Tristan

Tristan by Henry H. Hilliard

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Chapter 17

"Have y'all been training yourself, Tristan?" asked Colton who was towelling himself off after he had cum.

"Nah, Colt," said Tristan who was already pulling on his sweat pants for their chilly morning run. "What's the point? You had Jessica; you had no need of me."

"Tris, this is not about me..."

"Heaven forbid," said Tristan who was now donning on a thick college windcheater and whose sarcastic expression was therefore not readily disclosed to Colton.

"It's about you, Tris--not me-- so as y'all can fully embrace y'sexuality. I was only going to give you pleasure...no, give me pleasure...er, no, what I said first... so y'all could get yourself off, um...more satisfyin'ly. I was a mere catalyst in the equation."

"A disinterested party--like the dildo?"

"Not exactly, Roomy." He leapt from beneath the covers. "Boxers, briefs or jockstrap?" he asked brightly.

"Are you going to wear the running shorts with the split?"

"Nope, too cold."

"Then the new camo briefs. They look hot on you."

"Do you want to put them on me?"

"Do you think you can get around me by flirting so blatantly?"

"I flirt with chicks, not my roomy, but yeah, it ain't too hard to get Trissy's motor runnin'."

Tristan gave way at every pore and quickly got Colton to stand with his hands behind his head while he stepped into the skimpy briefs that were probably a size too small. Tristan had to pull them up his beefy thighs and over his muscle arse. Then there was all that junk that had to be tucked into the straining, distended pouch.

"Y'all can give Colty a slap on the ass, Roomy, if it makes y'feel better."

Tristan did. Colton's muscle barely moved. "You know, that did make me feel better, although my hand stings."

Soon they were running. "It might snow,' said Colton, who like every Texan saw an inch of snow as a blizzard. "We can stay in tonight and I'll give y'ass a thorough working over with number two."

"Thanks, but I've got to see Ben and Ivy first. Do you want to come with me? We're meeting at Nonno's." Colton, who was fond of pizza, said he would.

Colton was a little intimidated by the two sophomores. They were stylish and sophisticated Northerners and had little understanding of sports and other jock interests. They did, however, have the Film Society in common. Colton had liked The Godfather and On the Waterfront. He was still a little confused about the plot of the German silent film, The Cabinet of Dr Caligari--which indeed puzzled Tristan too--but had accepted it as a product of a troubled nation.

The budding architects had ordered a very European pizza, which had modest flavourings of pureed carciofo with a crumbled white cheese and a dusting of arugula. Colton ordered a super-abundant creation of processed ham, sausage and peperoni, with extra mozzarella. Soave was contrasted with Dr Pepper.

Tristan got down to business. "I have a proposition for you..." They listened with interest. Tristan proposed to pay them ten percent of the cost of the renovations in return for a set of plans that the builders could follow, their creative ideas for how to do it and for some supervision of the builders if it did not interfere with their studies.

He described the house. "The realtor said it might be a Sear's house."

"As in Sear's Roebuck?" asked Colton between mouthfuls.

"Yeah, apparently you could order a whole kit house with numbered parts."

"It sounds like what they call a Craftsman Bungalow," said Ivy. "I've seen old books of plans for self-builders in places like California or in the mountains or wherever. Interesting!"

"Yeah, well this is the unusual part: I want it for our gang of friends from the dorm. Of course, I haven't mentioned it to them yet, so I don't know if they'll want to live there. There might be nine or ten of us. The biggest job will be turning the hayloft above an old stable into a room for Colt and me. It's easily big enough for two bedrooms--even more-- and I thought folding doors or a curtain of something could make it into two when we needed it."

"Yeah," said Colton, "but don't forget to tell them that it has no ceilings or winders. It's freezing 'cause nothin' is lined, there's no bathroom or water or 'lectricity. Apart from that, we could move in tomorrer."

Tristan confessed that all this was true. He said there would need to be a bathroom fitted into the attic and that the downstairs one was a ruin. Ben asked a few questions and Tristan tried to answer them as best he could. "I don't want a flash suburban house, Ben. I don't want what my mother would think of as `nice'. This is a house for students--for jocks-- who don't care a damn for polished granite bench tops and chichi decoration."

Ivy said: "Tris, why don't you ask your friends what they would want in a student share house? It might be a point from which we could start."

"You mean you might be willing to do it?"

"Come outside, Ivy, while I have a smoke. I want to talk to you first. We won't be a minute, guys."

