This is a story that involves sex between males. If such a story is offensive to you, or illegal for you to read where you live, then do not continue. All the characters in the story are entirely fictitious, and any resemblance to any one living or dead completely co-incidental. The village of Whitgest is loosely based on two or three villages in the Home Counties.
If you wish to comment on the story then do contact me on Jeffyrks@hotmail.com. I aim to reply to all messages.
The Village Blacksmith
In the days before the motor car provided the almost universal means of transport in the Western World, nearly every English village had a blacksmith. The major part of a blacksmith's work was the shoeing of horses. Horses were used to pull the ploughs and carts of the farmers. The village Squire often kept many horses in his stables near the manor house. He would probably have a couple of hunters, and a horse for himself when going around his estate. His wife would have a horse to pull her small trap, as possibly her own hunter. The doctor and the vicar would have their horses and ponies. Shoeing horses was the mainstay of a blacksmith's work, but there was also the mending of tools, and general making of ironware for the community. That side of the business was in decline with the increasing mass produced products of factories.
The blacksmith at Whitgest in the Home Counties just north of London did not operate 'under a spreading chestnut tree' but in a dilapidated building by the village green. It had been the blacksmiths for longer than the oldest inhabitants could remember. It had been patched up and repaired many times.
It was full of pieces of iron, many of which had lain undisturbed for many years. But it was thought that those odd pieces might come in useful some day. The Whitgest blacksmith was a Mr Blackstone. He was a widower. The Blackstones had been the blacksmiths for more generations than anyone could remember. Very few people knew his forename. He was just called Blackstone, usually pronounced Blackstun. He was assisted by his young son George. In 1906 George was a twelve year old and had just left school.
There is a fascination for blacksmiths among children. Rarely a day would go without some kids from the village standing and watching the blacksmith at work. It was a place of mystery and action. There was the fire. Often appearing to be barely alight, but then the bellows were worked, and the coke would turn red, and then yellow to almost white. The sparks would fly upward. There was the red hot horseshoes taken from the fire in the tongs held by old Blackstone. He would hammer the iron into the required shape -tang-tee, tang-te. Tang the heavy first blow, and the te the bounce back onto the hot iron. There were fresh sparks flying out. At times he would plunge the hot iron into a bucket of cold water, and there would be a hiss and a cloud of steam. As long as the children stood at a safe distance, old Blackstone did not mind them. Sometimes, when there was not much work, he would talk to them.
In the Spring of 1906 Edward Penbarton paid his first visit to the blacksmith's forge. He was just four. He was the only son of Sir William Penbarton Bt. Sir William, as the local squire, owned a large proportion of the village. Young Edward had been taken for a walk by his Nanny. He very correctly held her hand as they walked down the hill from the Manor into the village. When they were passing the blacksmith's he heard the sounds, and he pulled his Nanny across so that he could find out what was going on. She did not resist, as she too was interested in what was going on at the forge. The large doors at the front of the forge were wide open,
and they stood outside looking in. Young George was pulling on the bellows, and the fire was burning bright. They saw old Blackstone take a horse shoe across to the anvil and begin to hammer it into the exact shape he required.
Edward saw young George looking at him, and he half hid behind his nanny's coat. Then George winked at him. He tried to respond with a wink of his own, but this was a skill he had not yet properly learned, and so he ended up closing both eyes.
George walked across to them. "Hello, Master Edward, have you come to see what a Blacksmith does?"
Edward nodded. "How do you know my name?" A rather mature response from a four year old, but precociousness tended to be found among that class of child, all too often it became arrogance when they became men.
George came closer and crouched down in front of the boy, so their faces were almost level. "I know all sort of things, Master Edward. I know you live at the Manor."
"How do you know that?"
"I look into the fire, and the fire tells me many things. Blacksmith's fires are special."
"Are they really," said Edward with a tone of wonder in his voice.
"Yes, very special."
George reached out and placed the ball of his thumb on Edward's forehead. "That's for good luck. I have put a special black mark on your forehead, if you keep it there for one hour, then you'll always have a friend, a special friend."
Edward raised his hand to feel his forehead.
"Don't touch it, keep it there until you get home." George looked up at the Nanny and gave her a broad wink.
Edward stood there for a moment deep in thought. "Will you be my friend?"
"Yes, Master Edward, I'll always be your friend."
Just then old Mr Blackstone called to his son, "Bellows, Son."
Nanny took Edward's hand and prepared to leave.
"What is your name?" he called to George at the back of the smithy.
"George, Master Edward. George."
<<<>>>
From then on whenever his Nanny took him for a walk Edward would insist that they stood and watched the blacksmiths at work. Sometimes George would speak to them, but often he was too busy, and all they got was a wink. When he had learnt how to do it, Edward would wink back.
When Edward was nearly six his Nanny left to take up fresh charges down in Devon. In her place there was a governess. She began the task of teaching Edward to read and write, and begin the process of making him an English country gentleman. She too took him for walks down into the village, and still there would be the visit to the forge. Unlike his Nanny, the governess was really interested in what went on, and often would ask questions. These old Blackstone would answer, while Edward spoke with George.
There were special occasions, when Edward was taken down to the Blacksmith's by his father. His father liked to keep in contact with people in the village, and sometimes he would decide to take a horse which needed shoeing himself. Often they would lead the horse down the drive from the Manor to the village. Again Edward's father would talk to old Mr Blackstone, while Edward would talk to George. It was on one these visits with his father, that George showed Edward how to work the bellows. He had to lift him up on to a wooden crate, and hold him while he did so. That was a red letter day for young Edward and he talked about it all the way back to the Manor as he sat on the horse in front of his father.
These were halcyon days in rural England. Like almost everyone in the country the majority were unaware of the gathering storm clouds in continental Europe, and the growing tensions between the great powers. The assassination of Archduke Ferdinand in 1914 in the remote Balkan town of Sarajevo was regarded as of minor consequence when compared with more important things, like Irish home rule, and Test cricket. As the high summer of 1914 progressed England along with most other European powers suddenly found herself at war.
