This is a story that involves a little sex between males. If such a story is offensive, or illegal for you to read where you live, then do not continue, go and surf elsewhere.
This is a work of fiction and in no way draws on the lives of any specific person or persons. If there is any similarity to any real persons or events it is entirely coincidental.
The work is copyrighted (c) by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.
My thanks to Brian who has read this through and made a number of corrections and suggestions. Any remaining errors, grammatical, spelling historical or whatever are entirely my fault.
Thank you to those who have commented on my stories. If you want to comment on the story then do contact me on Jeffyrks@hotmail.com. but please, after 8th May 2010 as I am away until then. I aim to reply to all messages eventually.
If you wish to be added to or removed from a chapter post notification list, please send an email with your request to jeffyrks@gmail.com
==== An introduction by the Author ====
Dear Reader,
When I was last in New Zealand eleven years ago I was trying to write a novel. It began with a small boy of seven sitting on a wall outside his home. I knew the plot of the story. I had made several attempts to get beyond the opening scene, but got stuck. Then one day walking into the centre of Wellington it suddenly came to me. I went back to where I was staying and drafted out the next section. The following day while walking I planned the next section and wrote out a very rough draft when I got back. When I returned home I had drafted out quite a number of sections. These I typed out, and continued writing. Soon there was a book, which I hoped would be published. Several friends read it, and pointed out some serious flaws in it. Some I easily rectified, others were more basic. The printed copies slowly disappeared 'lent' to friends! But the copy on my PC remained, and survived through several PCs.
Some months ago I sent it to Brian, one of my proof readers. He read it through, pointed out a large number of silly mistakes etc, and sent it back. A publisher in the US looked at it and said there was not enough sex in it!
As you know I am going to the Antipodes next week. Brian has suggested I put the story on Nifty, and that he would post it. So I have divided it into ten sections and he will post them at intervals while I am away.
You may be interested in reading this first work. It does contain a number of flaws. You will recognise some of the locations and even one of the characters in later stories.
It is called Peter Broad's Story.
I hope you enjoy. =========================================
Peter Broad's Story
Back at Ben's
Clive invited Peter back to Beeston for a drink, with the promise to run him back to the University later. Peter accepted. They had just got back into the house when Ben arrived back from the visit to see his mother in the hospital at Hitchin. He looked pale and exhausted.
"How did it go," asked Clive.
Ben sat on the settee before replying. "I had about two hours with her. We were in a side ward, so had absolute privacy. The staff were very good. She is very, very poorly. It is cancer, and she does not expect to come out of the hospital. She said 'sorry' and asked for my forgiveness for what happened twelve years ago. Clive, I managed to say that I forgave her. But it was hard, I'm so confused over it all."
Clive sat down alongside him, and took him in his arms. For a while they clung to each other. Peter slipped out of the room, thinking that the proverbial cup of tea may well be a help at this point.
When Peter returned, five minutes or so later, Clive and Ben were sitting on the settee holding hands. Ben looked as though he had been crying, but was calm now. He gave them their cups of tea, and sat down on one of the other chairs, feeling rather awkward.
Ben went through the whole day again in greater detail.
Eventually the moment came when Peter could leave.
-0---0---0-
The illness of Dorothy Menzies.
During the first term Peter and his mother had fallen into an established pattern of keeping in contact. His mother was still a letter writer, so she wrote to Peter every week. She usually wrote on a Sunday afternoon or evening, and Peter would get her letter on the Tuesday. Peter was not a letter writer. He used to phone home each week, usually within a day or two of receiving his mother's letter. He usually phoned in the evening, so he could speak to his father as well. He also reversed the telephone charges.
Her letter arrived the next day. Amongst family and village news was news of Mrs Menzies. `You will be sorry to hear that Mrs Menzies has been taken into hospital. My words to you over Christmas are proving to be sadly true. She has an inoperable cancer, and is not expected to live very long. I went in to see her on Saturday afternoon, and she seemed very calm and peaceful. Prayers were said for her in church today. I am sure that you too will remember her in your prayers. Mr Menzies and the two boys are very distressed about it all'......