Colt and Tristan watched the two figures in animated conversation out in the cold street. Ben was dressed in a black peajacket that buttoned up in an unusual way. His boots were black too, but his glasses frames were red plastic. He was trying to smoke with a gloved hand. Ivy was also in black jeans with an oversized charcoal sweater that had a high collar. She tucked her hands up underneath its folds to keep warm. Her half-glasses were canary yellow and she wore them on the end of her nose, mostly looking over the top.

They returned. "We'll take the job, Tris, if you get the house that is," said Ivy. "Rather than trying to fit it around our classes, we're going to ask our professor if we can do it as a joint project."

"Yeah, we'll even include the input of your friends in the brief. We'll stress the unusual aspects of the client's wishes and assess how the finished project meets these goals. Other students have done similar stuff, but it is usually just designing a beach house for their folks or something," said Ben.

"Young clients like you, Tris, are pretty rare."

Tristan felt relief. The process had begun. They would be in touch.

Back in the dorm room Tristan was too excited to study. Colton plied him with a shot of whiskey and had one himself. He took off his clothes, except for the camo briefs, and took out Tristan's sex toys. He stood by the quivering Tristan and shoved his nylon-covered groin in his face. "Relax, Tris," was his fruitless suggestion. "Smell good?" Tristan couldn't reply as his mouth and nose were pressed into his roommate's cock and balls. Colton grabbed him by the back of the head and humped his face. "Oh yeah, that feels good!"

Presently the number two dildo, which Colton had disrespectfully named after the kicker on his NFL team, was lubed up and pressed against Tristan's hole. "Shit, y'all ain't opened up 'nough yet, Tris. Better use m'tongue."

Colton set to work and Tristan moaned. "Yeah, use your tongue every time, Colt. You're a fucking artist."

"Yeah, so I've been told. I think y'ready." Tristan whimpered. "Oh, all right, but just five more minutes of Colty's tongue."

It was more like fifteen before the dildo was sliding in and out. "We're going for depth," said Colton.

"You sound like the captain of a sub," laughed Tristan through his tears.

"Am I hurtin' y'all?"

"Not now. It sorta hurts but feels good at the same time."

Colton manipulated the device. Tristan jumped. "I'm into your descending colon, Tris. That's pretty deep for a beginner."

"How do you know that?" Tristan managed to huff between moans.

"The net."

"That looks so hot. Look how hard I am, Tris."

Colton had an enormous erection straining is briefs. His sausage syrup was oozing through the material.

"Let me taste," said Tristan when at last the invasive toy was removed slowly for the last time.

"Now we go for width training. You'll need this because I'm pretty thick, Tris."

"Yes, you are. Everyone says so." Tristan giggled.

"Shut up or I do it without lube!"

The number two butt plug was greased up and shown to Tristan for his inspection. Colton went to the closet for more lube and returned and pressed the plug slowly but inexorably in. He had to use his muscles. Tristan winced and cried out softly and then, "It's in, Tris. You've got the number three in you."

"Three? You tricked me, you bastard!"

"I knew you could take it. How does it feel?"

"Strange. Like I want to take a shit. It feels kinda good."

Colton moved it in and out, watching Tristan's pink anal lining become visible as it was dragged out and his sphincter snap around it as it was pressed in. "You'll make me cum, Colt."

"That's the idea." He moved the number three in and out and lightly touched Tristan's penis.

"Harder."

Colton wasn't sure which he wanted harder, so he did both. Then Tristan came.

"Good work, Tris." He eased it out. "Want you to wear it tomorrer mornin' under y'clothes. Think you can do that for me?"

"I don't know, I suppose so."

"You'll have to, Tris, if you want to take guys as big as me."

"You were turned on by me having it in me?"

"Yeah, especially me controlling it."

"Put it back in and show me how turned on your are, Colt. I want you to blow all over my face. That would be really hot."

"Well, you have to cum again, once is not enough."

This was affected and Tristan found himself covered in Colton's cum as well as his own. It was in his hair, it stung his eye; it dripped from his chin. "That was way hot, Colt." He went to reach for the towel under the bed.

"Wait! Here's another one for you. Colt was on his knees over Tristan and jacking furiously. He came again, this time all over Tristan's lips. " Woah! That sure makes Colty feel like he's the man. Now we can clean up and go down to the showers."

They were not alone in the echoing tiled chamber, for there was Hollis scrubbing away. "Not too hard, Hollis, or them pictchers is liable to come off." Hollis gave his quarterback the finger. "Hey, your balls are shaved, man!"

"Yeah, followin' y'xample, dude."

"Well, they look mighty fine. Your work, Tris?"

"Yeah," replied Tristan who was getting hard from the proximity to the two naked studs who stood around the chrome pipe.

