boys and how my thoughts when alone and needing release now centred on him.
"I can't tell you about girls," I said, "I only know my own feelings and they have never involved girls. I've been very lucky, I've got Tris and I hope and pray he knows he's got me. How you feel about girls is good. If all boys were like me and Tris there wouldn't be any little Frankie's around." I felt him respond with a slight chuckle. "We all have to release that build-up - Ivo says the best word is libido - it's that urge and you need to release it."
I felt him nod against me. That need for release hits one suddenly and I knew he understood what I was saying.
"Yeah, Jack's got this book he found in the Oxfam shop. It's all about growing up and that word's in it. He says it's got three syllables and that's one for every time he has to do it each day..." He stopped. "....Oh, I shouldn't have told you that. That's gossip..."
I stroked his back again. "...But it's true of most boys of your age, I bet."
"Yeah, that's what Jack found on that site. It said from some survey that boys of our age did it about twenty times a week. It's not gossip but Jack and I do it about that. He keeps a count 'cause he wants to be statistician like his dad."
Oh, Professor Goldman was in the Economic Policy Statistics Department at the LSE so I doubted if he collected data like that. But, of course Tris and I had kept a tally as well for a few weeks when I was fourteen and he was fifteen. Yeah, my recent statistical analysis of that data had shown an average of about three emissions per day per person. I supposed we were about normal, too.
"Anyway, what I need to know is, is that too much? And that site said older boys do it about twice a day. Is that true?"
I thought I'd better be honest. "It's never seemed too much for me. I did keep a count too, but that first week I found out I did it at least four times a day. It was only because I made myself sore I slowed down." He nodded - I suppose a nod of shared agreement. "Yeah, for the first few months it was about three times a day. If I tell you something else it's a real secret."
"Yes."
"I actually saw the first time Tris made stuff. It was that time we were at Disneyland.."
There was an audible gasp from Francis.
"I couldn't as I was a lot younger than him. The twins showed us what they could do the first night. Tris and I tried and all I got was a buzz and Tris was the same. It was the next night with Adam helping him that Tris shot his stuff for the first time. I found out all by myself months later."
"The twins showed you? Gosh, that's wonderful."
The twins were objects of veneration for Francis. Whenever they appeared on our doorstep Francis dogged their every footstep. They never minded. He was the little brother they'd never had so he was teased, tickled, told outrageous things and used as general ball- boy and dogsbody when they worked off steam playing football or tennis in our large garden. On the two occasions they'd joined us at the villa in Italy they'd spent time teaching him to swim. I'd spent more time inspecting the packed Speedos they wore, no socks needed for them, and contemplating the shared enjoyment we would be having once we retired to our room each night. Last year, with Tris there as well, I think we exceeded the quota even of extra randy fourteen-year-olds on Jack's reported site. Ivo and Adam were as insatiable as Tris and I and never seemed to tire even though they raced about, swam and cavorted generally even in the hot Italian sun. They were games mad and last Easter during their last year at school they had been on a rugger tour in the Midlands and had ended up for a weekend with us in South London complete with one black eye, a badly grazed leg, a gashed forehead and two fingers taped up between them. Dad always referred to them as the 'Thugs' and they just grinned and said they enjoyed it all.
We lay for just a few moments and I knew that if my brother didn't go soon to his own bed...
"...Frankie, do you know what temptation is?" I asked very quietly.
He stirred against me. "Yep," he said, "It's when you see something you want, you feel as if you want it so badly you have to take it."
Neither of us said anything for some seconds.
"I know, Marky," said Francis, "I must go." He rubbed his face against my shoulder. "I'm tempted, too. But,...."
"...It wouldn't be fair on me, certainly not on you, and most surely not on Tris..." I said, I hoped completing what he was thinking.
He nodded against me. "That's true and I understand." He moved his head up and kissed me on the cheek. "Thanks for talking to me. There's lots I still need to know and you'll tell me another time?"
"Thanks, Francis, for understanding how I feel. We'll talk again but at the moment I feel a bit confused and uncertain."
"I think I understand," said Francis, sliding away from me. I caught him and held him to me and kissed him, too. "That was lovely, Marky."
He stood by the bed now. His four inches and a bit stiff young cock proudly upright. He found his boxers and stepped into them. "By the way, Uncle Nick gave me an envelope and two paperbacks for you as we came out. I put them on the kitchen table for you for the morning. Nighty-night."