When Peter phoned on the Wednesday evening they spoke about Mrs Menzies.
The next letter from Whitgest had the following news. `I am sure that you will be pleased to know that Mrs Menzies is at least holding her own. I went in to see her again on Tuesday afternoon. She was out of bed, sitting in a chair. She seemed quite cheerful. She wanted to know all our family news, and especially asked after you. She said something about being grateful to you, I don't know what about. But I am sure you will keep on remembering her'...
Late that Thursday evening Peter phoned Ben. Ben had heard nothing further from Hitchin and was desperate to know what was happening to his mother, so he was somewhat relieved to hear Peter's news, and glad that there was now a channel for him to receive information.
The next letter from his mother had grim news. `I went in to see Dorothy Menzies on Tuesday. She was very poorly. She hardly knew me. I don't think it will be very long now. Poor Stan and the boys. Stan and Luke go in to see her every evening, and Matthew is coming down from Leicester every two or three days. Stan has taken to ringing me with the latest news. People in the village then ring me to find out how she is. It saves them all ringing Stan. I let him know who has rung each evening. I am also able to help them with some baking.'
Peter was very conscious that Ben was totally out of the reckoning. His mother seemed to be ignoring the fact there was another son, Dorothy Menzies first born son, who also might be grieving over what was happening to his mother. He went round to the house in Beeston with this bit of news. Ben was out, but Clive made him very welcome. They talked for about an hour, mostly about how Ben was taking the news from Hitchin, and how he would react when the end came.
The next letter from Whitgest arrived on Tuesday. `I am afraid I have some sad news for you. Dorothy Menzies died early this morning, about 7.00. Stan and the two boys were with her throughout the night, and she died in Stan's arms. Apparently the end was peaceful. It is all so very sad. The whole village is very upset. The funeral has been fixed for 12.00 noon on Friday. The service and the burial will be at St Sebastian's. I don't expect you will be able to come, but you may like to remember Stan and the two boys around that time. It will be an ordeal for the boys. They were very close to their mother.'
Peter read the letter through several times and sat thinking about how he could deal with this news. He decided to try and contact Clive. He rang Mapperley Park Hospital, but when he got through to the ward he learnt that Clive was not working that day. He rang the house in Beeston, and Clive answered. He told him the news, and they discussed how they would tell Ben. They arranged that Peter should be there to tell Ben when he arrived home from the University.
"He'll be home just before 6.00. I'm cooking tonight and he knows that I do not like it if he is late for his meal. If he runs true to form he'll be here between 5.55 and 6.00, probably 5.59. I will work it so the meal can keep. I'll aim to eat about 7.00. That will give us some time to talk first. And you, of course, will eat with us?"
Peter went round for 5.30. He and Clive talked, while Clive finished preparing the meal.
At 5.58 Ben burst in through the front door. "I hope I'm not late," he shouted. He came through into the kitchen, and seeing Peter, and the look on his face, stopped, and the colour drained from his face.
Clive went across and put his arm round him. "Yes, Peter has had a letter. It is the worst."
"Yes, I had a letter from Mum this morning. Let me read it to you." He read out the letter, and then handed it over to Ben. Ben sat down and read it through. He looked up at Clive and Peter. "I cannot say it is unexpected, but now it's true. She's gone. I am so glad that I had that couple of hours with her; that helps, and I'm sure will continue to be a help. I wonder if Dad will let me know; that is, if he knows where I am. He may discover my address when he goes through Mum's things."
They continued to talk. Then Clive announced that they should eat, and they went through to the kitchen, where there was just room for the three of them sitting round a small table.