Just then the swing door opened and Tristan could see Parker with his towel and kit. Although there were free showers further down, he naturally made up a fourth under `their' one. "Y'all admiring my roomy's balls, dudes," he said in his Georgia drawl. "He's got great nuts for a footballer. Hey, Tris, would you trim my own hot carcass? You do lacrosse jocks too, don't ya?"

"I'm pretty ecumenical."

"Don't he use purty words?" said Parker as he soaped his pecs. "I was thinkin' of havin' everythin' shaved off and m'butt crack too. Is that too gay, dudes?"

"No," said Colton, "Not gay a pinch, dude."

"I was thinkin' of doin' the same, Roomy," said Hollis as he fingered his soapy low hangers.

"Not gay enough, if you want my opinion," said Tristan, causing them to laugh. "Course I will only do it in the Quad, unless it's snowing hard."

Hollis `bust up' as they say in Texas. Tristan smiled to himself. He was hard of course, but now so were the three jocks--Colton after just having cum twice-- and they didn't care a damn. "That's why I like jocks," he thought.

Tristan didn't think he could possible run with the number three inserted up his butt, but Colt made sure he had it in when they met the others for breakfast. If anyone thought Tristan was walking funny, they never said anything and Tristan was quite used to it by the time he went to Iain Macpherson's lecture on the Smoot-Hawley Tariff and Reparations. He hoped his arsehole would not require reparations of any kind and he tried to imagine having to face Dr Baddeley. He didn't see Colton at lunchtime so instead simply texted: `It's out.'

"Y'all a champeen, Roomy," said Colt that evening. "Y'getting' stretched nice and wide. What d'y'all want me to call it?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, is it jus' y'asshole or do you want to call it y'boy pussy or y'man cunt?" Colt had two lubed fingers up the, as yet, unnamed aperture.

"Well, I don't want to be a girl, like in Nancy the Waterboy. Man cunt' sounds butch; Hole' might be for a gopher. But it is up to you what you call it. Call it whatever turns you on, Colt. Dirty talk is very good foreplay."

"Wise words, Bro."

Colt did some finger training, followed by depth exercises. Then Tristan was positioned over the edge of the bed and he deepthroated the quarterback way better than even Nancy in fiction. Colton had just cum down his throat when the Tristan's phone rang. He released his skull.

"Yes, Dad?" Tristan managed to croak. Colt listened and looked for a reaction as he towelled himself off. He slipped on a jockstrap. Tristan said yes' and no' at periodic intervals. "That's fantastic. ..No, I haven't got a cold, it's just that I was eating when you rang." Colton grinned and pressed his jock pouch into Tristan's face. Tristan tried to push him away. "No, I don't know where he is...Yes, I'll tell him...Yes, that's great news...and, Dad, thanks very much. You've really helped me and I'm grateful....Yeah, I'm feeling really good....Bye."

"Well?"

"They settled. Dad offered them a quick settlement--two months--and they agreed to fix the sewer, the front door and the rotten boards. They'll also clear out the junk from the house and the stable. Three hundred thousand dollars--that's about two-thirty thousand pounds.

"Wow! That's a lot of money, Tris."

"I know, but Dad says I can afford it, even with renovations."

"Woohoo! Tristan is a home owner!" Colton did a little dance in his jockstrap and then grabbed Tristan to join in. All of a sudden he let go and, still in a good mood and still only in a jockstrap, bounced out the door for the showers.

"Over here," said Colton when they had settled into their conjoined beds. "You like it in bed with Colty?" he said as he put his arm around Tristan's shoulder. Tristan just sighed. "Exciting, ain't it?"

"What, the house?"

"House? No I mean bein' in the sack with me!"

"Oh, yeah, that's really exciting. It'll be really nice when you can cum inside me."

"That thought turns you on?" asked Colton. Tristan rolled over on his side, presenting his arse to Colton who rolled also and placed his hardon in Tristan's crack.

Triston squeezed his cheeks around it and rocked gently backwards and forwards. "Yeah, it turns me on."

This frotting continued for some minutes until Colton came again, saturating Tristan arse and thighs. "No, leave it there, I think it's hot, you covered in m'jizz. Anyway, laundry day tomorrer."

Tristan met Ben in the Library. "I've got the house. The realtor will let you have the keys to see over it and measure up, if you're still keen, that is."

"We're `keen'," said Ben, making fun of Tristan's accent. "Professor Troost said we can do it as a major project for Design Studio and Construction-and-Analysis. Let me know when you can look it over with us; I'd like you to be with us the first time. And Tris, don't forget to make a wish list of what you and the others want. Troost was very interested to see how jocks think of the space around them. He even laughed--which is rare."