He smiled as he turned and went out to his own room. I switched off the bedside light and lay contemplating that interchange. I was sure I had done right. Another few moments and there would have been no holding back surely and definitely on my part and, no doubt, on Frankie's. But, was he ready for that full-scale onslaught which, though done with love, would have been primarily to dissipate and assuage my lust. He was beautiful, but it would have been an extension of self-love bordering on lechery as I wanted him so passionately, as I knew I was just like that at his age. But, it would not have been right, nor fair. He should experience a gentler introduction to real love between two boys. No doubt, also, that the dual delight of wanking with Jack and helping each other to orgasm, was the best introduction to shared pleasure as experienced by most boys. Perhaps he and I....? ...Another time? I wondered. How would I explain it to Tris?
I was thinking of Tris with such concentration that I must have been in some state of semi-delirium so it was with just a few movements of my hands I was raised to one of the most powerful climaxes I'd ever experienced. I knew I had done right in rejecting temptation. Not rejecting Francis, as it were, but rejecting something I felt I could not deal with just now. Yes, Francis - we would talk in the future but, as ever, no one knows exactly what the future will hold. After that immense sensation I now had a feeling of great stillness. I fell asleep knowing that I had won a great victory of self.
- The Morning After
Dad was reading the Times and eating his breakfast when I got down to the kitchen in the morning. I was not usually a morning person. I tended to read late into the night after doing my homework so this morning I must have looked bright and also cheerful.
"Food's all around," said Dad, waving the paper at the Welsh dresser where there was an array of cereal boxes. "Your Mum's gone next-door for some unknown reason and left me in charge. Boil yourself an egg if you want and pop a bit more bread in the toaster for me."
That exchange over he looked up at me and pushed his glasses down his nose.
"You'll be OK today as far as your playing is concerned. Jeremy said your musicianship is pretty high in his estimation." Jeremy was one of the organ tutors at the Royal College where I'd been going on Saturday mornings. He smiled. "Just be yourself. It's the best way. You've got judgement."
Odd thing to say. I thought back suddenly to last night. Yes, I had judgement. I had made the right decision.
"Your playing last week in church showed that," Dad continued, "And you've shown it, too, in choosing Tris." He smiled. "You and he make a fine pair and long may you be together." He laughed. "And so ends the sermon for today. Breakfast!!"
I busied myself and was soon munching hot buttered toast dipped into a good lightly boiled egg and then more toast with lashings of marmalade. I then realised Frankie had mentioned an envelope and books. Yes, there they were, half-hidden by a packet of Golden Grahams. I looked at the books first. Goody, goody. Uncle Nick and I were both avid detective novel readers. In fact, he'd introduced me to the joys of armchair sleuthing at the age of nine when he'd given me a pile of Father Brown stories interspersed with Agatha Christie and Dorothy L Sayers classics. I was hooked from the word go and poor Tris was often told in the early days to listen while I expounded on the clues I thought I'd spotted before coming frequently to the wrong conclusion. But, I had improved and often now cried 'Eureka' correctly having unravelled an Ellery Queen or Ngaio Marsh mystery.
But Uncle Nick was now into two Roman investigators, Didius Falco and Gordianus the finder. He had given Frankie one of each of Lindsey Davis's and Stephen Saylor's latest offerings to carry home for me. Dad laughed as I held them up.
"They'll be added to the Foster Library of Forensic and Investigatory Science, eh?"
I was as pleased as Punch and laughed, too. I had several shelves in my room with a comprehensive collection of paperbacks and hardbacks collected over the years, many from family or friends who'd stayed, or from colleagues of Dad's who read during lengthy rests in the large-scale operas or when not needed between the overture and the symphony finishing a concert. Mainly, however, I found my treasures in the charity shops, or outside a couple of bookshops in the High Street, where the unwanted debris of people's collections were displayed. In my expeditions I'd found a first edition of a Wilkie Collins and several Sherlock Holmes volumes with aristocratic bookplates in them and was always on the lookout for more. The others often laughed at my little obsession and asked me frequently if I was going to be a detective when I grew up. As Tris had said that with the exact words just a few weeks ago I showed him I was grown up quite sufficiently to upend him and investigate where my new boxers had gone. Yes. Mystery solved. The sly beast had snitched them off my dressing table and was proudly wearing them. Punishment was to lower them and subject him to the torture of being licked and sucked very slowly until he was crying out for relief. I was the proud investigator, judge, jury and executioner all in one!
"And what's in the envelope?" he asked.
I slit it open with an unused butter knife. The letter inside was short and sweet.
''To one of my favourite 'nephews' a little present to ease his purse.
Use wisely to feed self, my precious son and those most cherished Thugs who curse.
The Arundel so famed has been forewarned
That dinners four should be pre-warmed
For hungry youths upon each night
Though cellar doors should be shut tight.
In final cadences I will say
I hope your stay
In Cambridge bright
Will bear the fruit which is your right.
Tell not my wife I do these couplets pen
As no doubt her ire will rise
And this short note would then
Be snatched and burned before thy eyes.