Over the meal the conversation was spasmodic. Clive and Peter talked more, Ben was largely silent. It was towards the end of the meal when Ben announced, "I would like to go to the funeral. I could easily drive down to Whitgest. I have only one lecture, and I could easily cancel that for my mother's funeral."
Ben looked at Clive and said, "Would you be willing to meet your father and brothers face to face after all these years, and after what happened?"
"No I don't want to meet Dad, certainly not in those circumstances. But I want to be there. She was my mother. She did give me life. Even if it is just to watch from afar as they place her in the grave, and then go to stand by the grave and say my own good bye after the rest have gone. I could do that."
"But you are not doing that on your own. You are not driving to your mother's funeral on your own. You need someone else there in case you think of doing something silly. You need someone there in case your plan goes wrong and you do come face to face with your father, or one of your brothers. I will take the day off and come with you."
"No that would be asking for trouble. Clive dear, I know you have offered for the best, but think for a moment. I haven't been in Whitgest for well over ten years. I am forgotten by now. They are not likely to recognise me now are they?"
"But I did after all that time," interrupted Peter.
"Yes, but you were always a precocious imp. No Clive, think man. You would attract attention in Whitgest. Whitgest is not Nottingham. They probably have not seen a black man since the Americans were around during the war. You would stick out there like a sore thumb. I don't think your offer is on."
"I could go with you," offered Peter quietly. "Nobody would be surprised seeing me there."
"Except your parents, if you have not told them you are going. And if you tell them you will be there they will expect you to sit with them."
"I know, I will tell them I will try to be there. If I see them I can say I only got there last minute, so I could not sit with them. In your plan you are not going into the church, only to the graveside after everyone has gone. Can you think of a better plan?"
They talked for a while, trying to come up with some better idea. Eventually they decided that Peter would go with Ben.
When the time came for Peter to go, Clive came with him to the front garden gate. "Thank you, Peter. I wish I could be with him, but I can see that I can't. Do look after him. He may be hot stuff on Chaucer, but sometimes I don't think he lives in the real world. Stop him from doing anything foolish. I know that you will care for him in every other way." He put his arm round Peter, gave him a short hug, "Thank you."
-0---0---0-
The Funeral of Dorothy Menzies and the problem with George Riley.
They set off from Nottingham in good time on Friday morning. It was bright and frosty. Ben drove. With them both knowing the area, they had planned in detail.
They got to Whitgest three quarters of an hour before the funeral. Some years before, the road along which the cortege would pass had been straightened, forming a small lay by. They took up position and sat in the car waiting. When the funeral cars passed they both made sure that their faces could not be seen. They then waited several minutes, before following up to the church. The last of the mourners were disappearing into the church when they drew up. They parked their car so they would be able to drive away quickly. Then they walked quickly up to the church. The church had a double door entrance, with an ancient strong wooden door, dating back to a much earlier century. Then there was a late Victorian inner door, which had been erected in an effort to keep out the draughts. It had helped, but not sufficiently succeeded, as the next generation had installed a heavy curtain which was pulled across the doorway when a service was in progress.
When they got to the church door they quietly raised the heavy latch and entered. Then quietly they pushed open the second door. Peter held back so that he was largely hidden by the curtain. Ben stood in front of him. Two or three people turned to see who had entered, and the verger at the back pointed towards a couple of empty chairs. Ben just shook his head.
The congregation were singing the hymn, Abide With Me. The reading was the last few verses of Romans 8. Then Ben Perkins, the vicar, gave his address. He spoke warmly of Dorothy Menzies, her faith, her involvement in village life, and devotion to her family. He spoke of the loss to Stanley Menzies and his two sons, Matthew and Luke. There was no mention of Ben, though he possibly did not know anything of his existence, as Ben had only been vicar for four or five years. Peter held Ben's arm at this point. Then the hymn, The Lord's My Shepherd. In the prayers again there was no mention of Ben, but mention of his brothers. In the final hymn, Love Divine, as they had planned, Ben and Peter slipped quietly out of the church and hurried down the path way, and were drawing away in the car when the bearers carrying the coffin appeared at the church door.