On Saturday there was a football game. Tristan found himself rugged up like an Eskimo and sitting next to Dr Baddeley who shared hot chocolate from a Thermos with him.

"So where's your redhead? The Aggie student with the limp," she asked, sarcastically.

"He's gone back to Slovakia--I mean Slovenia. His mother's funeral."

"Not many redheads in Slovenia."

"Oh, his father is Slovenian--that's where the farm is, but his mother is from Norway. She was driving the tractor when it rolled."

"That's a tough job for a woman."

"Oh, it's Norse work if you can get it, Dr Baddeley." Tristan doubled over with laughter at his own joke.

She snorted and went back to watching the game through her binoculars.

It was not until the Sunday night that Tristan was able to outline his plans to his friends. They were seated around the long table at Nonno's and it was some minutes before he could shut them up so he could be heard. There was less than a semester to go and then the long vacation before they would have to be finding there own accommodation for sophomore year which would begin in eight months.

Tristan began to describe the house and its location. There was a murmur of general approval. Tristan then explained that he wanted to keep the house plain. "Can't be plainer than Charles C. Selecman," said Alexinia. Everyone agreed.

"I was thinking of having the girls upstairs--you too Carlos, if you want."

"Y'all calling me a girl?"

"Yes, Carlos, you're a girl--a very ugly girl with a moustache. There are three other bedrooms downstairs--one is quite big and one is quite small, but it has it's own bathtub--and there's a good basement where I will build another bedroom. Then there's an old stable with a hayloft. I propose to make that into a pair of bedrooms for Colt and me." There was a general hubbub. Tristan could see people trying to fit themselves into the scheme.

"Could Leesh and I still share, Tris? Is upstairs big enough?" asked Rachel.

"Yes, I'm certain. The attic is big, but the ceiling slopes--but you're short, Rach."

"Yeah, but I like tall guys."

"But they never gets to be on their feet," said Alexinia. Everyone laughed.

"And there is a large upper hall where you could place a `love seat'--is that what you call a two-seater?"

"A Girls' Safe Space," said Leesha, parodying a recent initiative of the GSA.

"What'll the rent be?" asked Colton, who had an idea of the answer, but asked for the sake of the others.

"I am going to work out what the outgoings will be--utilities, insurance, city taxes, maintenance, and divide it by the number of people living there. Then there will be food--I haven't worked that out yet and you might like to suggest how we could do it, but without a lot of fuss, please.

"That might be like one thousand, maybe two, a year for each of us," said Parker. "That's a bargain, Tris. A room is usually about four hundred a month."

"I hope so, Parks, but that might be a nice modern room in a slick new house, remember."

"I do have a slight problem," continued Tristan, addressing the table. "Should it be divided equally? I mean some bedrooms are bigger than others. One has a sort of en-suite bathroom already. Carlos and Alexinia will be sharing. Some are upstairs and one might be in the basement. Then some of you might have boyfriends or girlfriends who want to live there--I don't mean just for a casual dalliance." They laughed. "If someone leaves--say, Hollis, or you, Parker, get a place in the Frat House--then we would have to get someone else or recalculate. You guys sharing get first option on any spare room, of course."

"I vote we divide it equally," said Parker. "But Tris, it's your house, you shouldn't have to pay."

"I pay my share or we don't do it at all."

A show of hands caused Tristan to sigh with relief.

Next Tristan explained that he wanted everybody to email him with a list of things they wanted in their new `frat house' and then he wanted them to have a look at the place before they committed themselves. Two times were arranged for the following week to fit in with their busy schedules.

There were three cheers for Tristan--the other patrons in Nonno's looking on with amusement at the boisterous college students.

Two days later Tristan went back to the house, this time with Ben and Ivy. The tour was becoming quite familiar, but with the two Architecture students he saw things through new eyes. For one, they were not put off by the poor condition of the house with word cosmetic' being used several times to Tristan's relief. The wide and welcoming front door had been rehung, which made the house look quite presentable again. There was some nice art glass'--as they called it-- in the top panel. "We'll get rid of that new lock and find a period replacement," said Ben.

Around the side they saw that a trench had been dug, presumably for the new sewer line from the street. "That will be a big saving," said Ben again.

By general agreement, the living room was to be restored to something of how it was when new. Tristan argued that he did not want `that' sort of house, but Ben and Ivy convinced him that the room deserved it. It would largely be a matter of stripping paint off the trims.

The dining room Tristan described as `a chamber of horrors', with its false panelling and wall of glued-on cheap mirror tiles. All three stood frowning. Ivy found a screwdriver and levered off one the tiles. "Look at this!" she cried as the mirror shattered. Underneath were modern pine battens that held the mirrors, but underneath these was wood panelling--a dark frame with a lighter panel. Several tiles were removed to reveal it.