Edward's father immediately enlisted in the local regiment. He was commissioned as an officer. Young George Blackstone, now aged twenty also enlisted, but because of his class he remained a private.
Edward was twelve when war broke out. He had been at a preparatory school for three years, and when he was nearly fourteen he was sent to a Public school. It was the same school as the one to which his father had been sent.
There was plenty of money for a good education in the Penbarton family. As the name Penbarton was such a mouthful it was abbreviated among his school fellows to Penny.
It was on the third night at that school where he was in a dormitory with other six boys that he heard regular sounds of movement from the bed next to him.
Next morning he asked Jones, the boy from the bed next to him, "Last night,
after lights out, what were you doing? I could hear you rustling around."
"Tossing myself off. What do you think?"
There was a look of mystification on Edward's face.
"Don't you know about it? Haven't you done it yet."
Edward shook his head.
"It's great. Exciting, 'specially if you do it with someone else. Most boys do it. Like me to show you?"
Edward decided he did not want to be the odd one out. So he agreed.
"See you after games, and I'll show you."
After games all the boys showered. The water just had the chill taken off it. Hot showers were considered a pandering to the flesh, while cold showers were a way of repressing the sexual desires of the boys. All schools, especially those with older buildings like many of the Public Schools, had many nooks and crannies, were boys could go, and almost be guaranteed not to be disturbed. If they were found, it would be by a prefect or some other senior boy, who liked to do the same thing, or had done it a year or two before.
Jones led the way to a dimly lit corner under some stairs. No one passed that way at that time of day. He turned towards Edward, and opened his flies and pulled out his limp penis. Edward looked at it in surprise. He had seen plenty of the penises of his fellow scholars, but never in secluded privacy like this. Jones pulled on his penis and it began to lengthen and harden.
"Come on, Penbarton! Get yours out."
Edward had experienced hard ons, especially first thing in the morning, but he had just regarded them as an embarrassment. Slowly he undid his flies, and pulled his penis out. To his surprise Jones reached across and held it in his hand. This was something entirely new and different. A warm sensation filled his groin, and he felt his penis harden.
"Go on, hold mine too, Penny."
Slowly Edward reached over and took hold of Jones' hard cock. That was a new sensation, and it felt good.
"Feels good, doesn't it?"
"Yea, sort of warm and nice."
Jones moved closed and put his hard cock against Edward's. "It feels even better when both have no clothes on. But we daren't get undressed here. Can do it late at night in the dorm after final rounds."
"Have you done that."
"At my prep school, yes. Here no. But I know its done, 'cause my brother told me."
"There's lots of things we could do. Have you shot your load yet, or had a wet dream?"
"I've had a couple of dreams when I have woken with my cock hard, and my pyjamas all wet."
"That's a wet dream. But it's a waste. Better to toss off and get the full feeling."
Jones began to pull away at Edward.
"Do the same to me, Penny."
The two boys stood there tossing each other off. Jones came first. Edward felt him go rigid, and his cock twitched and there was sticky wet stuff all over his fingers. Jones renewed his efforts on Edward. Quite soon he felt this amazing sensation. His cock seemed to be the centre of his being, and then he felt great jets coming out of it. He felt faint in the head for a couple of minutes.
"There you are. Enjoy that?" asked Jones.
"Yes," said Edward, still out of breath.
The Public School to which Edward was sent was like most of those institutions. If you restrict adolescent boys from contact with the outside world in general, and girls in particular, then many will end of up boy to boy sex while at school. A majority of these may well turn out to be heterosexuals when they escape the restrictions of school. But a minority will be homosexuals, even though some of them may marry. Certainly many married in those days before and just after the first World War. Edward was one of those who had sexual encounters with many of his fellow school mates.
<<<>>>
The War, that was expected to be over by Christmas 1914, eventually finished on the 11th November 1918. Of the twenty men who had enlisted from Whitgest only five returned. One of those was George Blackstone. Sir Charles Penbarton was killed on the first day of the Battle of the Somme in 1916. On his death, his fourteen year old son Edward became the eighth baronet. He was now Sir Edward Penbarton. The baronetcy had been created during the reign of Charles II 1660-1685. A certain Edward Penbarton had been a household servant at the court of the King. One evening when King Charles was in a compromising position with one of his mistresses, Queen Catherine was heard approaching. Young Edward assumed the compromising position and so enabled the King escape discovery by his wife. Charles who always tried to remember a good turn, rewarded Charles Penbarton a couple of years later with a baronetcy. There followed a succession of Edward or Charles Penbartons. The Edwards named after the founder of the line, and the Charles' after their royal benefactor. They made no notable contribution to the history of England in any respect, but were solid squires. Most of them good to their tenants, eager to hunt the fox, and to get drunk as often as they could, and a few of them a danger to any village girl.
Edward inherited the family estate, which not only consisted of the Manor House, but also four farms and most of the village of Whitgest.
Through out the war Edward had visited the Smithy whenever he was at home from school. He always asked old Blackstone for news of his son, each time dreading the news that he had been killed, wounded or taken prisoner. But George survived, and was eventually demobilised in the spring of 1919.
George arrived back in Whitgest at the end of March. He had two days working in the Smithy with his father. Then his father was taken ill with the 'flu epidemic that was sweeping the world. Three days later he was dead. Young George was expected to take over the family business, and from then on was automatically known and called in the village 'Blackstone'.
Young Edward, now a slender seventeen year old lad, arrived home for the Easter school holidays the day before the funeral. As soon as he arrived home the cook told him that old Mr Blackstone had died of the 'flu, and the funeral was the next day.
"I must go and see George," he said.
His mother was pleased to see him taking his estate duties seriously.
Though it was late afternoon, Edward went down to the village. The Smithy was open. Horses still required shoeing whether there was a funeral in the business or not.
Edward stood in his old place at the entrance. George was busy and did not notice him immediately. He finished beating some iron on the anvil and then took the piece back to the fire, and went to pump the bellows. He then saw Edward standing there. It took him a moment to realise that the five foot six seventeen year old young man was the much shorter boy of over four years before.
"Sir Edward?" He started rubbing his right hand on his overalls, as he steeped towards Edward.