Uncle Nicholas McGonagall Price-Williams Poet."
An enclosed card was attached with his authorisation for all accounts to be sent to him! Wow!
I passed the letter to Dad who laughed as he read it through. It was a standing joke. Auntie Di had published quite a few poems in very respected and widely read magazines and collections and was a member of an avant-garde poetry group. Uncle Nick delighted in pulling her leg and often recited an 'odd ode', as he called them, just before his wife's poetry circle came for one of their meetings. 'Stupid boy' was her usual good-natured response.
This was not one of his better efforts but pin-pointed one aspect of Ivo and Adam which was very evident. They often forgot the company they were in and I think Tris tried to emulate them in the choiceness of their adjectives and expletives. They had even taught Aldo a few words he'd never heard before and Mum had told them to watch out in front of Francis.
Frankie's ears flapped in all directions when the Thugs were around and there was little he missed. 'Radar-lugs' was one of the epithets accorded him by Ivo who averred he could probably hear a foreskin being withdrawn under forty fathoms of water.
Frankie overheard that and had to be shut up as he was about to repeat it in front of an Italian great- aunt who was visiting just for the day at the villa. The fifteen-year-old grandson she had with her had the floppiest foreskin we'd ever seen as Ivo, Adam, Tris and I surrounded him in the bedroom when we changed for swimming. With his enthusiastic consent, withdrawing that rapidly, caused a slapping sound and much merriment as Ivo suggested we might try out his conjecture in the six foot deep end of the pool. The lad thought he was being serious and was rather agitated in case his grandmother would witness him wanking under water. Ivo was not at all disconcerted when he learned that he was a testa de cazzo, a dickhead, for leading young Ernesto up the garden path, as he said it sounded so mellifluous. We certainly learned that afternoon that Italian lads were just as fervent masturbators as all English boys. Once before and once after the swim!
Dad chuckled and then passed over four twenty pound notes as 'beer money'. I said I would see that the cellar door was opened so that we could have wine with our meal. Make sure you and Tris get your fair share was his laconic comment. The Thugs were also well- known for their liking for alcoholic refreshments and had been severely reprimanded at least once at school for over-indulgence after an away Rugby match.
After that we were just discussing the relative merits of the investigators in the two series of Roman tales when Francis appeared ready for his breakfast. I wondered what sort of mood he would be in but he was all smiles and wanted to know what Uncle Nick had given me. He wrinkled his nose at the poem and said he hoped he would get some spending money. "When you go to college," was Dad's reply. The nose was wrinkled again.
"Not fair," he began, "But anything for you, brother dear." He had turned to me.
Was he being sarky? No, he smiled and winked. I think something had happened last night.
Dad said he had an interesting rehearsal that afternoon. He was an enthusiast for baroque music and loved playing old music in a small ensemble which was often on Radio 3. Old violins and cellos with gut strings, wooden flutes and ancient oboes. Mellow and very pleasing to the ear. He warned Frankie he didn't want any noise in the garden during the morning as he was playing over the pieces in 'The Shed'. This was a sound-proof studio at the end of the garden and was where I practised on the upright piano when there were people in the house. As it had a small lav at the back I often had a much needed, relaxing wank in there when a knotty passage wouldn't run easily under my fingers. A favourite place!
Frankie said he wouldn't mind listening as long as Dad didn't keep playing the same bit time and time again and then he'd go round to Jack's as they were skateboarding against some mob from another gang. Gang! No, all very friendly we were informed. All this while munching through the stack of toast I was preparing for him.
"Thanks," he said as he buttered the last piece liberally and I was reading about the so-called Millennium Dome in a bit of the Times. "Nice to know there are still servants around."
Little bro was going to get his arse tanned, but I kept my cool and he'd averted his eyes anyway.
"You are not to practice today," Dad said....
"...Twos against threes...." whispered the Toad through a mouth full of toast and Auntie Di's homemade marmalade.
I shot him a look but he was airily studying the back of the cornflakes packet.
..."Relax and think of England," Dad said with a grin.
I did relax. But when Frankie tried to scamper past me as we left the kitchen I grabbed his arm.
"I heard the comment," I said, putting my other hand in my trouser pocket and letting him go. "Little brothers don't deserve kindnesses." I drew out a five-pound note. "You'll need something to help entertain Laurent...." I didn't finish as he put his arms around my waist.
"Thanks for last night," he whispered, "You did right. I couldn't upset you or Tris." He looked at the money I was still holding. "Please do well tomorrow. I'll think of you." He took the note as I held it out. "I'll think of you even more when I'm spending this!"
He scooted off up the stairs but not before I landed a brotherly slap on his nicely shaped butt.
To be Continued: