The Scholar's Tale
by Mihangel
Part 1, Chapter 11 - Consummation
So I looked a him with a half smile. "Andrew, I think you want to talk" - he nodded solemnly - "and I know I want to talk. C'mon, let's talk in comfort." And I guided him by the shoulder to the living room, where we sat down side by side on the big sofa, not touching but half turned towards each other. He was recovering a bit of vitality, and actually opened the meeting, though with the easiest of the items on the unwritten agenda.
"Leon, you're so different," he repeated, gazing at my face. I grinned, and in mock Charles Atlas style flexed my biceps. His eyes widened when he saw what was emerging from my short sleeves. "Swimming?"
"Yes. And gym." I filled him in on the simple factual story, including the lenses and hair.
"There's more to it than that, though," he said, crinkling his brow. "You're different inside as well as out. More in command. More sure of yourself. What's happened?"
This was the moment of truth. At last. Festina lente finally went out of the window.
"You've happened."
"Uh?"
"Look. Oh, dammit." I couldn't say the most important words of my life when twisted sideways, so I flopped down to kneel between his legs, put my hands on his knees, and looked him square in the face. It was taut, but not with fear. With uncertainty. "Andrew. I know a lot about you. You know a lot about me. And I know a few important things that you don't. Listen to me and don't interrupt.
"Number one. The new Leon is for you. The old Leon wasn't good enough.
"Number two. Remember that weekend when Jack and Helen came to see you? They told me what you'd told them, that you thought you were in love. They guessed it was with me. We agreed not to interfere. You needed time and space, to make your mind up.
"Number three. On the last day of term I picked up your diary by mistake. Saw what you'd written. Under the eyes of Steve and the whole class. Oh, don't worry" - his eyes were staring wide - "Nobody else knows. But I knew then that your journey was over. That you did love me. No, let me finish" - he'd made a gobbling noise - "In a way I'm sorry I read it, because I wasn't meant to read it. But it was pure accident. And in every other way I'm glad I did. Very glad. So that's item number three.
"And there's one more thing I know but you don't. Though I reckon you suspect it. I hope you hope for it. It's the most important. I love you too."
Andrew seemed still to be in a state of shock. He stared motionless at me, made little whimpering noises, and his lips quivered. Roughly and unceremoniously I pulled him bodily off the sofa till he was on his knees in front of me. I hugged him tightly, and in a moment his arms came round me too. And there we knelt, heads over shoulders, melding into each other, heaving with sobs, whole at last. Our souls had met each other, their other halves, in unique and matching love. After an indefinite time I pulled apart enough to kiss his wet cheek. Then, tentatively, his lips. Then, suddenly, he came to life, and pulled me back to him, and our tongues got lost in each other's mouths. Our bodies ground together, until they urged us upstairs, to the spare room, to the double bed.
I took the initiative again. Fumbled with his laces and fly buttons. Slipped off his socks and shirt and pants. Ran my hands briefly but firmly over his splendid body and legs. Avoided his cock, which was standing proudly at attention. He watched as I stripped off my own clothes, and gasped as he took in my tan and my new body. "Leon, oh Leon!" I lay down on my back, pulled him on top of me, and locked him in a long kiss, as cock squirmed against cock. My left hand stroked his back. He raised his middle, and my right hand slid between his legs to stroke his arse and bum, tickle his balls, and slide gently up his cock from base to dribbling tip. "Remember something about where to put one's wandering hand?" I asked as we came up for air.
"Leon" - urgently - "I'm not far off." Not the time for long-drawn out sensations. His need was pressing. So I scooted down between his legs, took his leaking cock in my mouth, and renewed my ministrations to his arse and balls. Four - five - six powerful thrusts deep into my throat, and he came. Generously. Typical of Andrew, always generous. A few minutes for him to recover, and we swapped places. He did the same for me, until I was in heaven too. Fulfilled, we just lay in each other's arms for maybe an hour, oozing tears, saying not a word. None was needed, and none was adequate.
Eventually I stirred and sought out his face. "Kiss again, please." He obliged. The fires were rekindled and we repeated the earlier performance, less urgently and more tenderly.
"Leon, oh, Leon. I knew it'd be good. But I'd no idea it'd be like that." He'd hardly spoken since we left the sofa. Nor had I, come to that.
"Nor'd I. Oh Andrew, I do love you."
"And I love you, Leon. Haven't told you that yet, have I? Not properly. Well, I do now." And we kissed deeply once more. "Leon, I'm sorry."