Edward moved forward with an outstretched hand. "George! I've just got home. And cook told me about your Dad. I'm so sorry."
"Thanks Sir Edward. That were kind of you to come down, special like."
"Least I could do. He was a good man, and a good blacksmith too. I'm only glad you got home from the war before he died."
"Just two days together, before 'e were taken ill."
"He knew you were safely home."
They stood looking at each other for a moment or two. George remembered the small boy of nearly five years before. Edward had grown, but he would never be tall. He was now about five foot six. His frame was slight. He weighed about nine and a half stone. He still had the shock of fair hair that tended to fall over his right eye. His eyes were as blue as ever. George still stood at six and a half feet. Though he had not grown any taller he had filled out. He was a big heavy man. He was dark haired, and even when he did shave in the morning there was a five o'clock shadow by the late afternoon. George's weight was getting on for fifteen stone.
"You've grown," said George.
"I suppose I have! I was only twelve when you last saw me."
The rest of their conversation was punctuated with long silences.
The next day Edward attended old Mr Blackstone's funeral in the village church, and his burial in the graveyard that contained the known graves of at least five generations of Blackstones, Blacksmiths.
Edward went down to the Smithy three times during the rest of Easter holidays. Once was with a horse that needed shoeing.
"Well, Sir Edward, I can't get over how much you've grown since I last saw you," said George.
"I know I've grown quite a lot. But I don't think I'll be as tall or as strongly built as you."
"Maybe not. This job develops a lot of your muscles."
"And let's have less of the Sir Edward. To you I've always been Edward, and I don't want that to change."
"But you're my landlord now. You own this place."
"So what? You call me Edward, as you used to, or Ted, which quite a number of my friends now call me. Yes, I'd like you to call me Ted."
"But that ain't respectful."
"Bollocks!" said Edward.
George showed surprise at this expletive. "You're growing up fast," this said with a broad grin.
"Yes, I'm Ted, or Edward, unless it is at a public meeting or something."
"Even in front of your Ma?"
"She'll not like it, but I would."
"It'll take some getting used to. Sir...Ted."
They both laughed.
"Every time you call me Sir, or Sir Edward I'll call you Mr Blackstone."
"I guess I'm even more unused to that, than you are to Sir Edward."
All too soon the Easter holidays were over, and Edward returned for his last term at school.
<<<>>>
Edward's final term at school was divided into two parts. The first part was spent working for exams, and the second in sport, and other post exam activities. During both parts he had a lot of sexual fun with various school fellows.
It was mid July when he returned to Whitgest. His mother had a lot for him to do. The estate was being run during the years of his minority by a small group of trustees set up by his father in this eventuality. This small group consisted of his mother, the estate manager, the local bank manager, and the family solicitor. They were all thoroughly reliable and conscientious people. Edward suggested he came to the monthly 'board' meetings when he was at home. There was some initial reluctance from his mother, but the others agreed.
He had been home at the Manor for five days before he made his way down to the village. He had several places which he had to visit, so he kept the Smithy to last. He wanted to be able to spend some time talking with George.
"How's it going, George?"
"Oh, It's you, Sir! Good to see you."
"What did I say about that 'Sir' business?"
"Sorry it just slipped out! Ted!"
"That's better. You haven't got rusty with your time in the army?"
"No, it's all come back. From time to time I wish I could ask Dad how to do a particular job. But I can usually work it out. But I miss him."
"I'm sure. We all do."
"Last term at school over now?"
"Yea. That part of my life's over."
"What now?"
"I'm going up to Cambridge in October. That'll be the next part. For three years, unless I'm sent down."
"What can they sent you down for?"
"Illegal and criminal activities, and pure bad rowdy behaviour."
"I should think you safe on that score, Ted"
"You don't know me!"
They both laughed.
"Then what? After University?"
"I'll be back here, running the estate."
"What are you going to study at University?"
"English. That's really English literature, including old stuff, a bit of Anglo Saxon, and of course, Chaucer."
George asked some questions about University life.
Edward came down about once a week to the Smithy and would chat with George for a while if possible. On his third visit George was very busy.
"Let me pump the bellows for you, George."
"No way. Can't have the Squire working as a Blacksmith's mate."
"Why not? I remember the first time. I was a young lad, and you held me up so that I could work the bellows. You don't need to hold me up now." He walked over to the bellows, and turned to George looking over his shoulder with a broad grin on his face. " I'm a man now."
"Yes, I remember that day. You always liked coming and seeing what we were doing, didn't you?"
"I suppose you are a man now. Just!"
"I am seventeen, nearly eighteen. How old are you George, as we are getting personal?"
"Twenty four. Twenty five later this year."
"So you were in France for you twenty-first?"
"Yea. I spent the day in a trench under fire from the Jerries."
"No celebration at all then?"
"None at all. Dad said we'd have a celebration when I got back from France.
But that was not to be."
<<<>>>
It was the beginning of September when late one warm sunny afternoon Edward arrived at the Smithy.
"How's it going George?"
"Just one more thing to do, and then I'm packing it in. I've got to do some washing when I get home. I'm getting real domesticated. I learnt a lot in the army of all places."
Edward walked across to the bellows and pumped away as George put some metal he was working on the forge. It soon began to change from a very dull red to a brighter colour. George then lifted it from the fire with his large tongs, and placed it on the anvil. He began to hammer it into shape. When it was to his satisfaction he plunged it into the bucket of water, and the was a sizzling noise and a cloud of steam.
"Well, that will do for Bill Tooley's plough. And that's that for today." He walked over to the main doors that opened onto the village green, and shut them "And now I need a piddle."
He removed the leather apron that he was wearing, and hung it on a hook. He was wearing underneath a dark boiler suit, it was unbuttoned down to his lower chest. Edward got a glimpse of an extremely hairy chest as George walked passed him to go out through the door at the back of the Smithy.
Edward turned and looking through the doorway watched. George walked over to some bushes about ten yards away, and then standing with his back to Edward, undid his boiler suit and pulled out his cock. Edward saw nothing except for a powerful jet of piss hitting the ground. Then George did that distinctive male action of pulling back his bum as he pulled his cock back into the shelter of the boiler suit.