They kept to the next part of their plan and drove to Bunting, where they had a pub lunch. It was a fairly silent lunch. Ben was very thoughtful, and obviously moved by the service in the church.
Eventually Peter asked, "How are you? What did you think about the service?"
"I find it difficult to say. I am feeling something, a lot of things, but I find it difficult to identify exactly what, as they are all chasing each other round." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. That's not very clear, is it?"
It was nearly three o'clock when they drove back to Whitgest. The sun was getting lower in the sky. The sky was still clear, but the frost had held all day. There were no other cars outside the church when they drew up. In silence, they got out of the car, and Ben went round and opened the boot, and removed a wreath of flowers. Peter opened the gate, and together they walked into the church yard. It was easy to see where the grave was. The footprints in the frosty grass made the way clear. The grave was about thirty yards from the church. The new grave was almost completely covered with wreaths, and bunches of flowers in their cellophane wrappers. A message was still fastened to each one. There was a very large one from Ben's father, and another from Matthew and Luke. They read the messages, and discovered one from the Broad family. They then made room for Ben's wreath, on the top of the grave, and placed it next to Matthew and Luke's. On Ben's wreath was fastened the message, `All is forgiven. May you now rest in peace. With love, Ben.'
Ben stood at the foot of the grave, with Peter along side. They stood in silence. Peter looked at Ben, and saw that tears were flowing down his cheeks. He put his arm round Ben's shoulders. Ben turned and buried his head into Peter's neck. They stood there, arms round each other for many minutes. Ben silently shaking, as he expressed his grief. Eventually Ben pulled apart.
"We must be going," he said. "I know that my feet are frozen. The soles of these shoes are thin. Not for standing on frozen grass."
Very slowly, with two or three backward glances, they walked back to the car.
"I think I ought to drive," said Peter.
Ben handed over the keys, and they began their journey back to Nottingham.
For the first twenty minutes they drove in silence. Peter noticed that there were still fresh tears on Ben's face. He pulled into a lay by, and again put his arm round Ben.
"Thank you, Peter. I could not have managed it without you. It was easy to write, 'all is forgiven'. And in a way, I do forgive my mum. But I am also angry. Bloody angry!" He banged his fists on the dashboard. "I am angry with my father, for what he has done to me. No attempt at understanding or reconciliation. No Christian love, to me his eldest son. I am angry that I have had twelve years not knowing Matthew and Luke. They are my brothers. Being near to them today, I was surprised to find that I love them. I realise that I am missing them. Yes, I am angry too, I am afraid with Mum as well. I know I should not be; not on this, the day of her funeral. She allowed herself to be ruled by Dad. Though she wrote once a year, it was little more than a slight note, keeping in contact. She should have stood up to Dad. Did she love me in any way, to allow that to happen?"
Peter was slightly embarrassed and confused by this outburst of pent up emotion. He did not know what to say. He just kept his arm round Ben's shoulders.
"Yet, I can remember happy days of my childhood. Even with Dad at times. Playing cricket on the lawn with him. On holiday. I can remember Mum, yes, she did love me as a child. I can remember the cuddles and kisses as a small child. I remember her reading to me. Taking me to school. Trying to teach me how to play tennis. Why, on earth, could they not accept me for what I am? Why sentenced to perpetual exile? Why does the fact that I am attracted to my own sex mean that I must never see, never speak to, never be referred to by my family?"
"Prejudice is one of the more unpleasant characteristics of the human race. It seems to come strong when it gets caught up with religion. Ben, I do respect you. You have made your own way successfully. Seen yourself through University, to your present lectureship. You have done all that without the support and encouragement of a family. I doubt whether I could have done it. It must have been so easy to have gone off the rails, but you didn't. You've also got Clive. You are good for each other."
"Thank you for saying all that. I must not become bitter over my family. Perhaps one day." He paused. "I don't particularly want to make it up with Dad. I am too hurt by him for that. But perhaps one day contact can be made with Matthew and Luke. I would like to know my brothers."
"Occasionally I see them to talk to. Would you like me to say something if I get the chance? Say that I have met you or something like that?"
"I need to think about that one. I don't want to land you in any trouble. I believe in some Christian circles there is a horrible expression, 'guilt by association'. You are having to work out where you are with regards to your own sexuality, I don't want to make things more difficult for you. I don't want you to be judged guilty by associating with me. I think we ought to be moving."
They resumed their journey back to Nottingham. Ben obviously felt better having expressed his emotions. They talked about the University, with Ben asking penetrating questions about Peter's course.
Clive was there in the hallway, as they opened the front door. "How did it go?" Immediately Ben and Clive were hugging each other, and Ben began to sob. Peter turned and closed the front door, and stood, feeling awkward, as Clive tried to comfort Ben.
"It was an ordeal," said Ben. "I don't know if I could have managed without Peter." He turned and stretched out an arm to include Peter in the embrace. "I am surprised at all the emotions that have boiled up within me. Good old Peter here, listened to me. I am sorry, sorry to be like this."
They stood in the hallway for several minutes. Their hug was broken by a cry from Clive, "Something's burning!" He rushed off into the kitchen.
Over another of Clive's excellent meals, Ben narrated the events of the day. He talked of all the emotions that had surfaced.
"I am not surprised at all," said Clive. "The death of a mother is always devastating for anyone in the most normal of circumstances. For you Ben, the circumstances are far from normal. Until you went down to Hitchin the other week you had not seen your mother for over ten years. You see her for a couple of hours in hospital, with her terminally ill. You were only able to deal with the very surface of your mutual agenda in that short time. Then today you have had the strain of her funeral, of being close to your father and your two brothers. No wonder you are upset. These sorts of things catch us like a blow below the belt."
It was again very late when Peter got up to leave. Clive offered to run him back to Rutland, his hall of residence. They climbed into the ancient mini. Clive expressed his thanks to Peter for all that he had done for Ben that day. "You did more than all that I should have been able to do, but for obvious reasons could not." Before Peter could get out of the car, Clive grabbed him and gave him another strong hug, and planted a kiss on his cheek. Peter was obviously surprised. "If you mix with gay men, you must get used to that sort of thing," laughed Clive.
Peter walked slowly into his hall of residence, and made his way to the staircase, on which his room was situated. His mind was full of the day. He hoped he had done the right thing in all that he had said to Ben. He wondered if he would be able to say something the next time he saw Matthew or Luke Menzies. Even more he wondered how he would be face to face with Ben's father, Stan Menzies.
As he turned to go into building, there were steps behind him. There was George Riley, one of the forwards in the University Rugby team. A voice whispered into Peter's ear. "And where has our hall pansy been tonight? Having it off with that pooftah in Lincoln?"
"What do you mean?" accused Peter.
"You know what I mean. You are great buddies with that creep in Lincoln. You walk round the lake together. Have you been fucking in his room tonight? Who fucks who by the way? Or do you fuck each other in turn." George laughed, and roughly pushing Peter on one side, made his way into the building.
Peter followed, seething with angry impotence.
-0---0---0-
Raymond challenged
There was too much on Peter's mind that night for him to sleep well. He slept late, and then spent most of the day catching up on his work. In the evening he went round to Lincoln, and told Raymond what had happened the evening before.
"How did the likes of George Riley know that you were gay?" asked Peter.
Raymond coloured slightly before answering. "There are quite a number of gay guys here, you know. Surely even you've heard of Gay Soc?"
"Yes, I've heard of it. Seen the odd notice. I didn't realise you were a member."
"'Course, I am. It's a good place. I suppose this George must have seen me talking with some of the Gay Soc crowd, and then put two and two together."
"Do you meet with these men very often?"
"Er, yes"
"Do you have sex with any of them?"
"Yes. I told you earlier this term that I don't think a week has gone by since I was quite young when I have not had sex. That goes for up here, as well as at home. Does that shock you?"
"Yes, I suppose it does. Though I don't know why it should. I remember you telling me about your sexual regularity! I suppose I had a picture of you panting for me, with a pent up lust."
"Oh yes, I pant for you, Peter dear. But that doesn't mean that I don't release the pressure and have fun elsewhere. You're a friend at a deeper level. They're friends for sex alone. We talk, but no way like the two of us talk together. Anyway, why don't you come along some time to one of our meetings."
"Oo! I'm not sure about that. I don't think I'm ready for that. At least, not yet."
"You'd be welcome any time."
For the first time, Peter began to wonder about his friendship with Raymond.
-0---0---0-
Some Correspondence
Monday was a normal University day for Peter. Two lectures and a tutorial in the morning, and hockey practice in the afternoon. When he was showering he had the impression that the other chaps were steering clear of him. But perhaps he was becoming paranoid. After doing a couple of hours work, Raymond came round for a short chat.
Tuesday morning was very similar to the day before, except that it was one lecture, and the rest of the time working in the library. He walked back to hall, feeling the cold of a typical cold misty winter morning in Nottingham. He collected his mail. There was a letter from his mother. He hurried up to his room, and tore the envelope open.
Dear Peter, I find this letter a difficult one to write. On Saturday evening, a very irate Stan Menzies came round. He said that you and Benjamin had been in Whitgest and actually went to Dorothy's funeral. Is this true? On Saturday afternoon he had gone to the church, to pay some last respects, and to grieve at the grave. On the very top of the grave he found a wreath with something about 'All is forgiven, Ben' written on it. He has removed and destroyed the wreath. He said that he would not allow it to contaminate Dorothy's grave. He wondered how it had got there. You may remember that old Mrs Walker, who used to clean for the Menzies family, lives in one of those cottages overlooking the graveyard. Now that she can hardly go out at all, she spends a lot of time sitting at her window, and there is little that goes on round the church that she does not observe. She told Stan that she had seen you and a man she said looked somewhat like Benjamin, standing at the graveside, with arms round each other. He had then gone to see Mr Towlson, who acts as verger, and asked him if he had seen you in church. Mr Towlson said that he had had a glimpse of you and another young man standing almost hidden in the curtain at the door. That you had come into church soon after the service had started, and had disappeared before the end. Stan more or less accused your father and me of conniving at Benjamin being around, and placing that wreath on poor Dorothy's grave. It was all we could do to persuade him that we knew nothing at all about it. Your father and I are very hurt that you should come back to Whitgest without telling us, and without even popping in to see us. We are also very worried that you obviously have met up with Benjamin again. I know you always liked him. I often feared that there had been something going on between you. Young as you were then. That you should be seen in public with your arms round a known homosexual fills us with unease. That you should never mention Ben either in your letters, or when you were home over Christmas, fuels our fears. I do hope that you will break any contact with him immediately, and promise me that you will never see him again. We will continue to bear you in our prayers. Universities can be such places of spiritual danger. Your loving mother.
Peter's reaction to the letter was to slap it down on his desk, and say, "Damn, damn, damn." That was strong language for Peter! He then sat down, and began to think about how he was going to deal with it.
His initial reaction was to think about who he could talk it over with. Something made him hesitate about sharing it with Raymond. He would not understand. He would possibly shrug his shoulders, and say, 'so what?' He could not go to Ben. Ben would feel guilty at involving Peter, and he had enough problems of his own at the moment. He thought briefly about Ron, the hospital chaplain. He eventually decided he would have to deal with it himself. Maybe after a few weeks, he would tell Ben what had happened.
When he walked into lunch, he met George Riley coming out. George turned to him, and said in a voice that several of those nearby could hear, "Did you have a good time with your gay friend last night?"