"I think that this is Swamp Cyprus and Oak--both native to Texas."

"Why would anyone cover it up with mirrors and fake timber?" asked Tristan.

"Oh, it was the fashion, I suppose," said Ivy. "No one wanted these dark rooms in the 1960s--they tried to modernize it. Tristan, I think this room should be put back like the living room, don't you? We could find those replacement bronze Japanese lanterns."

Tristan tried not to think about the cost and nodded. "I will want a table for nine or ten here. Do you think it will fit?"

Ivy paced it out and was thoughtful. "If it's rectangular, not round and if the chairs aren't too big."

"Oh, there's this." Tristan took them through the swing door to the 1970s kitchen. "Ms Chambers thinks this dresser would have opened through to the dining room; any chance of making that happen?" Ben thought it would be took costly to rebuild the dining room sideboard--especially in oak--but thought that something simpler might be possible.

"Just paint the kitchen, it's good enough for us," said Tristan. "Maybe new lino."

They walked out the kitchen door. "This porch is pretty gloomy." Tristan fingered the wire and it crumbled at his touch. "Americans `cook out' a lot. It does make less mess inside, I suppose. Colt wants a deck with a barbecue and all the trimmings. Could you design one that isn't too expensive?"

"You could use salvaged materials, perhaps," said Ivy. "Like an old sink set up on trestles. Of course, you'd still need plumbing and wiring. What do you think, Ben?"

"Yeah, we can do something really good if we bring that porch out. It will cost, Tris."

"I know, but in for a penny, in for a pound."

Then there was the basement. The architects were made to understand the requirement of a new bedroom and a new furnace, but didn't give much away. Of the bathrooms, Ivy thought that the maid's one merely needed a new surface to the tub. It clanged when she rapped on it with her knuckles. "Cast iron, not pressed steel." Tristan explained that he wanted a shower big enough for three jocks at a time. "The bathroom would have to be made bigger," said Ivy. Tristan was adamant.

Upstairs, Tristan was confronted with a problem that he hadn't considered. There was only one set of stairs--in the event of a fire...

"Look, Tris," said Ben. "If we can make a door onto the roof or a little balcony that would be enough."

"Well, the hayloft will be the same, I suppose."

They inspected this. "Yes, a new set of windows with a door in it and stairs down to the yard would be possible," said Ben. "It's sure cold up here. What about insulation, Aiwéi?" he asked using her real name.

"There are some products I've seen. One is a module made up of a sandwich of insulation-and-plywood. These are slotted together to make the inside wall and then there's straw insulation held within a wire mesh. Appropriate for a hay loft?"

"And the plywood would form the walls, not plaster?"

"Yes. Environmentally friendly, like the solar panels."

"What solar panels?"

"For the roof--it faces south and you could power the heating and cooling."

"Tris," said Ben looking up through the rafters. "I think the roof will need new iron. I can see the sky in places."

"Shit! And a bathroom?"

"Like you said you wanted it? We'll work something out. And a divider."

"And..."

"And what, Tris?" asked Ivy.

"Colt wants a pool table up here." He closed his eyes tight in a theatrical manner. The other two laughed.

"Full size?" asked Ben.

"No, just seven feet, I think. He can have it in his end of the room, " he said pointing to the far end, away from the narrow stairs. "He has been saving up for a second hand one."

Soon after they departed. They would return and make measured drawings. Tristan would forward them the list of requirements from the others.

Tristan went for a walk around the neighbourhood by himself. Further away from William H. Taft Drive the neighbourhood was pleasantly quiet, with a number of old homes similar to his own set in immense lawns dotted with oaks and Crepe Myrtles. He crossed Mosquito Creek and did a loop around the little park. There was no one about on this cold day. "I own a home," he kept repeating to himself. It sounded strange. And what responsibilities did it bring?

Tristan waited for a pause in Colt's exercises. His veins were popping and he was red and sweating from the strain. Eventually a clang of meal announced a break. "We need to go up to Dallas, Colt. That is, I need to go but it would be nice if you could come too. We could stay at Dad's."

Colt lay back on the bench. "Gee, I dunno, Tris. When are you goin'?"

"I was thinking of Thursday afternoon and coming back early on Friday. If you skipped Calculus we could leave at lunchtime and if I skipped Lit we could be back by 10:30."

"You've convinced me," he said wiping himself down. "Why are we goin'?"