"That was a mighty piss." said Edward to George's back.
"Yea. Had been wanting to go for some time. Feel better now."
George walked back into the building.
"There's something I've been wanting to ask you, George, for a long time."
"What's that?"
"I want an honest answer. Not the usual one I get when I ask. What was it really like in France, in the trenches."
George turned, and somehow looking deflated and sad, sat on the anvil. "Do you really want to know?"
"Yes. I want to know what Papa went through. I want you to tell me what it was really like."
George looked across at Edward who was standing in front of him. "Sure?"
"Sure." He looked at George fully in the eye.
George looked down on the floor, and rubbed his hands on his thighs a couple of times as he sat there. "It was hell. Absolute hell." He paused before continuing. "There was mud, thick sticky mud, wet mud more water than anything else. Then there was the stink. The stink of earth, the stink of shit, of unwashed bodies, and rotting bodies. The rats, masses of them. Big rats, well fed on the rotting bodies of those killed and whose bodies just lay whole or in pieces in no man's land. It was hell, Ted. Bloody Hell."
"Papa was killed on the first day of the battle of the Somme. Were you there?"
"Yes. But not with him. That was terrible, going over the top to face almost certain death. There was also the noise. The noise of the guns. They could be heard in London you know at times."
"Yes. I've met several people heard the guns from France. It must have been deafening."
"It was. And then they stopped. The silence was deafening too, in another way. Then you knew it was your turn to climb out of the trench into the killing fields." He paused for quite a while. Then he looked up at Edward, his eyes moist with the awakened memories. You know something, Edward. I've not told anyone this. I feel ashamed. I feel guilty."
"Why? Why George?"
At first there was no answer, and George's eyes again lowered to the ground. Then in a whisper that Edward could barely hear, "I came back, Ted, so many didn't."
"I thought you would be relieved it was now over and done with. And happy you'd survived."
George looked up at Edward again, he spoke almost with anger in his voice.
"Yes, I survived. But why me? I didn't deserve to come back. Take young Eric Pearson from up the hill. Young married man, with one kid and another on the way, killed in the last few days of the war. Why should he be killed leaving a young wife and now two kids. Leaving them to a life with no man, and precious little money. While I a bachelor, no wife or kids, or other dependants. I come back. It wasn't as though I was not small enough to be hit by some Jerry marksman." He said that with a slight smile on his face.
"I suppose you were a big enough target. But seriously, George. I'm glad you've come back."
"Maybe. Yes, I'm glad it's over. It's good to be back, doing what I'm meant to be doing. But there are times when these black thoughts come over me."
"Did you lose anyone special, some special friend over there?"
"Yea, I knew well plenty of the guys whose bodies are still over there, lying in some foreign field that is for ever England. Many good mates. But most special were Tony East, who used to live down the village street. We went to school together. Did a lot of things together. We was good mates.
He copped it Passchendaele in '17. Been through three years of that fucking hell together. 'e was wounded and fell, and we was pinned down in a shell crater. 'e bled to death in my arms. 'is life was slipping away. I had to 'old 'im up, else he'd slip down into the mud and water and drown in the bottom of the crater. I was a further twenty-four hours or so in that shell 'ole. 'Olding 'im the whole time, I wanted 'im to 'ave a decent burial." As he had spoken the tears had begun to fall down George's cheeks. He sat on his anvil sobbing.
Edward didn't know what to do. He put his hands on George's shoulders, and rubbed them.
"I'm sorry I asked about France. I didn't realise...."
George stood up. "You asked for the truth. I reckon you've heard it. It was hell. It has done me good just to tell someone." The tears continued to run down his face.
"Thank you for telling me. Now I know something of what Papa went through. It must have been hell for him too."
"It was for anyone who was there. If anyone tells you about glory and so on, they're talking a load of bloody bull shit. Excuse my French. I have sworn in front of you."
"Don't worry about that. There's enough swearing at school."
"Were you at school when you learnt about your Dad?"
"Yes. I was in class, and a message came, would I go to the headmaster's study. I knew what it was for. That had been the drill for other boys who'd lost father, or brother. I went straight to the study, and the old man told me Papa had been killed on the first day of the Battle of the Somme. He told me to be brave. He told me not to cry." Edward's eyes filled with tears. "He told me to be a man, and that Papa had died for King and Country. And I have not cried until now." Edward started sobbing.
"I think this no crying talk is wrong. Its natural to cry when you lose a loved one." He reached across and pulled Edward to him.
Edward buried his face in George's chest, and his arms clasped George's massive frame. For several minutes they stood there tears flowing freely down both of their faces. George's dripped onto Edward's head. Edward's where absorbed by George's boiler-suit and hairy chest. George bent down and softly kissed his own tears off Edward's head. Slowly Edward stopped sobbing, and George's tears stopped flowing, but they held on to each other. Each drawing comfort and strength from the other.
"Thank you for telling me about your Dad. There's something special when two men can cry together."
"Thank you for not laughing at me." George put a hand on the back of Edward's head and began to stroke it gently. But something else had happened, when Edward had begun to speak he had got quite a mouthful of George's chest hair in his mouth. He raised his hand to remove them from his mouth. He kept his hand there.
There then occurred one of those transitions of mood that are totally unexpected. From the tears and sorrow of bereavement for a father and a best friend, a transition was made.
Edward's hand lay on the left nipple on George's chest. The two of them often argued over what happened in the years to come. Edward maintained to the end that what he did was unintentional, and done in a fit of absentmindedness. George to his dying day said that Edward had acted deliberately.
Edward's fingers felt around the hardness of the nipple. Now George was one of those men with a direct link, an automatic reaction, between nipple and cock. The mighty member that lay at the top of his legs, that had been there dormant, even through the long minutes of George holding the younger man close to him, now began to stir. When George's mighty member stirred it was not something that could be kept secret. Edward felt the very first stirring. He had felt similar stirrings in the trousers of fellow boys at school. His own cock began to stir.