He sat over lunch thinking that troubles never came singly.
He thought very carefully about how he could respond to his mother's letter. He usually communicated by phone, but he was not sure that he wanted to get involved in a phone conversation on such a difficult issue. He realised that he would have to watch what he said very carefully, especially if his father answered the phone. Having a father as a solicitor was always a handicap when a parental interrogation was in the offing. He could ring up while his father was at work, so as to make sure he spoke to his mother. But even then he would need to weigh his words carefully. He eventually decided to write in reply.
It was the Wednesday evening when he sat down to begin work on his letter. He decided to attempt to see whether the Bible verse about 'a soft answer turning away wrath' worked or not. Also he thought he should answer as truthfully as he could. He worked at the letter, the original draft had a number of crossings out. He eventually wrote out a fair copy.
Dear Mum and Dad, I am sorry that my presence in Whitgest last week has caused both of you trouble and concern. You will probably understand why I did what I did on Friday if I tell you the story from the start. You can be absolutely assured that nothing wrong in any way has ever happened between Ben and me either before he left the village, or indeed since. I literally ran in to Ben one morning towards the end of last term. He is a lecturer in the English Department, and incidentally one of the leading experts on Geoffrey Chaucer, the Mediaeval poet. I recognised him, though he did not recognise me straight away. He invited me round to his house for a meal. There he told me the full story of why he had had to leave Whitgest so hurriedly all those years ago. I must say that I think that his folk treated him abominably. I hope that you would never treat a child of yours like that in similar circumstances. He also asked me to give his love to his mother, if I saw her during the Christmas Vac. This I did. She, in return, gave me a message for Ben. I doubt whether Mr Menzies knows this, but Mrs Menzies asked Ben to visit her while she was in the hospital. He spent a couple of hours or so with her, soon after she was admitted. When I heard, by your letter, of Mrs Menzies death, and the date of the funeral, I told Ben. He said that he wanted to be as nearby as possible. We all talked it over at length, and I volunteered to go with him. The rest you know from Mr Menzies. Yes, I did have my arms round Ben in the graveyard. He was crying so much, that was the only way I knew how to try and comfort him. I think I did the right thing in coming with Ben. Mrs Menzies was his mother. He was her eldest son. They had recently seen each other, and in some way made up the hurts of the years. He needed to have someone with him. I would like to think that Ben and I are friends. I am afraid that I cannot, and do not think it right, to make a promise to you not to see him again. If I had called in on you on Friday, you would have been implicated in what I did. I am looking forward to getting home and seeing you both during the Easter Vac. Much love, Peter.
He put both copies in a folder on his desk, and went off to see Raymond. The following morning he read his letter through a number of times, and eventually posted it in the afternoon. He then gave some thought to his other problem - George Riley. There were a number of things he could do. He could challenge George to prove his allegations. But that would be likely to lead to a laughing response, 'I am only teasing'. He could get himself a girl friend, or at least be seen quite a lot in feminine company. But that would be unfair on the girl if any one girl was involved. Or he could just ignore George's taunts as best he could. In the long run that might well be the best solution, and George would get fed up if there was no response. In the remaining few weeks of term there was a lot of work to be done, and a number of hockey matches to be played. He would try to see Raymond only three times a week.
The remaining weeks were fairly uneventful for Peter. George continued to pass his remarks, and several other members of the rugby fifteen joined in. Fortunately there was no evidence that this mild form of gay taunting was spreading outside the rugby team. Peter hoped that it would die a natural death over the Easter Vac. He continued to see Raymond regularly. His tutor made encouraging remarks about the standard of his works, and the sort of degree he might obtain if he continued to work especially hard.
A fortnight before the end of term he received an invitation to a buffet supper at Ben's. The immaculately written note said, 'We are inviting a few of our gay friends round, but nothing will happen that might make you embarrassed or ashamed. Hope you will come. Love Ben.'