"I have to sign some stuff with Mrs Gonsalves and I had better talk to Dad face to face. Cylvah keeps asking after you too. Have you seen the list from the others?"

Tristan passed his laptop over and Colt put down the towel.

The two equal first priorities were: comfortable couches (not armchairs) and beanbags for watching television, and a coffee table that one could put one's feet on and didn't require coasters for bottles, cans and glasses.

"Yeah, I said that too," admitted Colton after reading it aloud. "Nothin' annoys a dude more that being told off about the coffee table when he's tryin' to watch a game or somethin'. I mean, what's the use of the table, anyway?"

The second priority was a big screen. "You've already got one, Tris."

"But I gave that to the Common Room; I can't take it back."

"Bullshit! The dudes next year can buy their own or use the old one. Don't be a dumbass. That thing must have got your Dad two grand. He'd be pissed."

Colton read down. "I see the chicks want three basins and mirrors. Geeze they're vain. What are you laffin' at?"

"Nothing. I think they'll have to settle for two and a bidet."

"What's a bidet?"

"You don't want to know."

"They want locks on their bedroom doors too. Huh, it's the guys who need the locks."

"Well, everyone can have them."

"Security lighting."

"Yeah, the girls want this for coming home after dark. I can't blame them. You know, Colt, I'm odds-on for getting gay-bashed on campus one day. It happens in all the stories. I get beaten near to death. The campus police can't do anything and you sit by my bed at the hospital waiting for me to come out of a coma."

"That's good o'me. What happens next?"

"Well, in Texan Freshman Tramp, my mother rushes across the Atlantic and we make up, but in Starting Over, Roll Me Over, I have amnesia and can't remember you at all."

"I don't know what to say."

"And in Paddy Hearst I fall for my attacker and end up as willing prisoner in a basement in Watts.

"Better have lights and a security camera then, Tris."

"Oh, I don't know. Paddy enjoyed being the gang's bitch, if I remember rightly. What's this mattresses on the floor business, Colt?"

"It's a jock thing. Guys don't have proper beds. It's cool. You up for it?"

"Whatever you say. Deshawn wants to build his own loft bed."

"He's an Engineer. Them and Archi students go for that stuff. Here it says that Parker and Carlos want a place to store their bikes."

"Yeah, I suppose in the stable. Would you like a table tennis table there, if we can level the floor?"

"Why not? Pool hall upstairs, YMCA downstairs."

"I see a beer fridge is a high priority and four people said they want a `guest room'. I suppose that means if their parents come to visit."

"More likely the guys want a clean and private room for screwing chicks."

"Well, if that's what they want. I did ask them. You know our room will be able to be screened, so if you..."

"Or you... Hey, Hollis wants a beer pong room!"

"Well, he won't be getting one. It'll be a good house, Colt?"

"Only the best, Roomy!"

It seemed especially sweet to play hooky--or bunk off' as Tristan put it--and head off to Dallas while their fellows were still dozing in stuffy lecture theatres. They drove straight through, not even indulging in road head' despite Colton's entreaties when it was his turn at the wheel.

Their first stop was at the offices of Redessky's, which was, to their surprise, located in an old Spanish Mission apartment complex in Rawlins Street. "This must have been built during the oil boom of the 1920s," said Colton as they mounted the shallow steps and pushed the brass plate on beautiful wooden doors.

Mrs Gonsalves office was across an elaborately tiled foyer. She was expecting them. "I met your father last week, Tristan" she said as she shook hands. She did not say it, but Colton understood that Tristan's father must be important. "Congratulations on buying your house. Are you going to live in it?"

"I'm going to renovate it and take-in students--my friends from University, Mrs Gonsalves."

"At the moment the house is in your father's name--or rather in the trust your father set up for you. That avoids tax and makes it easier for someone who is under 21."

"We'd best leave it that way, then."

"It is up to you. No one can touch it without your permission. Now this other matter..."

Mrs Gonsalves outlined the sale of Godalming. "The sum is one million three hundred, sixty-five thousand pounds, with Mr Ticehurst's fees deducted. That's about one million, seven hundred, sixty-four thousand dollars. "

"Oh!" said Tristain, the colour draining from his face. "I was lead to believe it would have bought a little more than that. Gran's was a lovely house and..."

"No, Tristan, you misunderstood me. That is your share. The same amount went to Nigel Chalfont."

Tristan breathed a sigh of relief and then said, "He's my cousin. I've told you about him, haven't I, Colt?"

"Yeah. He's goin' to live in Spain with his dad, your uncle Magnus."

"Oh then, well, that is a lot more than I thought, Mrs Gonsalves."