George's reaction was to try and turn away. But Edward still had one arm holding him close, and he too could feel the movement in the smaller man's trousers. Edward pushed to feel more, and to be felt. George in response did the same.
Still in silence they stood. Now they were enjoying the arousal of each other. Edward looked up into George's face, and grinned. George bent down and placed another kiss on the top of Edward's head, and to continued to stroke the back of his head.
Edward continued to watch George's eyes. Very slowly he began to move his hand lower, delighted in the feel of the thick body hair. This was something totally new to him in degree. Some boys at school had some chest hair, and he himself had a very small patch in the centre of his chest. But it was rather difficult to see as he was so fair.
Edward saw George close his eyes, obviously he enjoyed what he was feeling.
Their cocks were pressed against each other's thigh, or rather George's against Edward's hip. Edward's descending hand encountered the barrier of the buttons on the boiler suit. he undid one button and his hand could feel the top of George's stomach. The look of pleasure was still there on George's face. He undid another button, and his hand encountered the even thicker hair that spread upwards over George's lower belly. He undid another button, and felt George's cock. It felt huge, both in length and thickness. Never had he felt anything like that before. No boy had school was anyway nearly so well endowed. He felt more, and touched George's equally large balls.
George opened his eyes. "That were nice. Enjoyed that," he muttered. Then he reached down and took hold of Edward's hand and pulled it away from his cock, but continued to hold it.
"That were nice. But no further. This is the wrong time, and the wrong place. I am all dirty, sweaty and stinky after a day's work. Another time, - - maybe."
Edward felt rather reproved. "Thanks for telling me about France."
"Thanks for listening. There's a lot more I could tell you."
"Some other time, maybe."
The were both feeling awkward over what had happened. They quickly parted.
<<<>>>
Edward walked slowly, deep in thought. Hands deep in pockets, he made his way up the hill to the Manor.
He tried to weigh up all that had happened. Had he gone too far? Had he acted impetuously, in feeling so much of George, and reaching down and holding his cock? But the look on George's face seemed to show that he liked what was happening. But then he had pulled Edward's hand away, and held it for a while so it could not go back. Had George just made a tactful, and kind excuse, for not going further? After all Edward was the Squire, and George's landlord. What was the meaning of the 'Another time, maybe'. It sounded a way out of further involvement. Or did it? As he walked up the hill these thoughts were chasing each other round and round in his head.
The Penbartons dined early. This was something that had been adopted when Edward was quite young, so that he could dine with his parents, without making his bed time too late. As he had got older the earlier time was kept to, except for those occasions when they had guests. But in the early post war days, with the loss of Edward's father still being acutely felt by his mother, guests were very few and far between. Also dining early was obviously liked by the few staff they still had, as it gave the cook and the maid a longer evening to themselves.
Edward and his mother sat at opposite ends of the table. It was one of those that could be lengthened, and extra leaves could be put in place when more settings were required. The solitary maid waited at table.
"You're very quite tonight," remarked Lady Penbarton. "Anything wrong?"
"No Mother. I think perhaps I'm just tired."
"What have you done today?
Edward gave a quick precis of the day's activities. "Late this afternoon I went down to the village. Called in at the Blacksmith's."
"Did a horse need shoeing then?"
"No."
"I cannot understand your interest in the Blacksmith's. Dirty, noisy place if you ask me."
"I called in to see George."
"That's the son, isn't it?" interrupted Lady Penbarton.
"Yes. I called to see how things were going. He still misses his father."
"I suppose he does. I suppose the lower classes have feelings something like ours."
"I think they have the same feelings as us, Mother."
"You're beginning to sound like one of those socialists. I hope you're not going to become one."
Edward gave a dry half laugh. "George, told me something about what it was like in France."
"What did you want to know that for?"
"I wanted to know something of what Papa went through."
"I hope you don't start having nightmares. I gather it was all very muddy and noisy, but the poppies continued to flower. That must have been nice."
"I think it was pretty terrible, Mother. It must have been, so few came back."
They ate the rest of the meal in silence. Then they adjourned to the drawing room for coffee.
Lady Penbarton sat and read her book for about three quarters of an hour, while Edward read the paper. Eventually Edward's mother, got up. "I must be going to my room. Good night Edward, dear."
Edward stood and gave his mother a peck of a kiss on her cheek. "Good night mother, see you in the morning."
Edward sat down and began to consider his next action.
The maid came in and removed the coffee things.
"Good night, Sir Edward," she said.
"Good night, Jane."
He now knew that he would be undisturbed until the morning, when he would be called at 7.30am. He stood up, stretched, and made his way slowly up to his room. In his bedroom he sat on the bed. still considering what he should do.
Then he heard the clock in the stable yard strike nine. That sound resolved him. He grabbed a sweater because he knew it would be cool outside. He softly shut the door to his room, and made his way silently downstairs. He crept to the garden door, because he knew that was never locked. He slipped out into the garden, quietly closing the door behind him. He did not walk on the gravel paths, in case the crunch of his footsteps were heard. He walked along the edge of the grass. He made his way to a gate into a field, and turned towards the village. The harvest moon was nearly full, and already the dew had fallen, and his shoes felt wet. He walked through a group of cows chewing the cud in one of the fields. They seemed surprised to find a man walking amongst them at that hour of the night. When he came to the top of the hill, he looked down on the village. There were still a few lights to be seen. But already a mist was rising along the course of the stream that ran through the village.
He aimed for a gate that led onto the lane near George's cottage. He climbed over the gate, believing that that would make the least noise. He saw that there was still a light in one of the upstairs windows. 'Good, George must still be awake.' He went up to the door of Blacksmith's Cottage, where generations of Blackstone had been born and bred, and knocked. His first knock went unanswered. He knocked again, louder. There was the noise of a window opening above.
"Whose that knocking at this unearthly hour of the night?"
"It's me, George. Edward."
"What on earth do you want? Hold on."
A minute later the front door opened and George stood there. He was dressed in a long night-shirt that reached down to his bare feet. It made him look taller than ever. In his hand he held a lighted candlestick.
"Come on in."