-0---0---0-
A Party at Ben and Clive's
Peter was one of the last to arrive at Ben and Clive's. He found around fifteen men already there. Ben gave a general introduction, "This is Peter, from my home village, whom I have known since he was a small boy." This was greeted with mock astonishment, "We did not know that you were like that, Ben." Peter played up to this, "You have no idea what he was like. He used to ruffle my hair like this," he said, ruffling Ben's hair. Ben then introduced him more personally to those in one of the small groups that had formed. When others arrived, either Ben or Clive did the general introduction, depending on whether the man was from the University, or from Mapperley Park hospital. There was one other student, from Ben's English Department. There were several male nurses of Peter's age.
Peter enjoyed himself. He talked to almost all of those present in the course of the evening. The food, produced by Clive, was excellent. Looking back on the occasion, when he was going to bed, Peter realised that the evening had three parts for him.
During the first part of the evening, there was a part of his mind thinking, 'these are gay men, are they any different from any other group of men?'. He decided that most of them were no different. Yes, there was one older, rather chubby, man, who was decidedly camp in his actions. He had a number of rings on the fingers of both hands, and a prominent gold bracelet. When he was introduced to the group, his response was to say 'hello, girls'. There were some hands touching, and arms round another man, certainly that would not be seen in most straight male gatherings. Looked at singly, or spoken to singly, they would be taken for any other group of men.
Then he began to ask himself whether he would fit in, or would want to fit into a group like this. It was a mixed evening. There were some serious discussions going on, even some strong differences of opinion. There was hilarity, with occasional outbursts of raucous laughter. There was a great deal of social chat, about television programmes, sometimes with mention that such and such a person was gay. Otherwise there was very little directly sexual talk. Peter enjoyed the company. As he reviewed the evening he certainly hoped that would be invited again, if there were to be a similar occasion.
He knew that Clive and Ben were partners. He looked around to see if there were any others. Then something mentioned in conversation revealed another couple. To his surprise he began to look round wondering what it would be like to have sex with some of those present. He dismissed most of them straight away. There was one fine looking middle aged man that he thought looked attractive. He then began to wonder if he was being sexually assessed.
It was towards the end of the evening, when he went to refill his glass with wine, that he met a young male nurse from Mapperley called Anton. When both their glasses were filled, they remained by the drinks table talking. Anton was about the same height as Peter, but whereas Peter was fair, Anton was black haired with soft brown eyes, and a dark, slightly ruddy complexion. After they had exchanged names, they found out about each other's occupation, and home town. Anton was from the North East, and had quite a pronounced Geordie accent. There was an attraction of opposites with them. It was obvious to each that the other was more than mildly interested. But they got no further before a friend of Anton's came up to him, and said that if he wanted a lift into town he had better come now.
Anton's farewell remarks were, "It was good to talk. Do you ever go to Rutters?"
Peter realised that he was referring to the Duke of Rutland, the gay pub in the centre of Nottingham. "No, I have never been."
"You ought to go. Perhaps see you there sometime." He was pulled away by his friend, "See you again. Cheerio."
Before he left Ben had a final word with him. "I hope all goes well at home. If you see Matthew or Luke, and you think it right, do feel free to have a word about me. But don't get yourself into difficulties by doing so. Be in touch next term."
Clive walked out to the gate with him. "I hope you enjoyed it. You looked as though you were. I hope nothing embarrassed you."
"It's been a good evening. I have really enjoyed myself."
"Would you come again? We usually have one of these does at the end of each term."
I'd like to come again. That's if I'm invited."
"Oh, I'll make sure you're invited. Ben thinks a lot of you, you know?" said Clive, putting his arms round Peter, and giving him a hug.
As he walked back to the University campus, Peter started thinking about going home. He felt sure there would be an inquisition into his friendship with Ben. His father was used to asking searching questions, so it would probably be a difficult session.