"I'm glad for you, Tristan. Now your grandmother also left some money to you and to Nigel. Your share is about two hundred thousand dollars--just a little over. There were quite a few shares that had to be liquidated."

"Wow!" said Tristan. "I hope Mrs Pope was looked after."

"Here's a copy of the will, said Mrs Gonsalves. Tristan scanned it and was relived to find that Mrs Pope probably received more than sufficient to buy the freehold on the flat she mentioned.

"Where did your grandma get all the fuckin' dough, Tris? Sorry for the cussin', Mrs Gonsalves."

"My grandfather had money. He became a judge but made a lot from his time at the bar."

"I'm glad someone does," put in Mrs Gonsalves.

"And Gran's family made their money in tea--not the sweet kind. They were importers last century and before."

"Very British."

"So, Dad said that I should send all the bills to you--the house bills I mean."

"Yes, I have your authority and your father's authority to access the Trust. Any time you want to appoint someone else, you can, of course."

"No, no, thank you, Mrs Gonsalves. That seems sensible."

"Tell me a little about the house, Tristan. Are you starting your own frat?"

"Something like that." Then Tristan tried to explain his plans, finding that he was clarifying it in his own mind as he did so.

As they were walking to the truck Colton spoke, "You know, Tris, if you don't mind me sayin', all that stuff about not wantin' a house like your mom would like...well..."

"You mean I'm being childish?"

"P'haps a little. I mean she's ain't even here. I notice y'all don't say, `Like Cylvah's house'--she's an interior decorator, right?"

"Inferior decorator, more like it. No, I was wrong about her. She's in my father's shadow too. Do you think I should take absolute control of my money and stuff--keep Dad out of the picture entirely?"

"No, Tris, absolutely not. He's tryin' to connect to y'all and the house and all that is a link between ya. Think he's `on the spectrum', perhaps?"

"I never thought of that, but he could be. He's tremendously focussed on any task when he's working. That's why he's so successful, first in the law and then in business."

"Well, the other thing, rich boy, is that even Bill Gates has someone do his legal stuff and book keeping. There's nothing wrong with having your dad do it. It is his thang, after all."

At the apartment Cylvah and Mrs Torres gave the boys a warm welcome. Cylvah was terribly excited and had gone to considerable trouble to dress up and have snacks and drinks for the boys. Mrs Torres, a college football fan, grilled Colton on the team's prospects. They were doing well, but the early losses they suffered in October and November put them at a disadvantage.

Cylvah gave Colton the grand tour, explaining her scheme for decoration at some length. In her painting room she proudly showed off her efforts. Colton was looking a little blankly so Tristan removed a present from his backpack. He had been to the University art supply store and had purchased several different palette knives and some oil paints, suggesting that Cylvah might like to try a different medium to the acrylics she had been using. The gift was a great success and Cylvah was thrilled, perhaps more so by the attention than the inexpensive gift itself.

Colton was shown the guest room with its own bathroom, one of half a dozen in the huge condo. She was just telling him about the pool and the gymnasium on the roof when Mrs Torres announced that Tristan's father was home.

His father was as he were when he had looked over the house: neutral, not hostile, inquiring, but not particularly warm. He did seem to like Colton and Tristan wondered if he would have been different had Colton been his son. Tristan felt that he could hardly blame him. Another topic of conversation was Tristan's late grandmother, Mr Isley's mother-in- law. They had always got on well, perhaps Mr Isley preferring her to his own mother whom Tristan could barely remember. He didn't know. Tristan saw it as a good sign when his father told the story of when Tristan's grandfather had been a judge at the Old Bailey in the late 1960s and had to ask his the clerk, Who are these Beatles?' only then mutter disgustedly, Crooners'.

The topic turned to the house as Mrs Torres brought in dessert.

"Ben and Ivy suggested solar panels for the roof. Apparently the rear of the stable faces south and they said we could offset the heating and cooling."

"You're asking your poor father, who works for an oil and gas company, to pay for solar panels on his son's house!"

"No, Dad, I'll pay..."

"He's joking, Tris," said Colton, "Aren't you, sir?"

"Well," began Mr Isley, "There is a certain irony."

"Tristan says Americans don't get irony."

"Then it's a double irony, isn't it? How long would it take to pay for itself, Tristan?"

"Ah, I don't know. Five years?"

"Let me tell you then. A five-kilowatt system would save you about a thousand dollars a year. A system would cost about twenty. The Federal Government gives you a rebate of about six. You do the maths--sorry, math."

"I'll be long gone when it's paid for itself."

"And they will need replacing by then, too probably, but..."

"But? You mean there's a non-financial aspect?"

"You're nineteen. I'm fifty-two. Whose world will it be?"