Edward had never been into George's cottage before. In fact he had been into very few villager's cottages. He looked around. In the light of the candle that George was holding, he could see that he was in a small room. For some reason, which he could not immediately explain, he was surprised at the tidiness of the room. There were several chairs, a sideboard, and a large mat on the stone floor.
"I'm sorry to call on you this late, George. But there was something I wanted to get sorted out with you."
"Yea?"
"About this afternoon. . . Did I do the wrong thing? . . .Did I go too far?. . . If I did I am sorry, I apologise. I shouldn't have done what I did."
"That's alright, Ted. You did nothing wrong as far as I'm concerned."
"I thought you looked as though you were enjoying it?"
"I was, very much," said George, looking at Edward with a broad grin on his face.
"Well, that's a relief."
"No. I wasn't upset at all."
"So, where do we go from here?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, if you liked it when I held your cock in my hand, and I liked it when you had your arms round me, and when you kissed my head. It felt right. It felt good. Where do go from there? We can't just leave it there, and pretend that our cocks didn't get stiff, and enjoy being close together."
"Well, Ted. I've been thinking about it since. There are a number of difficulties. For one, I'm older than you."
"Not by much. I'm nearly eighteen and you're what? Twenty three?"
"Twenty four, nearly twenty five."
"That difference was a lot when I first looked in to the Smithy with my Nanny. But it's not much now."
George shrugged his shoulders, "Maybe. But you're the squire and I'm the village blacksmith. You're my landlord and I'm your tenant. You're well educated, going to University, I left school when I was twelve. You're rich, manor house and everything, I'm just a poor blacksmith."
"So?"
"I think all those things make us too different."
"Did you enjoy it when my hand stroked your hairy chest?"
Almost grudgingly George nodded.
"Did you like it when I held your cock in my hand?"
"I must tell the truth, yes, I did."
"Why did you kiss me, George?"
"Because I wanted to. As you were there crying about your Dad, I felt you needed some loving."
"George, do you remember the first time I came to the Smithy?"
"Yes, with your Nanny."
"You put a black mark on my forehead, and said I would always have a friend.
That a blacksmith's mark was special."
"Did I? I'd forgotten."
"Then I asked if you'd be my friend, and you promised that you'd always be my friend."
"I vaguely remember that bit."
"I've always thought of you as a friend, more so over these last few months than ever before. I can talk to you. I think I can tell you things, that can only be told to a friend."
"Fact we're friends does not mean that we have to play with our cocks together?"
"I know it doesn't. But if I'm to play cocks with anyone, I'd prefer to do it with someone I know is a friend rather than with a complete stranger."
"You just want to carry on from where we left off this afternoon?"
"Yes, George that is exactly what I do want." He looked up fully into the eyes of the older man. They both stood there looking at each other. "Do you want to or not. If not I shall go home, and from then on our relationship will be that of Squire and blacksmith, landlord and tenant, as you seem to want. I'll call you Blackstone, and you will call me Sir Edward, and touch your forelock every time you see me." All that was said with mounting anger in his voice.
"Hold on. Hold your horses, Ted. My feet are freezing, the cold of the stone floor soon gets through this rug, and this night-shirt is not exactly warm. Let's go up to my room and see how we get on."
George turned and opened a door, which revealed a steep wooden staircase that was almost a spiral staircase.
"Follow me, Sir Edward."
George led the way up the stairs, and Edward followed closely. There were two doors at the top, and George opened one and went in. Edward followed.
It was a small room, with part of the ceiling steeply sloping under the eaves. There were black wooden beams in the walls and ceiling. It was furnished with a bed, a chest of drawers, and a chair. Beside the bed there was an open book lying face down on the floor.
Edward reached down and picked it up. "Palgrave's Golden Treasury! Do you read poetry, George?"
"Always read either some Dickens or some poetry before going to sleep at night."
"Well George, I reckon that removes the education barrier."
George laughed and climbed into the bed, still wearing his night-shirt. "Now, Ted. Get those clothes off and join me."
Edward looked down at George and laughed. He pulled the sweater over his head, and took off his shirt. George saw a young man, scarcely out of boyhood. Edward was slight of build. His bone structure was on the small side. He had muscles, he was fit from games and running at school. In the middle of his chest there was a small patch of very fair hair. It was almost invisible except when it caught the light at a certain angle. He undid his trousers and removed them. Then, while still facing George he pulled down his pants. George saw a smallish patch of fair pubic hair, and from it stood out the almost erect cock. George could see that is was uncut, and had he used his measuring blacksmith's eye would have seen that it was just under six inches long. Edward stood up and stretched, giving the bigger man a full view of his nakedness.
"You know, Ted. You're a beautiful young man."
Edward turned completely round.
"A very beautiful young man."
Edward stood on one leg to remove a sock, but began to lose his balance. So he sat down suddenly and heavily on the edge of the bed, with his back to George. He pulled up a foot off the floor to remove the sock, but then he felt George's hand. He stopped still, as he felt George's huge hand stroke across his shoulders and top of his back. It was warm. George's hands were not only big, they were rough and calloused with the work in the blacksmith's shop, but the touch that he gave Edward's back was so gentle it would not have harmed the most delicate of fabrics.
"That's nice, George."
The older man's hand continued to stroke Edward's back. Each stroke across was a little lower than before. The hand stroked his waist, across his hips, and then he felt the fingers explore the top of his divide of his buttocks.
"Get those socks off, and get into bed with me."
"I want to see you first," said Edward, standing in his full nakedness, with his cock fully erect looking down on George.
George sat up in bed, and with some wriggling pulled his night-shirt over his head. Then he held back the bedclothes so Edward could see him
Edward saw a fully naked, fully mature man for the first time. As he had expected George was covered with luxuriant black hair. It was thick upon him. His front, his arms, his legs. But Edward's eyes centred on the larger man's cock. It was huge. Though it was not fully erect it must have been getting on for a good eight inches long. But it was not just long it was thick, very thick. Even near full erection the head was not completely visible. Through the dark hair Edward could see that there were a massive pair of balls as well.