"What on earth for?"
"For taking so long. To decide that you really were my other half. Took me ages to finish the jigsaw. Didn't finish it till almost the end of term."
"I know. Don't worry. Helen said you didn't take important decisions in a hurry. I've known for ages that you needed time. Can't say it was easy to hold back. But I managed. Just."
"Oh God, Leon, you're so good. Leon, this is for ever, isn't it?"
"Yes, Andrew, my love, it's for ever." Which reminded me that there were practical matters to be discussed. Quite urgently. "We've got to talk about all sorts of things. Like how we play this at school. But that can wait. First things first. Andrew, would you like me to come and live with you? In Oxford?"
He gawped. "Need you ask? Course I would. But how?"
"Your mum and dad asked me, that Saturday in the Red Lion. They're incredible. If everything panned out, if we both agreed, they offered to try and get guardianship of me. As soon as we gave them the go-ahead. They reckoned my parents would be glad to get rid of me. I hope to God they're right. In fact this afternoon's probably helped."
"What d'you mean? What was your father going on about? About obscenities?" I explained. "Oh, Leon, the bastards. Oh Lord. Sorry. Shouldn't have said that."
"Don't be sorry. They are. Just as much as Jack and Helen are angels. Point is, they already suspect we'll be spending this fortnight in torrid sex. For once in a way they'll be right." I grinned evilly at him. "Which'll make them even gladder to get rid of me."
He lay back on the bed, thinking it through, while I drank in my new acquisition. Firm muscles. Shapely cock drooping sideways. Darkening hair on his shins. Face changing from boyish roundness to a hint of angularity. Down on cheeks and lip - first shave not too far ahead. Crowned by a mop of golden curls. Beautiful. Strong. Dependable. Caring. Loving. And I loved every inch.
"Oh God, let it work," he said at last, and smiled wickedly at me. "If I'm not allowed my ice cream every day, so be it. But if I can have it every day, I'd rather go for that!"
The light was fading, and the clock showed half past nine. "Look, let's phone your mum and dad and tip them the wink. And after that I wouldn't say no to a bit of grub."
So we rolled off the bed, went downstairs, and I dialled 0 and asked for the Oxford number. "Jack, it's Leon. It's all right. Everything's all right."
"Oh, thank God. That's the best news I've heard in ages. Hang on a mo." I heard him telling Helen. "Omnia vincit amor, eh? And we go ahead and open negotiations?"
"Please. But there've been new developments too." I explained briefly about the cat, how my parents were still further off their rocker, and how they suspected what was afoot between Andrew and me and would no doubt raise the matter.
"Right. Thanks for that. May we confirm their suspicions? It might well strengthen our hand."
"Yes, Jack. Once they know what I'm up to they'll kick me out anyway. In for a penny. We both want this. Really we do. Good luck, and thanks a million."
"You're a brave man, Leon, as well as a wise one. Good luck to you too. May I have a word with Andrew?"
I passed the phone over, and they talked for a long time. Finally Andrew handed the receiver back. Helen was on the other end now. "Leon, my dear. We're so happy for you. And excited. And we love you. Both."
"And I love you. Both. Have a good conference."
"And you have a good time. Cheerio!"
We did have a good time. Housework and gardening? Bugger that. We carried out some of the more formal plans. We visited colleges, we strolled on the Backs, we swam in the pool, we walked on the Gogs. I even dragged Andrew to the Museum of Classical Archaeology to introduce him to portraits of Plato and Socrates, and he made ribald comments about the equipment of the nude male statues. But we spent much more time talking, talking, talking. On the sofa, on the floor, in the garden, in bed. About souls, about love, about Plato, about the past four terms, about the future, about us.
One evening I remembered a question I needed to ask. "Andrew, when we met at the station, you babbled something about me being a - what? A swot? A swine? What were you on about?"
He smiled his impish smile. "No, not a swot. Not a swine. A swan."
"Uh?"
"It's a private joke with myself. Remember Hans Christian Andersen? When we first met, you reminded me - sorry about this, but it's true - you reminded me of the Ugly Duckling. In all sorts of ways. But when I looked a bit closer I reckoned you were more than that. Whatever you might look like. So I asked Mum and Dad what best to do. They suggested encouraging you. Drawing you out. Protecting you, if need be. And then I found you were doing exactly the same to me, off your own bat. It was obvious you weren't just an ugly duckling. You were on your way to something much better. And when I saw you on the platform, blow me, the change was complete. You're a very fine swan indeed!"