"You believe in global warming?"

"Of course, and Globoco is investing in green energy too. Solar and wind."

"So, I should go for solar power?"

"I've no objection. I'll pay for what goes on the stable and you can pay for any on the house. I like to see young people acting out of principle."

Tristan thanked his father. Then Cylvah could restrain herself no longer. "I'm meeting some of my girlfriends at a bar, would you boys like to come?"

Tristan looked at his father who said, "I have work to do." He abruptly left the table and headed towards his study, which was through sliding doors off the main room.

"Oh, do say you'll come. I've told them all about you. Y'll love The Bunch of Grapes, its fun and really laid back." Cylvah gave one of her awful laughs.

"I'd really love to go, Tris," said Colton speaking first. The firmness in his voice was a hint to Tristan.

"Yeah, Cylvah, that sounds like fun. Let's have a good time tonight before we have to go back."

It wasn't necessary to dress up for The Bunch of Grapes, although Cylvah did change her clothes and refreshed her makeup. A taxi took them there. It was not strictly a storefront as Tristan had imagined, nor was it associated with a posh hotel. It was a `dive' in old Mission building set in a yard, perhaps originally having been a realtor's office or a plumbers' supply. By comparison with slick London bars, it was pretty raw and unsophisticated, with lots of hokey old enamel signs advertising petroleum products and the like. There was some neon, fake leadlight over the pool table, dodgy panelling and lots of chalked signs advertising specials and community functions. Televisions showed sports programs. Through a door there was an unattractive, asphalt yard girt by collapsing trellis. It was too cold for many people to be out here among the cheap, plastic chairs or up on the roof where there was apparently another bar in warmer weather. The unisex lavatories were primitive by American standards and replete with amusing signs. Clearly it was gay-friendly.

However inside the crowd was building and it was lucky that Cylvah's friends had secured a table. There were excited screams as they were greeted. Her friends were Shawna and Carrianne, women in their forties. Even as the boys were introduced, another, Lindy, arrived and with her was Michael. It seemed that Lindy and Michael, who was about twenty, were hairdressers. Shawna was the wife of someone who owned a car dealership. Carrianne might have been in product promotion, it was unclear and perhaps unimportant.

The boys were gushed over. Colton's muscles were squeezed and he lapped up the attention from these older women. Michael told the bitches' to make room so he could have a feel and he let out a little scream. They turned to Tristan who was proudly introduced by Cylvah as if her were her son. Tristan felt immensely sorry for her. Lacking ostensible muscles, it was Tristan's accent that was real cute' and awful cute' and cute as a pup'. Tristan sighed then laughed and determined to enjoy himself.

The group was very loud. Lindy and Michael had arrived from a party that was held for the opening of a new salon and had probably taken something. The others were knocking back peach Bellini's, the speciality of the house. Tristan ordered another round and quite quickly found he was chilled in both senses and laughing along with the outrageous women.

Soon there was dancing. It didn't take much for Colton to be persuaded and he danced with Shawna who was joined by Carrianne. Michael and Cylvah were admiring Colton's `moves' and Michael let out another squeal when Colton rotated his groin and he clutched Tristan's arm. "And he's your roommate? Oh God, take me now!" he fanned himself theatrically. He whispered in Tristan's ear.

"Boxers mostly. I think he's commando tonight."

Another squeal. Then he pulled Tristan up and made him dance. Cylvah's friends were all shrieking and being silly. Tristan found himself laughing at them. Michael clung to him for a slow dance and nibbled his ear. Tristan didn't care.

Then they were seated and drinking again, except for Colton who was now dancing with a pretty blonde girl who had been standing with a group at the bar and watching proceedings. Tristan saw them kiss.

"Pity that boy's straight," observed Michael.

"Well..." began Tristan before he was interrupted.

"You know, you're a hot looking guy, Tristan. You should let me do something with your hair." Michael then leaned in and put his lips on Tristan's. Tristan kissed back, and soon they were `going at it'.

More drinks arrived and Tristan felt he could remember little until Colton swaggered over and roused him. Michael was nowhere to be seen. "Ready to go, Tris? Cylvah's out in the street tryin' to get a cab."

"Yeah, sure. Do I need to say goodbye to anyone?"

"Nah, the girls have gone home and your boyfriend was blowin' some dude in the john. Did y'get his number?"

"No," said Tristan a little primly. "Did you get yours?" Colton grinned and held up three pieces of paper.

"Oh God! Get me home."

Please look for the next chapter. Henry would love to receive feedback and will endeavour to reply. Please email h.h.hilliard@hotmail.com and put Tristan in the subject line.