"George, you're huge. I don't know that I'll ever be able to take that mighty tool up my arse."
"Is that what you'll be wanting?"
"Yes. Very much."
"We'll see. Plenty of time to think about that. We mustn't jump our fences before we come to them. Any way stop standing there, getting your death of cold. Hop into bed."
Edward need no second invitation. He was soon enveloped in the arms of George. Then very tentatively George kissed Edward on the lips. This rather surprised the younger man. There had been no kissing of the boys with whom he had fun at school. Kissing would have been regarded as girlish, wet, or to use the particular word used at the Public School to which he had gone - weedy. Kissing was reserved for mothers and elderly female relatives, or the girl friend if you were into such. After a moment's hesitation Edward responded, and decided he rather liked being kissed by a man.
But George had detected the hesitation, and when they first broke off, he asked, "Aren't you used to kissing?"
"Not with a man, and not like that!"
"Did you like it?"
His reply was to start the kissing again. All the while there was a thrusting of cocks into each other, and hands were stroking.
"Have you ever done anything like this before?" asked George.
"Yes. With some of the lads at school. What about you? Have you?"
"Yes. A number of times."
"Someone in the village?"
"One or two were, and one or two in the army"
"Anyone special?"
"One was."
"In the village?"
"One was."
"Was?"
"He didn't come back from France."
"Was he the soldier you held up out of the water, and who bled to death in your arms?"
"Yes. Tony East."
They lay together, silent and still for several minutes.
"I'm sorry I brought that all up again," said Edward.
"Don't be. I've been thinking. I think he would have been very pleased to see the two of us like this. And I think, surprised that I was in bed playing around with the Squire." With that he put a hand each side of Edward's face, and pulled it to him. He kissed him passionately.
"Do you remember when I first visited the forge. You said that you could learn things about me from the fire in the Smithy. Have you seen in the fire that we would end up doing this?"
Geroge laughed. "Oh yes. And 'ave seen a lot of other things in that fire about us both. Do all sorts of great things like this together."
"You're a tease, George." Edward gave him a gentle punch, and then kissed him again.
"You know, young Ted, I think I'm liking you more every minute. You're hot stuff."
With that George turned onto his back, and pulled Edward on top. So the lighter man lay sprawled on top of the heavier man. It was a position that they were to be in many time of the coming years. There cocks were together, Edward could feel the wiry hairiness of George's chest tickling his breast. But above all George liked this position because he could get both his hands onto both of Edward's buttocks. From that day onward George delighted in touching, fondling, stroking the smooth arse cheeks of Edward. Often his fingers would feel down into the crack, and touch that delicate centre of sensation. This would make Edward squirm and squeal with delight. He never could have too much of it. Often George would go further and a huge finger would penetrate, adding to Edward's delight. It was also a restful position. So much of their bodies were in contact. Legs and arms could rub together. It was also a position in which they could talk at length. George never felt that Edward was a burden.
They lay delighting in each other for a long while. Then George pushed Edward off, so he in turn lay on his back. George now on his side, began to kiss Edward's face. When Edward tried to respond George said, "No! Just you lie there, and enjoy what I do to you."
His kisses moved in a straight line down Edward's chest, over his stomach and navel, into the pubic forest, out of which the cock stood out so proudly. George nibbled and kissed his way around it. He licked Edward's balls, and perineum, making Edward squirm again in ecstasy. Then he took Edward's cock into his mouth. His tongue played with it, within the warm cavern of his mouth. His lips gripped it.
Then his hand felt underneath, and gently penetrated Edward's arse. That was it.
"I'm going to spunk George, I'm going to spunk," cried Edward, and he felt himself unload into George's mouth.
George swallowed most of Edward's spunk but not all. Some he kept in his mouth, and then gave Edward a spunky kiss.
"Did you like that, Sir Edward?"
"Yes, Mr Blackstone, I did." Edward flung his arms round George's neck and they kissed. "That was wonderful. I'm so glad I did what I did this afternoon. I might have missed all this."
"Yea. We could've easily never discovered each other. That were great for me, too."
They lay side by side for a while. They looked into each others eyes, both were realising something of great significance for them both had started. They did not need words to convey what they felt for each other. Both just knew.
After about half an hour Edward decided that it was now his turn to take action. He pushed George onto his back, and sat astride him, their cocks were together. "I'm glad I came down here tonight. I've not done anything like this ever."
"What did you do with them boys at school?"
"Mostly we tossed each other off. Sometimes, with one or two we sucked each other off."
"Did you like doing that?"
"If I liked the boy a lot, yes." Then very quietly, "That's what I want to do to you, but you're so big."
George pulled on the muscle that made his cock move. "You don't need to take it all, Ted."
Edward leant forward so that he was lying on George, and again they kissed,
lips and tongues delighting in each other. Then Edward reached further up and began to kiss George's forehead.
George began to stroke Edward's back.
"No; your turn to keep still and just enjoy. See if I really can give you pleasure."
"You've already done that, Ted."
Edward resumed his kissing. He kissed and licked George's eyes. He nibbled George's ear lobes. Slowly he kissed and licked his way down George's neck and upper chest. Then when over to the right he smelt a smell that was a mixture of healthy man and and the lingering smell of lifebouy soap. The scent of man was strongest in the armpit. It raised Edward's sexual arousal by several points. This was for him a totally new discovery. He started kissing down into the black thick tangle of George's hairy chest. It took some searching to find the nipples, but find them he did. That got George more aroused. He began to moan with pleasure, and roll around under Edward's body. The nipples got a lot of attention, and Edward discovered that George liked it rough. He moved from kissing, and sucking, lip nipping, to gentle biting. Much to his surprise George expressed mounting pleasure.
He slowly backed down, as his mouth moved down. He could feel George's huge cock against his stomach, and then against his chest, and eventually against his neck.
Edward repeated what George had done to him, but inwardly he marvelled at the size of the mighty trunk that stood up demanding his attention. It was leaking copious amounts of what a latter age would call pre-cum.
"You're oozing a lot, George."
"I know I always do. The more stirred up I am, the more ooze there is."
Edward licked it.