"Me? A swan?" I squawked, and we laughed. And cried.
Nor, when at home, did we explore only our souls. We explored our bodies too. Often. Intimately. Inventively.
We celebrated our birthdays in style. Andrew's first. He'd brought his presents from Jack and Helen with him, and I added mine. Nothing, of course, from my parents. But we nicked a bottle of their wine, reckoning they'd be sipping their Samian in Athenian luxury and that they owed it to us. That evening, the phone rang. "Mr Michaelson?" said the operator. "I have a call for you from Athens. Please hold the line." Click ... click. "You're through."
"Hullo, Leon?"
"Helen! Hullo!"
"How are you? Both OK?"
"Both fine, thanks. Having a whale of a time. Oh, Helen, we're in bliss. Want to speak to Andrew?"
"In a minute. But you first. Leon, we think things are going quite well. We've talked to your parents a lot. They're such strange people, we don't begin to understand them. But they're reacting as we hoped. They were outraged to hear about you and Andrew, but not surprised. I think, as you said, they expected it. But they don't intend to do anything about you. Report you to the police or council or anyone, I mean. That would bring shame and scandal on their good name. But the upshot is that they don't want you, don't want to see you. Does that upset you, now they've said it openly?"
"Not in the least. To be honest, I don't want to see them either."
"Right. Good. And they don't need you for looking after the cat, now that that's gone. As for your other jobs, they're beginning to talk about a part-time cleaner and gardener, who'd come in the daytime and not get in their way. So we're getting on. We think we're halfway there. At least. Leave it with us. We'll phone again. A quick word with the birthday boy now, please. All our love."
Hope refuelled. Our celebration in bed was even more tender and prolonged than usual.
A week later we duly honoured my birthday. Once more, nothing from my parents except, unknown to them, another bottle. But Andrew had again brought presents from Oxford. From Jack and Helen, a watch. From Andrew, a complete recording of the Magic Flute. How appropriate. A journey, through thick and thin, to eternal love, against a backdrop of human cruelty, with comic interludes. And the best music Mozart ever wrote, which is saying something. We played it right through, non-stop (except for turning the records over), two and a half hours. After we'd eaten, another phone call from Athens. Jack this time. Birthday greetings first.
Then, "Leon, it's all agreed, short of the legalities. They've done some careful counting of costs - I've never known such a pair of Shylocks - and reckon that what they save on your upkeep will cover a cleaner and gardener. So they're happy on that score. They'll transfer guardianship to us, no strings attached. They'll tell nobody about you. But as Helen said, they don't want to see you again. They've written you off. So this is the timetable. We get back to London on Monday morning, the day after tomorrow. All four of us go to their solicitors to sign and seal the documents. Then we buzz back to Oxford for the night. First thing Tuesday we drive to Cambridge and pick you up - both of you - and all your belongings. Could you be packed and ready by, say, ten? Your parents will spend Monday night in town and get home at lunchtime on Tuesday, so you won't overlap. How does that sound?"
"Jack. Oh, Jack. It's all come true. First I've got Andrew, now I've ... got ... you." I broke down completely, and Andrew had to finish the call. He nursed me gently back to coherence.
We sat on the sofa, side by side, hand in hand.
At peace.
Listening to Haydn's Creation.
Two fifteen-year-olds ready to face a brave new world.
Whole.
When a lover, whether of boys or of anyone else, meets the very individual who is his other half, he's overwhelmed with unbelievable affection, intimacy and love. The pair of them don't want to be separated for a moment. People like this, who stay together for their whole life, can't explain exactly what it is they want from each other. Nobody could suppose they take such pleasure in each other's company merely for the sake of sex ... In fact it's because this was our original natural state, when once we were a whole; and what we call love is the desire to recover that wholeness.
Aristophanes, in Plato's Symposium
This tale is largely fiction, but based on real places and to some extent on real people. Parts of it, indeed - I won't reveal which - are autobiographical. There's no point in denying the existence of Cambridge and Oxford, but all other modern names, needless to say, have been disguised. I have tried, doubtless without complete success, to keep to vocabulary appropriate to the 1950s, when 'gay,' for example, was not yet used in its present sense.
All translations are my own, except that from the RSV. The Symposium is available in translation in the Penguin Classics, other Greek and Roman authors in the Loeb Classical Library and elsewhere. Mary Renault's The Charioteer (1953) is out of print.
Corporal punishment in independent schools in Britain was banned by law only in 1999.
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