"It tastes good, too. I'm glad you can supply a lot of it."
More and more Edward concentrated his attention on George's cock. He got the top few inches into his mouth. He had to take care his teeth did not scrape the cock when he moved his lips up and down.
Eventually George with a mighty convulsion shot his load of spunk deep into Edward's mouth. The younger man had never received a load like it. He almost spluttered it out. He just managed to control it, and swallowed most of it.
"Do you always shoot such a mighty load?"
"Usually. Why? Too much for you."
"Almost, but it tastes good. I want some more." Edward proceeded to lick off the final drops from George's cock. Soon that large specimen of male equipment began to slacken. Edward watched with fascination.
"I don't think I've watched a cock go limp as close as that before."
"Not with your mates at school?"
"No. Usually there it was a matter of trousers pulled up and flies buttoned up fairly quickly. We didn't do much before hand, just get each other hard as soon as possible, and go our several ways as soon as we had shot our load."
"What a waste/ Some of the best part of it is taking time over the first part, and relaxing together afterwards. Have you ever slept with a man?"
"No. Never. Have you."
"Only a few times."
"Tony East?"
"Yes. His parents went away a couple of times, and I stayed the night with him. It was good. And now I've got my nice young Squire called, Ted."
George pulled Edward up the bed, and for the first time they took up another position that they were to spend countless hours in over the next decades. George lay on his back, and Edward lay at his side, with his head on George's shoulder. With one arm George was able to do what he liked doing, feeling and stroking Edward's smooth round buttocks. Edward put one leg over the nearest of George's legs, and his cock was close to George's. In this position Edward was able to do what he liked doing, looking at George's cock, fondling it, and holding his balls, and generally letting his hand wander. Sometimes he pulled at George's nipples, sometimes he lightly stroked the hair on George's torso. They would talk, and could easily move slightly when they wanted to kiss.
That first time they had only been in that position a couple of minutes, before the candle spluttered and went out.
"Have you got to get back to the Manor?"
"I'm alright as long as I get back before dawn. Can I stay the night?"
"Of course you can. But I don't want there to be any trouble."
"As long as I get back before there are people around. I can go back over the fields, right to the garden gate."
"Remember you will leave a track in the dewy grass."
"I hadn't thought of that. I'll keep to the hedges, then it won't be so obvious."
"Will you come here again, Ted."
"If you'll have me."
"Course I'll have you. There is so much more we can do. I think this has been the best night of my life."
"Better than with Tony East?"
"Yes, better than with Tony. The very thought of getting together again is getting me hard."
Edward reached down and felt a slight stiffening in George's cock. "I love your cock, George. It's so big, so hard, and yet when I toss you, it's so soft as well."
"I like yours too." George reached across and held Edward's cock, which immediately began to respond.
But they went no further. As Edward drifted off to sleep he thought briefly of the day. Now he was lying in the arms of someone he loved. He felt secure. He had know George for many years, but all that had gone before was preliminary, leading up to this day, and what lay ahead for them both. How could he think of their relationship. He was a man who had fallen in love with another person who was a man. For a moment the picture of George as a woman flitted across his consciousness. He inwardly smiled at the incongruity of George as his bride, towering a good foot above him the brideroom. Perhaps the reverse was more true. He was the smaller, the slighter one. Perhaps with his smooth skin he was in the more feminine role. Then he thought of his delight in his own masculinity, and he knew what he wanted to do with his cock, and which further part of George's body he wished to penetrate.
George lay awake a little longer. He felt Edward slip into sleep. He though for a while of the strangeness of events, that he should end up holding in his arms of the young Squire. What stroke of good fortune, what providence of God should bring into his arms this delightful young friend he called Ted. The last thing he did before sleep engulfed him, was to stroke again that part of of Edward's body that he liked so much. He felt the buttocks, and the deep crevise between. It was all so smooth. He knew that how ever long they knew each other, he would never have enough of putting his hands on those buttocks and stroking them, or placing his mouth against them and kissing them, or pushing his cock and pentetrating between them. But all that was a promise for the future.
In his sleep Edward felt George's loving hand. He snuggled closer into the bigger man, and sighed in deep contentment. That sigh was the last thing that George heard that night, before he too went into a deep dreamless sleep.
<<<>>>
The first bird was chirping when George awoke. He was entwined with Edward.
"Wake up, sleepy head!"
Edward woke. "What time is it."
"Nearly dawn."
"I must be going."
George got out of bed, and after stumbling around got a candle out of the chest of drawers. He lit it. Edward got out of bed, they stood for a moment looking at each other. They had a last naked cuddle and kiss.
George patted Edward's bum. "Go on. It'll be light soon."
Very quickly Edward got dressed, and after a quick kiss, they made their way down stairs.
At the front door, Edward turned and looked up into George's eyes. "I love you."
"I love you, too."
Edward turned and was gone.
<<<>>>
The relationship between George and Edward lasted until George died in 1980.
Edward died two years later. Edward had insisted that George was buried next to the Penbarton family vault in the church yard, and reserved the space along side. When his will was read he asked to be buried with George, and his wish was kept. The inscription on the gravestone reads, "George Blackstone, Blacksmith 1894-1980. Sir Edward Penbarton Bt, 1902 - 1983. Friends in life and in death." Edward had wanted to put the words 'United' rather than 'Friends' on the tombstone, but the Church authorities had over ruled his wishes.
Lady Penbarton had died in 1925. Her death made things a lot easier for them both. George started coming to the Manor, and sometimes stayed the night there.
The villagers soon realised that there was a good friendship between their Squire and the village blacksmith. But they remembered that Edward as a small boy had always liked to visit the Smithy. Rather more slowly they realised that the relationship was more intimate than just a friendship. But Squires were often rather eccentric, and if this one happened to love a man rather than a woman, so be it. So the villagers just smiled and turned a blind eye. After all Edward was a good caring squire, and popular in other respects in the village, and it did mean their daughters were safe.
To any reader. You may give yourself three points of what ever nature you please if you have recognised the quotation from Rupert Brooke. Jeff at jeffyrks@hotmail.com